This is a poem written by Annie Wilson capturing a glimpse of herding cattle and the realization of an ancient connection to peoples of the past

Wilson, Annie

English

Kansas State University

Kansas State University Libraries New Prairie Press Symphony in the Flint Hills Field Journal 2015 – Grasslands of the World (Jim Hoy, Larry Patton, Marty White, Editors) The Herders Annie Wilson Follow this and additional works at: https://newprairiepress.org/sfh Recommended Citation Wilson, Annie (2015). "The Herders," Symphony in the Flint Hills Field Journal. https://newprairiepress.org/sfh/2015/southamerica/4 To order hard copies of the Field Journals, go to shop.symphonyintheflinthills.org. The Field Journals are made possible in part with funding from the Fred C. and Mary R. Koch Foundation. This is brought to you for free and open access by the Conferences at New Prairie Press. It has been accepted for inclusion in Symphony in the Flint Hills Field Journal by an authorized administrator of New Prairie Press. For more information, please contact cads@k-state.edu. 7372THE  HERDERSshe brushed the spider-web off her cheek,reined hard to the left,and ducked low beneath a heavy branch.after a careful scan of the murky darkness, Concluding, “no more critters in this timber,”she guided her horse out to join the other riders.to the east, across the series of misted draws,the sun was momentarily resting,a sliver of red on the horizon.Below, the yellow and purple prairie bloomsLit the tallgrass, and the morning songsof invisible ground-nesting larksseemed to rise from the earth itself.they merged their steers into a bellowing mass,a patchwork of black, brown, and grey, Crossbreds fat from the prairie summer:their season of effortless satisfactionon that lush green blanket that stretched to the sky,Cushioning hooves, cradling backs,and filling their ruminant stomachsWith a banquet of endless, sweet forage.no humans to schedule their feeding,no boundaries but a distant fence that kept themWithin calling distance of their brothersand curtailed their natural drift,But no matter:  it was fine enough here.she looked out now across their crowded backs,tails swishing, a head thrown back here and there,a scuffle now and then as one would rear and ride another.the herd all gathered and drifting west just right,she glanced around the periphery of riders: Family, neighbors, helping today,their faces calm and satisfied in this – the best work.herders, she thought, an ancient, universal profession.the Maasai of african plain,the Mongols of asian steppe,and us here, with these simple, beautiful beastsand these trustworthy grasses From which we make our lives. Annie Wilson, Five Oaks Ranch, Chase County, KansasB U F F a L o  C o M M o n sJim Richardson

The Herders

https://newprairiepress.org/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1131&amp;context=sfh

The Herders

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