Daily Darwin

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Darwin 12 29 22

Cowboy State Daily is Wyoming’s largest newspaper with Wyoming’s most experienced journalists. 

<title>Daily Darwin: Thursday, December 29, 2022 | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Not likely a positive outcome here...

Daily Darwin: Thursday, December 29, 2022

Heinz mark

Mark Heinz

Wildlife

Agriculture

With countless miles of rusty old fences threatening pronghorn and other wildlife across Wyoming, conservationists say devices called wire winders are giving them an edge.

A wire winder mounted on a skid steer can roll up a half-mile of old fence in about two minutes, a task that would probably take a half-day to accomplish by hand, said John Graves, director of conservation and resource management for the Sheridan Community Land Trust.

“It’s pretty darn cool,” he told Cowboy State Daily. “To sit there in the cab of the skid steer and watch that wire come in, it’s great.”

The importance of removing old barbed wire and woven-wire fences can’t be overstated, said Steve Martin, Wyoming director of the North American Pronghorn Association.

Old fences can block pronghorn from reaching thousands of acres of habitat in the Red Desert and other places in Wyoming and Montana, Martin told Cowboy State Daily.

There are countless miles of fence that must be removed and replaced with wildlife-friendly fencing, he said.

Bringing wire winders to bear “is a game changer” in that daunting task, Martin said.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Short Work By Sheridan"}]

The Sheridan Community Land Trust manages the Big Goose Natural Area, just west of the city.

The area includes an off-leash dog-walking trail for residents and cattle ranching, as well as ideal habitat for pronghorn and other wildlife, Graves said.

The problem was that about a mile and a half of old barbed wire and woven-wire fence was making it nearly impossible for pronghorn to get in, he said.

The land trust had a contractor, Black Fern Fencing, lined up to replace it with wildlife-friendly fence in early July. But the old fence had to come out first.

“Rolling up all of that wire by hand takes hours and hours, and it will get you all cut and scraped up,” Graves said.

The trust had a skid steer. And the Pronghorn Foundation and Bowhunters of Wyoming donated about $8,000 to buy a wire winder to mount on it.

Volunteers removed the wire from fence posts and then pulled the posts.

That cleared the way for Graves to come in with the wire winder.

“That machine just sucks up all the old barbed wire and woven wire into neat rolls that can be taken to the recycling center,” Graves said.

The Black Fern crew came in right behind him, installing the new fencing.

It includes a smooth bottom wire, which allows pronghorn to crawl under without getting snagged on rusty barbed wire.

“We’ve already seen increased pronghorn activity on the property,” Graves said.

The Pronghorn Foundation hopes to soon acquire a skid steer with a wire winder to start going after other old fences in Wyoming and Montana, Martin said.

Old fencing hampers wildlife movements across the West, and removing and replacing all of it will be a gargantuan task, he said.

“Unlike deer and elk, pronghorn will rarely, if ever, jump a fence. They want to crawl under it,” he said.

So woven-wire fences are particularly hard on pronghorn, he said, because there’s no way to get underneath them.

Researchers from the University of Wyoming concluded that fences trapped pronghorn in areas of the Red Desert during the harsh 2022-2023 winter, and many of them died.

Recent upgrades to wildlife-friendly fences in the Red Desert opened up about 10,000 acres to pronghorn, Martin said.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Never-Ending Job"}]

The task of removing and replacing old fences won’t be finished anytime soon, Martin said.

But bringing wire winders will expedite the process.

“If you’ve ever been out there, wrestling with that old wire by hand, you know how many hours that can take,” he said.

Removing old fence can be done mostly with volunteer labor, and wire winders can spare volunteers the nastiest part of the job, he said.

The next hurdle is coming up with the funding for new fencing, which allows wildlife to crawl under or jump over it but still keeps cattle safely contained, Martin said.

“That new fence can cost $25,000 per mile,” he said.

