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Among the Ashes

Regenerative farmers Robert and Jodi Bronner stood on a charred hillside in Enterprise, Utah, holding hands in the early morning sun. The smell of charred earth lingered in the cool, damp air.

Though they usually began work when the sun came up, they started late on that summer day. They were exhausted. The hills to the north, west, and south were scorched by a wildfire that had ripped through the area in June. Since then, the community—neighbors, customers, and fellow farmers—had rallied to help the Bronners get back on their feet. Even with their help, the couple was still struggling to catch up on their work, as well as their rest.

A Devastating Fire

The Bronners, who specialize in high-quality pork and poultry, had kept their butchery equipment in an aluminum building located about 50 yards uphill from where they stood. Back in June, Robert saw lightning strike about 5 miles to the west of the building. It was 11 a.m. He called 911. The dispatcher said that firefighters were already en route. Though firefighters descended upon the fire quickly, the fire’s behavior was erratic. It grew quickly and burned uphill, devouring everything in sight.

“We thought the building would be safe, because it’s metal,” Robert said. “But it turned into an oven. When I came back later that night, I touched the wall, and it burned my hand. Everything inside was incinerated.” The building smoldered for 10 days after the fire. Somehow, a trunk of blankets survived, as did a photo album.

(David Dudley for American Essence)

About 20 feet downhill from the burned building, there was a small wooden house that had been occupied by pigs before the fire. The little house, as well as the 4.6-acre patch of land where the pigs had lived and cultivated the soil for three years, were the only things in sight that were left untouched by the fire. “We didn’t have time to round up the pigs. The firefighters told us that we had to go. So, I cut holes in the fence, to give the pigs a fighting chance.” Robert said. “Later, when we returned, the pigs were here, safe. It was a miracle.”

A Community Rallies Together

Before the fire, Robert said he had been getting closer to earning his livelihood from his small business. “The American Dream,” he said. But the fire destroyed all of the Bronners’ butchery equipment, feed, and supplies.

“But the hardest part,” said Jodi, “is losing the place where you farm. All of our animals leave the land better than they found it. Just as we try to be good stewards of the land, the animals do, too.”

The Bronners, who are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, had to start from scratch. “Though this has been hard,” Robert said, “it has given us the chance to press reset. It has tested our values. I was taught to never give up. You have to have faith when something like this happens.”

The Bronners were used to helping others, but the thought that others would come to their aid had never crossed their minds. So, when their church, neighbors, and customers began offering help, the Bronners were overwhelmed with humility and gratitude. “We needed their help more than we knew,” Robert said. “After weeks of moving things, and cleaning, I realized that I couldn’t do it alone.”

A local church leader offered to bring some men to help the Bronners move the burned equipment out of the building. Then, various community members and customers offered to give the Bronners totes, barrels, and buckets. “We really needed those,” said Jodi. “But really, we needed so much more. We lost nearly everything in the fire.”

That’s when Kat Puzey, the executive director of MoFaCo, stepped in. “What happened to the Bronners would put most small farmers out of business,” Puzey said. “It’s devastating. They’d built something that was well on its way to becoming a sustainable business. And, they have the best chicken around.”

(David Dudley for American Essence)

Puzey started a fundraiser for the Bronners, who’d lost over $10,000 in equipment. She set a modest goal of raising $5,000. Robert was about to dip into his life savings to replace the butchery equipment when he learned that Puzey’s fundraiser had raised $4,500, which was available to use immediately. “With GoFundMe,” Puzey explained, “you can begin using funds before you reach your goal. Robert used that money to buy new equipment, so he could continue to fill orders.”

The Future

A month after the fire, the Bronners were still struggling to get back on their feet. As they looked around the charred hillside, they were silent. They wouldn’t be able to farm this land for a long time to come, and their makeshift slaughterhouse was being razed. Then, Jodi noticed some new plants reaching up from the blackened soil. “That’s the pigs,” she said. “They spent three years cultivating this soil. Now, it’s regenerating itself faster than the rest of this land.” But even that land, an unspoiled island among a sea of charred earth, would take years to fully regenerate.

Nevertheless, the Bronners said they felt blessed by all the support they’d had. They were offered some land in Beryl, Utah, where they had begun to set up shop again and resume their farming operation. Equally important, they said, were the thoughts and prayers offered by the community. “While the money helps to keep our business alive,” Robert said, “people’s kindness has helped to keep our spirits up. We couldn’t do this without them.”

As Robert and Jodi turned away from the burned land to the west, they faced lush fields to the east. They held hands in silence as they walked toward their truck. Then Jodi stopped, squeezing Robert’s hand. “I guess this is goodbye,” she whispered into his ear. “We won’t be coming up here anymore.”

(David Dudley for American Essence)

Categories
Entrepreneurs Features

Sugar’s Restaurant in Utah: How a US Marine Fought to Keep His Wife’s Dream Alive

Brandon and Jamie Ashby were married just shy of one year, when the latter decided that it was time to make her dream of opening a restaurant a reality. Jamie said that she’d wanted to open a restaurant since she was 15, when she worked at a small cafe in Nevada. “They did everything wrong,” Jamie said, “and I used to imagine how I’d do it differently.”

