August 8-9, 2009

August 8-9, 2009

Yesterday we spent the entire day driving across North Dakota and down the east side of South Dakota. This morning we drive for an hour crossing into Minnesota to visit Pipestone National Monument. Pipestone is exactly what it sounds like. It is a soft high-quality mudstone that was valued for its ability to be easily carved with stone tools. Indians primarily made the bowl of ceremonial pipes from the material. The Visitor Center has some history and examples of elaborate pipe carvings. The gift shop area has two Indians carving pipes and offers a variety for sale.

From the Visitor Center we walk a trail that takes us past a couple quarries. In this area the rock strata is near the surface. The pipestone seam is only a foot thick and is sandwiched between hard quartzite layers. The prime quarrying sites have been exhausted and new slabs require removing a large quantity of quartzite overburden. Apparently Congress gave Indians the exclusive right to mine the pipestone. To me it seems an anachronistic rule. There is little demand for it anymore except for making trinkets and despite its “sacredness”, it can be mined with modern tools and sold for cash to whites.

While walking the quarry trail we hear Indian chanting in the background. When the trail doesn’t pass that area, I ask a ranger where the chanting is coming from. He tells me it is from an Indian “Sundance” ceremony in a remote part of the park. With directions in hand we drive down a muddy rutted dirt road to a “security” booth. The “white” Indian lady and her blond daughter tell us this ceremony is sacred and gives us a list of rules for watching. We can’t wear shoes, have any exposed metal and Aimee needs a dress to hide her pretty legs. And of course no cameras or cellphones. Once we arrive we find the dancers are on break and nobody is following these rules. There are about two-dozen people and only half look like they are full blooded. From what we can see the ceremony looks like a couple males dancing around a Maypole (a denuded cottonwood tree.) I think the whole thing seems pretty silly but I am not a good judge. I am pretty cynical. For some reason I don’t have an overwhelming urge to relive the practices of my Stone Age ancestors.

We have a nice talk with this elderly Indian security guard who tells us about “Indian Time”. Apparently he knows what he is talking about because after an hour still no dancing. So we take off. We drive for several hours and stop for the night at Pilot Knob State park in Forest City, IA. Along the way we spot this huge statue. We have to stop and see who this jolly green giant is. I take a photo while Aimee checks to see if the guy is wearing anything under his leafy skirt.