State Rep. Kimmi Clark Lewis died last week, having received the last rites of the Catholic Church, whose God she devoted her life to serving by being a faithful steward of His land, and a passionate advocate for her fellow stewards.

Her passing brought comment from colleagues on both sides of the political aisle, who universally admired her tenacity and dedication to her constituency — the predominantly staunchly conservative ranchers, farmers, and other rural folks who sparsely populate the wide-open prairie of southeastern Colorado.

She was unwavering in her principles and was not the least bit shy about proclaiming them, even (perhaps especially) in situations where weaker souls would have bent to equivocation. Her conservatism was of the Goldwater sort; uniquely western, individualist, tied inextricably to the land and fiercely opposed to any efforts by government to separate it from its owners.

Denver was almost foreign territory for her. It was a place she had to be to do the work that she was elected to do, but she never seemed quite comfortable here, amid the crowds and the urban canyons of steel and concrete. She enjoyed the company of her colleagues, but cared little for the parties and receptions, even less for the bureaucratic labyrinth that undergirds any capital city. Her real life was in Muddy Valley; with her family, caring for her land and livestock, fixing fences and corrals, moving her cows to fresh grass in a manner reminiscent of 150 years ago. Her time in Denver was a penance necessitated by her commitment to defend that way of life for her family and neighbors.

Kimmi was dauntless in that defense even as the flesh grew weaker. She bore the travails of her illness with the same characteristic toughness that defines that way of life — privately, uncomplaining, unwilling to cede to its cruel demands to back down. It was not uncommon to catch her at the Capitol between chemotherapy treatments, her dedication and work ethic seldom, if ever, betraying the toll which those treatments and the pernicious disease they were meant to suppress must surely have taken.

She was not in Denver to make friends, but she did so anyway, even some politically unlikely ones. All were welcome at her ranch, and it was an invitation she regularly extended to her city-slicker colleagues, so they could see for themselves what it was she fought so passionately for. Several, from both parties, took her up on the offer.

She also found kinship in suffering, standing in the well of the House alongside Reps. Dominique Jackson and Dafna Michaelson Jenet — both Democrats as devoted to their beliefs as she was to hers, and both of whom shared with her the anguish of cancer (the story is related nicely by Marianne Goodland in her report on Lewis’ passing in Colorado Politics.)

As with any faithful departed, and perhaps especially for elected public figures, thoughts turn to legacy. During her three years at the legislature, Kimmi did not have the opportunity to serve in the majority, so, as is the nature of our democratic system, many of her legislative ideas progressed no further than committee discussions. The exceptions were notable; for instance, in the highly contentious 2019 session, Lewis crafted, introduced, and shepherded a bill to require full landowner consent for all phases leading to the listing of a piece of property on the National Historic Register, and saw it pass unanimously.

And there was hardly an issue that skimmed ranching concerns or property rights that she was not looked to as an expert by members of either party. There are few in the state, for example, who comprehend the complicated issues surrounding conservation easements as thoroughly as Kimmi did. It was the issue on which she was perhaps the most passionate, in her determination to obtain relief for those who found themselves financially crippled by the program, whether (as the argument rages) that occurred through circumstances extraordinary to, or inherent in, the program’s administration. A working group established last session to finally sort the whole mess out could see many of the reforms she sought come to fruition.

Her greatest legacy, of course, is in the land she is passing on to her children, and the values and traditions she has helped to preserve. People like her — the rugged western cattleman or woman — are often referred to as “a dying breed.” Maybe. But they’ve been a dying breed for over a century now. It might be more accurate to say that as long a people like Kimmi Clark Lewis continue to exist, in life and in legacy, the west is just too damn tough to die.

Kelly Sloan is a political and public affairs consultant and a recovering journalist based in Denver.