How a Ranch Visit Changed Everything About How I See Food
Mother Nature will mix intervals of tranquil weather with occasional shots of cold and wintry precipitation but overall may seem to be a bit “temperamental.”
And so foretold the Farmers Almanac of Texas winter in 2021. Mother Nature did indeed devolve into a temperamental toddler, thrashing Texas with sleet, freezing rain and sub-zero wind chills in what would become the United States’ first billion-dollar weather disaster that year. The Great Texas Freeze, or simply “The Freeze” as locals call it, was the coldest winter storm in Texas since 1989.
The storm was spurred by a disrupted polar vortex, a phenomenon that occurs when the cold air and low pressure domes surrounding Earth’s poles weaken and warm air swarms into the Arctic, pushing cold air farther south than normal. All 254 Texas counties, and many more in surrounding states, were under a winter storm warning beginning February 14, 2021.
Over the course of the next week, the storm left millions of Texans without water, power, nor support from notable elected officials. At the height of the disaster, 10 million Texans were without power, my household included. Impassable roads disrupted supplies, leaving grocery store shelves bare. Over 3.8 million fish perished along the coast and thousands of cold-stunned sea turtles required rescue from cold waters. The human death toll tallied 200 lives.
The Freeze was one of the most harrowing experiences of my life and my third first-hand encounter with extreme weather amplified by climate change (more on those later).
When a work flight was delayed due to a mechanical issue, I rented a car to begin the drive to Phoenix. I love a road trip, and making the 14-hour drive was going to take less time than taking the rescheduled flight set to depart over 24 hours later. I had work to do and a coworker I was eager to meet.
But hours after hitting the road, apocalypse mode unlocked. Anyone who has driven in Texas in the rain knows Texas drivers aren’t accustomed to inclement weather, and extreme conditions amplified safety concerns for even the experienced. Cars and trucks were spun out and turned over along I-10 in an eery, end-of-days scene blanketed in dusty snow. Few gas stations were open for food or fuel, leaving already small towns feeling more deserted. When I attempted to find a room near Ozona, TX I encountered hotel lobby after hotel lobby crammed with stranded travelers. I stopped long enough to carry hot coffee from a carafe, cup by cup, to break down ice in my wheel wells before continuing on.
Back home in Austin, my husband, equipped with our cold-weather camping gear, turned off his phone, did puzzles and snuggled with our two dogs. An introvert’s dream. But he felt the brunt of our first climate encounter.
Living in the Bay Area in November 2018, we lived through a week of orange skies and visible debris floating in the air despite being nearly 200 miles away from what would be dubbed the Camp Fire. Claiming 85 lives, the fire consumed Paradise, CA that fall. My husband, who was working an outdoor job at the time, had to continue working without proper protection and became sick for weeks with phlegm, coughing and respiratory symptoms from the exposure. It was the first time “KN95” entered our vocabulary—a time when masks were practical and not political.
Nearly a year later in late October 2019, we stood in line at a local car rental stand. Moments after swiping our credit cards to reserve large passenger vans for the 2019 Napa Valley Ragnar Race, we received a wave of text messages from our group text: The race had been canceled as the Kincaid Fire approached the race course. While this climate encounter was the least stressful in terms of physical and mental health, it was our most expensive climate loss from the travel, event registration, gear and training time. A privileged outcome indeed when compared to the 78,000 acres of destruction. Fortunately, no lives were lost.
But driving down country roads on a beautiful spring day in 2021, the Fires and Freeze were far from my mind. But my life was about to change forever, bringing a new lens on the climate and nature into view. One that would compel me to play a part addressing this changing world.
My husband and I were heading to visit Woodside Ranch in Seguin, TX, about an hour south of Austin. Woodside Ranch is stewarded by Arielle Bloom and Gabe Yanez, whose experience in fitness and nutrition coaching brought them full circle on food. After cruising the country in an Airstream, the husband-and-wife duo settled in Central Texas, bought some land, and started a little thing called “regenerative agriculture” (aka “regenerative-organic” or “modern” or “climate-smart” agriculture, a series of principles and practices by many other names). On a panel at the 2024 RFSI Forum, one OG regenerative practitioner, third-generation farmer Johnny Hunter of Castor River Habitat & Farm reminded a room of investors not to fall in love with the name, but to fall in love with the philosophy. That philosophy starts with healthy soil.
If you learned about the food chain in grade school, you might remember that the nutrients from the soil go into the plants and animals and we get those nutrients when we consume them. Mufasa said it like this: “When we die, our bodies become the grass, and the antelope eat the grass. And so, we are all connected in the great Circle of Life.” Rest in power, James Earl Jones.
That matters because chances are, you ate food today. What you ate gave you the fuel to do everything else—spend time getting closer to who you want to be, survive, celebrate, mourn, feed your family. That visit to Woodside Ranch made me reflect on the kind of fuel we choose. It’s a thread I’ve been pulling for a long time.
When I turned 16, I bought my first car with money I saved scooping ice cream the two summers prior. It was a 1995 DaimlerChrysler LaBaron convertible. The driver side door didn’t open, but that was easy to ignore when the weather allowed me to open the soft top and jump in the top.
With my newfound mobility, I did another thing that summer: I cared for my grandparents at the end of their lives. My parents worked retail hours, and being the eldest and newly mobile, I took on the task of feeding, cleaning, helping with bathroom trips and moderating arguments when their minds drifted and fears of death and old regrets crept in. That last one was the hardest.
Watching them wither away, I saw the weight of decrepitude and was determined to hedge against it as long as possible. You don’t have to pull that thread very far to learn that healthy food is fuel for a healthy and vigorous life.
That fuel ain’t what it used to be: Nutrient density of fruits and vegetables has declined since the 1950s. It has to travel farther to get to our plates.
Healthy soil doesn’t just grow better food; it creates a thriving ecosystem that supports every living thing on the land, from microorganisms in the soil to insects and fungi and pollinators and birds and livestock and people. A teaspoon of soil contains more microbes than there are people on the planet.
From that first step onto Woodside Ranch, I found myself diving deep. Documentaries, audiobooks, articles—I devoured anything I could find about regenerative agriculture. It soon became more than curiosity; it became a mission:
Removing barriers for a new generation of regenerative farmers and ranchers.
Since committing to this mission, I’ve had hundreds of conversations with experts from all angles of regenerative agriculture—farmers, ranchers, growers, agronomists, landowners, soil scientists, climate educators. And through every conversation, my fire only grew stronger. There is so much to learn, to share and to build. It’s clear to me that this movement needs all of us to help accelerate a future where healthy soil underpins the food we eat and the health it empowers.
There’s so much more I’ve learned, and I’m excited to invite you into that journey. Together, we can build something that matters. Welcome to the ride. And if you aren’t ready to re-think everything you know about food, you know where to find us when you are.