Gaul Culley

Sometimes, living off the land isn't just about the soil beneath our feet — it's about the people who stand beside us when life takes an unexpected turn. Recently, my horse Gus had an emergency surgery after puncturing his hind leg hock joint. It was a frightening and humbling experience. In that moment of uncertainty, the Padilla family — Kay, her daughter Mel, and her son Chris — became our lifeline.   From Friendship to Lifeline I first met Chris at a real estate gathering. He introduced himself as a lender specializing in country property and raw land — right up my alley. Our conversation quickly turned to family, and I learned that his mom and sister trained and boarded cutting horses and thoroughbreds on their farm. From there, a friendship blossomed.   A Family Farm That Keeps Evolving The Padillas are the kind of people who make the rural world go 'round. Their family farm has evolved over the years from a traditional horse boarding operation into something much more diverse. Kay and her husband originally purchased the property and started boarding horses while growing alfalfa and grass hay on part of the acreage. What began as a side venture eventually grew into a full-scale "Care and Custody" boarding facility for thoroughbred horses — allowing Kay to leave her 9-5 job and dedicate herself to the work she loved. Over time, their vision expanded beyond horses. Today, their property tells the story of what it means for Northern California landowners to adapt — transforming a single-use operation into a diversified farm that reflects both economic realities and personal values.   Adapting to the Land — and the Times In recent years, they've shifted the alfalfa and grass hay acreage to almond and olive orchards, which they sharecrop with other local farmers. And most recently, as Kay and her husband have become more involved with their church, they've transitioned away from the boarding facility entirely and moved into raising cattle — specifically beefalo. When I asked Kay "what the heck is a beefalo?!" she really went into it. A beefalo, by definition, is a cow that's 37.5% buffalo, achieved through a series of cross-breeding. Kay explained that beefalo meat is leaner and lower in cholesterol than chicken and fish, yet has all the beneficial attributes and taste of beef. The Padillas’ evolution — from equestrian boarding to crop cultivation to cattle ranching — captures the core of rural living in Northern California. Their story is one of resilience, innovation, and smart land stewardship — showing how families can evolve with the market while staying rooted in purpose.   Courage in Crisis: Serving Their Community Kay and Mel have long been trusted names among equine ranches throughout Northern California — and the numbers tell the story. During the devastating LNU Complex fire, they rescued over 80 horses and boarded many of them — some for just a week, others for as long as a month while owners rebuilt their fences. In more recent years, they've assisted in rescuing and caring for 30–50 horses during various wildfires, providing feed and board when families needed it most. Kay has also helped many people, including me, transport horses to medical appointments at the nearby UC Davis Large Animal Hospital — a lifeline for anyone with a beloved animal in crisis. When Gus came home from surgery, Kay and Mel showed up with knowledge, grit, and compassion. They somehow managed to get 40 pills down his throat — twice a day — using a syringe and a few clever tricks I'll never forget. Their calm confidence and years of hands-on experience turned an overwhelming situation into something manageable. Gus began to heal, and I began to breathe again. Today, Kay has shifted from training thoroughbreds to spending six months a year working at a regional youth church camp — passing on her sense of stewardship and care to a younger generation. Mel continues to train cutting horses on a case-by-case basis, always balancing heart, patience, and precision.   3 Lessons from the Padillas on Living Off the Land 1. Start Small — Don’t Quit Your Day Job Yet Don’t leave your 9-5 job until you’ve actually experienced farm life. It’s not an easy life, nor is it for the faint of heart. Living off the land is a 24-hour, 365-day-a-year job. Kay and her husband grew their operation gradually, building experience and infrastructure before making the leap to full-time farm life. For aspiring landowners or anyone considering a rural lifestyle, this approach builds not only financial stability but also the skills needed to sustain a working property long-term. 2. Use Your Imagination You can do so much with even a small parcel of land. The Padillas have transformed their property multiple times — from hay fields to horse boarding to orchards to beefalo ranching. Adaptability and creativity are just as important as hard work. Every acre holds potential if you’re willing to reimagine its use. The Padillas’ diversified land operation shows that successful ownership often comes down to vision, not just volume. 3. Don’t Be Afraid to Ask for Help — and Be a Good Neighbor There are really good neighbors who want to help when they can. The rural community runs on reciprocity and trust. When wildfires threatened, the Padillas opened their gates. When Gus needed care, they showed up at my door. The foundation of rural living is community. True land stewardship extends beyond property lines — it’s about caring for the people, animals, and environment that make rural life possible.   A Lasting Legacy of Stewardship The Padilla family embodies what it truly means to live off the land — to live in service to others, to nurture life in all its forms, and to show up when it matters most. Their story is a testament to what defines great landowners everywhere: adaptability, care, and a deep respect for the land that sustains us all.  

