My grandmother, my Nali she always made us herd our sheep and goats before the sun rose high over the highest mountain peak We herd them towards the mountain slopes Cool summer mornings birds chirping goats nibbling at leaves along our trail My grandfather he would hitch the dark horses to his working wagon I remember the dark horses they were his best working team They haul wood drag timber for him He named one horse Bidi and the other Liil'zhiin Some summer morning My nali man he would hitch them and say we are going to lumber jack up there in the mountain where the pines are tall and straight Those mornings my grandmother       she gathers her pots and the food Our grandparents would designate where they would be and we'd herd to that place when we're getting close grandfather's steady chopping echoed into the mountains When we're getting close the smell of the spicy aroma of onions and potatoes frying and in the distance the cooking fire would welcome us My grandmother patting out goatmilk bread over red hot coal My grandfather he'd be sharpening his axe         sitting on pine needles in the lacy shadow of oak leaves and blue spruce trees there beside him he'd have several feet of pine bark He'd diligently scrape the thin white lining of the pine tree bark and give it to me to chew on the sinew like strings tasted sweet I'd chew it herding home walking behind the slowest ewes I'd chew until I fell asleep at twilight