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Profile of Emilé Zynobia

Profile of Emilé Zynobia

Emilé Zynobia wasn’t born out West but she found herself out in Wyoming. She recounts her journey of diversity in the West and becoming a cowgirl like no other.

Photography by Sofia Jaramillo. Words by Emilé

I wasn’t born in the West but living out here is the closest I’ve come to finding myself. Open country, open range feels as earnest a drive in me as lungs expanding towards air. So, it never bothered me too much that I didn’t look much like my counterparts in Wyoming. You don’t exactly choose this place for the abundance of people.

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“Out in open country atop a horse, I remain a novelty, a bundle of curls loping in the wind, kinky strands reaching for the blue.”

Out here, I learned quick that all that matters is the quality and honesty of your try. And though the characters that make up this land aren’t for everyone, sprinkled among them are some of the most welcoming, self-reliant, and generous beings ever to exist. Truth be told, I’ve always had a soft spot for the gritty kind, those folks carved out of rough country.

I was a quiet plump thirteen when my grandparents dropped me off at Puzzleface Ranch to learn to ride. There I first met Terry Judd sitting in the shade alongside her dad. Her, a searing force of a woman with a laugh that could crack open the sky. Her father, a cheeky old man in a Canadian tuxedo with rolled sleeves revealing tattoos sun withered and wavering. Behind them, the wall of the original tack room nailed to its squared logs and aged chinking, a hodgepodge of sun-kissed and gnarled cowboy boots.

With the warmth and unflinching force of a chinook wind, she asked “What size are you?” A question that now feels to gather and answer so much more than the simple numeric dimension of a boot. 

Shyly I reply, “8.”

“You’re gonna need to speak louder than that.”

She shot back without pause.

Terry’s presence is reminiscent of the heeler that lives in her shadow. Small in stature, yet deceptively strong and quicker than quick. I like to think the bumper sticker “well-behaved women rarely make history” was made for her. The kind of complicated and resilient human romantically opined about in your favorite western. I credit her with busting my ass and teaching me manners. Even more important, she taught me to relax and let go. 

I’d spent most of my life bumping around inner cities, so imagine my surprise at seeing mountains let alone straddling a 1,000 lb animal. For a kid who lacked any and all control, being able to wield it and rein it meant everything.

I returned every summer obsessed, eventually progressing from student to teacher. And when my head got too big, Terry set me straight on bareback. Long days working at that ranch taught me lessons and qualities of character I never encountered in school. As I’ve aged, I can’t say those same elements of confidence, discipline, and conviction are always readily with me; still, I know the feel of it, the foundation always remains.

“Stories are lifeblood, it is what the west trades in, the exchange of oral currency makes our ties to place more complete. This is why the West looms large and romantic in the minds of many, but what when the common conception doesn’t include you? That is not to say I don’t enjoy what sets me apart, but rather at times I question if this heritage is rightfully mine to claim.”

Then this sort of bittersweet ripple in time appears, and you begin to take note of the emerging stories that paint a different notion of the old West and new West, one where black and brown women, cowboys, range riders, and vaqueros were formative to the successes made out of this rough country.  

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Women like Johanna July, a famous black Seminole horsebreaker, or “Stagecoach Mary,” a black female star route mail carrier. Or more contemporary stories like that of Larry Callies of the Black cowboy museum, the Compton Cowboys in L.A, Cowgirls of Color, or the first black rodeo queen in Arkansas Ja’Dayia Kursh. And you realize just like any other person who found themselves in this world; you come by your love of the lifestyle and the freedom you find upon a horse honestly.

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At Home on the Range with Buffalo Kin

At Home on the Range with Buffalo Kin

Seth & Katelyn are both from rural, northwestern Pennsylvania.  Seth often makes the joke that there are more cows than people where they’re from, but that was before he came to Fossil, OR.

Photography by Andrew Stanbridge

As for how they came to Oregon, Katelyn was in her first year of graduate school and Seth was working on a farm.  They were chatting one evening after a particularly grueling day of work for Seth, and Katelyn asked him what he’d prefer to be doing and where.  He said that he always wanted to live in Oregon ever since his grandfather inspired a love of the old west. As for Katelyn, she fell in love with Oregon from the first drive through the ‘Gorge’ on I-84. They knew where they were destined to be.

