My orphan lambs should be history buffs.

They live with a vintage car – maybe a Model T, but I’m not enough of a car expert to tell.

The car – well, the pieces and parts of the car -- were already stashed behind the barn when we moved in and built the lamb pen around it.

The lambs leap over the transmission while the chickens lay eggs beneath the dash.

It’s a dilapidated pile of parts so we named this corral the Jethro Pen, after Jethro’s truck on The Beverly Hillbillies.

Often, I wonder how many miles that car traveled, wonder if a mother ever instinctively threw her arm across her child in the passenger seat at the imminent threat of impact.

But its history is not a complete mystery.

One time I wrote about how the barn offered clues to the legacy of the Graham family who built this ranch.

The rock wall told of master Scottish stonemasons who built this barn, old sheep hides hung from the rafters and shearers noted shearing dates from 1934 through the war years.

Not long after I told that story, I received an email from a woman in Scotland.

I’m still not sure how she heard about my barn, but Ina wondered if she had a personal connection to it.

Ina said her father, Angus Graham, had left Scotland about 1916 to work for his uncle in Montana.

He loved Montana and stayed until he got word that his mother was sick.

He went back to Scotland, but planned to return to Montana as soon as he could.

Then life happened and he never got to come back.

However, Ina had a photo of her dad at his uncle's ranch.

In the photo, Angus Graham is standing next to the car that now sits in parts in my Jethro Pen.

The car is parked in front of my bunkhouse.

Our connection reaches around the world.

The Jethro Mobile deserves to be restored, but I don’t see me restoring it.

I feel badly about that.

But I don’t know how to put all of the pieces back together.

Also, I know my priorities need to be pointed toward today and tomorrow, keeping the ranch functioning as well as it can before I take the time to look backward to save the past.

Still, I want to honor the legacy of the ranch.

I feel as if Alistair Graham, the second generation of Grahams on this land and the steward for the longest time, sits on my shoulder every day.

Some days, he pats me on the back and I feel an inkling of pride.

Some days, he shakes his head in disbelief at my failure to predict obvious consequences of my latest decision.

No doubt, Alistair rode in that car, probably as Angus’ passenger.

I’m sure he put the pieces and parts behind the barn, maybe even with the intention of putting it back together.

But all of the clues Alistair left illustrate that he knew the surest way to respect the heritage of this land is to care for it and maybe even improve it.

The best way to improve this land is to use it in a way so natural systems will function well.

When those systems work, grasses, forbs and shrubs feed the livestock that pay the bills.

On the balance of ecosystem and economic needs, equilibrium moves constantly.

It was Alistair’s job and now it is my job to adjust to that moving target.

The Jethro Mobile has to wait.

I think Alistair and Angus would understand. They both chased that moving target just as I chase it now.

Shared connections reach through time, too.