On the rez, back to Bismarck, and going home

Day 8—Tuesday—9/11--to the rez—Keith takes me on a tour (in the next few days I get many tours of the Fort Berthold reservation--I have learned so much my head is still spinning) We went to Crows Heart Butte where Lewis and Clark took sightings--I never knew that--I just knew the medicine wheel was on the hill. Later that night we went up on the hill behind Keith's house, the sundance hill, where Keith prayed for the child and talked to Grandfather and his ancestors as well, and prayed about my coming; he allowed me to participate and I represented all women in the prayer. I was honored to be a part of the prayer. It was a beautiful night on the hill, no moon, all stars. We saw a shooting star just after Keith was explaining to me that his people believe that stars are living beings too, and when there’s a falling star a new being comes for someone who needs help. It seemed to be a confirmation of his story. We also talk about flying saucers he’s seen, and when he was hit by lightning at the sundance and is now a water buster, (able to keep a storm away from a place, and to call rain.) After the lightning hit he was "electric" for along time--he kept touching things like the TV and blowing them out. It reminded me of an X-Files episode. He also shared with me about sundances, and he has been a sundancer, but I don't think I should say any more about that. We had no electricity that night, so we went out to eat, then came back and talked and played flutes by candlelight.

Day 9—Wednesday—cooler—temp drops--into the 40's! I'm not in St. Louis anymore! We run errands and Keith introduces me to many friends and relatives on the rez. We go back up on the hill behind his house to see the daylight view. The wind is strong, stronger than I've experiened at home because there's nothing to break it, and the grass sings. (Of course it's also pretty dusty. My poor car isn't cardinal red anymore.) We also go down to the river bottom (no one calls Lake Sakagawea a lake) where the land is coming back as the lake drops, although the tribes cannot have it back or use it. They are fighting the Army Corps of Engineers, one of my favorite organizations, on that one. We ate breakfast in town at the café; visited several tribal offices and the Fort Berthold Community College. I'm so glad it's on the rez. I'm a big believer in education, and this can give the kids a start in a lot of different areas. They need a music teacher. Keith wants to introduce me to the administration, but I told him I can't move--at least right now. I may write up a grant proposal for a one-semester course; it would be awesome if I could get those kids a keyboard lab. It’s a beautiful facility. Beautiful murals and paintings of various tribal leaders. Keith tells me who painted them; but things are all running together now. We "borrowed" electricity from Keith's sister next door. More ethnomusical discussion and flute playing. I'm getting lessons that are worth a fortune. Keith cooked me a steak and potato dinner and we watched a few movies. Cold night for sleeping once more without electricity--no furnace. The wind howls and moans and speaks and sings. I've never heard that before, and I laid awake and listened for a long time.

Day 10—Thursday: 41degrees! We went around town getting Keith's bills paid and getting Keith’s check from the tribe. Dealing with the tribe is like dealing with any government agency, unfortunately. Keith introduces me to everyone we meet, by the way—he eventually starts calling me an ethnomusicologist. Private joke--he has a flute-playing friend who has been doing that without credentials (neither do I--no classes, no degree.) We have electricity! I met his friends Bob and Linda Haugen from Minneapolis over the phone. They have all performed her composition “Old Turtle”, based on the children’s book, together. Linda wrote the piece. We discuss booking in St. Louis and how I can help. I have several ideas on this, including alums. I would also like to help Keith get his own story published by Scholastic—Turtle and Pretty Crane. He wrote this story for his children, and it teaches many things. The short version is on his newest CD. Now I know how much of it is Keith’s story . . . While waiting at the casino for Keith I checked email in the lobby and an older man started a conversation with me about my computer, etc. (Keith thought he was trying to snag, I think he was just friendly.) Turns out he’s a jazz pianist doing a concert in Valley City on Sunday. When Keith comes back I introduce them. They exchange CD’s, and the gentleman invited us to dinner. We had dinner at the casino and he joined us at Keith’s house after. He was a music teacher and jazz player in Minneapolis for years, but grew up in ND. He was also an alcoholic. Great visit, all three of us talking music. Later I get round dancing, 49 dancing lessons from Keith. It's the Indian version of couples dancing. I finally caught on, but I’ll have to practice on my own. I loved it—so much fun. Hard freeze that night.

Day 11—Friday. Cold morning—in the 30s. I had promised to get up and watch the sun rise with Keith, so I did. We watched it on the hill behind his house, and it was an amazing and spiritual experience. It was a cloudy morning, a front was coming in and there was fog rolling onto the river. The Four Bears bridge disappeared magically into the fog--a bridge to nowhere, a bridge to the clouds. The lake smoking. Keith prayed, I prayed. One of Keith's many relatives, I think an aunt, invited us to breakfast at the casino (she works in the kitchen). More people to meet. I can’t forget to mention the neighborhood kids who flock around Keith--they come over to ride the scooter, to hang out, to play with the kittens. (We have been catching and losing kittens all week). It’s so good to watch them with Keith, and I enjoy being with them myself. I find myself unable to ignore any teachable moments--they ask where I live, and I get out a map to show them that I live close to the same river that they do. I miss teaching.

