María Sierra Burgos ya sabe asistir a una cabra en un aborto. “Lo pasé regular porque empaticé con ella”, reconoce la rondeña de 29 años. “Ni caso, lo hizo estupendamente”, le replica a su vera su mentor, el pastor José Miguel Sánchez. La última lección, llegada de forma espontánea no hace ni un día, se suma a una larga ristra de saberes aprendidos en apenas seis meses. “También sé arreglar alambrados, injertar un árbol o trenzar cuerdas”, explica la joven, maestra de Infantil de formación. Por eso Sierras se rebela cuando su familia o amistades le preguntan, cargados de condescendencia, qué hace de aprendiz en el campo teniendo estudios: “Estoy harta. Siempre contesto que no es sinónimo de no saber. Aquí hay menos estrés y la gente es más friendly”.

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Northwest Arkansas has been changing. Walmart, which has been rooted in Bentonville for more than 75 years, has reshaped the small town, and now that growth is spreading into the surrounding countryside. With that change, writes Jordan P. Hickey in this poignant essay, come wealthy newcomers looking for a country lifestyle and gravel cyclists riding thousands of unpaved rural roads. And then there are the dogs—who have been here longer than any of these transplants—caught in the midst of it all. Hickey calls them “yarddogs,” finding in them a metaphor for a region in the process of transformation. (Subscription required.)

Downtown Bentonville, so carefully planned, feels surreal today—”Disneyfied,” “Pleasantville,” “gentrification” are the apt words of the critics.And not that it needs to be said, but there are no yarddogs in Bentonville. Not anymore. Here, there are only good dogs. Dogs on leashes, dogs that have been to school, dogs that listen, obey, behave, and will not lunge at every passing jogger. 

But, of course, this is not really about dogs at all.