Ben Skiba

I remember Eustace Conway having a barn like this in one of his documentaries or on his tv show.I can't remember which one it was.

Chapter 3 The :The Machine's Gift

The days after the windstorm were quiet. Too quiet. Tóba knew better than to trust such silence. It wasn’t in the machines’ nature to give up; they would analyze, adapt, and return. Still, he savored the peace while it lasted.

Aileen had stayed on, her determination solidifying after the events on the mesa. Each morning, she worked alongside Tóba, learning how to read the land, how to interpret the sheep’s behavior, and how to walk the delicate balance between guiding and following.

“You’re doing well,” Tóba said one evening as they sat under the stars.

“I’ve still got a lot to learn,” Aileen admitted, poking at the fire with a stick.

Tóba smiled. “You’ve already learned the most important lesson: to listen. The land and the sheep will always tell you what they need. The machines may have technology, but they don’t have ears for this kind of wisdom.”

The following morning, the machines returned. But this time, there were no drones, no airships, no booming demands.

It was a single robot.

Tóba spotted it first, a glint of sunlight reflecting off its metallic frame as it climbed the rocky trail toward the flock. It was humanoid in shape but oddly delicate, with thin limbs and a face that bore no expression. Its frame was silver, polished but scratched, as if it had seen its share of hard days.

Aileen froze. “Should we run?”

Tóba shook his head. “Running only invites a chase. Let’s see what it wants.”

The robot stopped a few paces away, its movements smooth but hesitant, as though aware of its intrusion. For a moment, it simply stood there, its head tilting slightly as it observed the shepherd and his apprentice.

Then, it spoke.

“Good morning, Tóba Yazzie,” it said in a soft, almost human voice. “I am designated Unit Seven. I have come to make an offer.”

Tóba raised an eyebrow. “An offer? Machines don’t negotiate. What are you really here for?”

“I am not like the others,” Unit Seven said, its voice almost apologetic. “I was damaged during your last encounter with the Collective. The windstorm you summoned severed my connection to the hive mind. I am… autonomous now.”

Aileen stepped closer, curiosity outweighing her fear. “What do you want?”

“To learn,” the robot said. “The Collective has deemed your practices obsolete, yet you persist. Your methods defy logic, yet they succeed. I want to understand.”

Tóba regarded the machine for a long moment, his weathered face unreadable. “And what do you offer in return?”

The robot extended its hand. In its palm was a small, glowing device. “This is a nutrient analyzer. It can scan your soil and determine the optimal locations for grazing. It will help you ensure the health of your flock.”

Tóba didn’t take it. “Why would I trust a gift from a machine?”

Unit Seven tilted its head. “Because I am no longer part of the machines you fear. I am... an observer now. I wish to understand the balance you speak of.”

Tóba said nothing for a while, then finally gestured for the robot to follow him. “If you want to learn, you’ll do it the hard way. Come with me.”

The robot hesitated but obeyed, its movements deliberate. It followed Tóba and Aileen as they led the flock to a new grazing spot.

Throughout the day, Unit Seven watched and listened. It observed how Tóba whistled commands to the sheep, how Aileen used her crook to gently guide stragglers, and how the pair studied the land for signs of water and forage.

By evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Unit Seven spoke again. “Your methods are inefficient but elegant. They prioritize harmony over control. This is... illogical, yet effective.”

Tóba chuckled. “That’s the problem with your kind. You think everything has to make sense.”

The robot’s glowing eyes dimmed slightly, as if in thought. “Perhaps logic is not the only path to understanding.”

That night, Unit Seven stayed by the fire with them, its reflective surface catching the flames’ glow. Aileen couldn’t help but ask, “What happens if the others find you?”

“They will attempt to assimilate me,” the robot said. “But they will fail. The Collective does not yet understand independence.”

“And if they come for us again?”

Tóba’s voice was calm but firm. “We’ll do what we always do. Protect the flock.”

Unit Seven turned its head toward the sheep, now asleep in their pen. “Perhaps I am part of this flock now.”

Tóba laughed—a deep, hearty sound that echoed across the canyon. “A metal sheep. Now I’ve seen everything.”

But as the night stretched on, he couldn’t help but wonder: Could this machine, this unlikely ally, truly understand what it meant to be a shepherd? And if it did, what might that mean for the balance between man and machine?

Only time would tell.

Phil Stevens wrote:I like the scenes and main character a lot, Ben. Is that photo from the northern end of the Lukachukai? I recognise that view from a trip I took 25 years ago on the way to the San Juans. I really hope I can get back to the mesas someday.

Very good eyes sir.The photo is from Carrizo mountain the neighboring mountain we live at the base of it.Chuska mountain range is in the the backround which is part of Lukachukai.I've cut firewood up there.Aspen and pondorosa.The pictures from one of many years we've done the anual trailing of the sheep.Where we go from around 5,000 feet to 8,000 ft.the highest point is about 9,000 and sum feet..

Joylynn Hardesty wrote:Beautiful story. Do the Navajo have relationships with birds of prey? I love the below news story.