Fence winder

<title>How "Wire Winders" Roll Up Old Fencing Quickly, Keep Wildlife From Getting Tangled | Cowboy State Daily</title>

With countless miles of rusty old fences threatening wildlife across Wyoming, conservationists say devices called wire winders are a game changer. They can roll up a half-mile of old fence in two minutes, a task that would take a half-day by hand,

How "Wire Winders" Roll Up Old Fencing Quickly, Keep Wildlife From Getting Tangled

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's business and tourism reporter, Renée Jean

Renée Jean

Business

The cornerstone of a western fashion empire rising in Saratoga wasn’t a bright idea. It was a problem — a whole series of them, in fact, starting with a beautiful belt that wouldn’t fit.

From a 150-square-foot spare bedroom to two warehouses and a patented D-ring system, Dixie and Kirby Berger have built their company, Pure Dixie, into an international western fashion brand and a favorite at some of the largest rodeos in the nation, from Cheyenne Frontier Days to the National Finals Rodeo.

They did it not by avoiding mistakes but by stubbornly working through them, one bad belt and one busted box of inventory at a time. 

The bad belt was a beaded strip that caught Dixie’s eye during Cheyenne Frontier Days a decade ago.

It took her hours and hours to make the belt once she got it home, sewing each little bead into place one by one.  

When she was finished, though, it was too long for a traditional belt buckle. It wasn’t going to fit.

“I gave it to my husband and I said, ‘I made this and I can’t take it apart. It’s all beaded,’” she told Cowboy State Daily. “You need to make this fit me because if I put a traditional buckle on, it just doesn’t fit.’”

Her husband, an expert leatherworker, had been helping his wife make embroidered leather belts they were selling in little totes at local rodeos. So he took her project back to his workshop to see what he could figure out. 

The system he came up with was to place a metal ring on one end of the belt that he could fit into slots along the other end. That made the belt not only shorter, but more adjustable. 

That was the birth of the couple’s patented D-ring system, which has made their business, Pure Dixie, an international best-seller, as well as frequent vendors at choosy venues like the National Finals Rodeo and Cheyenne Frontier Days.

“That system completely changed how we thought of our products,” Berger said. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"The problems didn’t end there, though. "}]

Berger’s mom was always losing her cell phone, so one day she asked Dixie if she could make a purse for her.

“That’s how the crossbody minis came to attach to the front of the bag,” Berger said. “And so, through like a process of things that have happened in our life, the ideas kind of came full circle, almost in a moment.” 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Belt Everyone Wanted"}]

Long before any of that, though, the whole operation fit inside a single 150-square-foot bedroom. That solved a different problem for Dixie.

“I was a stay-at-home mom with three kids,” she said. “And I was not willing to give that up. So I set up my spare bedroom with an embroidery business, and then my husband had leather stuff upstairs with all the sewing machines.”

By day, Dixie watched her children and squeezed in embroidery orders whenever time allowed while her husband worked saddles and tack and chaps on his family’s ranch. 

At night, after their kids went to bed, the two combined their skills to make pieces, first just for each other and then for a growing list of customers. One of those first pieces was an embroidered leather belt with Wyoming’s bucking horse logo on it — a Christmas present for Dixie. 

Dixie was proud of that belt, so it went with her to lots of places — including ranch rodeos where other girls wanted to know where she’d gotten such a cool belt. 

When they learned she and her husband made it, Dixie found herself taking orders for more belts. Lots of them.

That led to the couple bringing some of their belts to ranch rodeos in totes and selling them on the spot. 

“So it wasn’t really on purpose,” Berger said with a chuckle. “It was definitely something that just came to us, and definitely something we’ve enjoyed pursuing.”

One day not long after Kirby came up with the D-ring system, the couple was showing off their belts to someone named Diana.

As Diana picked up each belt to inspect, she would sling the one she’d just looked at over one shoulder to look at another. 

The belts looked so nice draped over her shoulder it gave Dixie instant inspiration. 

She realized the belts could double as purse straps, creating a more customizable purse using the D-ring system her husband designed.

She feels those moments — the too-long belt,  her mom’s missing phone, and even a customer casually slinging belts over her shoulder — all stacked together into the core of Pure Dixie’s patented mix-and-match system. 

