Day One

          Talking to each other, the first thing we hear is how much there was to take in. Our first stop was Floyd Looks for Buffalo's house, where we had breakfast with him and his wife, Natalie Hand. We talked with Uncle Floyd for nearly three hours, hearing about the potential fate of our world, the application of Preparation H to maintain a youthful face, the poisonous nature of the white man's world view, the struggle of his people to survive while still holding on to the traditions that hold them together, and enough other topics to fill up three more books than the one he's already written. Through all of it we shared a relief in the feeling of welcome that their household gave to us. Sitting in the living room, packed on couches and cross legged on the carpet, I worried a little that I wasn't engaging him enough, or that I didn't ask enough questions to show how much I had researched and was interested in. We'll be returning to their house often this week, though, so I have plenty more chances.
        From there we left to visit the site of the Wounded Knee Massacre. where United States troops had killed more than 150 Lakota men, women, and children. Getting out of our vans and reading the sign recounting the story of the massacre, I couldn't help but notice the word "Lies!" carved over the ending statement "This was the last armed conflict between Native Americans and the United States Military". It immediately brought to mind Uncle Floyd telling us about the second battle of Wounded Knee, when, in 1973, the American Indian Movement was besieged by FBI, U.S. Marshalls, and other Native Americans for nearly three months.
       On the hill overlooking where the Lakota had died in 1890 sat the mass grave where their bodies had been buried. We were told by a man there that it was the site of the artillery that had been fired at them. Its hard to know what to feel when reflecting on another peoples' tragedy, but more than anything I felt a loss. There is the shame for what our nation has done, and still does in other ways and other places, but what I felt most there was a loss of great leaders of a people that has much to teach us, and proof of our inability to listen and live with their different view of the land we need to share.
       From there we drove to the Badlands. Soon the sides of the road began to show the strange shapes of rain sculpted sandstone, what Gina described as "melted sandcastles". Following directions to Sheep Mountain, we turned onto a dirt road that seemed dry enough for our chubby mini-vans to drive on, but the mud soon forced us to stop, once we nearly slid off the road into a muddy stream. There we ate lunch, climbed the buttes, which often crumbled under our feet and showed thin veins of pink quartz, had several brutal snowball fights, and admired the breathtaking views. According to the visitor center, all of the badlands had been covered by an inland sea, but today it would've been nearly completely dry if it weren't for the mud from rain and the streams of snow melt.
       We left, watching the sun set over the hills, to have dinner again at Uncle Floyd and Aunt Natalie's. Then, back at the retreat center, we all quickly fell asleep, which I've got to get doing right about now.