Bearlodge Writers

Katie Smith

Get To Know Katie

 

Quote

"Pass the chocolate."

Katie Smith Bio

Katie Smith’s life focus is agriculture, her family, writing, geraniums, and genealogy. Reared on the Little Laramie River near Centennial, Wyoming her love for the land was shaped by generations before her. Today, she ranches with her family on the 60 Bar Ranch north of Gillette, Wyoming.

Publication Credits

WyoPoets Chapbook, Wyoming Paintbrush, 2007
In the Shadow of the Bearlodge, Many Kites Press, 2006
Cow Country Magazine, Essay, 1990, 1991, 1992

Excerpt of Writing

Sparta, Tennessee

February 13, 1875
Our store and residence in Cleveland burned today.

February 23, 1876
Could not sell my lots, taxes and interest had to be met.
Sold chickens, cattle and household goods,
built a wagon with hoops and canvas cover.
I’m desperate, trade blindly for a farm never seen,
two hundred acres in the Cumberland Mountains.

May 6, 1876
Began journey to the mountains of White County, Tennessee,
Bill and Kate hitched to a sixteen foot wagon.
First nightfall camped on boundary line of Cuyahoga County.

May 8, 1876
We came to Medina and Wooster,
horses spooked when we boarded the Ohio River ferry.
All we could do to hold the frightened horses,
landed on the river bank at Maysville, Kentucky.

May 27, 1876
Journeyed through Lexington, Stamfort, Somerset,
Monticello and Livingston,
harsh hills and frequent rains made for hard going.

June 6, 1876
Two hundred acres in the Cumberland Mountains,
found a raised log structure, never finished,
before choosing sides in the Civil War.
Grass, wildflowers and six-inch white oak trees
grew inside the rock foundation.

June 13, 1876
Plowed half an acre of thin sandy soil,
decided not to waste precious seeds.
Great distress, horses strayed into the mountains.
While searching, we noted others lack prosperity.

June 27, 1876
Neighbors found our team in the valley.
Yankees not welcomed here.
We stayed only a week, all were depressed.
My wife sat down, pulled her cotton apron over her head
and wept.

June 28, 1876
Onward to Sparta, Tennessee…

 

No Legendary Name

My boot toes scratch weathered pine needles
exposing warm gumbo soil
and flint artifacts of peoples before my life.
Wind rustles through the boughs
woodpeckers rat-ta-tat-tat on ponderosa.

I remember a story of homesteaders
a man of impaired mind, sheltered by sisters
taking pride in his touch on the land.
Their one hundred-sixty acres
consumed by large ranches
when hard times and dry years lingered.

I find remains of his place-rotted logs,
gnarled cedar posts with sagging
strands of barbed wire-
his life's work.

In the shadows of Pine Ridge
I come upon mossy rocks arranged in an oval.
No marker to his precious life,
leaving no legendary name.