Siren on the Range

By Anne Wilson

A solo woman ranching in conservative southeastern Utah. In charge of her own outfit. The image alone is the visual equivalent of a sound bite - it sticks in people's heads and fascinates them. Even better that she lives in what many people still consider the middle of nowhere, with her electricity provided by diesel generator, and telephone supplied by variable cellular reception in one - and only one - spot. A hands-on manager of her livestock, land, cowboys, and farm hands; she is most pleased when she has dirt under her fingernails and grime around her neck. At the same time her exquisite dress hats are custom-made at O'Farrells in Durango.

Heidi Redd is not a typical rancher. There is an indisputable allure to Heidi. In the last ten years, since her solo tenure at the Dugout, this cowgirl has captured the attention and hearts of many. She seems larger than life, and somewhat of a legend in her own time. She rides and ropes, brands and castrates. You name it, she does it; her reputation, along with rumours, precedes her. That she dances with her top off at her legendary Oktoberfest and Easter parties - fêtes that last for days at a time. That she had to sell her silver Jaguar because her speeding tickets were too numerous and too costly. That she exists on just 4 hours of sleep each night. That her 501's are a size 26 and have been for 40 years. I did not confirm the legitimacy of any of these tales, but knowing Heidi, it wouldn't surprise me if they were all true.

My first memory of Heidi is one formed as young girl, stopping by the Dugout Ranch with my family on our way to or from Canyonlands. A small, young woman, blonde hair blowing in the wind, tan skin dappled by the shade of overhanging cottonwoods, with two young boys tumbling around her feet. Mother, wife, cowgirl living in the middle of nowhere, when it really was almost the middle of nowhere. Perhaps between my youth and hers, mistaking her as a bit delicate, perhaps even fragile, is understandable. Twenty-five years later, she remains a small woman with blonde hair blowing in the wind, fitting well within the skin that continues to be dappled by the shade of the same cottonwoods. The strong character lines in her face that I suspect have been there all along are now revealed, preventing the ignorant from imagining even the illusion of fragility in this woman.

Her chosen lifestyle puts her smack dab in the heart of the red rock, exposed to the elements in all their glorious extremes-- blazing heat and blowing dust, freezing cold and mucilaginous mud. Despite the fact that it is 1998 and there is nothing a woman can't do (and yes, we probably can pee standing up, though the result may not be quite as effective), I think a part of the allure is the idea of a woman engaged in what continues to be an unconventional "profession".

The notion of a wisp of a woman slugging it out in the boonies, holding her own or besting the boys defies a deluded sense of order that continues to affect our world. Surprisingly, from what I have seen, she enchants most males instead of threatening them. A siren on the range, although she does not endeavor to achieve that effect. Don't misunderstand me by presuming Heidi is an ardent feminist out to thumb her nose and prove herself to all of southern Utah (and further outlying regions). Feminist is not a ready adjective to apply to Heidi. For instance, she is a cowgirl who loves to cowboy, and her gender usage follows no obvious pattern. She makes no apologies for it either. Through her life she has simply pursued what brought her great joy and made her heart pound exuberantly. Living in the land of her dreams. Cowboying. Raising two sons. Not necessarily in that order. What is it about this woman, born of Mormon heritage in Ogden, Utah in the 40's that enables her to so completely pursue her unconventional dreams?

I've been acquainted with Heidi nearly all my life, but I have not known her well. She's obviously a strong woman today, but in interviewing her, I came to the conclusion that she was born with that powerful strength. Additionally, it was enhanced by her family - most significantly her father. Strong character seems to run through their veins - her German-Danish grandparents pulled handcarts to Utah; her mother (in her late 70's), is an international ballroom dancer. Though born in Ogden, Heidi grew up in Blackfoot, Idaho where her father had a business custom-building truck beds and other equipment. He also financed farmers who lacked the resources to put in their crops in the spring, getting his return at harvest.

The stories she related to me speak of a young girl who vigorously embraced life - asking for an aqualung for Christmas, stopping by the sale yards on the way home from school to try and ride the horses while no one was looking, managing the local swimming pool when her age was barely charted in the double digits. At age 10, she arrived home one day after buying her first horse at the same sale yards for the awesome sum of $5.00. . . unbeknownst to her parents. Heidi falls in the middle of the family with two older brothers and a much younger sister. Her father's expectations of her matched those of his sons, as did his support of her every idea and desire. She received the aqualung she so fancied, though the use of it required family trips to Pocatello to find a motel with a pool (no small feat in those days). In several years, the rest of the family had jumped on the band wagon with their own diving gear and began exploring the depths of nearby lakes on vacations.

The events that commenced Heidi's adult life began when she attended Utah State University. She majored in secondary education, and she met Robert Redd, who grew up in San Juan County; the son of pioneer cattlemen Charles Redd. Robert introduced her to the canyon country of southeastern Utah. Heidi returned from a year spent backpacking from Northern Europe to Africa to marry Robert. In love with the Dugout Ranch, which Charlie purchased from the Scorup-Somerville Indian Creek Cattle Company in the early 60's, Robert and Heidi traded it for Robert's share in the family partnership and moved there in 1967.

