....and all this

....and all this

the bulls that get rode in front of the cheering crowds
The horses jumping at speed

The dogs turning steers in an arena
The dog teams in the north

And Climbers on Everest.

Please stop a moment and sit down, and lets talk about something.

Something I wonder about.


We used to fight the Lion for real.

And hunt the bison on foot.

We used to struggle to survive on the free land

And now,

We don't


And we miss it

A longing to be connected.

when I fly my hawks after quarry

It joins me deep as a breath I steal from the wind.

I am the quarry....flying fast

I am the falcon striking.

.....and all this

fooling

fooled you know
this civilization
fooled into speed
and safety

the old ones
on all continents knew better
their time streched out and laid down all around them.

I find these old people, you know, under and around me....shsss...listen

When I tighten a girth on my horse

On the trails where a glance between my dog and I exchange the working philosophies of moving sheep.

They smile when I search a track in the mud and can tell who made it and how long ago.

careful now....careful

where are we going with this sit down time inside
as clean, and safe as can be.

no one wants to ride now.

everyone trains from the ground.
trains the horse to go in circles
forever
for

nothing.

For the old moorit ewe

You have given me 24 lambs
Hid them in brush, so eagles would not find them.

Let me milk you and make Kumiss.
Gave me your fine brown wool for socks

You fought off two stray dogs.
Then brought the flock home from 4 miles away

You tested my pups, old ewe.
Onery, and strong

You could spot weakness a mile away
And were horned and would use those horns like a fighting bull.

You were fair though

And if treated with strenght, and respect you would give ground.
Folks would say, 'Why do you keep that old Bitch ewe?'

I kept you because you were strong and smart and beautiful
And I have no need of slaves.

My Little dogs

He turns without a word

Without a word from me.
I who speak, when trialing

I'm silent when catching lambs

And this amazes me.

He knows
by the leg crook I hold, that we must catch a lamb
and somehow
He knows
which one it is.......




And then we walk out to Doan's field
No fences and deep woods

and my back account trotting beside the ewes.

And my laughing partner by my side.
--------------------------------------------------


Then during the storm

When I cannot chance a single mistep
or lost lamb

I take old Gunny and Cap
The partnership formed deep as sea water, strong as sunlight.

Before I knew what trialing was
I knew what foraging is. And the risk.

And the ewes are panicked by the rush of wind and a sharp crack of a dying tree.

And Gunny and Cap take up their sides

And control is gained and we walk home.

All of us, but Gunny, shudder with the cracks and pops of limbs twisting and falling.
my little dogs know their job.

These dogs who never trialed. Never will trial, I guess.

And it amazes me.

Chains or traction tires required.

On the way to look at the colts.
----------------------------------------------


The pass started up the grim mountains slowly
Then something got behind them
And the land tilted towards the sky

Tall trees heavy from the snow
limbs folded down so they didn't break under the weight.

And I am pulling a rig

A red stock trailer
In case I got a colt.

In Grandpa's truck, where his hands had rested
in Confidance on the wheel

Little Gunny beside me.

The signs said
Chains or traction tires required.

And as the logging trucks pulled over, so did I.

And I thought, 'now on this steep pass this is like life.'

I could not turn this rig around even if I had to.
No room, only the narrow snow covered road with the stern cliff above, and a long breathless drop on the other.

I can only go on.

Like life.

You must lay on your back and put your chains on the gritty black tires.
the cold steel bites your gloveless frozen hands
And trucks drive by spraying you with slush
inches from your legs.

And then you get out and open the door of your cab
Where family and friends had sat in summer laughter.
Greeted by the little brown dog.
Who in complete confidence curls up next to you as you put the rig in gear.

You can only go foward

And on ice
Chains on, drive slow, rattle thump,
pulling the rig that carries your memories and dreams

Both hands on the wheel

And you go on
and don't even glance at the signs that say
'Avalanche Area.' 'Steep Grade' 'Falling Rocks'

wonder with great breathless awe at the folks who lived long ago who passed this way. Feel their laughter and tears, as it sprays up with the icy slush.


Turn on the radio
Twist up the volume, old country tunes are best in tight situations.
Pat old Gunny

And sing loudly

Till the mountains sigh
at this crazy child of humanity
and Grandma sun comes out behind the exhausted clouds.

And suddenly

The snow is gone.

And you pull over
And unhook the chains
And laugh and stretch
Like the little dog.

Then drive on

Knowing

You must come back this way

and soon.

Cheap Colts

Oh the pass
Kneeling in snow putting chains on
600 foot drop on the other side
Semi's roar by my legs blowing my jacket

Gunny sits in the cab Panting her approval

My camera slips from my pocket a bounce, tumble down the cliff to flash againest the snow.

And I am thinking

Colts.....A good colt


Sane and sound, small and quick

And then many hours later I am there.
With the colts and a young cowboy.

We catch them

Mount up and try them.

His remark to me
'You are pretty good
after you get on.'

I smile...
we rope the sweet goats
And a donkey who disappeared finally down a wash.
I realize the colt I am riding now knows he is a stud

Open skys
What shines into my mind looking at them.

Thoughts of Pete and home

I didn't get one of these colts

Not the right one.

On the drive home on 97
you realize how vast is the land

Little ghost towns sigh in their dust as I drive by

Then finally to wheat country
Then the Columbia
Where Lewis and Clark were led by Bird Woman
Even though she gets left out of many of their stories.

The tall cliffs, dry and old are thoughtful of my progress

Gunny sleeps

Old Pop used to say

There are no cheap colts
But my view was priceless

Down to the Sound

Waiting for the ferry
The dogs and I
Sit watching the great ships
Swim past the slow tacking sails

Of folks on holiday

One ship the size of a small town
with two tugs fretting and worrying about her
Remind me of you my dogs.

The one slow and strong

The other close, bouncing on the waves of her wake

The way you two handle the great flock when we walk the trails of the island.

Taw in back and Sweep pushing up the sides so no one causes a jam of wooly backs.

The ship is headed for Tacoma with her gifts from the East that we pay for in many ways.

While here in the ferry line.
we sit
The rig full of sheep
we Wait for the boat.