The paragraph starting "I loved letting other people lead the way." really struck me in a powerful way. As I age, I find myself desiring this state more. I feel like my days of being a loud and forceful voice are ending, and my days of being a quiet and thoughtful observer are more comfortable clothes to wear. I'm sure some would feel this as a loss, but I somehow feel the strength in it. Is this what maturity feels like?
Damn Chris. Not sure how I'm supposed to read this and be in front of A MF KEYBOARD all day!! In all seriousness, thank you for doing this work and reporting back to us suckers stuck inside.
Also this feels like The Way: "Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the MOSS instructors were joined by Indigenous knowledge keepers every step of the way who could add cultural teachings to the ones based in western science? What would the learning experience out on the prairie be like then?"
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the MOSS instructors were joined by Indigenous knowledge keepers every step of the way who could add cultural teachings to the ones based in western science?” Yes yes yes. Also footnote 3, lolol. A very sane reaction. 👍
Delighted to find this in my inbox and savor it slowly with my morning coffee. FIVE!! That is GREAT!
“ . . . the buffalo get in among the cart train, scattering people like tourists in the Lamar Valley“ — snort/chuckle. Thank you for doing what you do and for writing about it.
A while ago I read Richard Manning's book Grassland, and I will never see the prairie the same again because of it. Some people have told me he got some of the science wrong, but I appreciated his attempt to imagine what the landscape must have looked, smelled, sounded & felt like with all the biodiversity the prairie once had. He writes that pictures and paintings of tractors on wheat farms are actually depicting ecological destruction and erasing the vast record of biodiversity. I think about that all the time these days, living in Havre where the water is bad now.
My ancestors survived on this water once, however, and there are tons of stories on the Rez about the water—I mean the feeling type of stories, the ones with depth that you can imagine yourself into, like what you wrote above. This water used to be magic, but now it's poison.
I think many people skirt the generational trauma/colonial mindset and the spiritual connection of people to landscape in an attempt to be palatable to others. I see the same thing happening in the psychedelic renaissance—people talking about how "indigenous medicine" is science, backed by research, yaddda yadda, not realizing that same perspective is very much a part of the trampling. The scientific method was born at the same time as European colonization of the Americas and that is no coincidence. By definition, it strips out the stories, the feeling and the spirit. This is the opposite of what grasslands and also psychedelics teach. I've always been drawn to the prairie because the spirit of land is undeniable here.
Bison hooves were meant to plant the prairie grasses. If they were the ones trampling up here, everything would be better. Frick I love that Blackfeet story in which the bison are hunting humans. Having lived on the Hi-Line, I often wish that could be true again.
I felt like I was right there with you - listening and observing and reflecting. Oh and that cold beer on the porch? It’s only 8am here but I could almost taste it!
This post was my morning prayer. Your words settled into my bones, and anything I try to say here is stupid compared to how I feel right now, except for this: thank you, Chris.
I remember as a child how my grandmother would tell us the names of things - the “official” name, the local, colloquial name, and sometimes other names for the same thing. It taught me, without her ever saying it, that there are multiple ways of looking at any one thing. An invaluable lesson!!
That’s so exciting about the five spaces, congratulations! Wishing them an opening adventure & lots of joy as they go. Looking forward to reading about it & learning from it here.
This is a little beside the point but what was the burrowing owl like? I’ve always wanted to see one. An owl. That’s tiny. That burrows. In the ground. And then moves its funny little head like you’re the one acting oddly!! Squeeee! Absolutely the best (or that’s what I think it would be like?).
"...and the cold beer I drank while sitting in my camp chair out front of my motel room watching traffic... was maybe the best I’ve ever had." Life has many "best beer" moments, moments when one is spent and relaxed and satisfied. That first gulp seems always to be followed with a reverent, whispered... "Oh god..."
The paragraph starting "I loved letting other people lead the way." really struck me in a powerful way. As I age, I find myself desiring this state more. I feel like my days of being a loud and forceful voice are ending, and my days of being a quiet and thoughtful observer are more comfortable clothes to wear. I'm sure some would feel this as a loss, but I somehow feel the strength in it. Is this what maturity feels like?
Chris - Thank you for helping me see.
✊🏽
Damn Chris. Not sure how I'm supposed to read this and be in front of A MF KEYBOARD all day!! In all seriousness, thank you for doing this work and reporting back to us suckers stuck inside.
