Forsyth Fire impacting lives of ranchers in southern Utah
Pine Valley is a tight-knit ranch town where generations of families have made a living off of the land. But as the Forsyth Fire burns through the area, many ranchers are facing both a difficult and emotional challenge.
Larry Gardiner, who lives in Pine Valley, says this isn't just where they work. It's where they live, where they raise their cattle and where they've built their entire lives, spending all 76 of their years there.
Forsyth Fire burning over 7,000 acres, still at 0% containment
He and his neighbors have been working nonstop either protecting cattle where they are or moving them from Pine Valley to Grass Valley, only to have the fire force them to move again.
'It's a hardship,' Gardiner said. 'People were coming in yesterday, day before yesterday, getting their cattle here and moving them to Grass Valley. Then the fire went to Grass Valley, so they'll move them and keep them out of harm's way.'
The Utah Department of Agriculture said in a statement to ABC4 that there is an Emergency Disaster Relief Loan Program available for those who have been impacted. They are also coordinating with the Division of Wildlife Resources to help producers find grazing land. They say there isn't much land available in southern Utah but are reaching out to affected ranchers in the area with updates.
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Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
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Yahoo
4 days ago
- Yahoo
Forsyth Fire impacting lives of ranchers in southern Utah
PINE VALLEY, Utah () — The Forsyth Fire hasn't just threatened homes, it's also disrupted a way of life that families have known for decades. Pine Valley is a tight-knit ranch town where generations of families have made a living off of the land. But as the Forsyth Fire burns through the area, many ranchers are facing both a difficult and emotional challenge. Larry Gardiner, who lives in Pine Valley, says this isn't just where they work. It's where they live, where they raise their cattle and where they've built their entire lives, spending all 76 of their years there. Forsyth Fire burning over 7,000 acres, still at 0% containment He and his neighbors have been working nonstop either protecting cattle where they are or moving them from Pine Valley to Grass Valley, only to have the fire force them to move again. 'It's a hardship,' Gardiner said. 'People were coming in yesterday, day before yesterday, getting their cattle here and moving them to Grass Valley. Then the fire went to Grass Valley, so they'll move them and keep them out of harm's way.' The Utah Department of Agriculture said in a statement to ABC4 that there is an Emergency Disaster Relief Loan Program available for those who have been impacted. They are also coordinating with the Division of Wildlife Resources to help producers find grazing land. They say there isn't much land available in southern Utah but are reaching out to affected ranchers in the area with updates. Diego Luna named to MLS All-Star team again Republicans report progress, but no deal on critical SALT issue Fireworks Safety: Celebrate the holidays safely Navajo Nation man charged for shooting death of man in Southern Utah John Collins exercises $26.5 option with Jazz Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
USA Today
6 days ago
- USA Today
A farm accident almost killed him. US farmers sacrifice more than you know.
This farm family's resilience shows the strength of agriculture – and what we stand to lose. It happened so quick – the tractor's hose snagged Nathan Brickl's ankle and the next thing he knew it was yanking him down the bank. He slid 30 feet, then slammed against the roadside. When he stopped he saw that he was stuck, one leg in a culvert and the other twisted behind his back with his work shoe up near his head. He looked to the sky. It was overcast, and about to snow. 'Well, two ways this is gonna go down,' he told the Lord as he said a prayer. 'Either you take me now … or you give me the strength to get through this.' As he says now, 'He did the latter.' In fact, Brickl, 48, and his family found the kind of resilience born not just of the hard work so common in Wisconsin farm country, but also of the emotional journey and community support it takes to truly overcome tragedy. Their story reminds us during June's National Dairy Month of the legacy of resilience we have in farm families descending from Wisconsin's Dairyland tradition – and all we have to lose if American family farms don't survive. Opinion: Trump's tariffs can save America's family farms like mine – if he gets it right Humor and resilience after horrific farm accident It was a regular morning. Brickl was working at his side job on another farm in late fall of 2019, helping to roll up the large hose that carried pig manure. He and the man driving the tractor pulling the hose were the only ones around when the hose shifted and caught Brickl's ankle. He spent 45 minutes jammed in the culvert, praying, thinking about not wanting his wife to see him die, wondering what life would be like if he made it. When the crew arrived, they had to cut him out of the culvert before taking him by ambulance and helicopter to Madison. All along the way, he wrestled with fears and searched for strength. He drew on his matter-of-fact sense of humor ‒ and maybe the heavy dose of pain medication. When they were five minutes out from Madison, a first responder asked if he needed anything. 'Yeah, can we circle the Capitol before we land at the hospital?' Meanwhile, his wife, Brigitta, was trying to be there not only for her husband but also their farm in rural Troy township. She had left work, making stops to arrange for the care of their then-5-year-old daughter, and at the office of Nathan's job, where she got a moment to speak to him by phone. All along the way, her mind had been racing, "What am I gonna do as a widow? How am I gonna break this to my child?" When she finally heard his voice, she took a breath and braced herself for the work to come. Fighting for the farm with help from friends, family and strangers Brickl would live, but it would be a long road back to the farm. The doctors amputated his right leg and put rods in his left foot. While he held on in the hospital, his wife fought for all they had. Opinion: Democrats and Republicans have failed American farmers − and your dinner table There was speaking up for her husband and tracking his care, and then there was the farm. There were cash crops standing in the field, in need of harvesting if they – and the income they represented – were to be saved, along with cattle requiring daily work. The community answered the call. There were the trusted friends and family who helped with the farm work, came to the hospital, cared for their child. There were the total strangers who donated money. The emotional work remained. At one point, Brickl confessed the fear that his wife might be better off leaving him. 