By Kevin Woster | Posted: Sunday, November 1, 2009
When Ken Knuppe got his old D-6 Caterpillar stuck in the mud, he naturally turned to a neighbor for help.
The neighbor lives 50 miles away.
"When I called up, his wife said he was working cattle," Knuppe said. "And I said I didn't want to bother him then. But she called him in anyway. And when he heard what I had, he said, 'Oh, I can work cattle any day. I'll load up my CAT and come right over.'"
He did. And within a couple of hours, the "neighbor" showed up with his CAT and helped Knuppe pull out his old D-6, then headed home.
"I asked if he wanted to come in for a cup of coffee, but he said, 'No, there's still some daylight left. I've got some things to do,'" Knuppe said. "It wasn't a big deal to him. And he knew I would do the same. That's just the way it is out here."
To Knuppe, a rancher and Republican candidate for governor, "out here" is the isolated grass-and-sagebrush country between Buffalo Gap and the northwestern boundary of the Pine Ridge Reservation. It's big country, with far-flung ranches and a "neighborhood" defined on friendship and mutual needs rather than geographic lines.
"Neighbor" is what you do as much as what you are, no matter the miles.
"It's just called neighborin'," Knuppe said. "You help people out when they need it, and they return the favor."
So Knuppe was just neighboring when he drove 30 miles to help another rancher who was stuck. And he travels regularly to help other neighbors move or brand cattle, or load them for shipping to market, just as they show up at his place to do the same.
They did just that on a recent fall morning, assembled in a chilly wind to help Knuppe, his wife, Monica, and their sons Clay and Rich load calves. As has long been the case, some of the Cuny family showed up from over on the Pine Ridge.
"I think we've been trading help with the Cunys for three generations," Monica said as she served coffee and caramel rolls from a pickup bed. "We go back a long way with this."
It's so ingrained in the culture of West River ranch country that Knuppe rarely thinks about the stretched definition of a neighbor living 50 miles away. He grinned when it was pointed out.
"Yeah, I guess it probably would seem kind of funny to somebody living in town," he said.
Funny, indeed. Imagine somebody from Rapid City referring to a friend in Wall or Spearfish or Deadwood as a neighbor. Not likely in a hectic landscape where neighborhoods are defined in blocks and neighbors sometimes don't know each other's name.
Knuppe gets reminded of that urban disconnect when visitors come to the ranch.
"We like to bring town people out here to see what we do," Knuppe said. "And when one of them found out our farthest neighbor was right around 50 miles away, he said 'Wow, I live in Rapid City and don't even know most of my neighbors.'"
That seems as strange to Knuppe as his 50-mile neighbor concept might seem to urban residents. And while he understands that things are different in town, Knuppe also wonders if an expanded notion of neighborhood wouldn't help all of South Dakota.
"No matter where you live in this state, we're all still a community," he said. "And I sure think we'd be better off if we worked more as neighbors."
No matter how many miles in-between.
When Ken Knuppe got his old D-6 Caterpillar stuck in the mud, he naturally turned to a neighbor for help.
The neighbor lives 50 miles away.
"When I called up, his wife said he was working cattle," Knuppe said. "And I said I didn't want to bother him then. But she called him in anyway. And when he heard what I had, he said, 'Oh, I can work cattle any day. I'll load up my CAT and come right over.'"
He did. And within a couple of hours, the "neighbor" showed up with his CAT and helped Knuppe pull out his old D-6, then headed home.
"I asked if he wanted to come in for a cup of coffee, but he said, 'No, there's still some daylight left. I've got some things to do,'" Knuppe said. "It wasn't a big deal to him. And he knew I would do the same. That's just the way it is out here."
To Knuppe, a rancher and Republican candidate for governor, "out here" is the isolated grass-and-sagebrush country between Buffalo Gap and the northwestern boundary of the Pine Ridge Reservation. It's big country, with far-flung ranches and a "neighborhood" defined on friendship and mutual needs rather than geographic lines.
"Neighbor" is what you do as much as what you are, no matter the miles.
"It's just called neighborin'," Knuppe said. "You help people out when they need it, and they return the favor."
So Knuppe was just neighboring when he drove 30 miles to help another rancher who was stuck. And he travels regularly to help other neighbors move or brand cattle, or load them for shipping to market, just as they show up at his place to do the same.
They did just that on a recent fall morning, assembled in a chilly wind to help Knuppe, his wife, Monica, and their sons Clay and Rich load calves. As has long been the case, some of the Cuny family showed up from over on the Pine Ridge.
"I think we've been trading help with the Cunys for three generations," Monica said as she served coffee and caramel rolls from a pickup bed. "We go back a long way with this."
It's so ingrained in the culture of West River ranch country that Knuppe rarely thinks about the stretched definition of a neighbor living 50 miles away. He grinned when it was pointed out.
"Yeah, I guess it probably would seem kind of funny to somebody living in town," he said.
Funny, indeed. Imagine somebody from Rapid City referring to a friend in Wall or Spearfish or Deadwood as a neighbor. Not likely in a hectic landscape where neighborhoods are defined in blocks and neighbors sometimes don't know each other's name.
Knuppe gets reminded of that urban disconnect when visitors come to the ranch.
"We like to bring town people out here to see what we do," Knuppe said. "And when one of them found out our farthest neighbor was right around 50 miles away, he said 'Wow, I live in Rapid City and don't even know most of my neighbors.'"
That seems as strange to Knuppe as his 50-mile neighbor concept might seem to urban residents. And while he understands that things are different in town, Knuppe also wonders if an expanded notion of neighborhood wouldn't help all of South Dakota.
"No matter where you live in this state, we're all still a community," he said. "And I sure think we'd be better off if we worked more as neighbors."
No matter how many miles in-between.