Also this feels like The Way: "Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the MOSS instructors were joined by Indigenous knowledge keepers every step of the way who could add cultural teachings to the ones based in western science? What would the learning experience out on the prairie be like then?"
It totally does. Thank you, Sara.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the MOSS instructors were joined by Indigenous knowledge keepers every step of the way who could add cultural teachings to the ones based in western science?” Yes yes yes. Also footnote 3, lolol. A very sane reaction. 👍
😂
Delighted to find this in my inbox and savor it slowly with my morning coffee. FIVE!! That is GREAT!
“ . . . the buffalo get in among the cart train, scattering people like tourists in the Lamar Valley“ — snort/chuckle. Thank you for doing what you do and for writing about it.
🦬
Island mountains in southeastern Arizona are venerated too and there are stories of ancient shrines that are still renewed.
Absolutely. I love that landscape too! 🏜️
I can't help but wonder what the buffalo were thinking as they ran amid the carts ~
"Hey, maybe we'll be safe with those oxen over there!"
Or, "Boozhoo, Relatives from the North!" 🦬 🦬 🦬 🦬 🦬 🦬
😂
A while ago I read Richard Manning's book Grassland, and I will never see the prairie the same again because of it. Some people have told me he got some of the science wrong, but I appreciated his attempt to imagine what the landscape must have looked, smelled, sounded & felt like with all the biodiversity the prairie once had. He writes that pictures and paintings of tractors on wheat farms are actually depicting ecological destruction and erasing the vast record of biodiversity. I think about that all the time these days, living in Havre where the water is bad now.
My ancestors survived on this water once, however, and there are tons of stories on the Rez about the water—I mean the feeling type of stories, the ones with depth that you can imagine yourself into, like what you wrote above. This water used to be magic, but now it's poison.
I think many people skirt the generational trauma/colonial mindset and the spiritual connection of people to landscape in an attempt to be palatable to others. I see the same thing happening in the psychedelic renaissance—people talking about how "indigenous medicine" is science, backed by research, yaddda yadda, not realizing that same perspective is very much a part of the trampling. The scientific method was born at the same time as European colonization of the Americas and that is no coincidence. By definition, it strips out the stories, the feeling and the spirit. This is the opposite of what grasslands and also psychedelics teach. I've always been drawn to the prairie because the spirit of land is undeniable here.
Bison hooves were meant to plant the prairie grasses. If they were the ones trampling up here, everything would be better. Frick I love that Blackfeet story in which the bison are hunting humans. Having lived on the Hi-Line, I often wish that could be true again.
I love this, Natalie. 🦬
Chris, I'm so glad to hear that you can sponsor FIVE attendees! Great read, as always. Thank you
Thank you, Nathan. I am quite pleased myself!
I felt like I was right there with you - listening and observing and reflecting. Oh and that cold beer on the porch? It’s only 8am here but I could almost taste it!
Sometimes such a thing is just what the body needs, isn't it?
Oh absolutely. I experience the same thirst-quenching experience with a cold beer after a day at the beach swimming in the sea.
Yes!
The vastness of the High Plains. The spirits that dwell there. Thank you for the reminder.
This post was my morning prayer. Your words settled into my bones, and anything I try to say here is stupid compared to how I feel right now, except for this: thank you, Chris.
I remember as a child how my grandmother would tell us the names of things - the “official” name, the local, colloquial name, and sometimes other names for the same thing. It taught me, without her ever saying it, that there are multiple ways of looking at any one thing. An invaluable lesson!!
So many names, so many lessons.
Happy to have accompanied you.
Happy to have had you along!
That’s so exciting about the five spaces, congratulations! Wishing them an opening adventure & lots of joy as they go. Looking forward to reading about it & learning from it here.
This is a little beside the point but what was the burrowing owl like? I’ve always wanted to see one. An owl. That’s tiny. That burrows. In the ground. And then moves its funny little head like you’re the one acting oddly!! Squeeee! Absolutely the best (or that’s what I think it would be like?).
They aren't as tiny as I thought they'd be! But I did see some funny head movement which was entirely worth the price of admission.
"...and the cold beer I drank while sitting in my camp chair out front of my motel room watching traffic... was maybe the best I’ve ever had." Life has many "best beer" moments, moments when one is spent and relaxed and satisfied. That first gulp seems always to be followed with a reverent, whispered... "Oh god..."
🍻
The land still holds the story and spoke to you .
Thank you for sharing with us.