Buffalo Kin is because of Fossil in a sense.  When Seth came to Fossil to teach, he began exploring the musical traditions of Appalachia and the old west more in-depth.  And, something just clicked for both of them. Neither had ever expected to love, appreciate, and perform the music that they do now, but, that high lonesome sound just speaks to them just like Fossil did. Fossil brings a quiet that is freeing to some and stifling for others.  For them, it brings the connection to everything into a wide focus: the history, the land, the people. This is where they pull their inspiration and why they choose to evoke the emotions or experiences that they do in their music.

Seth & Katelyn have always been fortunate that playing music is just for themselves. They play and create when and what they want. This is a privilege. They do write music, but, they always leave room for the standards.  There’s a reason that’s what they are.  As they said earlier, music for them is a way to connect to the world, its troubles & its triumphs.


“So, we’ll never stop playing and, who knows, we’ll just keep leaving ourselves up to possibilities.”


If you would like to follow them or catch them playing (when they can play venues again), you can find them on Instagram @buffalo_kin.

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Sustainable Ranching at Carman Ranch

Sustainable Ranching at Carman Ranch

There’s an art to cooking a perfect steak. Stetson pays the experts at Carman Ranch in Wallowa, OR a visit to learn straight from the professionals.

Photography by Joe Haeberle

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Perched on the banks of the river for which it is named, Wallowa is one of many charming outposts along the Hells Canyon Scenic Byway in Eastern Oregon. The ranch is in the Northeastern corner of the state in the beautiful Wallowa Valley.

Spurred by a vision to sustain their century-old family ranch, Carman Ranch has grown in the last two decades to include a small group of the West Coast’s most respected producers. They are family ranchers focused on building soil and sequestering carbon while producing exceptional grass-fed beef. They believe that the food they grow, and the way they grow it, has the power to change our world. 

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Healthy and complex soil is the basis for all life. It supports the nutrient-rich forage our animals graze throughout their wholesome, stress-free lives. In turn, they help sequester carbon, fertilize pastures and renew grasslands. And they nourish us. Not only is the meat from our animals highly nutritious, but its flavor is also unsurpassed and deeply satisfying.

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It’s a virtuous cycle that results in superior nutrition, strong rural communities, a delicious dinner, and a better planet.

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How to Cook a Perfect Steak

Generously season steaks with salt and freshly ground black pepper. For the best results, arrange the steaks on a wire rack set inside a foil-lined baking sheet and refrigerate, uncovered, at least 1 hour or up to 24 hours. If you don’t have time, let them sit on the counter while you get your heat your oven or grill.

Cooking Inside

Preheat the oven to between 200 and 250 degrees F. (The lower the temperature, the more evenly the meat cooks.)

Place the steaks, still on the rack, in the oven, and roast until they’re 10 to 15 degrees F rarer than you want to serve them. (For medium-rare, or 130 degrees F, remove at 115 degrees F.)  An accurate meat thermometer is essential.

Just before removing the steaks from the oven, heat a cast-iron skillet or heavy stainless steel pan over high heat with 1-tablespoon oil.  As soon as the oil begins to smoke, add the steaks to the pan with 1 tablespoon of butter and cook, shaking the pan slightly, until one side is nicely browned, about 45 seconds.  Turn the steaks over, sear the second side, and then quickly sear the edges.

Remove the meat to a cutting board and allow to rest at least 5 minutes before serving.

Cooking Outside

Heat the grill. For gas, light the burners on one side and heat on low with the cover closed. For wood or charcoal, prepare a two-zone fire and rake the coals to one side when the fire is hot.  How hot? You shouldn’t be able to hold your hand 3-inches from the grate for more than 3 seconds.

Place the steaks on the cooler side of the grill, cover, and cook until the temperature is between 110 and 120 degrees, about 10 to 15 minutes. Raise the heat on the hot side with more charcoal or by adjusting the burners. When the grill is hot (use the 3-second rule again), sear the steaks until evenly browned, rotating as needed, about 1-1/2 minutes total. Remove to a cutting board and allow to rest at least 5 minutes before serving.

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Setting Sail on July 4th

Setting Sail on July 4th

A sailing adventure with Mr. Badger & Co in Rhode Island.

Photography by Maaike Bernstrom.

