"We Might Not Do Daylight Savings" "Who's we?"

I sat in a meeker for three hours. No, we were not driving at this time. We were waiting for more people before taking leave. It was cold. I played snake on my cell phone.

One afternoon, while herding our calves back home, I ran into a massive herd of yaks, 150 maybe 200 of them. I stopped the calves before they got swallowed by the tidal wave. I stared at this awesome sight. I figure George Lucas got a lot of ideas from yaks. They look as though they were transported directly into Star Wars movies. These large mostly black beasts have massive toughs of hair draped on their bodies. The hair sways in the steppe winds, keeping them steadily warm. Only their hooves spoke, silently they trudged along. Two Mongolians on horses drove them from behind. They appeared like sentinels, overlords hovering above the mindless beasts. They had massive poles with long leather straps attached to the end. Whenever a brother or sister would slack off, this massive pole of irony would whip them back up.

I looked up from my feet as I walked home. There they were. The two of them, hand in hand, walking slowly in front me. Grandpa's future fading with time, granddaughter's future looking brighter every day. With a smile on my face, my eyes returned to my feet. A minute later I looked up again. Granddaughter was standing innocently hands crossed, like grandfather wasn't there man handling a fire hose. With a shake and a skip, he zipped up his pants and they continued walking, hand in hand.

I dressed as a Mongol wrestler for the Halloween party. Everyone gasped as I came out on stage, then smiles all around. They loved it. We played bobbing for apples, mummy wrap, apple chin pass and topped it off with awkward Mongolian circle dancing.

There's a few stories I can't relate to you. I don't think peace corps would approve. It's getting much colder. I bought a cow to wear. Had some snow ball fights with the sisters. The river is almost solid ice. Still herding the sheep and cows. Whenever I forget my scarf my face goes completely numb. I wear multiple layers of clothing. Went to a formal teacher party that kicked my ass, ended up slashing my back open after an incident with a rock. I won't name what kind of rock, I don't want this to turn into a hate crime. I am not a rockist.

"I book walking". "I not eat you". "There is restaurants".

On the way to Darkhan a grown man sat on my lap.

My neighbors yard exploded into flames. Not sure how it started but the winter feed for the cattle quickly turned from stocked food to fuel. It blazed brightly in the dusk and into the night. My soum filled with a white haze. The fire truck from Xotol took two hours to arrive (Yes fire truck) . By then the fire had died down dramatically. The family obviously lost a lot of money, pretty sure they didn't have cattle feed insurance. I felt bad, but there was not much that could have been done.

There was also the cat adventure. Most Mongolians do not appreciate cats in the same way as me. As I was sorting potatoes with my older sister from the harvest, my dad came running towards us yelling in Mongolian "Kevin there's a cat on your ger! Run please!" I laughed to myself and humored him by running over to my ger to find a very personable cat lounging on my ger. I scooped him up and brought him outside the hashaa. He came wandering back in and hopped right back on my ger. I left him to his own desires. A minute later my dad was shooing the cat away. Then the dog got a sniff of the scent, and events become blurry. The cat ended up with a gashed lower back and a slashed nose. His miserable head peered through my toone (top ger window), and let out a low howl. Blood flowed freely out of his nose into my ger. Eventually my younger sister got him down and took him to the old postman, a very kind hearted individual. There he has been recouping from his adventures. I wish I could have kept him, but with three hashaa dogs, it would have been a difficult life.

I asked for my winter ger three weeks ago. It finally came two days ago, after two weeks of sub-degree temperatures. My summer ger fire was useless, since the ceaseless steppe winds blew all the warmth away immediately. If Peace Corps hadn't issued these sleeping bags I would have been "ice cream" as my egch likes to joke.

On my way to school one day I caught a glimpse of a cow being slaughtered (In sub-zero temperatures). I stopped for a second then continued on. When I came back an hour later, only its ribcage remained, reaching skyward.

Walking to school to teach my fourth grade class, I kept running into kids branding saws and axes asking "Kevin Teacher, where are you going?". "To class of course" I responded, and continued on my merry way. This question was asked several more times. I taught my fourth graders and returned to my ger to find a small army of fourteen children hacking and sawing away at my structure of tree trunks, with my older sister branding a branch above them and handing out smacks when they slacked off. I had stepped onto a slave ship. I thought of grabbing my drum to keep the rhythm, but then decided on the more humane idea of helping them to chop the wood and buying them all ice cream. I'm sure this process will be repeated several more times, since I barely have a months worth of wood. The kids here are very helpful.

I have a few more short stories, but I'll save them for the next installment. I'll leave you with this tidbit. Thirty years ago, the Soviets exiled a Mongolian intellectual to Darkhan City in Mongolia, to be the curator at the Darkhan Museum. Yes, exiled, as in punishment. Now I'm off to enjoy Darkhan.