Austin Holt was a good sheepherder. He would sit with his
two dogs, Max and Holly, under the shade of a tree or in the door of the sheep
wagon, seemingly in a sleepy daze. But in reality, he was watching. Watching
the thousand little points of fluffy white that grazed along the hillside.
Watching the grass and sage and bush as it was methodically trimmed down.
Calculating how much forage would be left at the end of the evening, and how
much this stretch of rangeland would allow for continued grazing. Each day he
would mount his horse, Jess, and ride a few miles this way or that, checking
the brush and the watering spots. Then he would return to his sheep wagon and
watch. He watched for signs of coyote or bear, the enemies of sheepherders and
sheep alike. He watched for clouds building in the afternoon sky that would
warn of a thunderstorm and would necessitate an early bed down of the sheep.
All this Austin watched, along with his dogs, day after day, alone in the hills
of Idaho and Montana.
As a
sheepherder, so much depended on the nature of the land around him. So much was
counting on the rainfall and the wind, the hunger of the predators for sheep
and the hunger of the lambs for dewy grass. It all was a balance, a delicate
tally of wins versus losses, man versus nature. He knew this, and knew how to
haggle and bargain and win the argument with the hills that lay silent around
him.
Sheepherding
was a tradition for him. His father was a sheepherder, before becoming a
farmer. His grandfather had owned sheep as well as cows, back in the early days
of western agricultural expansion. His great-grandfather was a just a peasant
back in Scotland, but the country peasant ways meant that sheep were necessary
for wool, and wool for spinning and weaving into clothing for the family.
Beyond that, he didn’t know how many generations of Holts had raised sheep.
Every single one, he imagined, for sheep seemed as natural and necessary to
life as was a breakfast of bacon and biscuits.
Now,
however, in addition to the care for sheep, modern amenities had allowed Austin
to expand his knowledge of the world. He knew many theories behind why Kennedy
was assassinated; he knew that the Apollo program was in a race to the moon; he
knew that Vietnam was a bad idea but supported the soldiers just the same; he
marveled over electronic fuel injection and lasers and the short-wave radio
that brought him all this information. And yet, knowing more and more about
what America was up to and what the other nations were saying and even what editorials
in the local paper said, he was more than content to watch his band of sheep
and gaze at the hills day after day.
