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In November, the girl began taking the cattle out to graze on the roadside grass. All the dry grass was gone from the hill pasture and the last of the corn fodder was fed. Usually the corn fodder lasted until winter rains brought up new pasturage, but this summer the big field was turned for summer fallow; it was an old field and needed rest. The little field raised a good crop of corn but not enough to last until grass time. If the cattle got their fill of roadside forage they wouldn't need much hay, and saving hay was as good as saving money. By the roadside there were patches of Bermuda grass and plenty of tall brown grass; even the oldest cow could get enough to eat.

After the morning milking was done, the girl put a hackamore on Pete and rode him bareback, hazing the cows ahead of her. The old hound, Juno, walked at Pete's heels, and Flaxie, the yearling filly, cavorted beside him. Sometimes the colt made sudden sallies, rushing up at the cows and making them trot until their empty udders swished back and forth. She was so beautiful and lively in the crisp morning that the girl took pleasure in watching her.

All the girl had to do was stay near the cattle so they wouldn't wander too far or break into neighbors' fields. If any of them got into the road she shooed them out of the way when a car came along. But the road was so little traveled that the passing of a car became an event.

Some people thought the herding of cattle a monotonous job, but the girl enjoyed it. She liked the sound the browsing animals made, breaking off the sun-crisped grasses. It was satisfying to see the lean cows eat their fill.

Once the cattle settled down to grazing she turned Pete loose so he could eat, too. Flaxie the colt stopped her foolishness and grazed earnestly. The girl sat down and the hound went to sleep beside her. Sometimes the old dog dreamed. She whimpered and jerked her legs, thinking she was chasing rabbits over the hills.

The girl could drowse in the warm grass, or read a book if she brought one, or just sit and think. That was what made her occupation so pleasant. Apparently she was doing nothing but being lazy, yet she was tending to the very important job of feeding cattle.

This was the time of year for waiting. It was between the time of harvesting and the time of planting. The wild grass seeds were dormant in the hard earth. The farmers had to wait until rain came before they could plow and plant oats and barley. There was a hard dry crust over the fields where a few months ago corn had been tall and bright.

In the introduction, Ursula K. Le Guin writes, "Van der Veer gives us a rural landscape as deeply known and lived in as Willa Cather's Nebraska or Sarah Jewett's Maine. The valley ranches of John Steinbeck's Red Pony and East of Eden are natural comparisons, but Van der Veer's picture is truer, I think, to the patient obscurity of the lives and deaths of those who live on and from this austere land.... Pain, suffering, grief are intense in her story, but not more intense than tenderness and praise."