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     I call my project Mitchell’s Lot. My maternal great-grandfather,
surname Mitchell, came from Scotland to work the land my parents
now live on in Terrell County, Texas.  Lot refers to one’s lot in life,
to a parcel or a lot of land, to feedlots (which goats do not do
particularly well in- unlike lambs), and to Lot from the Abrahamic
tradition (his wife looked back and was turned into a pillar of salt.)

     For this project, I have followed the flow of animals from the
desert to the city. Specifically I have photographed the people and
animals that populate the  canyonlands of the Trans-Pecos region
where I was raised. I have interviewed, photographed, and ridden
with the truckers who transport the animals live weight to the east
coast. I have photographed the goats as they were processed in the
USDA slaughterhouse in Paterson, New Jersey, and I have gone on
delivery to the small halal markets in the boroughs surrounding
New York City.

     Growing up on the ranch, I did not know exactly where the
animals went when the last gate closed and the trailer full of goats
or sheep drove away. We would all head back to the house for lunch.
That was the end of a years worth of work.  Today, meat goats are the
most productive and lucrative animals my parents can raise. This has
been helped greatly with the rise of the halal meat market and a Muslim
goat buyer.  Saffet Kucukkarca, originally from Turkey (of Karaçay descent)
moved his family to the center of Texas to buy goats directly from producers
and from sales to ensure a steady stream of the correct kind of animals to
his family’s halal processing plant back in New Jersey.

     This photographic essay began with a story: One day my father told me
about his new trade partner, a Muslim man, named Saffet Kucukkarca. He
told me how Saffet joined my father and mother for lunch. This is common
as ranches in this part of Texas are far from towns and it is courtesy to invite
your \guests to stay for lunch. When the time came for the lunch prayer my
father reached out for Saffet’s  hand. Saffet asked him what they were going
to do and my father told him “to pray”. Saffet asked, "Who are we going to
pray to... your God or my God?" And my father replied, “to The God.” And
they held hands and prayed.

     This lyric essay has been a richly rewarding personal experience and over
the years the project has evolved into a story about how we feed each other on
many different levels.