Amber waves of grain...

I neglected to describe the changing scenery along the river.  From the early spring of silvery sage green, the hills now are mostly "amber waves of grain" - although I don't think it's grain, but grass, but amber waves of grass hardly sounds right.  The beautiful rolling hills range of pale yellow to bright butterscotch.

The cattle seem to be in clumps together, safety in numbers?  Yesterday with the high temperatures over 100 many a cow or steer were seen buried up to their necks in the water pooled in their pasture.  Can't say I blame them - who said cows were dumb?

The streets and grasses in my neighborhood are blooming with little white flowers making my back yard look like I had spent time creating it rather than Mother Nature at work.

Decided to cook today - news flash!  Blueberry scones with lemon curd.  Curd is made and awaiting the scones for later in the day.  Phoebe liked licking the spoon.    I decided my retirement career should be a B&B on a lake in northern Wisconsin or Door County.  I love to cook but not ALL the time and like meeting people.   Sounds loverly anyway.

That's it again from...lil house on the res...

It's the little things....

Yesterday was 102!  Later in the day there was some wind but it didn’t help – the breeze was as hot as the temperature.  This morning I awoke to discover a light rain had fallen, cooler temperatures and no need for the AC.  It’s the little things….

Phoebe and I enjoyed my cappuccino and “our” English muffin on the front porch.  A Monarch butterfly landed next to me and sat for me to appreciate its beauty for several minutes.  There are many butterflies out here, along with dragonflies and then the less desirable bug critters.  And crickets – the evening songs are sometimes deafening.   While we luxuriated in our front yard, the Sunday church bells began.  Amazing Grace came through at its best while we communed with nature.   Sundays are particularly peaceful here as there’s little traffic and all is quiet.  Not that it’s a booming metropolis during the week, but the clinic and other businesses, such as there are, are closed on week-ends.  Of course, the casino is always open.   

Speaking of crickets, last week-end when I went to Pierre, their relation, grasshoppers, were so thick you had to watch where you walked.  Some were fried on the sidewalks, others jumping around you.  Oddly, this wasn’t so when I returned home to Ft. T.  Of course, most of them were smooshed on the front of my car.

One of the little things I found was Simple Green – a grease cutter (they told me it’s great for the grill racks) which does a good job of removing the multitude of bugs my car has been wearing since summer set in.  Call me compulsive, but wearing bugs on my beautiful convertible is just not tolerable.

Another of these little things is the recent discovery of another dry cleaning pick up point right by the high school where I work two days a week, when school is in that is.  This point is “Mac’s Corner” which is just what you might imagine…a tiny little “everything” store with a few gas pumps.  Even tinier than the store in “downtown” Ft. T!  And it even has a little counter with chairs for newspaper reading and eating – the only food is the premade-prewrapped options you’d find in a convenience store, but it does have a microwave if you want to heat something.  It is also on my route to Pierre, so this was a great find.  Of course pick up is only once a week, so it still can take as much as two weeks depending on when you drop off your clothes.  But in my adjustment to life on the res…that goes without saying.

Speaking of culture shock, Phoebe, my Westie, went to her new groomer for the first time.  Now I didn’t have really high expectations since I figured they rarely, maybe even never, get call to groom a Westie…but poor Phoebe.  She had nicked toes, was “naked” and most embarrassed.  Well, at least it’s summer so if she has to be short, it’s a good time for that.  Hopefully I can guide our groomer over the next couple of grooms so we can get to a better place before winter settles in.

I will say it’s lovely not to be in and out of a car like we usually are in the cities.   My car rarely leaves the garage but usually only once a week when I drive in to Pierre for shopping for the week.  The rest of the time, I walk – to work, to the post office, to the little store.  Of course, when winter and cold comes that will change, as the freezing winds and ice will have Phoebe and I driving to the post office, fair weather walkers that we are.  Excepting her walks for the “necessaries”.

After much frustration, and lots of help from my IT neighbor, my blog has a new look.  It was the only way to resolve the problem that was occurring (i.e. no type except the title was showing up).   When these techie gliches occur, I get very upset and assume it is me and my lack of techie skills.  Almost inevitably my problem is a challenge for the experts and I am vindicated, but this seems never to roll over in my confidence, or lack there of, for the next frustrating event.  Anyway, this is why you see a new look to my blog.

In a couple of weeks my friend from Madison is arriving and we’re trekking out to the Black Hills, monument and Badlands.  I eagerly await experiencing this part of my new state.

For now, this is the update from…my little house on the res….

But women don't sweat...

