I’m herding the sheep right now while I’m talking in the tape recorder. There’s lots of time out here in Red Rock to think about life.

I am learning a lot about the Navajo way of being, acting, and thinking. Many things are becoming clearer to me, things that I just couldn’t understand in the beginning. When I first came to the reservation I had a simplistic view that there was no basic difference between Navajos and Anglos. After all, we both are humans struggling for survival on this earth. We both need food and shelter and human companionship. After making countless cross-cultural blunders, I discovered that there are deep and fundamental differences in beliefs and attitudes between the two cultures. These differences can be the cause of much misunderstanding.

My feelings used to get hurt because the Navajo form of teasing seemed cruel. Now I realize that it is one of the ways of showing affection. And another thing that used to bother me is when I made every effort to do something for my Navajo friends to make them happy, but no one expressed any gratitude. Finally I came to understand that traditional Navajos say “thank you” only after they receive some enormous favor. And no one says “please” unless they are close to begging. When my Navajo friends ask for something, they say “give me this,” instead of saying “would you please give me this.” At first I thought it sounded bossy and demanding. Then I realized that in the Navajo language, there is no other way to ask for something. Besides, the refinements of the English language seem out of place in this rugged environment.

I am beginning to understand now how Navajo people might feel when they go off the reservation into the city to find employment. I bet they feel unappreciated and their talents disregarded or overlooked. I am in the same situation in reverse, something you rarely find—a person from the dominant culture becoming part of the minority culture. This experience has made me feel a lot of empathy and compassion for the Navajos. Right now I am the one who is feeling unappreciated and misunderstood.

A few weeks after I came to Red Rock to herd sheep, I drove to Shiprock on my day off and bought four bags of groceries. I cooked a big, fancy dinner for Virginia and Lee Tome and Morris. I made them some of my favorite recipes as a special treat. They thought my cooking was no good and hardly ate anything I made—until I learned to cook Navajo food in their style. Now, looking back, I can see the humor in my misguided attempts to please them.

Grandmother talks about me a lot. I don’t understand every word she says, but I understand enough to know that she is very critical of the way I do things—the white man’s way. I began to feel paranoid that she is talking about me all the time. I wonder if this is what Navajos feel like who don’t speak English fluently.

Virginia Tome thinks I am ignorant when I can’t do things in the way that she does them. When I first tried to make Navajo fry bread, she was impatient with me that I couldn’t make the dough come out big and round and thin, just the way she makes it. It was hard to master the technique of slapping around that little ball of dough from one hand to the other, pulling the dough and shaping it all the while until it became perfectly round and thin, the size of a dinner plate.

Grandmother is strict and critical because she expects from me the same behavior she would from a Navajo woman. I’m convinced that she’s trying to prepare me to be Marshall’s wife.

I shared all these feelings with Marshall when he showed up last Saturday. We took a walk together among the red rocks a little ways west of the cabin. He listened and then said in a gentle and kind voice that I was being overly worried and that his mother liked me a lot. He pointed out that the Navajo language can sound rough and unfriendly to an English speaker. Marshall reminded me that when I first arrived on the reservation I thought that all the Navajo people were angry at each other by the tone of their voices. Once I started learning the language, I realized that the guttural tones and glottal stops made the words sound harsh, even if they were friendly words.

Marshall said his mother told him that I was a good sheepherder and that she wanted me to stay with her in Red Rock. Marshall advised me not to worry about his mother wanting me to marry him.

I told Marshall on our walk that I was starting to think about life after teaching school and herding sheep. I told him that I was searching for my purpose in life. He got very quiet, and then he leaned over and hugged me in a fatherly way and patted me on the top of my head, similar to the way I pat the sheep dogs when no one is looking. The touch felt good.

We sat in silence until the moon came up and then we walked back to the cabin. Marshall held my hand as we walked. My Navajo friends don’t like to talk about their feelings, but I knew that Marshall felt sad. 

I’m starting to feel chilled sitting here among the rocks, watching the sheep and talking into the recorder. It looks like it is going to rain soon. Giant clouds are forming over the mountains. They are black with rain droplets. When it rains it is an exquisite sight to behold. The rain comes sweeping across the desert like a curtain blown by the wind. The weather can be dramatic and violent. The long grasses bend over and almost touch the ground. The rain makes a lot of noise as it strikes the ground.

One time I got caught in a very violent rain storm, too far from home to find shelter. I was completely drenched for a long time in the chilly air. When it rains hard like that, Jimmy puts his back to the rain. The sheep do the same thing as they huddle together.

I finally learned how to use the sheep herding dogs effectively. In the beginning I didn’t know what commands to use to make them round up the sheep. I made up my own commands and finally found a few that really work. For example, when I want the dogs to round up the sheep, I just start making gruff guttural sounds and point in the direction that I want them to gather the sheep. They actually understand. Several times when I heard Grandmother yell “shaa dee,” the dogs ran away. Since Navajo/English dictionaries don’t exist yet—as far as I know—I have to guess the meaning of the Navajo words that I hear. I assumed that “shaa dee” means “scram” or “get out of here.” So when I want the dogs to leave the sheep alone, I just yell “shaa dee.” It works.

I have gotten pretty good at roping now. I usually carry a rope with me, attached to the saddle, while I am herding sheep. Sometimes when I have nothing to do, I get off the horse and rope the saddle horn. I avoid roping the sheep and goats. I don’t want them to stampede.

