Rest Easy Mr. Price 🤍🕊️
Some people become rooted in the country in a way that can’t really be replaced.
I’ve known Steve Price since I was about nine years old. Long before I understood what ranch management meant, I just knew him as Steve — the cowboy in the black hat who always seemed right where he belonged.
Over the years, he taught me countless things, but two have stayed with me the most.
He taught me how to listen to my show cattle throw a show stick — one of his many old Indian trick I will never forget.
And he taught me how to call on the rain with a hollowed-out dried cactus branch turned rain stick.
Those little moments probably seemed ordinary to him at the time, but they became lifelong memories for me.
The older I get, the more I realize people like Steve carried something rare. He wasn’t a “dress-up cowboy.” He lived it. Every day. Horses over four-wheelers. Long days. Wind-burned face. Dust on the dash. A smile at breakfast. A respect for the land, the cattle, and the people around him.
One line from an article written about him years ago stuck with me this week:
“My philosophy is you don't measure wealth in dollars. You measure wealth in friends.”
I think the amount of people hurting over this loss says everything about the kind of man he was.
Rest easy, Mr. Price 🤍🕊️
When I think of Steve Price, the image of him in his iconic black cowboy hat, perhaps with that distinctive red jacket and his prominent white mustache, instantly comes to mind. He wasn't just a figure in a photograph; he was a living embodiment of the spirit of Cheyenne. For so many of us, he was much more than simply a ranch manager; he was a steady presence, a mentor, and a friend whose wisdom ran as deep as the prairie itself. The buffalo symbol he wore proudly on his jacket seemed to perfectly capture his strength and connection to the land. His philosophy, that you don't measure wealth in dollars but in friends, wasn't just a saying; it was how he lived every single day. I remember countless times seeing him, dust on the dash of his truck, a kind smile ready for anyone he met. He had a way of cutting through the noise, showing us what truly mattered. Those seemingly small moments, like learning to listen to the cattle with a show stick – one of his many old Indian tricks – or the ancient art of calling for rain with a hollowed-out cactus branch, weren't just skills; they were profound lessons in connecting with the land and its rhythms, in patience, and in the quiet wisdom of the natural world. Steve taught us to respect the land, the animals, and especially each other. He was the kind of person who built community with every interaction, always putting horses over four-wheelers, embodying hard work with a wind-burned face and long days. He embodied that rare, authentic spirit of the American West, living his life with integrity and a deep love for his home in Wyoming. He didn't just manage a ranch; he nurtured a way of life, passing down traditions and values without even realizing the profound impact he was making on young minds, including mine. His passing leaves a significant void, not just for those of us who knew him personally, but for the wider Cheyenne community. He was a pillar, a legend in his own right, whose life taught us about resilience, genuine connection, and the true meaning of friendship. His legacy isn't just in the ranches he managed or the cattle he tended, but in the countless lives he touched and the enduring lessons he shared. He showed us that a life lived with purpose, kindness, and a deep respect for others is the richest life of all. It’s a testament to his character that so many are hurting from this loss, a true measure of the wealth of friends he accumulated. He will be deeply missed, but his spirit, like the vast Cheyenne skies he loved and inspired us to appreciate, will undoubtedly remain with us, guiding us to live a little more like Steve.
Sorry for your loss of your friend 🙏