With the crisp bite of fall in the air and the leaves changing before my eyes, I felt my wanderlust arise this past weekend. Too many obligations, and a distinct lack of funds, unfortunately, have all conspired to keep the Putnam family trapped in Clemmons. To combat this misfortune, I delved into a travel log I kept from a family trip out to pay homage to Laura Ingalls Wilder. At least that was the original intent of the trip. However, my wife was stuck on a couch for ten months recovering from multiple foot surgeries, so our trip grew until we named it the “It’s Just This Far on the Map” trip. If you have never driven across large swaths of our country, I am truly sorry for you. You have missed something majestic.
One passage in particular, caught my eye. If you are ever in the vicinity of the southwestern portion of South Dakota, a visit to the Badlands should be included on your itinerary. If you can gaze upon the wonders contained within The Badlands National Park and not be changed, then something is amiss with your soul. I was certainly moved and I thought I would share it with you.
While my trip down memory lane wasn’t it as good as a new voyage of discovery, my visit to the past helped to bring back some fond memories. I hope you enjoy this little bit of a fantastic trip.
July 25th 2012 The Badlands
Lisa had planned this portion of our trip for me. Let’s just say it is the dream of any science teacher with an interest in geology to see these eroded lands. The world is full of land that is bad, but it only has one Badlands.
How do you describe the indescribable? They were like Heaven and Hell. To me, the science teacher, they were sure evidence of God’s handiwork. Mile after of mile of prairie must have tired the Creator, so he placed a magnificent cathedral, complete with grand hallways, sweeping vistas, spirals in multiple hues just for the shear joy of viewing His work.
For the weary traveler, who had journeyed across the trackless plains for months only to be confronted with a scene from Dante’s Inferno, the horror he felt was depicted in the simple term: Badlands. Steep ridges and shear canyon walls that didn’t even have the decency to be made of rock are prolific. No, this obstacle was made of a pebble-like substance that crumbled in your hand and sent you tumbling back down amidst a flow of lung-burning powder to land you, if lucky, right where you began. For the unfortunate soul, it sent you plummeting over a ravine.
For the poor homesteader, the Badlands were no scene from an author’s imagination. It was the very essence of Hell itself, manifested in the cursed landscape that destroyed more than a few would-be settlers.
For the Lakota natives, it was a part of home.
As I stood on a nicely paved overlook, lamenting my one bit of misfortune (if you don’t count the ill-advised climb up the slopes of one of the Badlands’ countless abutments) of having to sit in line as a road worker held his sign with extreme disinterest, stopping traffic so his fellow workers could lay down a fresh layer of asphalt to make the drive of gawking tourists, like me, easier, I let my mind wonder. Lisa had seen enough and her foot had started to throb as I absorbed the breathtaking view a top one of a countless number of overlooks, all of which provided a stunning view. She decided a return to the car was in order. Meggie and Peyton had feigned heat as a reason to join her. It also gave them time to work on their next Junior Ranger badge.
I was left alone, and the voice of the lands called out to me in the whisper of the wind through the prairie grass. I looked back, away from the magnificent vision before me of towering spires and curving ravines, only to find a vast grassy sea stretching endlessly behind me. From this perspective, you would never imagine that a drop through highly eroded cliffs was a mere matter of feet in the opposite direction. My old friend, the prairie wind whispered in my ear and my mind traveled back into the past to hear the distant sound of Lakota drums. I swore if I squinted just so, I could see the brave hunters stalking the mighty bison. With the wind’s whisper still in my mind I returned to God’s canvas, only to see the Lakota hunters replaced by a rickety claim shanty standing, maybe a fourth of a mile away from the erosion zone and one thousand feet below my perch. A thin trial of smoke arose from the chimney as faint wails from a woman distraught at the death of her child wafted up the horrid cliffs. The meager soil could not provide enough sustenance to keep the poor soul alive. Returning to the present, my eyes were rewarded with a rich blending of yellows, grays, and reds that could be read like a book, revealing a past of ocean bottoms, sandy shorelines, and volcano ravaged grasslands. Both Heaven and Hell were there in front of my eyes.
Related articles
- Bison may return to Badlands South Unit (rapidcityjournal.com)
cputnamblog 