Day 4: The New American Way: A Lesson of Heart

I woke up to sunlight peering into the car. It was a brisk morning, but the temperature was already climbing. I deflated Magic Car Bed and showered in the bath house, which was substantially cleaner than the last bath house I had utilized. On the way out of the campsite, I stopped to pick some wildflowers so I could dry them and put them on display upon my return home.

It was early and the roads were empty. Perfect! It was time to head back south, away from Pierre. I had resigned today to be a cliche tourist trap day, and rightfully so; Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, and countless other monuments and tributes to the "wild west" were all concentrated in the area I was headed through. Not without taking the scenic route to get there, of course.

The southwest destination involved a rural zig zag through farm country. At first, it was mostly lackluster green and brown, but suddenly in a color burst, I was driving through a golden sea of sunflowers, farther than the horizons could border. I felt like Moses, my little black swath of concrete parting the Red Sea, barely holding back the waves of bobbing and swaying flowers that towered far over my little car. It all felt like a surreal dreamland. The landscape was flat in some areas, and in others it rolled on in graceful hills and valleys. I wondered where all these flowers would end up, in their vases, bouquets, and wreaths.

"Sunflower fields forever..." - No relation to that Beatles "Strawberry" song or anything.

I drove through this golden blanket for what seemed like an eternity, but not once did I grow bored of the view. Who could get bored of an ocean of colorful cheer? As the terrain became more hilly, the road began to cut below the field level, and the sunflowers bid their farewell - at least for now. Something caught my eye on the ridge above the road, and my foot instinctively switched from gas to brake. Was that... an antelope? Really? I'd heard that there were antelope out west, but it must have slipped my mind in my great quest to find a buffalo. I stopped the car and stepped out. I was too far away to be a threat, so he stood boldly, still as stone, gazing down on me. It was almost a look of boring disregard, as if I had interrupted his busy schedule of standing around looking majestic. Welcome to the west, I thought.

Majestic AF.

My first touristy stop of the day was Wall Drug. For my eastern seaboard readers, it's very clearly the "South of the Border of the west." Billboards for hundreds of miles in any directions point travelers to the giant hub, advertising free ice water and ten cent coffee. The pharmacy/general store became famous by using this advertising tactic when Mount Rushmore first opened, as tourists from all over America traveled in droves to see the spectacle. To this day, they still offer free ice cold water and ridiculously cheap coffee. Even on this rural isolated byway, I saw a couple of small handpainted billboards.

Of course I had to go; they advertised a giant dinosaur sculpture and a rideable jackalope! The key to enjoying any kitschy trap is to acknowledge it for what it is - cheesy, hokey features and cheap trinkets. Basically, you know, things that I absolutely love.

'Cause why not? Have  YOU ever ridden a mythical jackalope?

Free.99 is my favorite price. 

I entered the maze of buildings and was greeted by a live instrument honky tonk jukebox. Put in a dollar, pick a modern or classic tune, and dozens of wires and hooks and hammers pluck out your song on banjo, accordion, guitar, and drums. I stopped in a few gift shops, then headed to the courtyard. There I found the ice water fountain, as well as my giant jackalope and a multitude of statues giving tribute to the famous names of the "wild west." A giant mural said, "welcome to the Black Hills," and I thought of my favorite Beatles song, "Rocky Raccoon," imagining my mother, uncle, and all of their friends, sitting around in my grandmother's living room in the 1970's singing the song by guitar. What I wouldn't give to have been a fly on the wall for one of those nights.

Honky tonk wizardry.

On my way back through to the car, I spotted the "tiniest church in the west," nestled in between two gift shops. I walked in and was greeted by a single row of pews, an empty pulpit, and an open bible. Never one to shy away from the opportunity for a quiet moment, I sat down on one of the benches for a few minutes. The dim light in the chapel was soothing. It seemed like I had already seen and done so much, and I had only hit day five. I'd already encountered so many challenges, lessons, and inspirations, and it only made me more excited for everything coming up next. Life is only as boring as you allow it to be, and its excitement and wonder knows no limits if you're willing to look at the world with bright eyes and an open mind.