Well, this one is for the “bucket list” although it wasn’t on mine, I must admit.   Not that I'd ever really thought about it before heading out to live on a reservation.  

One of my new coworkers is a delightful Native American woman named Leanne who is an alcohol and drug counselor.  She has enthusiastically welcomed me into her world which included her invitation a couple weeks ago for me to attend a small “sweat” at her home.  We sat at my home while she answered my many questions about it.  I probably won’t have this all correct, so don’t go quoting me without making caveats, please. 

Sweats are an Indian religious phenomenon, one where prayers are said.  There may be other things that happen at a sweat, but this one that was the focus.  First a sweat is built – hers is in her yard and surrounded on three sides by a wooden fence.  She explained the sweat is made from hickory branches, then covered with blankets.  It looks a little like an igloo…

(Please forgive photography skills...I must enroll in photography 101!  But for now, please bear with me...)

Seven rocks are selected and placed at the bottom of a pit, a fire is built which heats up the rocks to “high” (my word, not theirs).  Someone elects to remain outside to assist with bringing the rocks in and closing and opening the door.

I was a little anxious about all this, ok, a lot, but I really wanted to understand more about the people I serve so I swallowed my rising fear and crawled in behind Leanne.  Inside there was a nice carpet around another earthen pit.  Leanne’s daughter and her boyfriend crawled in next.  As we sat we each tucked a stalk of dried sage behind our ears, not sure why this is.  But I did as they did.  First Leanne sprinkled some dried sage into the pit.  Next, her grandson then brought each rock in on a pitchfork and the rocks were gently rolled into the pit.  As each one was added, Michelle, Leanne’s daughter, sprinkled a little sage onto each rock.  Soon we were ready and Duanne (grandson) closed the door.  It was black.  Very black.

Did I mention I am somewhat claustrophobic?  I found that out when I needed to have an MRI.

Can you see what’s coming???

Anyway, Leanne explained as we went along and prayers were shared and some lovely Indian prayer songs were sung.  Leanne has a lovely voice.  I was in awe at the same time as I was starting to cook, it is called a sweat after all, and my anxiety was starting to rise.   Leanne had also told me if I needed to leave or have the door opened, I could say “all my relatives”.  Being the stubborn individual that I can sometimes, well oftentimes, be, I was working hard not to wuss out and use my escape option.  

Somewhere in this process small amounts of cold water were added to the rocks to create a steam, like in a sauna.  Have I said that sauna’s aren’t my favorite either?  Actually, being hot and sweaty are both not favorites.  Which may be why I am a fan of winter, crazy as most folks think this is.

After what seemed like forever since I was really working on not wussing out, it was time for the door to open.  Thank you Lord…

Indians have more than four directions, I think it might be seven, but heaven and earth are also considered directions.  The door opening represents opening to one of the directions.  To me it represented heaven…

A ladle of water was passed, to each person in turn, to drink out of and sprinkle over your face, arms and any other hot spot you wanted cooling.  Since this was apparently a break, I finally let my wussing get the best of me and asked if I could sit near the door, so everyone moved around to accommodate me.  Thank you Lord again.  

Soon it was time for the door to close again.  There was a small crack which I found comforting, but Michelle spotted it and told Duane to fix it…but his fixing wasn’t too perfect and there was a little, tiny crack of light I could see…Thank you Lord some more…

This time we each said thanks for any and all things we wanted to give thanks about.  Me too.  More water and more steam, more singing and then the door was opened again – halleluiah.  

I will say being next to the door and focusing on the little crack of light did help and I was now merely anxious instead of warding off panic.  More water all around and then the door was closed again.  More thanks all around, more singing and the door was opened for the last time. 

Now this is the really great part!  I smoked a peace pipe!  Well, it’s not really a peace pipe, probably one of those things misunderstood by the white man or misrepresented in all the cowboy and Indian TV I watched as a girl.  The pipe smoke apparently represents releasing the prayers up to the Heaven, sending them upwards.  If I have this understood correctly…

The pipe is filled with red hickory chips and I was to go first, whether it was because I was a visitor or whether it was because I was sitting where I was, I don’t know.  A lighter was used and I had to puff and puff until the pipe hickory got red.   Then it was the next person’s turn to do several puffs and so on.  Not being a smoker I was bad at it and if I got too good at it I would start coughing.  But it was definitely one of the most unique experiences of my life. 

I guess sweats are a regular occurrence for the believers and followers of the Indian way.  Many are large and incorporate more rituals than what I experienced, but I have to say, for me, this may be a…one of a kind unique experience for this gal and her…little house on the res...