Vanderlyle crybaby, cry
Oh the waters are arising
Still there’s no surprising you
Vanderlyle crybaby, cry
Man it’s all been forgiven
The swans are all swimming
I’ll explain everything to the geeks*
I listen to The National and the Badlands appear. Sand, water and wind; catalysts for a broken land. As I follow no apparent speed limit interestingly enough Cormac McCarthy comes to mind. I feel like I am supposed to be carrying the fire, but right now I am confused and I’m not sure where I put it last. Maybe its in my other jeans. Maybe. The only thing I do know is that everyone around me is asleep and before me waits hundreds of years of oppression followed by a 20th century of neglect. Thigh high grass hems in my steed of composite steel and plastic. Each run of the wind approaches the car on my right, bending the long grass in a unified, slightly visible wave, and as if I didn’t exist, passes over my vehicle only to continue its path in the fields to my left. And time goes with it.
My destination does not feel as much like a destination as a rest stop. The community of Red Shirts’ two streets form a type of circle that seems to imply a creeping dynamism. This is not the end, they denote, just a stop on the journey. I park my car and step into 30 grasshoppers each saying I’m no Moses. I nod in agreement and continue on to see Fern and her children.
They are Lakota and they are beautiful.
It takes an ocean not to break
Fern stands tall and always aware, watching the world around her take place. Her planted feet indicate a confidence from wisdom gained only from a life of hard experience. A life where little can surprise her anymore.
Davina, Fern’s granddaughter, dances and weaves throughout those surrounding her. Even in the midst of her 5th month of pregnancy, she has a grace that follows her steps, a life that, while it is at first reserved, becomes infectious to all of us with which she shares.
Davina’s two children, TaAliya and Michael, are simply and wonderfully just that: children. In all the world, in its darkness and segregation the one constant that I’ve found in humanity that supersedes culture and difference is that kids are kids. They all love to laugh and play and run. Only adults can rob them of this.
Fern and family reside in a form of governmental housing set up for those on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. Not an hour’s drive from the Wounded Knee Massacre sight, the single level structure with basement feels like more of a middle-finger-for-your-troubles than it does reparations. Faded paint, knee tall grass, and we’ll-get-to-you-when-we-want electricians all speak of a nation long forgotten. But who am I to judge. Where will I be next week?
As for right now I am apart of a colony of new generation american ants, descended upon this residence. We are here to help, hopefully. To take the faded composite siding covering the outer walls and hopefully inject them with color. To frame graduation certificates and to place sand beneath Michael’s feet where once there was dirt. And some of us are even here to bring power back to this home.
All the very best of us
String ourselves up for love
I stand in place in the middle of the front yard and a week passes before my eyes. I turn in a circle and watch the ants mow down the prairie grass, sending my plague brothers to other lands. I watch as the ants cover the home with a blue as rich as the sky beyond the horizon. I watch as Fern and family move from behind their doors to sitting out amongst us, laughing talking, chasing Michael. I watch as oppressor and oppressed become more than historical statistics. I watch as we become family.
And then we are done. The week is over.
The ants, my generation, my new family, my brothers and sisters, get back into their white vans, wave tearful goodbyes and begin the last leg of their journey. A remnant stays behind to finish out details before rejoining the colony.
I find myself alone and reticent once more. A warm prairie wind blows down over the hills and embraces me in its path, heading down the dirt road out of town. Heading back to my home. And time goes with it.
As I drive my Korean import back through this rugged expanse of American Frontier, not yet settled, I wonder what is so bad about these Badlands. The National continues to keep time as I span the miles and look forward to returning to Tennessee. I look forward to my friends and home and laughter and familiarity. But as I drive my heart burns. It burns for Fern. For Davina. For TaAliya. For Michael. As everyone around me sleeps I realize that my heart burns for my family and in that moment I know where I left the fire.
Cover me in rag and bones, sympathy
Cause I don’t want to get over you
I don’t want to get over you
* Lyrics from Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks, Terrible Love, and Sorrow by The National