Religious affiliation not required. 

I hightailed it out of Wall Drug and headed west. Next up was Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse. It was an uneventful drive to get there, but when I got to Rushmore, I took one look at the admission fee and decided I'd do just fine to view the stone faces from afar. Besides, Crazy Horse was a lot more interesting to me. These two monuments are kind of near each other, but when in the mountains, miles don't equal minutes, so even though they are 20 miles from each other, it was at least a 45 minute drive. I was miffed that I'd added the extra driving, but when you're 2000 miles from home, you have to realize that the odds of "just passing by" one of these two monuments again is highly unlikely. Better to see both than to wonder if I'd missed out choosing one over the other.

To preface my visit to Crazy Horse, a bit of backstory is due. The monument has been a work in progress since 1948, funded by the Lakota Tribe, which he was a member of. When completed, it will be the largest statue on earth. The U.S. Government offered to assist in financing the production, but due to, well, the less than favorable history that the Native Americans have had with the U.S. Government, they politely declined any intervention and elected to craft and create it independently. The sculpture is so massive that it's projected to be finished in 2150. Yes, you read that correctly: it's going to take 200 years to finish. It's that big.

I was excited to see the monument, even though only his face and a very rough outline had been completed in the sixty plus years since groundbreaking. At the base of the mountain sat a Native American History museum, which was included as part of admission to the park. Proceeds go directly to funding excavation and construction.

Holy geez.

The road into the park led directly up to the monument, and when I first saw it, the sheer size was staggering. It's difficult to adequately convey in words or photos just how truly massive this structure is. There was a tiny hollow spot under his face (which will be the gap between his arm and his horse's mane), and that alone was tall enough for a double decker bus to drive through. I felt like an ant. It was awe-inspiring that humans could make such a mammoth thing.

Those railings are as tall as a person. Let that sink in. 

I entered the museum and explored the artifacts and photos on display. From room to room, a sense of unease arose, at first coming on as a small knot somewhere in my gut, gradually growing into a fuzzy pit that rippled goosebumps across my arms. It's hard to pinpoint what exactly I was feeling. Guilt. Sadness. Shame. A culture and a nation robbed, raped, and run off their own land. By people like me. No, a modern 2013 Jamie would never consciously hurt anyone, but my people sure did. I wondered what the purpose of guilt was. It's a sensation I fight with on almost a daily basis in one way or another for a myriad of reasons, but specifically here, what good does guilt do, some 150 years later?

Individually hand beaded ceremonial dress

Well, it certainly won't do a damn thing to erase, correct, or undo injustices past. It's not like I could go up to one of the museum curators and say, "I'm sorry for how my people treated your people," and a magic wand would give them back their land or their way of living. What guilt can do, however, is serve as a driving force to always strive to learn. To acknowledge the past, even if it makes us uncomfortable or it isn't pretty to look at. To be better than those before us. To try to make sure the next generation is even better than that. To educate yourself in the ways of others, and to celebrate and respect the cultures of those different from you. To first, do no harm. To be kind. That is basic human decency and civility. It's not something that we should pat ourselves on the back for, either. It should be a trait that is standard issue in every person; a trait that is expected as a fundamental aspect of how we see the world and the people in it.  That's the America that I want, and that's the America that we all see potential to be.

"A very great vision is needed, and the man who has it must follow it as the eagle seeks the deepest blue of the sky." - Crazy Horse

The Crazy Horse Memorial may have only earned $30 or so from me to help in its progress, but I took away a perspective and outlook from it that feels priceless. Fast forward to 2016. The world is still facing all manner of social, civil, racial, and cultural turmoil and intolerance. If history is good for anything, let us use it as not just a lesson in what could have been done differently, but also what can and should be done differently in our day to day in the present. Mankind is evolving; let our minds, eyes, and hearts evolve with it.

"My land is where my people lay buried." - Crazy Horse

*Author's note: To donate to the creation of this memorial, please visit https://crazyhorsememorial.org/