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Mr. Badger was built in 1957 in Lemwerder, Germany at the highly regarded Abeking and Rasmussen Shipyard. Out of the 103 designed and built 102 still remain. These yachts are said to transcend time and space with master craftsmanship and an excellent sheer. The Concordia Yawl is known as one of the most renowned racing and cruising boats in all of yachting.


Meet the Crew


A true mariner at heart, Denis started his sailing career as a small boy aboard his parents 24′ Buccaneer.  He felt at peace on the sea, intrigued by its power, and yearning for more.  Denis holds a 200 Ton Master’s Certificate with a celestial navigation endorsement and has run hundreds of successful charters all over the world.

He has restored ancient wooden vessels and built new ones. He’s climbed the peaks of Zagorochoria hidden deep in the mainland of Greece, run rivers of the western United States, sailed for and against ten-meter waves, said goodnight to – Many a sunset over the horizon, and accrued over 100,000 nautical miles.  Denis is at home under sail and always happy to share his knowledge and sea stories as you ply the waters of New England aboard Mr. Badger.



A native Aquidneck islander, Allie grew up amidst the hardy seafaring folk of New England.  She always admired the transient lifestyle of a sailor, but aside from friendly summer dinghy races, her wanderlust was usually tended to ashore.  Then, one chilly October Day, Allie spied the happiest little boat that ever plied the waters of the Narragansett Bay.  The Carriacou Sloop, Summer Wind, was calling to her and Allie answered whole-heartedly.  She fell in love with life at sea and began traveling extensively under sail.  Over the past five years, the craft has given her the opportunity to spend time in a dozen countries and sail the waters of three seas and two oceans. Ever ready to throw off the dock lines, Allie’s warm smile and hospitable nature make her a most felicitous member of the crew.



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Mr. Badger Log entry July 4, 2020:

Captain’s Log:  Set off this morning for Wharton’s Cove in Jamestown.  Beautiful clear conditions with 20kt winds from the southwest.  Jib and Jigger sail plan had Mr. Badger moving easy in the breeze.  We laid the old Hutchinson mooring around 18:00 and went ashore to find some supper and make camp up at Bull Point.  Clams galore in the shallows at Old Salt Works beach, and not a soul to be seen.  Tranquil evening under the stars playing music. This place holds true magic and always bears a sense of home.  A beautiful day in all regards.

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Fly to Table in Taos, New Mexico

Fly to Table in Taos, New Mexico

All around the world, on any given evening, thousands of stories are being swapped across bar tops and counters. Even more, are being swapped behind them. That’s how Michael first met Chris Castro, a local designer turned cocktail and food writer turned restaurant owner. They sat down as Michael interviewed for a job to work as a barista for Castro’s newly-opened Kitchen at Commonplace in Oklahoma City. Soon after they found a common bond over their California roots and fascination with film photography; but the thing Michael would hear over and over again was a single word – Taos.

The restaurant received packets of blue maize grown in Taos for the Kitchen’s Blue Corn Donuts – products of a relationship Chris built with an organic farmer he met while exploring Taos years prior. The color palette of the chairs, the style of outdoor furniture, even opting for handmade ceramic dinnerware – each piece was intentionally orchestrated to represent Chris and his family. And it was obvious that Taos had such a big impact on them.


On a recent trip to meet Chris and his son, Benny, in Taos, Michael began to see the town’s personality through its architecture and art. Taos was calm, it wasn’t seeking outside attention, and it was a place where you could truly go to get away. The food is rich in Latinx roots, the history of art surrounding the area could fill museums, and then there’s the landscapes that speak for themselves.


Dune 5X Gun Club Hat

Chris and Benny were out in Taos to cast lines along the Rio Grande, a ritual Chris would speak fondly of. Before his family would wake up, he’d leave their cabin early to go out on the river and cast lines, make it back just in time to make them breakfast. This time, though, he was setting up time to spend with his oldest son – teaching him technique and sharing some time in the outdoors.

“I grew up pretty poor, so it was easy to pack up for the weekend and go camping in Southern California. Coffee and eggs in the morning, and in the afternoon it might be grilled ham in bread for a sandwich. For us, camping trips like that were inexpensive. We’d throw what food we had in the house in the cooler and drive into the mountains to hike.”

