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surreal food factory with its computer screens, digital readouts, shiny steel platforms, and evacuation plans in case of ammonia gas leaks. The
french fries were delicious — crisp and golden brown, made from potatoes that had been in the ground that morning. I finished them and
asked for more.
AT THE HEIGHT OF 6/on the range HANK WASand the dictates ofI met fastColorado Springs. Heaffectingprominent local rancher, and I’d called him he offeredhow give me a tour of
THE FIRST PERSON
the food industry were
the area’s cattle business. In July of 1997,
to the new subdivisions that were rising on land where cattle once roamed. We met in the lobby of my hotel. Hank was forty-two years old and
handsome enough to be a Hollywood cowboy, tall and rugged, wearing blue jeans, old boots, and a big white hat. But the Dodge minivan he
drove didn’t quite go with that image, and he was too smart to fit any stereotype. Hank proved to be good company from the first
handshake. He had strong opinions, but didn’t take himself too seriously. We spent hours driving around Colorado Sp...
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- Spring '08