Jan 8, 2012

Hi all

Just back from a bison "hunt". I don't actually refer to this effort as a hunt, for I knew in advance where the bison might be. More a bison shoot. The ethics of which I shall address someday.

Brilliant sunlight bored into my eyes. This far up the map, the sun hangs lower in the sky than I am accustomed. And it lends less warmth. The wind arrived unimpeded by that five strand barbed wire fence, a few miles north and out of sight on the other side of the low ridge. Not one tree stood in the way. By local standard, it wasn’t much of a wind that day. Just enough to qualify for what they call a chill factor on the TV weather. It found its way past my collar, right there at the back of my neck. By local standard, it wasn’t cold either. Somewhere in the high teens. Shoulda been below zero this time of year. They are having a mild winter so far, but that will change.  Still, my hands stiffened faster than they used to.

South Dakota prairie grassland extended to the four horizons under a seamless, intensely blue sky. Last summer had been remarkable. More than enough rain, at all the right times, and warmth that didn’t cook everything to death. Everything grew beyond reason. The old folks just nodded, and said, “Don’t get used to it.” Next year, this could be a brown wasteland. But for now the bison stood knee deep in grass in January, and they weren’t complaining. 

A small herd of bison cows and calves fed in front of us. Behind them, on the slope rising to the north, six bulls lounged in the sun. They were built for a Dakota winter. Their ancestors thrived here for millennia despite four foot snows and wind fresh from the Arctic, bringing with it sub-zero temperatures. They are large enough to hang onto their heat. Their coats grow dense this time of year. And they can plow aside the snow with their huge heads, finding grass for their calves and themselves. They no doubt enjoyed this mild weather, but I’m sure the old cows just nodded and said, “Don’t get used to it.”

Bison and mankind have shared this land since the glaciers melted away a few years ago. Primitive man stumbled in after crossing the Bering Land Bridge, and found the bison here, shortly after the mastodons, saber toothed cats, and giant bears went away.  Or maybe after the mankind hunters killed them off. When the White folks showed up, the Sioux and assorted other native tribes wandered the land, dependent upon the bison for sustenance. Several groups of natives predated the Sioux, each supplanted by the next, more ambitious or talented or nastier tribe. The Sioux were doing well when the Europeans arrived, but they couldn’t compete. Not with those evil nasty Europeans. Evil nasty nasty Europeans. Shame on them!!

There….we’ve gotten that politically correct self-recrimination thing out of the way.  Don’t want anyone to think that success should pass without an appropriate amount of blame and guilt.  

We spent some time with the descendants of those White conquerors.  They’ve put in enough time here so’s you can assess how they are doing. First off, they’ve set down roots. Deep ones. Like the cottonwoods that survive the climate there. Deep roots come in handy when times turn tough. The people here are inseparable from the land. They know they cannot live without it, and that they must not only care for the land, but also give thanks for it. And they don’t wish to leave this place, even though other places might carry more glamour, or simply an easier life.

The folks with whom we stayed are a might different from most around our home. They tend toward quiet, and modest. And they go about all that needs doing without protest or complaint. Work for them starts with the dawn, and stops when they can’t see anymore. Their faith comes easily to them, kinda like breathing and eating. They simply do it and live it every day. The sun comes up in the east, and their faith is there to greet it. And they plug in the truck each night so it will start in the morning, regardless where the thermometer ends up, cause ya still gotta do your part, too.

The animals need care. Morning and night the people go out and break the ice so the calves can get water. Most years, the grass is thin by now, so they roll out the hay for the herd to eat.  See a coyote stalking the sheep? Get rid of it. That’s why the rifle lives in the truck. Loaded.  For the coyotes. They can trust their neighbors, so the front door isn’t locked. 

When we were ready to leave, and the truck was packed, they gifted us with something precious to them. And this gift tells much. We left with a photo of their family, four generations, twenty-three people from 92 years to 2 months of age. Precious.

I was taken with the similarities, with how much the folks living on the prairie of Dakota these days resemble the Sioux and their predecessors. 

The land and the weather and the bison defined the Sioux. These things defined the Sioux because they provided the sustenance needed by the Sioux, and also the challenges the people met to survive. And the faith that sustained the Sioux derived from these conditions. 

 Not much has changed. The weather and the land still define the place. The animals may be mostly Angus or Hereford now, but the bison are starting to come back. They still do well there. And the faith of the people blends into this land, too.

Historians like to say that when the Sioux killed a bison, the only thing they wasted was the grunt. They feasted upon the meat, and preserved what they could of the rest. They tanned the hides to build their shelter and provide their clothing. Bison horns served as spoons and cups. Various innards could be used to carry water or cook food. And bones could be turned into weapons, needles, and toys for the children. So when they felt the need, they used it all. Certainly, the bison filled many a need for the Sioux.

The historians conveniently overlook those times when the Sioux killed a few dozen too many bison, and they took the tongues and left the rest for the magpies and coyotes. But ya must do this to make the Sioux look good, and thus make their conquerors look bad. I don’t think the Sioux were perfect, but I don’t feel the need to condemn those folks who took over after them, either. The earth abides, and the people adapt, regardless who the people may be.

For my part…I chose from the herd that morning a bison cow with no calf, which meant that she would have gone to the butcher soon out of economic reality. My rifle was chambered in 45/70, an obsolescent cartridge once popular with buffalo hunters. She was quickly dispatched, and then loaded onto the flatbed pickup. The meat cutter turned her into nearly 300 pounds of meat. And we are having the hide tanned for a robe, and the skull cleaned and bleached. We didn’t save the bladder to carry water, nor the rumen to cook in, for we have other things that fill those needs. So I suppose we weren’t as frugal as the Sioux. But somehow, I don’t suppose the Sioux would prefer a rumen if they were also offered a microwave.