Sheepherder Translation

Sheepherder Translation

As per usual, I got stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I am trying to get to a stand of pine trees to cut into pine poles and posts. I had backed down the road in the beautiful mountains of Utah at the ripe age of 17, and put my left rear tire into mid-air on the dirt road. My truck was belching blue smoke, and the sheepherder nearby thought there might be a fire. As he rode up on his horse, I have never been so glad to see another human being. There really is no desperation quite like being stuck in the top of the mountains, especially when you think no one else who can help you is closer than 50 miles away. The old man listened patiently to my stupidity, and then said he thought if he tied his rope to the back of the truck, his horse could pull the rear end of my truck back onto the road.

I was out of ideas and welcomed the help. He was right. As he pulled the rope backwards with his horse, I put the truck in reverse and one cloud of blue smoke later I was back on the road. I jumped out to thank him and he invited me to come to his trailer for coffee.

This man had just saved my life, and I was obligated to at least spend a little time with him as payment. A sheepherder goes up to the mountain in the spring and has little human contact the entire summer, mostly just getting supplies from his employer and going to town once in a while. It would have been the height of rudeness to refuse his hospitality, especially after his rescue of me and my truck.

I decided to play it by ear and at least show the respect of spending some time with him.

The very first thing he did was pour the coffee and hand it to me with a smile.

I found out that this man was from Colorado, and that he had two sons who drove trucks for some company up there. After we talked for a few more minutes. He confessed to me that he didn't read English all that well. Spanish was his native language.

He pulled out a letter and asked me if I would read it to him. He indicated that a girl he had met at a dance in town a couple of weeks ago had sent it to him (what would the address be?) and he couldn't read it.

He asked if I would read it for him.

He had rescued me from the mountain. He had offered the hospitality of coffee in his trailer. It didn't seem like an outlandish request, but remember, this is a personal letter from a woman to a man.

I had no idea if there would be suggestive or other language in the letter, but I decided I better read it to him and then excuse myself - before he had me write a reply.

It was actually a sweet moment after all. The woman wrote to him about how she had enjoyed his company and hoped she would see him again. The awkwardness of the situation seemed to fade, but for anyone else who may have happened by, they would have seen a young man reading a love letter to an old man while they sat having coffee in a sheepherder's trailer. I can still see it in my mind.

The old man sat there patiently listening while I read the words of a woman that he couldn't read himself. It was so personal and so involved that I found myself detaching from the situation and ignoring the words. I vanished from the scene and it was just this old man and a woman who cared for each other communicating in the only way they could.

I finished the letter and stood abruptly. I was uncomfortable, but the old man was only grateful. We had helped each other out, and the debt was paid. I excused myself and thanked him for the help and the hospitality, and I never saw him again.

We spent perhaps 30 or 40 minutes together, but this memory is one that will always warm my heart. I think it is only when we are reaching out to one another to help in any way we can that we fully live. Even if it is just reading a love note to someone who can't read it. Or just pulling some dumb kid's truck back onto the road with your horse.

I wonder why it's the little things like this that make us feel truly a part of humanity. Good luck on your next dirt road.

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