Keith’s brother James invites us to see the buffalo out by where he lives on Friday. This takes us out to the badlands, the Killdeer mountains, Little Missouri state park. Beautiful country. We see the buffalo, have lunch with James and his little granddaughter. All this makes it too late to go to Bismarck, so I call Jelena, and stay in New Town another night. We get back to Keith's place, and sit and talk for a while, then go to the casino just to hang out. People I have met say “hi” and invite me to sit with them. They are very friendly. Everyone asks me if I like it and tells me I should come and live here. I might, too, if I didn’t have Dad and my sister and my dalmations waiting for me at home. I have always wanted to live in the west . . . I finally decided to take the big plunge at the casino and take a $20 bill and played the slots. I even got a players card. They gave me $5 for the sign up, which I gave Keith in case he was luckier than me. He wasn't. He played blackjack, but didn’t last too long. I was playing quarter slots, and I actually got $2 ahead, and cashed out at that point! I was afraid if I started losing I wouldn’t want to stop if I lost the $20. It was fun.

Day 12—Saturday—another sunrise; clear, bright and beautiful. These pictures from the hill are quite different--pictures of the sun creeping across the land, watching the shadows, and even silly ones of the two of us. Keith fixed me coffee and a steak and potatoes breakfast that lasts me the entire day! I called Dad to tell him I went Indian. Boy do I miss him—and he was so happy to hear from me. I know he wants me to come home. I start getting ready to leave, Keith reads in the newspaper that a friend passed just a few days ago—only age 42. It turns out to be a massive coronary. Keith took a Pendleton blanket to honor him, and asked if I would come along to the parents house. I also wanted to bring something to honor Keith’s friend even though I didn’t know him, so we went by the flower shop in town where Keith knows the owner, and I got a peace lily. It was sad to go to the house, the young man’s father was so broken up. Keith cried. I had tears for the father. I will have them both in my prayers. Then we go out to Wolf Trading Post so I can get my sweetgrass (I already got my blanket). When we get home, I ask Keith the last questions I need to ask that I can think of about the music, the culture. The kids come by for scooter rides, which makes saying goodbye easier for me. We had good days, and it was a good road. I pray, Father/Grandfather, that the road will remain good and continue.

I get back to Rick and Jelena’s in the evening in time to have a little tomato soup with them and watch Batman. Won’t leave Bismarck now until at least Monday. I had such a nice visit with them, too.


Day 13==Sunday

I slept late today—no church. Went to lunch with Amber and Jelena at Rachel and Troy’s house, and met their daughter Kara. She really is a neat little girl. Fun to play with a toddler again. After lunch we were going to attend the Folkfest downtown, but it was over! How dare they not keep it open for us. Came home, a little rest, starting to get warm. The pain in my back and leg got worse as the day went on. In the evening we went to the Bismarck State College campus which overlooks the Missouri River, and played flutes and watched the sunset. A little itchy in the grass, but a beautiful view and a beautiful sunset. After a little meal together, It was bedtime for everybody, me especially. The leg pain is so intense I question how far I will be able to drive tomorrow; but a night’s rest could help.

I hate to leave and go back to the world of stress and uncertainty I inhabit there. That could be why my back pain is returning. I didn’t want to leave the reservation, and I don’t want to leave here. But I want to see Dad, and there are things I have to do at home. As long as Dad is in St. Louis, I won’t make a move anywhere . . .

Today was another good journey. Last year’s experiences were nothing compared to this year’s . . . Guide me on my journey home, Father, show me the road . . . watch over and protect those I am leaving behind.


Monday--

Waiting for prescriptions was making me late anyway, so I went to On-A-Slant-Village. I'm glad I went, but I think Knife River is a better site. The tour guide was a Lakota whose name was Dakota, and I'm pretty sure he was at the signature event in St. Louis. We talked about Cahokia, and an artifact there that makes him pretty sure that the Mandan are descended from that culture. Now I have to go see the artifact. We also talked about the fact that three members of the Lewis and Clark expedition, including Pierre Cruzatte, had Indian mothers. They would have known Indian songs, and probably would have sung them. Ah ha! This adds to the research . . . you never know when or where you will learn something.

Stayed in Fargo--too much pain to go farther even after the meds.

Tuesday--I feel much better. I am headed for Des Moines, and will stop as necessary, no matter how long it takes. I will go around Minneapolis. The Barfields tell me this takes four hours off of my total trip, so I have to try it. I'm off the L&C trail now, and forging my own, to places I've never been. Minnesota? Iowa? New road to travel. Father keep me safe.