As newlyweds, their first home was the back of a cook shed. The tiny space needed little upkeep and enabled Heidi to cowboy to her hearts content for several years before giving birth to their eldest son, Matt. Even after Matt was born, and following the subsequent arrival of Adam four years later, Heidi and Robert would pack the boys up and take them along wherever they were headed on the range. Robert had some experience, but Heidi was a greenhorn and they began self-educating themselves about farming and running cattle. They enhanced their trial and error hands-on experience with seminars and classes.

My family legend has it that my father used to crow about the fact that Heidi was first in her class seminar on artificial insemination. You'd have to know Bates Wilson to know that his comments about her being the "perfect height" to do the job well were in no way derogatory or misogynistic. Over the years, Robert and Heidi worked the land and built up their herd - both in number and in quality. A time they have referred to as their Camelot, they experienced drought years and bitter winters, contrasted with wet springs and abundant harvests.

"It all evens out over time," Heidi says. When their marriage ended in 1989 Heidi stayed at the Dugout, purchasing Robert's share of the herd, but not his share of the land, and began her solo tenure that has captivated so many. She is a cowgirl of admirable accomplishment, and she has done whatever was required to do what she loved. However, her interests are not limited to the pigmentation patterns of her Hereford/Red Angus cattle. She is a woman who would rather stay in line camp, but whose bookshelves are filled with intently chosen tomes whose covers have all been cracked. The range is impressive, from Stephen Jay Gould to Dostoievsky, to some book called Sun and Moon Signs, including much in between. There is a Remington bronze or two in the living room in her inviting and comfortable home. She has hosted small artists retreats over the years and enjoys painting. Her most recent vacation entailed a trip to Vietnam as part of Innerplast, where she played administrator to a medical team traveling to remote villages to correct cleft palates and harelips on youngsters.

More significant than these signs of erudition is the fact that this cattleman is curiously flexible and open-minded, despite going after what she wants, and being opinionated and feisty. She can, and will, discuss grazing regime alternatives. She sells down her herd when the range is not in good condition. She thinks losing a few calves to mountain lions each year is part of the rent she pays for the privilege of living in this country. She is reverent and respective of the archeological sites in the area and knowledgeable about the people who inhabited them. Heidi speaks of cooperation and compromise, of what is good for the land, in a time when the management of public lands is controversial and the camps are polarized. The old guard maintains that the ways of the west are being lost, that public lands are being locked up. The designated "environmentalists" are disenchanted with the uses of the land that have been called a "series of rapes on the West" by Wallace Stegner, one of Heidi's favorite authors.

She is well-spoken about her beliefs and she is polished, but her passion belies any feeling that her words are simply rhetorical. Lest you think she is a closet "tree hugger", read on. During her 31 years in red rock country, Heidi has seen a change in the visitors who come by this place that is the gateway to Canyonlands National Park. She has as hard a time with some of them as she does folk who use the land irresponsibly in the more traditional exhaustive ways. In the early years, days would go by without a car kicking up dust on the dirt road that led to Canyonlands. When they did, tourists would often stop by the ranch to chat or have a drink, and to share delight in the desert. Today, the road is paved and visitation is skyrocketing.

"They don't come for solace anymore," Heidi says. "They are as frantic in their recreation as they are in their jobs." She concurred when I remarked that the land seems like a giant outdoor gym to many "soft" recreationists - mountain bikers, climbers, etc. - who most probably would self-classify as environmentalists. "It's something additional for them to conquer," she agreed.

Perhaps this independent thinking that mixes progressiveness with the conservative cowboy, and tempers the ardent environmentalist with caution adds to the intrigue of Heidi. She just doesn't, just won't, fit into a tidy identifying box. The most recent event to enhance the appeal of Heidi are the steps she, along with Robert and their sons, took in the last years to protect the Dugout Ranch in perpetuity. Faced with a difficult personal situation, and development, the Redds worked with The Nature Conservancy to preserve the ranch. The Conservancy purchased the property - which contains rare plants and natural communities - and leased it back to Heidi, as the operator, for a minimum of ten years. She retains a life estate on her home and 10 acres, which will revert to the Conservancy upon her death.

Heidi is at peace now, she says, knowing that there will never be a golf course, convenience store, or high-end condominium complex at this glorious site. She considers her role in the protection her greatest accomplishment. The essence of Heidi is that there is no other place on earth that she would rather be and perhaps that is a final piece in the puzzle. The knowledge (mixed with a tiny bit of envy) that here is one woman who, from the first time she set her eyes on Indian Creek, felt completely and totally at home. She irrevocably found her place, she is passionate about what she does there, and she has found a way to die there. How many others can make the same claim?