Sorting Cows by Nelson

Sorting Cows by Nelson - January 2026 Scholarship Essay

I discovered a new strength in myself on a day that demanded more than experience or physical effort. It demanded judgment, restraint, and the ability to act with intention when instinct urged me to react.

We were sorting cows for sale on our family ranch, a job I had done often enough to feel comfortable. The process was familiar: move the herd through the pens and separate the cows marked for sale. Early on, two heifers made it clear this day would be different. One was flighty, avoiding people at all costs and bolting the moment anyone stepped into her path. Each time we thought we had her separated, she slipped back into the herd. The other heifer was the opposite—aggressive and tense, tracking every movement with pinned ears and a stiff posture.

As the sorting continued, frustration built. The flighty heifer kept escaping at the last second, and the aggressive heifer grew more irritated with each attempt. Then, without warning, the aggressive heifer charged. Instinct took over. I climbed the squeeze chute as she stopped below me, snorting and thrashing, her energy exploding against the steel. From above, I could see just how quickly the situation had escalated—and how little room there was for error.

In that moment, I realized that reacting blindly would only make things worse. Instead of rushing back down or trying to force the situation, I stayed put and slowed everything down. I watched her movement, waited for her to settle, and gave myself time to think clearly. When it was safe, I climbed down carefully and reassessed my position. That pause—choosing awareness over reaction—changed how the rest of the day unfolded.
From that point on, I worked differently. I paid closer attention to animal behavior, anticipated where the flighty heifer would break, and stayed out of the aggressive heifer’s line of pressure. I communicated more intentionally and waited for the right moments instead of trying to push progress. Eventually, both heifers were separated without further incident, and everyone walked away safely.

What stayed with me wasn’t the chaos of that moment, but what it revealed about me. I discovered a strength I hadn’t fully recognized before: composure under pressure. I learned that staying calm is not passive—it is an active choice that requires discipline and awareness. In agriculture, strength is not about being fearless or forceful. It is about knowing when to slow down and act with purpose.

That lesson has shaped how I approach challenges beyond the ranch. In college, I balance a demanding academic workload, leadership involvement, work responsibilities, and the expectations that come with maintaining a renewable academic scholarship. When stress builds, I no longer react out of urgency. I pause, evaluate what matters most, and move forward intentionally—just as I did standing on that chute.

This experience has also influenced how I lead and mentor others. When working with FFA and 4-H students, I emphasize preparation, patience, and safety. I encourage them to think ahead, read situations carefully, and understand that good stockmanship and good leadership both come from awareness, not impulse.

Standing above that heifer, listening to her thrash below me, I learned that real strength is not proven in how fast you react, but in how well you think when it matters most. That strength continues to guide my growth—on the ranch, in the classroom, and in the leader I am becoming.

That pause became the turning point. I realized that strength in agriculture is not about pushing harder or proving toughness. It is about knowing when to step back, reassess, and act with purpose. From that point forward, I approached the task differently. I watched animal behavior more closely, anticipated escape routes, adjusted my positioning, and communicated more clearly. Instead of forcing the process, I worked with it. Eventually, both heifers were separated without further incident, and everyone walked away safely.

That day revealed a strength I had not fully recognized in myself: the ability to remain composed and make deliberate decisions under pressure. It taught me that staying calm is an action, not a passive response. It requires awareness, discipline, and the willingness to slow down when everything around you feels rushed.

That lesson has shaped how I approach challenges beyond the ranch. In college, I balance a demanding academic workload, leadership involvement, work responsibilities, and the expectations that come with maintaining a renewable academic scholarship. When stress builds, I apply the same mindset I learned in the pens. I pause, evaluate what matters most, and take intentional steps forward rather than reacting out of urgency.

This experience has also influenced how I lead and mentor others. When working with FFA and 4-H students, I emphasize preparation, patience, and safety. I encourage them to think ahead, read situations carefully, and understand that real leadership is rooted in responsibility, not reaction. I strive to model the kind of steady presence I learned to value that day.

Being pinned against the squeeze chute was a moment of risk, but it became a moment of growth. It showed me that true strength is not measured by how fast you react, but by how well you think and act when it matters most. That strength now guides how I work, how I learn, and how I lead—and it is the foundation I continue to build upon as I move forward.