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Beyond the Ranch: Carrying the Cowboy Ethic into Public Service

  • Writer: Andrew Flynn
    Andrew Flynn
  • Jul 1
  • 4 min read

Updated: 2 days ago


Andrew in Wyoming. 1994
Andrew in Wyoming. 1994

I’ve worn a few different hats in my life — some metaphorical, and at least one that was a well-worn Stetson, sun-bleached and sweat-stained from years working as a cowboy on ranches in Wyoming and Montana.


One of those ranches stretched across 150 square miles. Just seven of us were responsible for all of it. That meant long days, hard weather, and no room to pass the buck. When a truck broke down, you didn’t call a mechanic, you figured out how to get it running again. If the fence was down, you pulled on gloves and started stringing barb wire. If a tire was flat, you changed it yourself. And if a calf was sick, you treated it.


You had to be useful. That meant knowing how to drive a tractor or a dump truck, how to bail hay, how to doctor livestock, how to handle whatever the day threw at you and usually without much warning. There was no one to hand the problem off to. No manual, no backup, and no time to dwell. You just had to get the job done and done right.


That kind of work teaches you things. It teaches you how to stay calm under pressure. It teaches you how to think clearly when you’re cold, tired, or sore. And maybe most importantly, it teaches you that the work isn’t done just because you’re tired, it’s done when the job is finished and things are in better shape than you found them.


Life on a ranch and life out West more broadly, is fundamentally different from suburban living. The pace, the priorities, the sense of isolation and self-reliance. You learn to trust your instincts and your tools. You rely on the few people around you, not because it’s easy, but because your safety and success depend on it. And you do your part without fanfare, because that’s just what the job demands.


I see echoes of that same ethic in my work as a firefighter.


The culture of the fire service, like the culture of the ranch, is built on trust, accountability, and quiet professionalism. You train hard, you prepare for the worst, and when the call comes, you move fast and work together. You don’t worry about credit or recognition. You worry about doing the job right, protecting people, and making sure everyone goes home safe.


Whether it's fighting fire or fixing fence, the values are the same: take responsibility, stay calm, and don’t leave a job half-done. I carry that same mindset into how I choose to serve the community.


Public service isn’t about having all the answers or always being in control. It’s about being ready when it counts. It’s about seeing something that needs doing and stepping up. Whether I’m in turnout gear on a call, sitting through a municipal budget meeting, or walking door to door hearing from neighbors, I try to bring the same respect for the work and the same commitment to the people who depend on it.


It might sound like a world away from government finance and public policy, but the truth is, those years on ranches shaped how I lead and how I serve far more than any job title or academic degree ever could.


In both places, you’re accountable. Not to a boss breathing down your neck, but to the work itself. To your neighbors, your teammates, and your own word. You don’t skip steps. You don’t assume someone else will take care of it. If something’s wrong, you fix it. If something’s needed, you step in. You don’t need permission, you need judgment, commitment, and follow-through.


That mindset translates directly to public service. Most of the work in government isn’t glamorous. It’s not press releases or ribbon cuttings. It’s making sure the funding is in place to fix a water line before it fails. It’s noticing when a system isn’t working and taking the time to dig into the details, not to score points, but to solve the problem. It’s budgeting not just for the next election, but for the next generation.


The tools might be different now, spreadsheets and policy memos instead of fence pliers and saddlebags, but the principles are the same. Do the work. Take responsibility. Leave things better than you found them.


That’s what I learned on the ranch many years ago now. But it’s what I carry with me every time I step into the halls of government to this day.


About Andrew Flynn

Andrew is a Mt. Lebanon commissioner, public finance and policy expert, volunteer firefighter, and community advocate committed to building safer, more resilient, and better-connected neighborhoods. Through public service and hands-on experience, Andrew works every day to make a positive impact in our community.


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