Poems & lyrics celebrating Kansas Flint Hills land & people by Annie Wilson – the “Flint Hills Balladeer”
We were far up in the pastures, no road for miles away, the dawn sky gray and misted, on this day in early May. Spring fires had burned the hedge posts, and the steers had crossed the fence, so now we had to check and sort through several hundred head.
We rode the heifers’ pasture first to gather up stray steers. Some heifers tagged along although we tried to keep ‘em clear. We brought the whole bunch through the gate where the steers all should’ve been and took ‘em to the corner where the sorting would begin.
My heart sank at the prospect: this job could take us days. There might be two hundred head here. I thought there’s just no way. Us riders cannot do this with no holding pens or gates, but then our neighbor Ray began to cut out his first stray.
Tall and calm on his roan gelding, he’d separate a few. His steps were slow and measured. Man and horse knew what to do. They’d guide the steers on down the fence and push the heifers in. He was getting all these half-wild yearlings organized again.
Our job was just to hold ‘em, for if they got away, we’d have to start all over, surely try another day.We watched their moves so closely, in case one would escape, in our stirrups tense and ready if we had to catch a stray.
I chased a few wild heifers, and my horse he loved the rush. We’d guide ‘em in a big U-turn and back into the bunch. The roan and Ray kept working. It was a privilege to watch. Every second of their patient pace saved hours of work for us.
At the end it seemed a miracle when the sorting all was through. I felt just plain exhausted, but Ray was calm and cool.We ran the sorted heifers back and then all headed home.And I knew I’d seen true skill that day of Ray on his tall roan.
Hear this song for free at: tallgrassexpress.com/ray-on-his-tall-roan. Contact Annie at tallgrassexpress.com/contact.
