We headed north along the border of Iowa on the western edge with sights on our first National Park which was located in South Dakota. The Missouri River runs between the two states but eventually runs west into SD. Before we crossed over though, we needed to stop for a laundry run and some other necessities so we stopped in to Sioux City Iowa. Got to mail my first batch of soil samples to Ramapo College, went to the post office, did a couple loads of laundry, and stopped to load up on groceries. The thing about this area of the country is that it seems that everything is named after the Sioux, and not just Sioux City. Seems like every corner of the city had a business that incorporated the Sioux name. North of Sioux City is Sioux Falls. I suppose it’s good to pay homage to the  Native Americans who originally settled this land but I can’t help feeling like there’s something wrong with this. OK. I don’t want to climb up on my high horse here but it’s not an understatement to say that we stole their land and then slaughtered them. Now we pay homage to them by recognizing the tribe? It really is beyond a blemish on our history what we did to the Sioux. Wounded Knee where several hundred of the remaining Lakota Sioux were slaughtered, including women and children, is about 60 odd miles south of where we are headed here in the Badlands. They were and are the original “Americans”. They settled in “America” about 12,000 years ago. The tribe prayed to the great spirit for the well being of the buffalo. They didn’t pray for themselves, they prayed for the buffalo. They knew that if the buffalo didn’t do well, the Lakota Sioux would not do well. I can’t help but to admire the American Indians relationship with nature and their approach to only use what is needed as well. They worshipped the natural world that provided them with sustenance. It’s interesting in a way that we, that would be us “white people”, are now coming around to what they were doing several centuries ago. We call it the environmental movement. Hope we’re not too late to the party.

We put a few hundred miles on once we crossed over into SD, battling a lot of severe cross winds as we headed west across the prairie on Rt. 90. Decided to stop in a small town along the freeway and splurge by going out to eat. We hadn’t been seated for more than 10 minutes before the skies darkened, the winds started causing the trees to bow to their power, and the skies opened up in torrents of rain. That lasted for about an hour and then it stopped. That was our break to head back to the RV and just in time as the second wave came as soon as we made it.

By morning it had cleared and although it was breezy, the sun was shining.   After taking care of our morning chores (bed making, dishes, cleaning up, etc.) we hit the road for the final 75 miles to the badlands. Sites weren’t available at the one campground in the park so we secured one just outside the entrance.

The landscape on the Great Plains is mesmerizing. Mile after mile of green and yellow fields, huge cylinders of harvested hay readied for feeding the herd during the winter and waiting its turn in the summer sun, a sky so big it makes you feel small, horizons as far as your sight can take you and in any direction. Clouds in every shape, color, and size and sometimes no clouds at all as if the sun decided that today, everyone will get to feel me on this side of the planet. Farm houses and barns dot the landscape but you never get to see those hard working souls who inhabit this great swath of America. It’s as if they have been swallowed up in all its harshness and beauty. Does anyone really live here? Where are you? Passing through the Great Plains gives you time to think as the miles roll away beneath you. Time to think about anything and everything. Time to think, to learn, to know, and to understand yourself. It brings out your honesty, as if these miles of grasslands were a mirror for your being. And then you start to see them. They look like miniature Grand Canyons. The flatness gives way to small hills, gully’s, canyons and then you are there. The Badlands. What else would you call a landscape with temperatures that range from 110 in the summer to 40 below in the winter. Where the rains can be on vacation for months during the scorching summers, or, decide to create rivers where none had existed with flash floods. Whose steep canyon walls are a barrier to all who dream of crossing this land. And yet, this land is alive. It is alive with the living and alive with those who roamed here under very different conditions millions of years before us. And it is alive with the colors of the earth, which appear in bands of reds, tans, yellows, and grays, stacked on top of each other, their vibrancy almost electric against this bluest of skies. It is a paleontologists wonder land with fossils and bones of ancient inhabitants under almost every step you take. They are often exposed by nothing more than the most recent rain or wind which washes away the rock and exposes them. On a short hike today, Laurie found a small long bone exposed on the surface of a giant bolder, and no more than 20 minutes later, she found a mandible partially exposed on another bolder. She’s got a good eye for this. And while the diversity of life here cannot compete with that of a rainforest, it is rich, and it is abundant, and it too creates a tapestry of interdependence that is no less complex than that of its cousins in Costa Rica. Birds, insects, and reptiles of all likes share this neighborhood with resilient grasses, bushes, and trees, but with much space between them as only the strong survive here. And wandering among these residents are ferrets, prairie dogs, big horned sheep, antelope, deer, and fox among them. Yes it is a harsh place but it wears its beauty right on its sleeve. And it is alive. You could imagine laying yourself on the ground and turning to stone. Becoming part of it. Becoming part of this harsh but beautiful spirit called the Badlands. We spent a good two days exploring the park on scooter, RV, and foot and now it’s on to Colorado with a stop first at the Crazy Horse memorial.