Transcriber's Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR

Oscar L. Chapman, Secretary

UNITED STATES INDIAN SERVICE

Dillon S. Myer, Commissioner

EDUCATION DIVISION

Willard W. Beatty, Chief

Authorized by Congress

Printing Department

Haskell Institute

Price

.25

September, 1951—5M

LITTLE NAVAJO
HERDER

ANN CLARK

Illustrated by HOKE DENETSOSIE

UNITED STATES INDIAN SERVICE

HASKELL INSTITUTE—LAWRENCE, KANSAS

LITTLE NAVAJO HERDER

In Little Navajo Herder, we have brought together in one volume the pictured story of a year in the life of a little Navajo girl, which originally appeared in four separate books. In the first edition, which was prepared for classroom use in Federal Indian schools, the stories appeared in both English and Navajo. However, the popularity of Little Herder was not limited to the child readers of her own tribe. She has found her way into the hearts of Indian children throughout the nation. The universality of her appeal is indicated by increasing interest in her story by non-Indian children in home and school. Selections from her books have found their way into dozens of anthologies. This popularity with those who read only English has dictated this single volume edition in English. Again the delightful drawings by Hoke Denetsosie, a full-blood Navajo artist, are used.

Little Navajo Herder bids fair to find a permanent place in children's literature, as has Mrs. Clark's earlier volume on Pueblo life—"In My Mother's House." This book is illustrated by a Pueblo artist, Velerio Herrera, and is published by Viking Press.

Other Indian stories by Mrs. Clark have been published by the Indian Service for use in Indian schools. A complete list may be obtained from Haskell Institute, Lawrence, Kansas.

IN AUTUMN

IN AUTUMN

HOME LAND

The land around my mother's hogan

is big.

It is still.

It has walls of red rocks.

And way, far off

the sky comes down

to touch the sands.

Blue sky is above me.

Yellow sand is beneath me.

The sheep are around me.

My mother's hogan is near.

THE HOGAN

My mother's hogan is round

and earth-color.

Its floor is smooth and hard.

It has a friendly fire

and an open door.

It is my home.

I live happily

in my mother's hogan.

NIGHT CORRAL

The night corral is fenced

with poles.

It is the home for the sheep

and the goats

when darkness comes

to my mother's land.

THE CORNFIELD

The cornfield is fenced with poles.

My mother works in the cornfield.

My father works in the cornfield.

While they are working

I walk among the corn plants.

I sing to the tall tasseled corn.

In the middle

of all these known things

stands my mother's hogan

with its open door.

MY MOTHER

My mother is sun browned color.

Her eyes are dark.

Her hair shines black.

My mother is good to look at,

but I like her hands the best.

They are beautiful.

They are strong and quick

at working,

but when they touch my hands

they are slow moving

and gentle.

MY FATHER

My father is tall.

He is strong.

He is brave.

He hunts and he rides

and he sings.

He coaxes the corn

and the squash plants

to grow

out of the sand-dry earth.

My father has magic

in his finger tips.

He can turn

flat pieces of silver

into things of beauty.

Sometimes

I hide in the wide folds

of my mother's skirts

and look out at my father.

POSSESSIONS

I have black hair.

I have white teeth.

My hands are brown

with many fingers.

My feet are brown

with many toes.

My arms are brown

and strong.

My legs are brown

and swift.

I have two eyes.

They show me how things look.

I have two ears.

They bring sounds

to stay with me

for a little while.

I have two names,

a War Name

for just me to know

but not to use,

and a nickname

for everyone to use

for every day.

But with all these things

I still am only

one little girl.

Isn't it strange?

THE HORSES

I see my father's horses

running in the wind.

I feel little

standing here

when the wind

and the horses

run by.

THE SHEEP

Of all the kinds of sheep,

Navaho sheep

give the best wool

for weaving.

My mother says

that is why

they are Navaho sheep,

because they know best

the needs of The People.

THE GOATS

Goats have long whiskers.

They have long faces.

They have long legs.

Goats are funny, I think.

THE LAMBS

Now that it is autumn,

the lambs

that were babies in the spring,

have grown.

They are almost as tall

as their mothers.

My father takes the lambs

in his wagon

to the trading post.

He takes them to sell

to the trader.

THE TRADING POST

Hosteen White Man

has the trading post.

He has hard things on the shelf.

He has soft things on the wall.

And in a jar

he has red stick candy

that he keeps just for me.

Hosteen White Man

at the trading post

is such a good man.

Sometimes, I forget he is not

one of The People.

SELLING

In his wagon

my father drives

to the trading post.

He takes the lambs

and he takes me, too.

He wants me to know

about selling.

He tells me that sometimes

he trades the lambs,

and sometimes

he gives them in payment

for a debt.

This time

he will sell them

to the trader.

When we get to the trading post

the trader looks at the lambs.

Then he tells my father

how much he will pay.

I wonder if the lambs

like to have my father

sell them to the trader.

My father sells the lambs

for hard round money

to Hosteen White Man

at the trading post.

Then he chooses cans of food

to put into his wagon,

and he gives Hosteen White Man

some of the round hard money

back again.

My father calls this selling,

but I think

it is a game

they play together,

Hosteen White Man and

my father at the trading post.

My father likes this game of selling.

He did not tell me, but, someway,

I know that he likes it.

THE SILVERSMITH

My father sits before his forge

melting bars of silver

and turning them

into silver raindrops

and silver cloud designs.

Somehow,

my father has caught the wind

within his bellows

and when he lets it go

its breath

turns the silver

to red earth color.

Its breath cools the silver

until it is hard

like something made

of gray water

and then turned to stone.

Today my father sang

as he worked

at making a bracelet

for my arm.

His song

flowed into the silver circle

making it a circle of song.

TURQUOISE

Turquoise is sky.

Turquoise is still water.

Turquoise is color-blue

and color-green

that someone

somewhere

has caught

and turned to stone.

Sometimes, turquoise

is trapped in silver,

and sometimes, in small beads

running along a white string

like beauty following

a straight trail.

IT IS DRY

My father says

over and over,

"It is dry.

It is too dry."

My father means

there has been no rain

to fill the rain pools

for the thirsty sheep.

SORTING THE WOOL

I am helping my mother

sort the wool.

This pile we will keep

to spin into yarn for weaving

because its strands

are long and unbroken.

This pile we will sell

to the trader.

Its strands are broken and short.

The trader will buy it,

but he will not pay as much

as if it were all long.

I wish that all our wool

was of long, unbroken strands.

I like to sort the wool.

It is good to feel its softness,

like making words for something

my heart has always known.

CLEANING THE WOOL