 This week, I visited Flying B Bar Ranch and was struck by a deep sense of generosity and abundance—not only from the land itself but from Margaret and Brad, the ranch’s dedicated stewards. They raise cattle here, but more than that, they nurture a relationship with the land that feels respectful and reciprocal. Brad showed me a powerful example of this when we toured the edge of the property. On one side, his land was lush and diverse, alive with young hay shoots and the scent of healthy soil. On the other, his neighbor’s land looked more depleted and used up. Brad’s fields had already produced thick, green growth of new hay, and large rolls from the first hay cutting lined the property edge. The difference was striking. As we wandered across the ranch searching for the herd—content and grazing near the river—I could feel it: the land was thriving, and so were its animals. That sense of joy was contagious. I was thriving, too. Later, we visited the area where a tornado had touched down back in May. It was sobering. Hundreds of mature cottonwood trees were twisted and felled. The windmill was destroyed. The tornado turned just in time to spare the farmhouse. It was a reminder—raw and real—that nature must be respected. It gives, and it takes. Through Dust to Apples, I’m learning that this cycle—of care, respect, and humility in the face of nature—is the foundation of abundance. The land, and those who tend it well, continue to teach me this simple truth.
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I'm reading an incredible book about the Dust Bowl called The Worst Hard Time. It’s given me a much deeper understanding of the causes behind those devastating dust storms. One of the biggest factors was the widespread destruction of native grasslands. These grasses made up a complex, resilient ecosystem that naturally held moisture in the soil. But when settlers arrived and began plowing the land to plant wheat, they disrupted that delicate balance, leaving the soil exposed and vulnerable. The situation worsened when many of those farmers later abandoned their land, leaving it unprotected against wind and drought. I don’t blame them—they were doing what they could to build a life for themselves and their families. On this Fourth of July, I find myself feeling both grateful for the beauty of this country and my own ancestors, and deeply aware of how often we’ve neglected the very land that sustains us. Through my project, Dust to Apples: Colors of the Eastern Plains, I hope to inspire a renewed connection to the land—and encourage a deeper understanding of what it means to be responsible global citizens. Happy Independence Day.  |
Melody EppersonA profoundly curious artist exploring what it means to be human through art and life. Archives
January 2026
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