“That belt has become a pretty iconic piece for the business,” Dixie said. 

Over time Berger has continued to add mix-and-match ideas, including patches that snap on and off. Cowboy hats, ball caps, and crossbody-minis all have a set of four snaps for patches. Feel like a bucking horse one day, and a bow the next? No problem, there’s a patch for every mood and every occasion.

“I love the aspect where every girl kind of gets to design her piece, and so girls aren’t walking out of our booth looking the same,” Berger said.  “We have so many options that everybody gets to pick their unique style.” 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Two Warehouses Later"}]

Today, the business no longer fits in a tiny bedroom. The couple has built two warehouses and hired four to five full-time employees to help them scale up the business.

“We have a custom tannery that tans all of our leather,” Dixie said. “And we do have manufacturing now in Mexico that helps us, and then we do all the finish work in Saratoga.”

Learning to navigate mass manufacturing with a company in Mexico, though, was its own steep learning curve.

“So my very first box ... I spent all of my money on this box of inventory from Mexico to have my designs produced by someone just to test it and see,” she said. “So I spent all my money and every single piece came back incorrect.”

This wasn’t just a bad order. It was literally every dollar she had, tied up in a box of unusable bags. 

“I was pretty sad about it and just frustrated and pretty deflated,” she said. “And my husband said to me, ‘This is the moment where someone else gave up.’ He’s like, ‘If you can figure it out and push through it, you just went past someone who would have given up.’”

Instead of sending back the box or walking away, they hauled out every bag and fixed them one by one, leaning on the leather-working skills they’d honed since the spare-bedroom days. 

“That was probably 2016, 2017 that that happened,” she said. “So we took every single bag out. We fixed them all, since we know how to do leather work and we can fix about whatever.”

That box has rewired how Dixie thinks about every problem in her business. If she can get through it, she’s always stepping past the point where someone else would have quit.

“It’s like, if I can get through this issue, through this tariff issue, through this leather-production issue, through this logistics issue, you know, that’s where someone else gave up,” she said. “And I just don’t want to, we’ve decided we don’t want to give up. We just want to do the very best we can and keep pursuing the dream.”

For this couple, that dream looks like a world where they are building an international business together and the children are part of that effort in a tiny Wyoming town where they can remain close to family.

“We failed a lot and we did some things right,” Dixie said. “And we just kept at it. It was a step-by-step process.”

Pure Dixie 20260724 155609 8 1 26

<title>How A Saratoga Woman Built An International Western Fashion Brand From Her Bedroom | Cowboy State Daily</title>

A Saratoga woman was determined to remain a stay-at-home mom, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t build an international Western fashion brand. Her business Pure Dixie started in a 150-square-foot bedroom, now takes up two warehouses and continues to grow.

How A Saratoga Woman Built An International Western Fashion Brand From Her Bedroom

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's Feature Reporter, Andrew Rossi.

Andrew Rossi

Wyoming Life

Lander resident John Applegate built a wooden bench and placed it along the popular Tomato Loop hiking trail during the COVID pandemic in 2020. Shortly after he put it there, it was stolen.

Applegate built another wooden bench and placed it in the same spot. 

The only logical solution was to take the time and effort to build a third bench and place it at the same spot where the others were stolen.

“Third time’s the charm,” Applegate told Cowboy State Daily. “I used a bunch of recycled wood, including old cabinets from the Lander Medical Clinic, and engraved everything on the back myself.”

Applegate has done this on his own time, with his own resources. He’s not bitter about the two stolen benches, but he hopes this one stays for the benefit of everyone in Lander.

“I want to give people the ability to enjoy the scenes around Lander that I've always enjoyed growing up here,” he said.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Right Spot"}]

A few years ago, Applegate wanted to lose weight. One of the ways he shed some pounds was by repeatedly hiking the Tomato Loop Trail with his wife.

“I lost 100 pounds, and hiking that trail was part of it,” he said. “Before I lost the weight, I’d get halfway up this one hill and just about die.  There was a little bench at the top, overlooking the Lander Llama Company, and I always took my break on that bench and enjoyed the view.”