But due to her strict Mormon upbringing, she wasn’t encouraged to pursue such dreams. As she was preparing to graduate, she asked her parents if they’d set aside any money to help her pay for college. “My mom said, ‘Why would we do that? You’re just going to get married and have children,'” Jamie said.

So, she spent much of her adult life working for other people. “I felt like I was helping their businesses succeed, through management,” she said, “but not being brave enough to follow my dream.”

But when she met Brandon four years ago, she finally found the courage to pursue her dream. They were living in Boulder City, Nevada. Brandon, a 45-year-old veteran of the U.S. Marine Corps and a career policeman, agreed to help fund Jamie’s dream.

They opened a bakery in Boulder City in June 2020. Jamie made spudnuts—essentially donuts, but with mashed potatoes folded into the dough—according to her grandmother’s recipe. “She was small-town famous for that recipe,” Jamie said. The bakery was a small family business; Jamie only worked with one other person. Then, when Brandon retired from the Boulder City Police Department later that month, he joined Jamie at the bakery.

Jamie keeps this picture at the restaurant to honor her grandparents, Enid and Dan Stewart. (David Dudley)

“He started by washing dishes,” Jamie said. “Then he began helping me with baking. I thought it might take him a while, because he’d never really done this kind of thing before. But he took to it almost immediately.”

The bakery was becoming self-sufficient, until October rolled around. Due to pandemic-related shutdowns and limited-capacity dining, the bakery quickly went from a successful small business to being on the verge of failure. “We had to change our whole business model,” Jamie said. “When the state dropped dining capacity from 50 to 25 percent, we had to find another way to survive.”

They had to close the bakery’s doors because they weren’t making enough money. Jamie had already begun to accept the looming reality of abandoning her dream, but Brandon had acquired a never-say-die approach to work and life, from his time in the U.S. Marine Corps. “He told me that this was good,” she said. “He said that we’ll come out the other end stronger.”

From the Military Police to Restaurateur

Brandon attended high school in Anchorage, Alaska. He joined the Marines after graduating in 1994, when he was 19. His older brother, who had joined the Army, tried to convince Brandon to join the Air Force. “According to my brother, they had it easier,” Brandon said. “They had the best barracks, the best food, the best training.”

Brandon’s brother thought he wouldn’t make it in the Marines. “So, I enlisted in the Marines,” Brandon said, smiling. Brandon knew he wanted to join the military police, but his recruiter said there were no openings at the time. Brandon accepted that he’d be an infantryman, but then he was assigned to the military police force. “It was the luck of the draw, I guess,” Brandon said.

He was sent to Ft. McClellan, in Anniston, Alabama, for recruit training. He did seven weeks of infantry training, then three more weeks training with weapons and land navigation. “Then, I learned military law, and how to enforce it. The last month was like a police academy.” After completing his training, he was sent to Camp Pendleton, a Marine Corps base in San Diego, California. He was eventually invited to join the Special Reaction Team, the military police equivalent of SWAT.

Brandon, who spent his career as a military and civilian policeman, skillfully cuts spudnuts from a disk of kneaded dough. (David Dudley)

Brandon said he feels lucky to have received the training he did. “It was the perfect path to a career in law enforcement.” He left the Marines after four years, then worked in construction and security. Then, Brandon was invited to join the Hoover Dam Federal Police. “This was just after 9/11,” Brandon said. “Hoover Dam was thought to be a terrorist target.”

After working there for two years, Brandon joined the Boulder City Police Department, where he worked for 12 years before retiring. “Then, I joined Jamie in the bakery. It was the best thing that could’ve happened to me then.”

Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire

After the bakery failed in Nevada, the Ashbys decided to move to St. George, Utah, because Utah took a much more lax approach to COVID restrictions. They packed their belongings into a moving truck, and headed for St. George in November 2020. As they crossed the Nevada-Utah border, Jamie Ashby’s phone buzzed.

“It was an automated message from the governor of Utah,” she said. “He’d passed a mask mandate. I looked at Brandon and said: ‘We almost made it. We almost escaped.’”

Again, Jamie felt her dream slipping through her fingers. Moving to St. George and opening a full-service restaurant was her last shot. The couple had to jump through a series of costly hurdles in order to get their restaurant, Sugar’s, up to code before opening its doors to the public on February 11, 2021. 

A platter of fried chicken tenders, parmesan-dusted French fries, and cheesy mashed potatoes at Sugar’s. (David Dudley)

“When we opened, we were broke,” Jamie said. “We had to borrow money to stay open long enough to start earning money.” After a turbulent period, the Ashbys are finally making a name for themselves, and earning enough to keep their doors open.

“We came to St. George on a wing and a prayer,” Jamie said. “Throughout this emotional rollercoaster ride, Brandon has supported me in every way imaginable.”

“During my time in the Marines,” Brandon said, “I learned that you never give up. You fight until you can’t fight anymore.”

Watching Brandon knead dough, it’s apparent that he puts a great deal of care into what he’s doing. One may also get the sense that, as he and Jamie move through the kitchen, they’re fighting for their livelihood. That fighting spirit is the reason Sugar’s is open for business, and Jamie’s dream—which is a version of the American dream—is still alive.