Day Five: The Indians didn't win this time

We left this morning intent on visiting Wounded Knee and the Pine Ridge Reservation. I was not clear initially what the push was to go to the reservation -- it is not a tourist destination as we discovered -- but I learned along the way.

We drove through three National Parks today. The first one is in the Black Hills -- Wind Cave National Park where after seeing a sign that said "Do not approach buffalo" we came over a rise and encountered herds of buffalo grazing across an incredible vista of rolling green hills and big sky. Think Dances with Wolves meets Little House on the Prairie. And now the age-old question has been answered for me: "Why did the buffalo cross the road?" Simple. To get to the other side, of course. Some of the buffalo grazing next to the road would suddenly decide to cross the road to where the rest of the herd was...meandering across with no concern for vehicles. Of course, we were going slowly but still! This mother buffalo had twins! (Everywhere we have gone, fields have been full of babies -- horses, cattle, goats, sheep...and even buffalo.)

This "big fellow" and many of his buddies were grazing just feet from the road. No problem staying in the car to take photos! Guess I wasn't expecting to see so many herds of buffalo -- although all the markets in the little towns through which we pass advertise Grade A Dakota Buffalo meat for sale and it is on all the menus. Very lean meat.

I did feel as though we were in a movie with these huge animals roaming about. The other thing that struck me -- having seen too many Westerns as a child -- is that I half expected to see lines of warriors appearing suddenly along any given ridge as we drove. This is a beautiful expansive area.

After a brief stop at the Red Cloud Indian School to view their art exhibit (which we saw advertised on a sign), we proceeded towards Wounded Knee on the Pine Ridge Reservations. The roads had little traffic -- the Indians have few cars. While these Lakotas have hundreds of thousands of acres, they have no source for income. More on that in a minute. Well, the road signs saying how to get to Wounded Knee are adequate; however, when we actually got to the site, there was not one marker anywhere to say that this is Wounded Knee. Nothing. The picture here shows the entrance road to the site coming off the main road. Unmarked. Rutted. Do YOU see a sign? A few hundred feet up an incline is a small rarely used vestige of a Catholic church (that has nothing to do with Wounded Knee) and a graveyard primarily for the four major families in this tribe -- and a single marker honoring a number of chiefs. Three young high school students poorly dressed (one with her baby) were standing at the entrance of the cemetery waiting for a cousin to come with some handmade items they might sell to an infrequent visitor who happened to wander in (such as we were). They said that they had no transportation and nothing to do on the "rez." They have no cars or money. No buses run through this area. There are NO towns close by. We were WAY OUT in the middle of nowhere. They have no prospects for their futures unless they leave the "rez." I asked about the events of Wounded Knee and they replied, "Oh, you mean the massacre?" One pointed out the area just a few feet down the hill by the stream. He didn't say anything else. We drove through the "rez" (south to north) and saw nothing but abject poverty. Very, very sad living conditions (if you can call that living).

We did have another interesting encounter on the "rez." While at the Red Cloud Indian School, we noticed a flier for a restaurant called Bette's Kitchen. I asked one of the workers at the exhibit about it and she said, "Oh, yes. That is REALLY good." She gave us the impression that Bette's Kitchen was THE place to go...so we went. Hmmm. Another sign issue. We were told that there would be many signs along the way. Zilch. Now remember, we are way out on the "rez" -- with a general idea of the location. Finally, with the assistance of the GPS we saw Black Elk Road and the sign for Bette's Kitchen. Double hmmm. Straight up a severely rutted incline in the distance was a structure that vaguely resembled the picture on the flier...so, we continued upward somewhat warily. This was NOT a restaurant but someone's dilapidated double wide with broken down cars and machine parts in the yard. There was a sign that said "Yes, we are open" so we proceeded forward on this "adventure." A mangy dog loped lazily towards us offering wet welcomes as we ascended the steps into the trailer. Sure enough. This is Bette's home and you eat in her kitchen. We entered through the laundry room and sat at her dinette and had a cup of chicken and rice soup in a Styrofoam cup along with a piece of fry bread and a bottle of water. The soup was actually quite good -- the fry bread had been made a few hours early (obviously). Bette and her niece were very gracious but it felt like we were intruding. However, they did say that they had 75 people on a tour bus the day before -- I have NO idea how a bus made it up that hill or why they would bring a tour to this trailer. Still, I have to give it to these two women; at least they were being a little entrepreneurial in this abyss of poverty. On the walls of this home were dozens of pictures -- of chiefs in ceremonial dress, lttle girls in tutus at recitals, school pics, young men and women in uniform who had served in the Armed Forces, and many family shots. The most outstanding thing about this trailer kitchen/restaurant (besides the fact that it is the only game in town) is the view. Oh my gosh. Spectacular vistas of rock buttes that line one side of this valley for as far as you can see. As we made our way gingerly down the rutted hill, we both were more than a little depressed for these proud people and their plight in life thanks to our government.