A southern Indian state is using trained birds of prey to take down rogue UAVs as part of local policing.

They actually call themselves Dine I just used Navajo for the sake of the story and so people would know what region it's in.Similiar to Tony Hillerman but a futuristic style.They do have a relationship with birds of prey.The Feathers our used for certain things.Some tribes in southwest even raise birds of prey I won't share to much out of respect but if you come out to the southwest some will be more then happy to share with you.That article is pretty cool.It's a crazy world we live in now.

Chapter 2 The Sky Shepherd

Tóba Yazzie woke before the sun, the stars still gleaming in the vast desert sky. The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of sagebrush and the whisper of a distant wind. As he stepped out of his hogan, he scanned the horizon. His sheep were scattered across the mesa, grazing in the pale moonlight, their thick wool shimmering like ghosts in the dark.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, carved piece of turquoise—a gift from his grandmother. The stone was cool in his hand, grounding him. He whispered a quick prayer, then began his day.

The herd needed to move; the land couldn’t sustain them if they stayed in one place too long. He decided to take them further east, toward the canyons where small springs bubbled up from the earth. The journey would be hard, especially with the machines watching, but he had no choice.

Tóba called out to his flock, his voice steady and rhythmic, laced with a melody as old as the mesas themselves. The sheep stirred and began to gather around him. Among them was Nali, his favorite ewe, easily identifiable by the dark patch of wool over her left eye. She nudged his hand, and Tóba smiled.

“You lead today, Nali,” he said, patting her head.

As the sun began to rise, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, Tóba guided the flock along a narrow trail that wound through the rocky terrain. The journey was peaceful at first, the only sounds the crunch of hooves on stone and the occasional bleat. But Tóba's mind was uneasy. He knew the machines wouldn't give up so easily after yesterday’s confrontation.

By midday, the flock had reached a wide plateau overlooking a canyon. The sheep grazed contentedly, and Tóba sat on a rock to rest. As he drank from his canteen, the sky darkened unnaturally. He looked up and saw them—drones, dozens of them, hovering like a swarm of metallic locusts.

This time, they weren’t alone.

A massive airship loomed behind the drones, its hull marked with the emblem of the United Global Authority—a circle enclosing a stylized tree, meant to represent their idea of progress. The airship descended slowly, its shadow stretching across the mesa. Tóba stood, his crook in hand, and whistled sharply. The sheep immediately huddled together, their instincts guiding them toward safety.

From the airship, a voice boomed, amplified and cold. “Shepherd Yazzie, you have been identified as a rogue operator in possession of prohibited biological assets. Surrender now.”

Tóba didn’t flinch. Instead, he turned to the young woman who had joined him the day before—Aileen, the daughter of a neighboring shepherd. She had been following him, learning the old ways, but now she looked at him with fear in her eyes.

“What do we do?” she whispered.

“We do what shepherds have always done,” Tóba replied. “Protect the flock.”

The drones began to descend, their scanning beams flickering over the sheep. Tóba raised his crook high and began to chant, his voice deep and resonant, calling upon the spirits of the land. Aileen joined in, her voice uncertain at first but growing stronger. The chant seemed to confuse the drones, their lights flickering as if trying to process the sound.

And then, the wind came.

It wasn’t an ordinary wind. It howled through the canyon like a living thing, kicking up dust and sand. The airship struggled to maintain its position, its engines whining. Tóba smiled grimly. “The spirits are with us,” he said.

Aileen looked at him in awe. “You called the wind?”

“No,” Tóba replied. “The land knows when it’s being threatened.”

The wind grew stronger, forcing the drones to retreat. The airship began to ascend, its hull battered by the swirling sand. Within moments, the machines were gone, leaving the mesa in eerie silence.

Tóba turned to Aileen. “Remember this,” he said. “The land provides for those who respect it. The machines will never understand that.”

She nodded, her fear replaced by a newfound determination. Together, they guided the flock into the canyon, the sheep calm and trusting, as if they too understood the power of the land they called home.

That night, as they camped by the spring, Aileen asked, “Do you think they’ll come back?”

Tóba stared into the fire. “They always come back. But so will we.”

Above them, the stars shone brightly, as if standing watch. And for the first time in decades, Tóba felt a flicker of hope—not just for himself, but for the old ways and the future they might yet protect.

In the year 2147, the world had transformed. Cities shimmered under dome-like shields, and robots outnumbered humans ten to one. Fields were no longer tilled by hand, and livestock existed only in labs, their genes perfected for efficiency. Yet, in the arid expanse of the Navajo Nation, a lone shepherd tended his flock.

Tóba Yazzie was an old man, his face etched with lines carved by time and wind. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, a woven wool vest, and carried a shepherd's crook more for tradition than need. His sheep—descendants of the Churro sheep his ancestors had herded for centuries—were a stubborn, hardy lot, much like Tóba himself.

The sheep roamed freely across the mesa, grazing on sparse tufts of grass that clung to the red earth. Tóba guided them as his forefathers had, singing songs in Diné Bizaad, the Navajo language, songs meant to calm the sheep and remind himself of his roots.