That’s what inspired Applegate to build a bench for the hilltop. He knew people would savor the opportunity to sit and absorb the view.

“It’s been a favorite spot of mine, and I always enjoy the view,” he said. “I think it offers iconic views of Lander.”

Applegate sells repurposed pallet wood and laser art through his business, Four Finger Wood Art. His finished bench was engraved with the coordinates of Lander and the iconic Steamboat emblem, and took around 40 hours to complete.

[{"type":"text","text":"Shortly after he put the bench on the Tomato Loop, it was stolen. "}]

“People told me how much they enjoyed the first bench, so I made another one,” he said. “I put a bit more design into it, more of the artistic side of what I do, and made it sturdier to accommodate more people.”

Applegate placed the second bench in the same spot in August 2025. It was gone before the end of September.

“I was driving down Mortimer Lane, which I like to do, and saw that it was missing,” he said. “I couldn’t believe it. Who would do that?”

Applegate hoped the culprits would bring the bench back so everyone could enjoy it. They never did.

“If someone likes my work so much, I’ll make them their own bench,” he said. “I’d probably make it at no cost, because that’s what I do. This bench was meant to be a quiet gift to the community. A place to pause, breathe, and enjoy the scenery. Sadly, someone took it.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"One More Time"}]

Even after his second bench was stolen, Applegate thought he'd make another one. He placed it on the same hilltop, overlooking the Lander Llama Company, on June 26.

“Built by hand, shaped by a little stubbornness, and made to belong right where it stands,” he said.

Rather than using any templates, each wooden bench was custom-designed. Applegate said he let the process and materials dictate the designs.

“I like to repurpose stuff,” he said. “It’s a challenge for me, and I like the challenge. That’s one of the reasons why I keep making them. I never make the same bench twice. They’re all different.”

Applegate had a bit more fun with this one. Once it was ready for engraving, he decided to shake things up and pay homage to the residents at the base of the hill.

“I put the Bucking Horse on the other benches, but I kept thinking about the little llamas and decided to incorporate them instead,” he said. “It turned out pretty good.”

The new bench is flanked by engravings of llamas on either side. Lander’s coordinates are still engraved on the new bench, so everyone knows where they are.

[{"type":"text","text":"“It turned out pretty good,” he said."}]

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Think Thrice, Thieves"}]

The new bench is the fourth wooden bench Applegate has made and gifted to the Lander community. Another bench he placed in town was also stolen shortly after he finished it.

“That one was on Buena Vista Drive before it vanished,” he said. “Someone replaced it with a marble bench, so nobody’s stealing that.”

That said, Applegate has taken certain precautions with his latest project. After three benches and three thefts, he’s built in some security.

“I won't give a whole lot of detail, but if it does go missing, I'll know when and where it goes,” he said.

The owners of the Lander Llama Company, Scott and Therese Woodruff, loved the benches and were furious when they were stolen. They’ve elected to add their own anti-theft security.

“They asked if I didn't mind if they made an anchor or something to secure it, because they enjoy that bench just as much as everybody else,” Applegate said. “I told them I’m perfectly fine with that.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"A Gift For All"}]

Now that the Tomato Loop hilltop has a spot to sit, Applegate can pursue new benches and vistas. He’s already got another one in mind.

“There’s a spot going up Sinks Canyon where a lot of people like to stop and watch the elk when they’re there,” he said. “I’m thinking I might make one for that spot, as well.”

Nevertheless, Applegate hopes he won’t have to build another bench for the Tomato Loop. He wants to enjoy his handiwork as much as anyone else.

“Honestly, if someone took this bench, that's flattering,” he said. “If they like it, I wish they would reach out, talk to me, and ask me to make one for them. I’d probably do it for free. There's no monetary value in it for me. I like the challenge and giving back to the community that's given a lot to me.”

Applegate hasn’t let himself be deterred by the previous thefts. He described the new bench as “a project I really wanted to see through.”