The drive through the Pine Ridge Reservation led us to the Badlands National Park. We went from rolling lush green hills to a moon landscape with mounds and pillars and mesas and rims of what appears to be white sand structuress. We drove through the middle just marveling at the unique formations. Some of it looks like the Grand Canyon. Then suddenly we were back to the lush rolling farm lands as we exited the park. Rather felt for the two manned U. S. Park Ranger Stations at each end of the park. They are stuck in the middle of all of this with no stores, no cell phone service, and precious little traffic with whom they might talk. I can see why it is called the "badlands."

As soon as we left this area, we began to see signs of civilization again -- and the greening of the landscape. We weren't too far from Rapid City. On the homeward bound leg of this day's journey, we decided to take an alternate route back to Custer -- through the Custer State Park. That was definitely a great decision and perhaps my favorite part of the trip. This is a beautiful park dotted with streams and small lakes. Saw many folks with their tents as well as a couple of very nice hotels for those who prefer this type of "camping." But the wildlife was the best. Again we encountered right along the road, numerous sightings of deer, wild turkeys, mountain goats (in the middle of the road obviously grazing on an earlier "road kill"), and more buffalo (again in the middle of the road and along side vehicular traffic). Magnificent. Yet, we had to ask ourselves WHY would a sane person pitch a pup tent beside a stream knowing that these huge buffalo can wander in at will?

Oh, one thing I keep forgetting to mention -- and, Eileen, I think about you everytime I see these sights -- horses are everywhere. On ranches, in fields, in large and small pens, or roaming the rolling hills. Beautiful horses. Many look like what we saw in old westerns -- painted. Others look like thoroughbreds. Around every corner and in every valley are these beautiful creatures. (And we were only three miles from our motel in Custer when we saw the last group of buffalo.)

Tonight we returned to the Crazy Horse Memorial Mountain for the "Legends in Light" show as well as a night blast on the mountain celebrating the 83rd birthday of the sculptor's wife who was present. There must have been thousands of cars for this event -- and they even served cake to this huge crowd! Wow. There are only two night blasts per year -- on the birthdays of the sculptor and his wife (June 26th and September 6th). We were fortunate to see this "blast."

In the morning, we are leaving the Custer area and heading towards Devils Tower, WY...and beyond. It is fortuitous that we decided to stay in Custer and not Rapid City as was the original (flying-by-the-seat-of-our-pants unplanned plan). We are right in the middle of everything with so much ambiance and beauty. It is amazing to think that this area was not even known by the white man until Lt. Col. George A. Custer (age 34) led an expedition of 1,200 men to the Black Hills in 1874. The expedition lasted 60 days covering 880 miles. To put things in historical perspective, Custer's expedition took place a quarter of a century after the discovery of gold in California. Lewis and Clark had gone home 68 years earlier. The Union Pacific and the telegraphs had connected the East Cost with the West Coast. Steamboats paddled on the Missouri River and Yellowstone Park was getting gready to greet tourists. The invention of the telephone was less than two years away.

Check out what Custer brought along on his expedition: "1,200 troopers, including 10 cavalry and two infantry companies; an engineer and artillery detachment; 80 civilians (including two miners, three newspaper correspondents, a botanist, geologist, engineer, Indian scouts, a female colored cook); a 16-piece band mounted on white horses; a photographer; 110 wagons each pulled by six mules; 1,000 horses; 300 heads of cattle; three Gatling guns, and about a dozen greyhounds. "

The Black Hills has long been a sacred place for the Lakota Nation. One day I hope you have the opportunity to experience this place.

Now -- onward to Devils Tower (think Spielberg's Close Encounters of the Third Kind -- do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do).

Ah, one more plug for Custer, SD. They have THE BEST pie store called "The Purple Pie Place" with varieties of homemade pies like I have never seen. Oh, so good.

Later, Friends.