‘We aren’t going anywhere’: Texas ranchers committed to recovering from wildfires

CANADIAN, Texas – John Haley, 32, stood by as a green John Deere tractor unloaded more than two dozen bales of hay from a trailer.

His hands and gray cowboy hat were stained with dirt, signs of the sixth-generation rancher’s never-ending work.

The sun was setting, casting orange and pink hues in the Texas sky. The only sounds besides the tractor’s engine were cold bursts of wind and a humming generator.

A slight burning smell lingered.

Sorting hay bales is typically a mundane task on the Haley family’s 10,000-acre Shaller Ranch, but Friday evening it was an answered prayer from strangers. Their own hay had burned, leaving them without feed for their cattle.

Multiple wildfires have been burning through swaths of the Texas Panhandle for almost a week, killing at least two people, destroying an estimated 400 to 500 homes and leaving tens of thousands of cattle dead.

The Smokehouse Creek Fire, which ignited Monday and engulfed Canadian, grew to more than 1 million acres by midweek, becoming the largest in Texas history and second largest in U.S. history, officials said. First responders from 14 states and 45 local agencies struggled to contain the flames and worried the fire activity could worsen as temperatures rise and winds pick up speed.

The expansive region, home to more than 80% of Texas’ cattle, had obvious signs of damage days after the fire passed. The highway split the destruction in half in some places with black fields and dead cattle lying along the fence line on one side and unburned grass on the other.

The blue-collar residents seemed weary of visitors and news reporters from across the nation who deployed to their region as smoke was still rising from the ashes. Those who did mingle with the outsiders beamed with pride of how their people thrive in adversity.

One of the fires engulfed Haley’s ranch east of Canadian, more than 350 miles northwest of Dallas.

The flames killed all of the native grass on the property, something essential to the businesses’ cow-calf operation. Five of the ranch’s saddle horses died.

“We’ve been a lot more fortunate than most,” Haley told The Dallas Morning News in an interview on his family’s ranch, established in 1887.

While many residents – including Haley’s wife Kelsey and their two children – evacuated to escape the flames that were quickly heading their direction, Haley stayed back.

He said he and four crew members decided to hold down the ranch and do whatever they could to save the cattle, horses and land.

“We have a wheat field here and we have live water and we thought we had a fairly safe position instead of trying to outrun the fire,” he said.

The ranch house and headquarters were unscathed, something the Haleys credit to the wheat field they said they farm for protection in the fire seasons.

The field also became a safe haven where the crew corralled the cattle to keep them out of harm’s way, and on Friday they remained there, grazing on the only patch of dark-green growth surrounded by brown dirt and burnt, black land.

Help began arriving in unexpected ways not even a full day after the worst of the fire.

Haley’s brother, James, caught the quickest flight he could from his home in Virginia.

Old college roommates showed up unannounced, ready to help. Drivers brought donated hay from across the state.

The support has been overwhelming, said Haley and his wife, who returned to the ranch Wednesday morning, but they aren’t surprised by the generosity.

“Ranching is a great culture and the real grit and actual passion has to kick in during events like this,” said Haley, who is also market president at Canadian’s Happy State Bank. “Most people in businesses I see, when they take a hit like this, they close shop, pivot and move on. But farmers and ranchers, when they take a blow like this, they financially and mentally adjust but they don’t change course.”

They’ll remain cautious as the fires rage on but their focus has shifted to getting their ranch back up and running.

‘Whatever the wind delivers’

About a 15-minute drive away, Sandye Killebrew, 75, sat inside her cottage on the edge of Canadian. The week had been tough, but Friday was especially taxing.

The Killebrew Ranch, which she lived on while married to her late husband of 55 years, “Cowboy Bob,” had been engulfed in flames. The ranch was established by Bob’s family in 1883.

Their daughter Amber, who lives in Colorado, lovingly calls the property her special piece of Texas.

The fire left scorched land and unrecognizable animal corpses.

Though she loved all her animals, Killebrew’s two wild burros she and her husband got from Death Valley more than a decade ago were among her favorites. They would follow her around and were especially ecstatic when she’d feed them Linden’s Cookies.

Patty was brown and her mom Katie was gray. A painting of them gifted by a friend hangs in a gold frame on a prominent spot in her living room, displayed like a family photo.

Killebrew gave them extra love and hugs before she left town ahead of the fire, but she didn’t know it was likely the last moments she’d spend with them.

While assessing the property, her family came across the body of one of the donkeys. The animal was so harshly burned it was impossible to tell its color to determine if it was Patty or Katie.

Two of Bob’s trained steers died in the fire and other horses had to be put down.

The second donkey had yet to be found by Friday, and Killebrew hoped it would be found somewhere nearby. The local newspaper, The Canadian Record, put a notice on its Facebook page about the missing donkey asking anyone who finds it to call Killebrew.

Although she can hardly speak about all she lost without tears pinching at the back of her eyes, Killebrew said she loves the Panhandle.

Her late friend Walt McDonald, former poet laureate of Texas, described the community in his book “Whatever the Wind Delivers.”

“We know that the south wind will blow,” Killebrew said. “We know by night it can come in from the north but whatever the wind delivers, we pull our boots up, we shove those Stetson hats down on our head and we put a red bandana around our neck and we face it because that’s all we can do.”

Texas and its ranchers are strong, she said, and have persevered through centuries of disasters.

“Come what may, we aren’t going anywhere,” Killebrew said.

‘Blessing in disguise’

Residents from other nearby towns impacted by the fires – Fritch, Stinnett, Glazier, and more – all said the communities are like families.

Everyone is quick to say an extra prayer, offer a place to stay or help in whatever capacity they can. The local community Facebook groups light up with posts of people wanting to help and sharing the latest information.

Courtney Kirksey, a pastor at the Celebration Family Church in Fritch alongside her husband, Dwight, turned their building into a donation hub where wildfire victims could collect resources and find a hot meal.

“Living in small towns in Texas can be a blessing in disguise,” she said. “When things get difficult, those rivalries between towns don’t exist.”

Like most small towns where people describe driving directions using landmarks like the favorite local restaurant or turning left at the fork near the orange-and-white-checkered water tower, there’s no true stranger.

A cowboy entering the gas station in Hutchinson County greeted the cashier by name and added his items to an “I owe you” list when the register is down because of internet issues. Before he could make it back to the gas pump, a woman getting coffee offered to buy him a cup, too.

He declined but stopped to talk, and she asked how his family fared in the fire already knowing their house is now ashes.

They lost a lot, he said. His wife is especially sad about her wedding dress.

“We’ll be OK though,” he told her before rushing back to finish fueling his truck. “We always recover.”