“It’s sitting over the same Wyoming view that made the spot worth building for in the first place,” he said. “I’m happy to finally have it finished, set in place, and ready to be enjoyed again.”

Lander Bench 729479842 10241678841129477 1814757890374731526 n 8 1 26

<title>Lander Man Keeps Building Benches For Community And Thieves Keep Stealing Them | Cowboy State Daily</title>

After the first two benches he built were stolen, a Lander man is giving it a third attempt. He's built yet another wooden bench and gave it to his neighbors so they can enjoy the iconic views of the popular Tomato Loop hiking trail. "Third time's the charm," he said.

Lander Man Keeps Building Benches For Community And Thieves Keep Stealing Them

Kerry Drake

This is a cautionary tale about bad choices, including one I made on the night of Aug. 1, 1985, when the 

 became one of the worst natural disasters in Wyoming’s history.

My first bad choice: Ignoring an early afternoon forecast that declared a severe thunderstorm warning was in effect until 8 p.m. 

It was undeniably risky behavior, but the reward seemed promising — a night away from Cheyenne and my job as editor of the Sunday Wyoming Tribune-Eagle, which was second only to the Casper Star-Tribune in state circulation.

I can’t recall why this particular Thursday was any rougher on my psyche than any other day, but 41 years later my only excuse was the feeling I had to escape for a few hours and visit one of my favorite pastimes.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Guilty Pleasure"}]

That guilty pleasure was the one-hour trip to the Loveland, Colorado, dog track, where I could kick back, study that night’s racing form, eat some questionable food that was the biggest gamble of the entire experience, and be back home by midnight.

If I could end the night with a few more dollars in my pocket than I started, all the better. It was an addiction, to be sure, but one that didn’t seem to be an inherent risk to my health or wallet.

The later it got at work, the more nervous I became that this excursion just wasn’t going to happen. 

It was raining hard when I headed west on Lincolnway to the Interstate 25 entrance, but I felt reassured that the nasty forecast was for Cheyenne and the immediate vicinity, and I would soon be miles away.

As I got closer to I-25, though, my blue Pontiac Sunbird seemed to be the epicenter of a storm that was outpacing the speed of my windshield wipers. About a mile away from where there would be no turning back, I turned back and headed toward downtown. 

Maybe a movie would put me in a better mood.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Floating Down The Street"}]

But a not-so-funny thing was happening right before my eyes: my car was literally floating down the street, and I had no control over its movement. 

Fortunately, there wasn’t much traffic, which turned out to be natural when the entire city had been warned not to be doing exactly what I was doing.

The one thing I knew was that I did not want to be traveling further east, because the flood I would be running into looked more intense up ahead.

At this point I couldn’t actually steer, but I tried to will my car into a parking lot at the intersection of Lincolnway and Warren Avenue by hoping I could somehow stop this crazy thing.

The steady stream took me back west, but I missed the parking lot and wound up half on the street and the other half on the sidewalk in front of a record store I wished I was inside. It was one of my favorite places in Cheyenne but was closed, I realized, because no sane person would be on this block.

I wasn’t floating anymore, which was the most positive spin I could put on the experience. I wasn’t comforted by the fact that I had missed the first race, all because I hadn’t left work on time.

It was at this point I noticed water was filling the inside of my car. 

The options seemed bleak: I could get out and get soaked trying to find nonexistent shelter, or I could stay inside and wait out the storm.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"That was another bad decision. "}]

The floorboards were soaked and water kept pouring in. I crouched on the driver’s seat, but as the water rose to the level of my radio and glove compartment, I realized that my electrical system was fried, and I would never be driving this car again.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Abandon Ship"}]

My only recourse was to abandon ship, so I tried to open my door, but the water pressure was too great and it wouldn’t budge. 

I tried to frantically bang against the door with my shoulder, but nothing happened. With the car no longer running, there was no way to open a window and climb out.

It would have been bad idea No. 3 of the night, but I actually searched for something to smash the window, which would likely have left me wet and bleeding. Where was I going to find this mystery tool to free myself anyway?

