Corn, Pipes, Bison, and Cheese Wiz

Well, we're on the road again so I thought I'd revive this blog. This time we're again driving cross-country from Minneapolis to our winter digs in Tucson, AZ. This is trip number thirty four across the country and, thanks to Gwen, we've seen a lot along the way. We're not doing the most direct route this time in favor of visiting friends, family, and a couple remaining landmarks. I'm thinking this will result in 3-5 posts.

Our first day had us heading from Minneapolis to the southwest corner of Minnesota. The day was one of those deep grey days with spits of rain which Minnesota does so well. Once in the country, we drove past a small town about every twenty-five miles. Each town had a grain elevator next to the railroad tracks, a couple of churches (Lutheran and Catholic), sometimes a water tower, and a crumbling and almost deserted brick main street with a tavern or two holding things together. I don't think the pubs were divided along faith lines.

After about four small towns there would be a bigger town built around an Ethanol plant, maybe a feedlot, or chicken or turkey operation for a National Brand. The larger towns would have a more lively main street with some actual commerce going on. Their might be a movie theater (one older movie), a clothing store, a bank built from fancy stone, a grand old hotel (now rental apartments), sometimes an old train depot repurposed with a coffee shop, maybe a dinner with a woman's name. Near or often on the opposite side of the main highway you'd find the supperclub. The locals would say it was the only good place to eat dinner.

Between all the towns there were seeming endless oceans of cornfields. Most were shaved clean, leaving the post-harvest stubble on the very black earth. The results of the harvest were being delivered in big trucks to the grain elevators, or more frequently these days to the Ethanol plant. For the better part of three hours we drove through this scene, over and over again. Then we got to Pipestone.

The area around Pipestone, for hundreds of years, was considered a sacred gathering place by many Native America tribes. For generations, they came from all directions to mine, by hand, the beautiful and soft red stone found only there. With it they made the pipes that were, and still are, at the center of Native spirituality. Today, because of treaty rights, it's preserved as sacred ground within the Pipestone National Monument. Only approved Native tribes have access to the quarries and are allowed to mine in the area.

I may not have all of the history just right because I was really just expecting to see an interesting quarry with some important history. By the time we left, I realized I was surprised by the smallness of the quarries, amazed at the history, and a little overwhelmed by the spiritual story of the place.

As I learned, it's not just getting the red pipestone that's important. It's the spiritual journey associated with the creation and use of the pipe. It begins with the combination of the physical and spiritual approach to the land. The people would often fast and pray prior to even going to the area. Different tribes that may have been enemies knew that because of the sacredness of the place, no fighting could be tolerated. The pipestone area was a place of peace for all. Then came the very hard work of unearthing the pipestone, by hand, from beneath layers of hard Sioux Quartzite. The work would require many strong hands and often weeks just to get the raw stone. Then there were the many long hours of working the stone to create a pipe. This is a truly spiritual path to create a ceremonial object, which in its smoke will carry your prayers to Great Spirit.

Forgive me for the details I've missed. I'm still trying to get my head around a few hundred years of spiritual history from a people I had already held in a degree of awe. I'm so glad we made this stop. You can check out the National Park Service page and this page of Google images to get a sense of what we experienced.

Thanks to photographer Jim Brandenburg

With a rainy, 40 degree cold, 25 mile per hour wind blowing, we pretty much missed walking around in the prairie at Blue Mounds State Park. The "Mound" is basically a high cliff overlooking Luverne, Minnesota. The story is that to the settlers going west in the 1860s and 1870s, the cliff appeared blue. The park is home to a naturally evolving herd of wild bison today, but it's a tiny remnant of the huge herds that used to inhabit the area. There is a belief that the cliffs were used as a hunting tool for Native Americans. You get the herd running and then point them at the cliff.  Think about it, at the bottom of the cliff was a giant meat market, a gift of spirit to be shared!

We set up shop in Luverne at the Grandstay Hotel, and quickly headed out to a pretty typical rural supper club across the freeway for the $1 an ounce ribeye steak night. Kind of like the Pipestone quarry, the place and food were fine, but the real story is always in the theater of the people. I'm too tired now for the whole story, but here's a couple tidbits. The waitress spent about six minutes trying to explain to the old farmer in the booth behind me what made up a pulled pork, Cubano sandwich. After what I thought was a fairly dramatic description of all the somewhat unusual ingredients for this part of the world, and in spite of his wife's almost continuous encouragement, Opting for tradition, he asked for a BLT. On our way out of the place we walked past a blue-haired grandma table where all four women seemed to be talking at once. I was only able to catch, ". . . but with the sliced olives and cheeze wiz on the tater tots, it was a big hit."

Tomorrow it's 7 hours mostly straight west on I-90 to the edge of South Dakota. Gwen wants to see the Badlands and we plan a couple nights in Custer State Park. I should have the time to drop you a digital card from there.

Love to all and rolling, rolling, rolling!

Earl and Gwen

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