The Door Opened, I Ran

Hello,

My name is Wesley Littleton. My wife Maddy and I are transitioning into ownership of the Alderspring beef distribution. I know that sentence alone can sound a bit intimidating—especially for those of you who have been part of this community for 20+ years. Because of that, I believe it’s incredibly important that our relationship moving forward is built on transparency, honesty, and connection.

I’d like to share a little bit of my story with you.

I grew up about four hours away from Alderspring’s current headquarters. I was a three-sport athlete in high school, and I had a hard time staying indoors during my free time. My dad was a bull rider, and agriculture runs deep in my family. Ranching and livestock were never just an interest—they were part of who we were.

On senior night for each of my sports teams, the announcer would say a few words about every graduating player. When it came to me, the message was always the same:

“This is Wesley Littleton. When he leaves here, he wants to own and operate a large-scale cattle operation.”

That was it. Simple and direct.

Since I was fourteen years old, I knew deep down what I wanted to do. The path to get there wasn’t always clear—but the destination never changed.

One day I was sitting in history class, probably daydreaming and staring at the clock waiting for the bell to ring, when I saw a picture my cousin had sent to our family group chat. She had spent the summer of 2021 as an intern on the Alderspring range.

I was blown away.

What she was doing—the landscape, the horses, the cattle—it all looked like something out of a dream. I immediately looked up Alderspring online and discovered they were offering internships.

Before the bell rang that day, I had already submitted my application.

Later I learned that some applicants spent hours carefully crafting every detail of their applications. I always laugh when I think about it—I finished mine in about twenty minutes. It wasn’t because I didn’t care. I read every question carefully and answered with everything I had.

The truth was, I had already been answering those questions my entire life.

The feeling reminds me of when my wife and I pull our boots on before a ride and our dogs realize what’s happening. The moment they see those boots, they can’t contain themselves. They bounce off the walls, run to the door and back again, wagging and shuffling every direction. They know exactly what they were made to do, and the opportunity is right in front of them.

There’s a fire inside them.

And when that door opens—they run.

A few months later I was pulling into Alderspring headquarters for the first time. I was driving my truck, with my dad following behind me in his. Unsure where to go, I headed toward the cluster of vehicles near the corrals.

That’s when I saw something that honestly felt like a movie scene.

Sitting on the top rail of the corral were a handful of people watching the pen below. Inside, Melanie and Linnea were working with a couple of range horses, training them before the summer season began.

I remember thinking: This can’t actually be real.

But it was.

The door had opened—and I was running through it.

Life on the range turned out to be even better than I had imagined. It was my Super Bowl, my World Cup, my Olympic gold medal—the thing you work for your entire life and finally get to experience.

And on top of all that, I met someone.

Her name was Maddy.

On our very first day riding the range, we parked near a campsite and rode about three miles to where the yearlings had been left the night before after turnout. It was gray, windy, and cold. Physically, I’ll admit—it was miserable.

But I wasn’t cold.

Even if it had started snowing and dropped to zero degrees, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. I felt completely at peace.

There’s an energy when you let cattle out in the morning. The cows are eager to graze, the horses are ready to move, and the riders are excited for whatever the day might bring.

As we rode, people paired off and drifted around the herd, getting to know each other.

Looking back, I only remember one person who rode with me that day.

Maddy.

There’s a saying around the ranch called “creating a star.” I’m not sure who originally came up with it, so I’ll assume it was Glenn.

A “star” happens when two riders leave their posts moving cattle and find a ridge somewhere to park their horses and chat. It becomes obvious when there are three riders on the north side of a herd and three on the south, each responsible for holding a stretch of country.

Each rider might normally cover 500 to 1,000 yards. But when two riders drift together, suddenly one person is left covering twice the ground—and before long cattle start slipping through and making a mess.

As you might guess…

Maddy and I created quite a few stars.

In my defense, I understand that stars have a gravitational pull—and hers was a powerful one. It was so strong that when I went home to visit my family for the first time that summer, I told my best friend—who would later become my best man—

“I found her.”

He looked at me and said, “What are you talking about?”

“I found my wife,” I told him. “I just know it.”

In early July there’s a week when everyone gets some time off while the cattle come down to private ground. During that week the crews were rearranged.

Well… almost.

I stayed on the same crew—with one major change.

My star was gone.

Later I learned the truth: the sisters had decided that Maddy and I created far too bright of a star, and therefore very little work was getting done.

The rest of the summer flew by. Every time Glenn or Caryl spoke, I soaked up every word. They approach ranching differently. They study, adapt, and experiment constantly, working to build rangeland that is bursting with life.

Being part of that was an incredible opportunity.

As the summer came to an end, the interns were asked if anyone wanted to stay an extra month to help bring the cattle down. The grass had held longer than expected that year.

I said yes immediately.

But my motivation had changed.

I stayed because of Maddy.

I had started looking for ranch jobs, but none of them were anywhere near her. I didn’t want to leave.

A few days later we were riding through thick timber toward a water tank where another crew would relieve us. The cattle drive down the mountain was only a couple of days away, and I still hadn’t found work nearby.

As we approached the tank, I could see riders gathered around the hose filling the water troughs. Maddy was riding beside me.

We stepped through the hotwire gate and I saw Glenn standing beside his dog, Clyde. He was off his horse, watching the cattle closely—studying each one as they came in to drink.

You could see the care he had for every animal.

Maddy and I stepped down from our horses and walked over. Glenn turned toward me and said,

“You’ll get paid starting Monday. Welcome to the family.”

No long conversation. No formal offer.

Just clear instructions.

And honestly, who was I to say anything except:

“Wow. Thank you.”

I turned to Maddy, trying to hold back tears.

I was staying.

That moment was the beginning of my journey with Alderspring. My heart still swells when I think back on it.

I hope this story gives you a glimpse into the care, honesty, and passion behind the beef we raise and provide to each of you.

Thank you for being part of this journey with us.

With gratitude,
Wesley Littleton