At this point, I had what I can only describe as my mortality moment. 

All I could think about was that I didn’t want to die in this car and how much I wanted out, even though what sounded like the biggest hailstones I’d ever heard were pummeling my Pontiac.

So, I kept trying to slam into the door until my mysterious force would suddenly meet head on with an unmovable object and get me untrapped. After a couple more tries, I was happy to discover it worked — until I got outside and felt the coldest water I had ever experienced, and I was slogging around wondering what to do next.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Open The Door, Mister!"}]

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"A quick glance around was not reassuring. "}]

At the other end of the parking lot was a brand-new white truck, and though I couldn’t tell from that angle if anybody was inside, it was high enough off the ground that I trusted it wasn’t taking on much water, if any. 

Eould someone open the door? That seemed iffy at best.

If you lived in Cheyenne in 1985 and had the good sense not to be outside in a flash flood, I doubt if you have ever felt the pain accompanied by baseball-size hail striking every part of your body while desperately trying to get from point A to point B.

I read news accounts later that put the size of the hail at 2 inches in diameter, but I swear it was actually bigger than a baseball, and there was a kind of inverse hope that took over my brain and body. Every step was painful and chilly, but I promised myself that if I could just get into that truck, my life would improve 1,000%.

I reached the truck and pounded on the door as hard as I could, and the startled man behind the wheel reached over and let me in. I seem to recall he gave me a jacket because I was still shivering like crazy.

We spent the next hour waiting for the storm to stop, trading life stories as only two survivors of a totally miserable night are wont to do. 

He told me he was the owner of a construction company, and seeing how nice his truck was, I believed he was probably good at his job.

I told him that if I’d only been able to get on the road a bit quicker, none of this would have happened to me. The dog track had called its siren song, and instead of hitting a healthy exacta bet for a decent payday the only thing that kept me from feeling like a total loser was getting out of my damned car by myself.

When someone saves your life from baseball-size hail, it’s only natural to show some gratitude and at least remember his name. I can’t do that. In fact, I think it was gone from my memory bank by the flood’s first anniversary. 

Still, as crappy as the day was, it was an experience I’ve used to judge how everything is relative. What was a terrible day and night by every criteria one might judge it, it was also a life-affirming one. 

I’m mixing gambling metaphors, but I had dealt myself a bad hand and lived to tell about it.

The driver graciously drove the two blocks to the newspaper, and I sought refuge in the fact that my co-workers at The Wyoming Eagle had survived the flood, too. 

I was half-expecting they would be putting out an extra edition — all six of them, by themselves — until they recounted how 911 had gone down and the only communication was listening to the police scanner.

What the editor and his staff knew was that there were at least several deaths, but no one knew exactly how bad things were or that the banks of Dry Creek had overflowed and trapped people inside their cars with no possible escape.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"No Extra Edition"}]

The word had come down fairly early in the evening to the newsroom: there would be no late press run or extra edition because the paper they had just printed wasn’t likely to be delivered for a few days as the city tried to pick up the pieces and move on.

I knew that I’d be busy for the next two days, getting copy and photos for the Sunday edition so we could try to make sense of this community disaster. 

My photographer and friend Fred Yates and I decided to drive around downtown so he could shoot pictures of some of the broken windows at stores. The receding flood waters still glowed from the blinking lights at intersections.

But there weren’t any people walking the streets. Our last stop was at the Mayflower Bar on 17th Street, which was my second-favorite place to be that wasn’t a dog track or poker game.

The place was having a flood party, and there were about 50 souls gathered to wet their whistles and recount their evenings. 

Fred and I ordered beers — they were free! — and listened to one of the managers talk about how even though part of the bar was flooded shin-deep and the patrons were drenched to the bone, everyone was indeed in pretty good spirits.

Kerry Drake was planning a quick trip to Colorado on the evening of Aug. 1, 1985, when he was suddenly trapped in his car by rising floodwaters in Cheyenne. "My car was literally floating down the street, and I had no control over its movement," he writes.

Daily Darwin: Thursday, December 29, 2022

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