We’ve lost a horse to a lightning strike once. A predator got another animal years ago. We’ve had grizzlies on this property, plenty of mountain lions, and a couple of years ago I watched a wolf lope across a field one winter afternoon. Those are the dangers you think about out here. I wasn’t watching for a flower. I’ve watched cows with calves circle up and become aggressive toward cattle dogs while being moved. The dogs were there to guide and protect the herd, but livestock does not always recognize the difference. They never circled up against the larkspur.

My wife’s family has allowed summer grazing on their Montana property for decades. The arrangement helps local ranchers rest their own land while the cattle keep the grass down ahead of fire season.

I sometimes ride out on horseback simply to watch the cattle graze. There is a peacefulness to it. Open country, healthy animals spread across the pasture, and the quiet partnership between people trying to care well for both land and livestock.

The more I’m around ranching, the more I realize how much there is to learn. I have nothing but respect for the people who carry the responsibility of feeding families, communities, and the country itself.

We’ve lost a horse to a lightning strike once. A predator got another animal years ago. We’ve had grizzlies on this property, plenty of mountain lions, and a couple of years ago I watched a wolf lope across a field one winter afternoon.

Those are the dangers you think about out here.

I wasn’t watching for a flower.

I’ve watched cows with calves circle up and become aggressive toward cattle dogs while being moved. The dogs were there to guide and protect the herd, but livestock does not always recognize the difference.

They never circled up against the larkspur.

At first glance, it looked almost harmless. They popped up all around the place, but never enough to cause concern. They even resembled wild geraniums. But one hollow evidently created conditions this year where the larkspur flourished.

A cow was found dead there on our property. Then another animal, a calf that was not part of the same pair. No signs of predators. No evidence of trauma. Just questions lying in the grass beneath a wide Montana sky.

Larkspur grows in parts of the high country here. Ranchers know about it. They watch for it. Under normal conditions, cattle usually leave it alone.

But conditions had changed.

We came through a particularly dry winter. The larkspur bloomed a little earlier than the grass. And like many weeds, it flourished faster in the dry conditions. Some of these cattle had also come from another partner’s operation and may have been fed differently beforehand. One experienced rancher mentioned possible mineral deficiencies that can alter grazing behavior. Add sparse grass and a concentrated patch of larkspur growing thick in a hollow, and perhaps a collision of conditions occurred that no one fully understood until afterward.

We moved the cattle out quickly, but the damage had already been done.

The best understanding we have right now is that the animals likely sampled the larkspur, then returned to it.

I was astonished when I learned that.

The cattle were hungry for something. A deficiency existed somewhere beneath the surface, and the larkspur seemed to answer it.

Then appetite took over.

I could not stop thinking about that.

Most ruin does not arrive all at once. Conditions accumulate quietly. Before long, harmful things begin to resemble nourishment.

Not all collapse arrives through rebellion. Some arrives through depletion.

No one is interested in assigning blame for what happened. Quite the opposite. Conscientious people were involved at every level. The ranchers immediately began retracing conditions, examining feed, weather, grazing patterns, terrain, and possible deficiencies. After moving the cattle and spraying the larkspur, the crisis appears to have passed, though not without cost.

That is what stewardship looks like.

Not omniscience.

Responsibility.

One rancher told me something I have continued thinking about. If a predator kills livestock, at least there is clarity. If lightning strikes, painful as it may be, there is still an explanation. But uncertainty presses heavily on people responsible for living things because they immediately begin asking whether something was missed and whether it could happen again.

That burden is not unique to ranchers.

Caregivers understand it.

Parents understand it.

Pastors understand it.

Anyone entrusted with vulnerable lives eventually understands it.

Still, stewardship responds.

And perhaps that is part of the lesson too.

I knew to watch for predators.

Most of us do.

But some things do their greatest harm by presenting themselves as nourishment.

Peter Rosenberger hosts the nationally syndicated radio program, Hope for the Caregiver. He’s published four books, and his most recent is A MINUTE FOR CAREGIVERS – When Every Day Feels Like Monday. PeterRosenberger.com | @hope4caregiver