That love for the outdoors is clear even in the minute details of Chris’s work as a chef and as an artist. From the organic color palettes used to the emphasis on fresh and local ingredients, there’s a lot of intentionality in the process. Whether it’s observing how connected life along a river interacts and depends on each other to even how to carefully kindle a flame from a single spark; those trips into the great outdoors seem to clear our minds and unlock a deeper sense of wonder that ripples into every area of our lives.


Fly fishing has been Chris’s escape and one thing he’s slowly teaching his son Benny to do. They had a practice rod Benny would cast to understand how the line moves opposed to a spinner rod and reel. But as they hit the river, Chris would bring out Benny’s tried and true rod. He’d point out the flies to use and talk about how to observe the conditions around to figure what the trout are hunting for that day. Building that foundation, teaching Benny how to observe and strategize before even casting, those are lessons that make such a big impact on more than just fishing. Those are the moments that our parents tend to give us that shape so much of how we tackle problems and grow as humans. But unlike the outdoors, fishing for Chris was something that he had to teach himself.

Mesh Back Ball Cap

“When we moved to Oklahoma, it was in seventh-grade, my buddies all fished. I had one friend in my art class who would always invite me to go fishing, so finally, I agreed to go. We woke up early one Saturday morning to go bass fishing in Broken Arrow, and I was just using a popper on topwater. I caught my first bass and I was hooked. After that, I went out and bought my own rod. I was fishing three to four times a week. I kept my fishing rod in my car and would fish any chance I could get. I would look up in the back of the phone book and look at the city maps for any signs of ponds. Any of them that didn’t have a no trespassing sign, I’d go out and fish. Sometimes solo, sometimes with buddies – but I just loved it.”


The same curiosity and dedication Chris had that made him such a good fisherman could be seen in his son Benny.

Like fishing, cooking was something that Chris wasn’t taught but it is instinctive.  “Food was a big part of our life growing up. People would always come over for my mom’s food, she always cooked. Even my dad was a really good cook. We didn’t know that until my mom started to work and my dad begun to stay home. We had no idea he could cook, then he started putting this food in front of us and we’d go ‘Oh my gosh, this is amazing’. My mom says that when they got married, my mom didn’t know how to make certain things he’d like, so he would just say ‘Just let me just show you how to make it.” My mom is an excellent cook, but it’s funny to think my dad had anything to do with it. Even growing up, my friends would come over just for my mom’s cooking. “

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After the first morning of fishing with only a few bites, they stopped to cook up some quick eggs and bacon along the Rio Grande. Chris pulled out his portable gas stove and cast iron skillet which Benny collected pine cones and spotted chipmunks. They talked about the day casting, why the fish weren’t biting, and how we needed to grab bug spray for our next outing.

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Later that evening after another unsuccessful trip to the Rio Grande, they started a fire pit to begin roasting tomatoes and peppers over the flames for Chris to make salsa for tacos. The smell of the peppers and and onions started filling the air and Benny brought over Chris’s molcajete. Chris began sprinkling in salt and peeling cloves of garlic to be mashed in the molcajete. As the flames cooked the ingredients, Chris mashed the garlic and salt with the lava stone to make a fine paste. Afterwards, the tomatoes, peppers, and onions were broken down by the heat and made an indescribable salsa.

The molcajete is a lot like cast iron skillets. It’s a long process to season it before you can even use it. Mashing rice and celery over and over until you get rid of all the grit in the molcajete is crucial. These are not just tools in the kitchen though, they are family heirlooms – passed down from generation to generation. They collect notes of flavor.


After Chris finished up the salsa, he pulled out a thin cut of meat to lay over the grate and smoldering coals. “So this is traditional fajita. So fajita isn’t steak, it’s a real thin cut. So when I was a kid, I was always really confused by the term ‘chicken fajita’ because I’d go – ‘what kind of cut is that?’ But I got this at this Mexican market. They cut it real thin, and you throw it on the fire and it comes out really amazing. When I was a kid, we’d marinate it in Coca-cola to help break down the tough parts of the meat.”

Those roots from his time enjoying the amazing food his parents would make shine through in his work now.

The desert night was cooling down fast and Chris and Benny huddled up by the fire. It’s those special trips, whether it’s a weekend with dad out in nature or even a quick run in the morning to cast a line, that we tend to remember so fondly as we get older.


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