I do all sorts of tricks with Jimmy to pass the time. I practice trying to get onto his back by vaulting myself from behind. First I let Jimmy know what I’m about to do by placing my hand on his rump and then running my hand down his thigh. I walk a ways away and then I run at full speed toward him. I put my hands on Jimmy’s rump and spring up like a frog. I have never made it all the way onto his back—not even once, but I keep trying. Jimmy is very tall.

I also practice getting on without a saddle. I hold onto Jimmy’s mane and swing my leg up and over his back. I watched the cowboys do these tricks in the rodeos. I also practice standing on Jimmy’s back in my bare feet. It’s hard to keep my balance when he’s walking. When the sheep are not moving too much and just calmly eating, I lie on Jimmy’s back and look at the sky.

I am riding Jimmy the horse as I speak. He is quite a character. Smart too. We get along well. He used to be wild. Grandmother was the only one who could ride him. He has herded sheep for so long that he is tame now. When I first rode him, he was angry. He put his ears flat against his neck and tried to bite me. Now he trusts me. When I go out to saddle him up in the morning, he walks over to me and gives me a whinny and then nuzzles me.

When I saddle him, he tricks me by swelling up his belly so I won’t make the cinch strap too tight. After a few minutes, he lets out the air. At first I was fooled. I would lead him out of the corral and tie him to a post while I took out the sheep. Then, when it was time to get on him, I would put my foot in the stirrup, reach up for the saddle horn, heave myself up, then fall flat on my back with the saddle sliding down to his underside. Now I check the cinch before I get on. If I accidentally make the cinch too tight, Jimmy reaches around and tries to bite me.

When I’m out riding, he wants to stop and eat all the time. But I have him trained now so that the only time he eats is when I say “whoa Jimmy whoa,” (When I said that just now into the recorder, he thought I was talking to him and stopped to eat.) Sometimes he pretends he has to take a piss just so I will loosen up on the reins. He’ll stretch out his legs in the position that horses take when they pee. But instead of peeing, he’ll reach down and start eating. Now I am wise to his tricks. He doesn’t get away with it anymore. I admire his cleverness.

Marshall Tome’s children, Desbah and Deswood, came for a visit one weekend. I enjoyed watching them explore the unfamiliar surroundings. They wanted to ride Jimmy and help with the sheep herding. They put the bridle on backwards. When both the kids climbed onto Jimmy, he wouldn’t budge. They called me over and asked me to help them move Jimmy. Not knowing the bridle was on backward, I took the reins and pulled him. What I did must have been painful because he reared up and kicked with his front legs. His show of force impressed me. He is usually docile, just walking around in the desert, herding the sheep with me.

There is an art to sheep herding. It is not quite as simple as it appears. Before I learned the art, it was one frustration after another. I yelled at the sheep when they got too far behind the rest of the herd because they would lose their way and run off in all directions. That was before I learned the trick of turning around the whole herd to meet up with the stragglers.

Sometimes a sheep will feel sick and lag far behind the rest. It needs constant prodding so it won’t get so far behind that it gets lost.

Sheep don’t seem to have much brainpower. I have seen young sheep cry out for their mothers in a panic while the mother sheep are just a few feet away. They can get completely lost even when the rest of the herd is close by making a lot of noise. Sometimes when I clear out the animals from the corral in the morning, the sheep will race around and around past the open gate, trying to find the way out when it is right in front of them.

Goats are much more intelligent than sheep and never get lost. In fact, the goats act like leaders, making sure the herd heads in the right direction.

Some of the sheep and goats wear bells around their necks. The tinkling bells remind me of my times in Switzerland visiting my relatives. When the goat kids get a little bigger and don’t need so much milk, I am going to separate the mothers from the babies overnight. In the morning I will milk the mothers and get some goat milk to drink. There is usually not enough milk to drink around here. I would like to use it on my oatmeal.

When I first arrived the end of May, there were quite a few desert wild flowers. The blossoms on the flowers are the favorite food of the sheep and goats. They are gone now.

The sheep and goats just eat and eat. They shit while they are eating. It seems like a constant stream of shit is coming out of them.

Most of the sheep and goats have their ears clipped. This is a form of branding. Some of them have tags to identify who owns them in the family. Many of these sheep and goats have been given to the grandchildren and other relatives, but they are all kept together with the main herd. The relatives are allowed to come and claim them for butchering whenever they want.

I’m back under the shade house. Lee and Virginia Tome and Morris have gone to the Chapter House to the Sunday meeting. Their son, Harry Tome, is a councilman over there for this district. They went over to talk about the dispute they are having with their relative “Weemie.” His horse comes over to graze and to fight with Lee Tome’s stud.

This must be the season for bugs. It is swarming with gnats, making life uncomfortable. When I am herding sheep, they fly around my face and try to get in my eyes and nose. I just now blew my nose and three came out. At home under the shade house, the place is swarming with flies. When I am weaving, they land on my body. If I don’t swat them quickly, they bite. The three ducks and two geese eat the dead flies off the ground. I discovered that if I rub my body with the leaves of the sagebrush plant, the insects leave me alone. I think the odor is too pungent for them.

Since no one is home and we are out of water, I put the barrels in the truck and went to the artesian well where water comes out of the ground through a pipe. After filling the barrels, I went home and unloaded them. They are very heavy. It was hard work. No wonder they are so sparing of water.

I am very impressed by the resourcefulness of the people out here. When they don’t have something that is absolutely essential, they find a way to get by with what they have. For example, if Grandmother needs some string for something, she spins it herself. And it is amazing the many uses of the rubber from old tires and pieces of wire. They seem to be able to repair just about anything.

Today I have been here three months. Lately, while I’m out with the sheep, I’ve been spending a lot of time daydreaming about where I will go after sheepherding and what direction my life will take.