Wade Lowry’s future was set. He had planned to work in the oil field for 30 years, retire and then take over his family’s multi-generational ranch near Laredo, Texas. But in 2015, on the eve of Thanksgiving, and 12 years into his 30-year career, he was laid off.  

Surrounded by a weekend of thankfulness, family and food, a sobering reality awaited. Monday was on the horizon and the looming question of what he would do next.  

 “I didn’t really know,” Lowry admitted. He had a skid steer he’d bought with oil field bonus money that he could put to work and 12 steers he and his wife, Raegan, had recently purchased. 

“We took out a loan for $17,000 and fed them up,” Wade recalled. They ran the cattle on 700 acres of leased pasture in the Three Rivers area near Corpus Christi.  

That December, around Christmas, they sold them for beef. “It was a godsend. We ended up getting like $3,600 a steer,” he said. The initial investment was about $1,400 apiece. 

Raegan and Wade Lowry. Raegan's CrossFit community propels the couple's beef business. (Photo by Shelley E. Huguley)

Little did the couple know that their dirty dozen sold in uncertain times would collide with the onset of the paleo movement (a caveman eating style) and Raegan’s CrossFit community, thrusting them into a beef niche that’s still flourishing today: W&R Lowry Farms and Ranches.  

Wade laughingly recalls that first set of steers. “They were crazy as the day is long,” he said of the King Ranch cattle. “The only time they had seen humans was when they got worked, castrated or on the truck.”   

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As for the flavor, looking back, he admitted it wasn’t the best, as they were grass fed coming into the winter months. The people who bought them “were too nice,” he noted. 

But what the Lowrys learned from that first sale is “people automatically assume that if they buy a beef from us it's going to be good because they have a story to go with it. It’s a mentality, like, ‘I know this guy.’” 

And the couple has built on that premise ever since.  

CrossFit 

Raegan’s relationships through CrossFit, a fitness program that combines cardio, calisthenics and Olympic weightlifting, springboarded their business. She’s a big CrossFitter, Wade said.  

“CrossFit’s expensive and it tied us into people that cared about their health, wanted something local and had disposable income. A beef is an expensive purchase-- $4,500 to $5,500. It’s a lot of money upfront, although long term, it’s cheap.” 

Initially, the draw was the couple’s “grass-fed” cattle. “Now, I think people are mad at the government and they don’t want them to control what they’re eating,” Raegan said. “They don’t like the unknown about where their food comes from.” 

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Wade Lowry and his wife Raegan sell their beef direct to consumers. (Photo by Shelley E. Huguley)

Wade noted that he and Raegan aren’t anti-GMO or anti-vaccination. “We just feed how we feed. But I think people just want to relate to somebody.” 

And people naturally navigate towards Raegan. “She’s good at what she does,” Wade said. “Because she’s in shape, they ask questions like, ‘What are you doing to get in shape?’” Quality protein or beef is a big part of that. 

A different route 

While the Lowry’s ranching lineage dates to the late 1800s, Wade and Raegan are marketing their cattle differently than generations prior. 

“Everybody had done the concept of the day you work them, you castrate them and then take them to the sale barn and sell them. My dad had done his like this and did well. He weaned them properly, but still took them to the sale barn. 

“It just didn’t fit what we were doing,” Wade said. Direct consumer sales, eventually integrating Akaushi cattle, was their goal.  

Inspiration and daring to fail  

The inspiration to try something new began through relationships built with other entrepreneurial people through the Texas Farm Bureau Young Farmer & Rancher Program.  

Wade also shared his ideas with a close friend and fellow Texas A&M University alum Chet Creel, who encouraged him, “‘Just go and do it. What are you going to do, fail?’ 

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“I had already gotten laid off,” Wade thought. “I’ve got to hustle somewhere, and I always enjoyed the cattle thing. I just didn’t think it would come to us this fast.”  

He was also intrigued and admittedly a little insecure about branching off into Akaushi cattle. Wade called it pride but he said he found security in knowing no one around them had integrated the Akaushi into their breeding program, so therefore if he failed, no one would know, “no one could judge me.” 

Wade Lowry introduced Japanese Akaushi cattle into their breeding program in 2016. (Photo by Shelley E. Huguley)

From there, the couple changed their breeding program to fit South Texas cattle but also fit the Hill Country and West Texas, where their pastures are located. “It’s been really good for us,” Wade said. 

Akaushi 

The Lowrys introduced Japanese Akaushi cattle into their breeding program in 2016. “We run them on a commercial cow, like a red Baldy, some type of quarter Brahman influence, so they’re not Super Baldys. They have more Angus in them.” 

He described them as “Brangusy with a little Hereford.” The Lowry’s breed for longevity, and heat and mosquito tolerance. Many of their ranches are located near farmland so there’s few trees. “We battle the blazing sun and that’s the reason we went with the short hair,” Wade said. 

He also prefers Angus and Hereford beef marbling. “And then the Japanese could almost guarantee us prime every time, even in our grass-fed program.” 

The Lowrys have moved away from grass fed to primarily grain fed. Between the drought, limiting grass production, and the fact that the grass-fed movement has faded, they’ve shifted.  

Giving thanks 

It’s been a journey since that pre-Thanksgiving layoff and the steep learning curve that accompanied it. The couple is glad they took a risk and are grateful for their success.  

“I tell people, follow somebody that’s big and mimic them,” Wade said. “We try to mimic and then sometimes we just do our own thing, hence, why we do grain fed or grass fed or something different. Or like the Japanese. No one we knew did the Japanese. We were the weirdos that did it.  

“It’s really cool though because we’ve come out with an amazing product that we’re very proud of.” 

Next, learn more about how the Lowrys are facing mental health and dealing with the pressures that accompany a rich family ranching legacy.