Tuesday, June 18, 2013

The Call

     I got a call from Jose Jimenez on Saturday.  "Hola, Tomas.  I goin' back to workm but its not a good deal."  He explained how we wouldn't be staying in a mancamp this season, but a hotel...
     Not a good deal?  I guess I could think of so many people that have not had a good deal.  I myself have been down that road of not thinking I was having a good deal at the moment: fend for my own meals, more miles to drive.  About that time I begin to think exactly how spoiled rotten I am and have been over the last few months and truly blessed.  I think of all the people who have lived out West and not had such a good deal.
     On Saturday I visitied Fort Buford and Fort Union near Williston, North Dakota.  I attended these sites of historic profoundness in awe and wonder with my beautiful companion Brenda.  She being more familiar with the area acted as my guide.  At Ft. Union an old fashioned Rendezvouz was happening.  Furs, old tools and dress, harsh living quarters, with a hint of Bourgoise presence and human refinedness made me reflect on this idea of human dignity in in the harshest primitive conditions in a time period when nothing was certain.  I particulary let my ear wander to the sound of a a drum and a Lakota story-teller.  The man spoke and sang in a small crowded room in the corner of the fort opposite the Bourgoise house.  How fitting and contrasting the two ideas of richness.  Yet I felt at ease in either setting.
     After some time at Ft. Union, we moved down the road to Ft. Buford.     More military than fur-trade historics, it hit me and I felt the presence of something much greater than the happenings of the Bakken.  I imagined what it would have been like to be doing about my business one day when over the hill came a band of 168 Lakota people, warriors and families, hen hearing an order to disarm them and take their horses. 
     I imagined Sitting Bull the leader of these people handing his 5 year old son his rifle and explaining to the commander and the press that the buffalo were gone, the nomadic way of life was gone and it was the responsibility of people like the commander to teach this boy something, to educate him because as far as sitting Bull was concerned, he only knew one way to educate a child and from that day forward, it would be pointless to try and teach him the ways of survival in the new way.   He only knew his way.  On Saturday, June 15, 2013  I walked where Sitting Bull walked,  and I sat in the room where he surrendered his rifle.   I looked out the same window where Crows Foot gave the commander his father's rifle.
     The Bakken, invaders, manifest destiny, imminent domain, mineral rights, land owner rights,  expansion,  progress, technology.... Change!
     I wonder in great awesome thought, what has really changed over the last 130 years.  Men all the time wonder what it is that they should educate their children in.  It beguiles me to think of what an education is today and what it should be, what kind of society we are building for our children?   Should it be the path of secular humanism, college, new age scientific dynamics? What path should I point them down. God knows how often I have stood where where the two roads diverge.  Then as I reflect on the changes in my life it hits me so simple so precise.  What if we just teach our children  to walk, to walk where Jesus walks.
     "I'll see you out there on the line my friend Jose, if not this one maybe the next one."

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Of Beavers and Wolves

     In 1996, -97, and -98  I was living an outdoors-man's dream.  A typical day I would wake up at the crack of dawn, and journey out to tend my muskrat and beaver sets.  I would come home at dark and spend hours in a fur skinning shed.   Once a week or sometimes more depending on my catch I would visit the fur man and get a nice check.   I loved the smell of the swamp, the trees, the exhaust from a warm vehicle.  I was subsidized by an unemployment check.  My bills were paid, and I felt I had a purpose in life- to catch and kill and skin and stretch as much fur as a human could.  By most trappers accounts, I was considered good.  I took over 3500 muskrats and nearly a 600 beaver in those years. Foxes, coyotes, badgers, fishers, bobcats, and I even had a wolf in a trap one time, but got it loosed.  I struggled over the idea of trying to smuggle the hide into Canada.  But I turned him loose.
      I remember picking up one of my children just born from the hospital in a pickup loaded with beavers in the round and some put up and hauling them and my family to the fur man Ordean Sunrud in Fosston, MN.  My boys tasted a freshly cooked beaver there, and it was good.
     Life moved on for me, I had a couple of career changes, markets dropped and I sold my traps and some supplies to another guy who wanted to make a go at it.  I was raising turkeys.  One night something got into my turkey shed and killed about 600 birds outright, while the rest piled up in the four corners of the shed.  Tracks left in the mud led certain evidence plus the fact in my alfalfa field I had seen a pair of wolves earlier that summer.  I was angry, financially devastated.  I became consumed with the spirit of vengeance and within a couple days I had settled the score. I encouraged others to do the same , and got on the anti wolf bandwagon.
     A couple years later after moving on from ranching and settling in to another chapter of my life, I was driving around one day.  In a distant meadow I saw two wolves playing around a bale.  My instinct was to grab the gun, but instead I grabbed the binoculars... it changed my heart and my life.
     I saw that the pair were actually hunting mice.  In the grass I could see smaller wolves, pups.  The pair was teaching them how to hunt and feed.  The pups would play and wrestle around. It reminded me of my boys.  When the wrestling got a little rough, the mom would intervene and they would snap back and pay attention again.  They were just doing what wolves do.  They were being a family not much different than mine.
     They were just being the way God created them.  They play and sleep together, hunt together, they encourage each other to grow and become stronger.  They keep each other in line so that their family can function together as a unit.
     Same with the beaver, building a home together, gathering food.   So it is then I realized that as we are brother and sisters in Christ, so too are we brothers and sisters to the furry four legs in Creation.     I will not take any of my fur legged brothers or sisters nor teach the ways of it no more...forever.  This does not mean that I will not hunt or trap again. It means doing only these things for me to provide a meal, or clothe myself.  After all, who can turn down a plate of well prepared venison.
     Who am I to judge one of God's families.  It was on that day, and although possibly distorted at the time, I began my journey back on the Red Road.  A road that has led me back to God's family,  their have been struggles and victories.  We are more alike than different.
     Of wolves and beavers,  I hold nothing against the man who takes the fur as a part of his journey of existence on his life.  I hold nothing against the farmer protecting his crops and livestock.  But I hold in the least regard for men who were takers as I once was "sportsmen" satisfying an ego, .  Using greed as their creed and giving nothing back.  I hold even less regard for a government or bureau profiting from the control of these creatures.        
     Worse are those who wantonly waste the creatures of Creation in the name of satisfying a void in their heart with  the excitement of hearing the crack of a firearm and the satisfaction of an aimed shot.  It matters not what others do though.  And if because of my beliefs the retelling of these exploits brings joy to their hearts to see mine sad;  then... Amen.    I know that it is what they have to do as part of their journey to find their own center.   I will pray to live in the spirit of forgiveness so that I may forgive.
Mitakuye Oyasin
           

Saturday, June 1, 2013

The Human Story

My favorite stories are aliens from outer space.

Extraterrestrials have their place,
And I have met a few.
But you don't have to leave this planet
To tell a good story.

I would say
You
Are fearless.

Imagination...
The most powerful force ever
Made available
To human

Kind.