'You didn't sign up for this.' 'Do not worry about our relationship,' Brigitta said. 'I'm not going anywhere.' There were other, darker moments, when he contemplated ending it all – the very real risk of suicide that comes all too often when farmers wonder if they'll be able to go on. He got through them talking with his wife, and thinking of his little girl. His first steps were hard fought. It took months of therapy and work before he finally got up on his prosthetic leg. And it wasn't until he was back at the farm, cutting hay on the back of a tractor, that it felt real. It's been years more of work and modifications to the farm – with help from loved ones and grant funding – but they're still farming. Nathan and Brigitta know it also took a deeper strength they found, in those quiet moments of care. 'You can't give up on each other,' Brigitta said. 'And you can't give up on yourself.' Brian Reisinger is a writer who grew up on a family farm in Sauk County, Wisconsin. He contributes columns and videos for the Ideas Lab at the Journal Sentinel, where this column originally appeared. He is the author of "Land Rich, Cash Poor: My Family's Hope and the Untold History of the Disappearing American Farmer." He splits his time between Sacramento, California – America's 'farm-to-fork capital,' near his wife's family – and the family farm in Wisconsin. Reach him at
Yahoo
6 days ago
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Buffalo Soldiers in Utah finally getting their due
'There's a mountain of history about these guys that had never been really tapped into, and we realized it was much broader than we thought — kind of like an iceberg.' That's Ian Wright talking. Ian's the manager of Utah Cultural Site Stewardship, a state program tasked with 'protecting and safeguarding Utah's archaeological and cultural heritage.' In simpler terms, they're in charge of preserving Utah's history. The office has been operational for a little over four years, during which time Ian and his second-in-command, Lexi Little, have discovered an interesting pattern that repeats itself: When they start researching one bit of history, they often discover another bit that's even more interesting. Such is the case with the Buffalo Soldiers — two U.S. Army all-African American regiments that were stationed in Utah between 1878 and 1901. Thanks to Utah Cultural Site Stewardship, these men who played an important role in Utah history are getting a chance to take a bow more than a century later. For our interview with Ian and Lexi, we're sitting in the Fort Douglas Military Museum on the University of Utah campus. Today, the museum's buildings house an impressive array of military artifacts and information dating from the current day all the way back to 1862, when Fort Douglas was first created as a federal military garrison. But back in the late 1800s, these were the barracks where the Buffalo Soldiers lived. The story of the Buffalo Soldiers — so nicknamed by Native Americans because their coarse hair reminded them of a buffalo's — is one of those cringe-worthy parts of American history, hearkening back to a time when even the Union triumph in the Civil War failed to put the brakes on racial bigotry. In 1866, a year after the end of the war, the federal government decreed that the U.S. Army would be segregated (and would remain so for nearly 100 years), designating that four regiments (out of 60) were to be composed of all-Black troops. Two of these regiments, the 9th Cavalry and the 24th Infantry, would be posted to Utah between 1878 and 1901, sent to keep the peace, guard the mail, protect the telegraph lines and keep the Native Americans in check. The 9th Cavalry helped establish Fort Duchesne in Uintah County, while the 24th Infantry was billeted, as mentioned above, in the barracks at Fort Douglas on the east side of Salt Lake City. The ironies and incongruities of this arrangement were not a few: Black troops, already marginalized, sent to help protect and live in peace in a place populated primarily by members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — a people who A) had their own issues about being marginalized after being forced out of their homes in Illinois without much federal support and being invaded by the U.S. Army not long after they fled to Utah, and B) whose church restricted some of its membership rights from Black people. Not to mention the fact that Fort Douglas, home of the 24th, was named after Stephen A. Douglas, Abraham Lincoln's debate rival who had been a slave owner himself. But here's the part that brings a light to the eyes of Ian Wright and Lexi Little as they talk about the Buffalo Soldiers era in Utah history: The interaction seems to have worked out just fine. There were no race riots, no protests of any historical consequence. The role the Buffalo Soldiers played was, by all accounts, a positive one. The 9th Cavalry not only helped calm tensions with the Ute Tribe in northeastern Utah, but also (although this hasn't been entirely substantiated) helped guard the train depot in Price from a rumored heist by Butch Cassidy and the Robbers Roost gang. The 24th Infantry gained fame by answering the government's call to briefly leave Fort Douglas and fight in the Spanish-American War in Cuba in 1898 — charging up San Juan Hill with Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders. When the troops returned to Salt Lake City, they marched up Main Street in a parade in their honor. 'Not a lot of people know the Buffalo Soldiers were here,' says Ian, 'but they were everywhere. Every time we did research, they popped up.' Adds Lexi, 'It is a vital story that needs to be told.' The Utah Cultural Site Stewardship program has established a Heritage Trail that maps all the areas in Utah where the Buffalo Soldiers made their mark (it's 475 miles in length), and a website — — that details the history in great depth. There is also an audiobook available at narrated by former KSL Radio talk show host Doug Wright (Ian's dad). In short, if any of those Buffalo Soldiers were still around, they would no doubt be gobsmacked by all the attention. 'Our job is to safeguard all 13,000 years of Utah history,' says Ian. 'This was a gap, and we filled it.'