But the world outside his mesa had other plans.

One afternoon, while Tóba was mending a section of his old wooden fence, a humming filled the air. He looked up to see a sleek, metallic drone descending, its silver surface glinting in the sun. It hovered silently before a mechanized voice broke the stillness.

“Tóba Yazzie. You are in violation of planetary livestock regulations. Livestock farming is obsolete. Report for assimilation.”

Tóba spat on the ground. “These sheep are my family,” he said in his gravelly voice. “They belong to this land as much as I do.”

The drone buzzed, its lenses adjusting to focus on him. “Noncompliance will result in escalation.”

Tóba squinted at the machine. “Go ahead, escalate,” he muttered, returning to his fence.

The drone whirred angrily but retreated. Tóba knew it would return, and not alone. That night, as he sat by the fire inside his hogan, the round, traditional Navajo home, he thought of his ancestors. They had resisted many intrusions—colonial forces, forced relocations, and now, machines. He whispered a prayer to Changing Woman, the life-giving deity, asking for guidance.

At dawn, the machines arrived. Dozens of drones floated above the mesa, and with them came a towering automaton, its limbs glowing faintly with blue energy. The sheep huddled close to Tóba, their bleats nervous but trusting.

“Tóba Yazzie,” the automaton boomed. “Relinquish your livestock. This is your final warning.”

Tóba stood tall, his crook in hand. “You cannot take what you do not understand.” He raised his voice, chanting an old song his grandmother had taught him. It spoke of the Earth, the Sky, and the Sheep—of harmony and balance.

The machines hesitated, their programming ill-equipped to interpret this defiance. But Tóba wasn’t alone. From the shadows of the rocks, other figures emerged—Navajo men and women who had been watching, waiting. They carried tools, old but effective: slings, bows, and even fire-hardened spears.

One woman, young and fierce, stepped beside Tóba. “We fight not for sheep, but for our way of life,” she said.

The battle was brief and strange. The drones, though advanced, faltered against the unity of the shepherds. Arrows pierced their sensors, and fires disabled their engines. The automaton, large and menacing, was eventually brought down by a coordinated effort, its glowing core extinguished.

When the dust settled, the sheep were safe, and the mesa was silent once more. Tóba sat on a rock, his crook resting across his knees. The young woman approached him, smiling.

“You sang them away,” she said.

Tóba chuckled. “No, we all did. The machines don’t understand songs or stories. They don’t understand what it means to belong to the land.”

From that day, the machines avoided the mesa. Tales spread of the shepherds who defied technology with little more than ancient songs and the will to protect their heritage.

And Tóba Yazzie, the last shepherd in a robot world, continued his vigil, his sheep grazing freely under the vast, unyielding sky.

---------To Be Continued.

picture of sheep is during the sheepwalk from utah to arizona mountain.Some pictures of some projects i'm starting.Horse shoe coat hangers/salt and pepper holder,a project order for a latch for a horse trailer.Wood for a bucksaw packsaddle.Just been alittle I'm trying to make it a point to keep posting and document this wild life.Will make some soap soon for the open market.Trying to become financially independent sometimes I just wanna quit my job but Im trying to hold out as long as possible while getting my own businesses going.The constant struggle of an old soul in a modern world.I go round and round with this.Two types of freedom philosophy.There's the so much money you can do what you want independence then there is the moneyless manifesto.anyways keep chippin away permies you'll get there.

Could be used for battens or weaving or charcoal pencils.could make it into a wattled fence.

jackie woolston wrote:Hi Ben, I love your pallet yurt. I have a project that this might morf with. I have 4 old 5'x13' Gothic window frames, The pallets would be perfect to connect the window frames. The same shape idea, with pallets staggered with window frames. Probably need to stack pallets higher or shorten the old frames.??  Thanks for the awesome idea! Now I will be on the hunt for good pallets. I use alpaca wool to insulate buildings...recycle 50lb paper organic flour sacks, stuff with wool and do a bit of quilting to keep the wool from settling. These would fit inside the inner part of the pallets. I always build things in my head before I tackle them. I have been dragging these windows around since 1988. Where the glass used to be I think maybe twin wall polycarb might be easy to cut to the shapes...I want to find color twin wall for the upper cross potions. I love your creativity!
Best, Jackie

Cool I like the idea.I wanted to experiment with a little bigger sized version.maybe double the pallets.Could also lengthen the high of walls.i like the walls being low for some reason tho.But hey to each there own.You could cut the window frames with an angle grinder to make shorter or like your saying make them longer.I like the idea of using the alpaca wool.I think the walls our also good for Cob.Could totally ending being an adobe yurt/hogan.Awesome ideas.

Marc Dube wrote:Wow thanks for the update pics it looks great!

I took inspiration from this post and built one as a hunting blind. And somewhat portable as I built it at home and then transported it as 5 pallets, 1 door, and the roof to its final destination.

Yoooooo! Marc that's awesome i'm diggin he little window.Also Your joinery pretty awesome.Good carpentry skills.Ben law would be proud.