In recent years, more and more people have started looking beyond the walls of office buildings and city blocks toward something that feels both timeless and freeing: living off the land. It’s not just about survival or going “off-grid.” It’s about reclaiming a rhythm of life where work and purpose are inseparable, where the cycles of the seasons shape your days, and where your livelihood and your land are one and the same. For me, this isn’t an abstract idea. I was raised in the rural Midwest and Wyoming, where I grew up on a sheep farm, and I’ve always felt at home in wide-open spaces where the land teaches you as much as you give back to it. Today, as an agent in Northern California, I work with farmers, ranchers, and rural property owners who embody this lifestyle every day. “Living Off the Land” is more than a concept — it’s a way of life that I want to help others see, understand, and step into if it calls to them. This is the first post in a series where I’ll share stories, wisdom, and real-life glimpses into what it means to live off the land here in Northern California. And I can think of no better way to begin than with the story of my friend and neighbor, Liann Stubblefield. What Does It Mean to Live Off the Land Today? Living off the land isn’t about going off-grid or surviving in isolation. Today, it looks like farmers, ranchers, and rural creators who make their living directly from the land. It might mean raising livestock, tending orchards, running a microfarm, or even welcoming visitors through farm stays and agritourism. Some create products — honey, soaps, breads — while others share their rural life online. At its core, living off the land simply means this: your land provides the resources and income that sustain your life.   A Day at the Sale: Liann’s Calves I had the privilege of riding along with my friend Liann Stubblefield, a first-generation cattlewoman in Winters, California. Liann has a small herd, and this week, it was time for eight calves — four steers and four heifers — to make their way to the “sale,” the livestock auction where ranchers bring cattle to market. I knew these calves from their very first moments, and watched Liann clean them after birth, dab iodine on their belly buttons, and administer vaccines. I helped her remove weaning rings from their noses and often stood at the fence watching them play — running, jumping, kicking up their heels with the joy only young animals know. Most were born in November, during the cool Northern California fall. By the time I arrived, Liann already had the calves loaded into the trailer. At 4:30 p.m., we climbed into her truck and set out for Galt, hoping to arrive before the 7 p.m. check-in deadline. The calves shifted in the trailer as we drove, the weight moving like waves behind us. When we stopped for gas, I couldn’t resist peeking in — eight pairs of curious eyes stared back at me, perfectly fine, waiting. The Sacramento rush-hour traffic finally gave way to open road. By then, the calves were quiet, settled. Liann told me that this was the best time to travel — the day had cooled from the triple-digit heat of recent weeks, puffy clouds drifted across the sky, and a soft breeze kept the air in the low 80s. She also noted that cattle prices were strong right now, with each calf potentially bringing in $2,500 or more. We pulled into Cattlemen’s Livestock Market in Galt at 6:35 p.m. The big grey warehouse loomed as we found our spot. Two men emerged from the shadows of the corrals. Liann greeted them, and soon the process began: the back of the trailer opened, the calves shuffled out into the holding pen, then were guided into a larger corral connected to a long chute — like an airport TSA line for cattle. Within five minutes, they were gone from sight. One of the men handed Liann a pink slip of paper, the receipt for her eight calves. I lingered at the gate longer than Liann did. For me, it felt like a goodbye — but Liann had already closed the trailer, buckled her seatbelt, and started the truck. Life on the land doesn’t pause; there’s always more to do. On the drive back, the trailer felt lighter — and so did the mood. The sun was setting over the fields, painting the sky with streaks of orange and violet. Liann reflected on the journey of these calves, from before birth through their care and growth, to this final step. She also worried about her bull, who was recovering from an abscess on his foot, and hoped he’d be stronger by the evening. We stopped so I could run into a freshly tilled field and capture the sunset without telephone wires in the way. Liann said, “Anyone who sees this sunset and doubts there is a God, I cannot understand.” I agreed. The beauty was undeniable, as was the grace that comes from a life lived so close to the rhythms of nature. By the time we pulled back into her ranch, the bull and a young heifer (No. 55, as Liann calls her) were waiting for water. The bull still limped, but looked improved. The workday wasn’t over — it never is for those living off the land.   Why More People Are Leaving the 9-5 to Live Off the Land Stories like Liann’s show why so many people are drawn to this lifestyle. It’s not easy — in fact, it’s often backbreaking. But it brings something an office job rarely offers: autonomy, connection, and fulfillment. People are craving more than a paycheck. They want work that matters, where the results are tangible, and where life runs at the pace of seasons, not deadlines.   Creative Ways People Are Living Off the Land Living off the land doesn’t always mean raising cattle. Across Northern California, people are finding creative ways to blend passion and practicality: Microfarms and orchards that supply local markets. Beekeeping and apiculture, producing honey and pollination services. Farm stays and agritourism, opening land to visitors who crave authentic rural experiences. Cottage industries like soaps, tinctures, breads, and preserves. Content creation that brings the story of rural life to global audiences. Each path is different, but all share one truth: the land provides.   The Real Pillars: Food, Energy & Community Living off the land isn’t just about income — it’s about building resilience. Food production ensures sustenance and independence. Renewable energy sources like solar reduce costs and reliance. And community support — whether through bartering, shared equipment, or neighbors lending a hand — weaves the safety net that keeps rural life possible.   Final Thoughts: Designing a Life That Works for You There is no one way to live off the land. For some, it means raising cattle. For others, orchards, honey, or farm-stay businesses. And for many, it’s a combination of skills, side hustles, and community support. What unites them all is the pursuit of freedom, creativity, and connection. As I begin this series, I invite you to reflect: Have you started your land-based journey? What would it look like for you to live off the land?