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Archives for July 2019

We The Spiritual People

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One of the ways you know you’re on the prairie is the huge expanse of sky. Save for a lone tree or two, nothing impedes the view of the blue dome, the clouds, the sun and stars. Stretched out at your feet is a waving sea of grasses with golden seedheads, interspersed with a colorful variety of wildflowers.

On our way home from Missouri, we took old U.S. Highway 71 instead of the Interstate, and we navigated the old-fashioned way—by map. When we crossed the line from Iowa into Minnesota, I noticed a place on the map called Jeffers Petroglyphs. That sounds interesting! It was nearing seven in the evening by the time we saw the turn-off but decided to check it out anyway. Just four miles off the highway, we pulled into an almost empty parking lot. One man on a motorcycle was just getting ready to leave. He instructed us to find a booklet about the petroglyphs on a picnic table at the backside of the interpretive center, which had closed at five. We walked through the prairie grasses and flowers to a red rock ridge and began a scavenger hunt of sorts, to see and identify the rock carvings that had been cataloged in the booklet and on the signs. We stepped back in time by thousands of years!

Following a roped-off pathway, at first we had a hard time seeing anything but rock. As our eyes adjusted to what the carvings looked like in texture, we began to see shapes and forms. There’s a hand print and an arrow!

Is it a bird and a buffalo?

Interpretive signage told us about an ancient dart-throwing weapon used before bows and arrows called an atlatl that was used as early as 12,000 years ago. There were many carvings of atlatls, most with an exaggerated-sized stone weight on the shaft. Historians speculate that it was a ‘vision’ to increase the spiritual power that guides the hunter’s shot. Hunting, their literal livelihood, is a common theme—whether documenting actual hunts or visions of hunts to come.

The red rock is Sioux Quartzite, the oldest bedrock formation in Minnesota, where a shallow sea deposited sand and mud for millions of years, and heat and pressure formed the metamorphic rock. It was exposed again by glaciers, wind, and water. The long scraping lines on the rock face are from the ancient moving glaciers.

In 1966, the Minnesota Historical Society purchased 40 acres to preserve this site and later added more for a total of 160 acres. It has been and still is considered to be a sacred site for Native American tribes, including Ioway, Otoe, Cheyenne, and the Dakota. Sacred ceremonies are still performed here amidst the carvings depicting the spiritual power of people and place over thousands of years. Horns or lines radiating from a head often indicates wisdom or the ability to communicate with the spirit world. The circle feet may represent a place of powerful spirits. According to the Plains Indians, the Thunderbird is a sacred spirit, giver of life and death, that can be heard as thunder as it flaps its wings and seen as lightning bolts from its eyes.

Parts of the rock face are preserved as they were 1.6 billion years ago—as sand ripples and mud flats. These interesting geological formations are a treasure that the prairie never covered up.

The carvings were done over a span of thousands of years—it is estimated the earliest were 7,000 years ago and the most recent 250 years ago. (Though there is some ‘graffiti’ by early twentieth century persons.) Another theme of the carvings were kinship ceremonies—how the bonds of kinship and social life were nurtured and strengthened. There are dozens of symbols in these next three pictures, the last, of a large carving of a woman in a shawl.

One area looked like a map, perhaps a hunting map or record of some kind of journey. Dots were carved between figures of people and other places or animals. Besides pictures of buffalo, other animals and tracks were carved in all areas of the pictographs, like birds and bear.

There are 33 acres of native prairie here, undisturbed for thousands of years. Most of the other acres have been restored to prairie. The Earth and Sky are represented in the rock carvings also. The many shapes and figures in parts of the rock face are not known—perhaps they are warriors hunting buffalo, figures of the underworld, or constellations from the starry prairie sky. Other shapes may be butterflies or dragonflies—it’s all part knowledge from the elders and historians and part imagination.

We were at the site for a little over an hour, and we were actually there at a good time, as the signage said mornings and evenings are the best time to see the carvings.

Interpretation of the carvings, along with the ongoing spiritual importance, was documented by elders from different tribes. (see MN Historical Society) Although the historical and archaeological aspects of the site were important in its preservation, it is the input from the Native Americans whose ancestors lived here that highlights the incredible significance of this place and what we can learn from it. (Italics in the following quotes are mine.)

“…and the last thing I would suggest to a visitor who wasn’t a tribal or indigenous person… somewhere back down your family tree, if you can go back far enough you’re going to find out you came from a tribal people and if you let that part of you speak… maybe you’ll find something out about yourself and your own history and your place in the world.” -Tom Ross, Dakota Elder, Upper Sioux Community Pejuhutazizi Oyate, Minnesota

“And when you walk around out there and just take your time and it’s like everything you feel is you’re walking amongst the spirit of all our people. And I know that they do enjoy our company. And the things, the signs, everything that they had left out there for us -is to remind us of who we are.” -Carrie Schommer, Upper Sioux Dakota Elder, Upper Sioux Community Pejuhutazizi Oyate, Minnesota

This site is where Minnesota’s recorded history begins, but it tells the story of the whole continent before it was named. It illustrates sacred ceremonies and important events, visions and dreams, prayers and messages, spiritual and social life. It depicts the daily substance of livelihood—the means of securing the necessities of life. It portrays the map of life’s journeys, both lived and envisioned. It demonstrates the inexplicable connection we humans have with Earth and Sky and all of Nature. It describes how imperative kinship is to our well-being and to that of our society. And finally, it illuminates that we the people—all of us, no matter our livelihood, no matter where we come from, no matter the color of our skin—are spiritual beings living in a spiritual world.

The Prairie and the Grazing Buffalo

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I love the prairie, and I mourn the demise of it as more and more prairie grasslands are tilled and converted to row crop farming. The prairie ecosystem evolved with the American bison—and the buffalo became the source of life for the Native Americans of the Great Plains. The closely interwoven relationships between prairie, buffalo, and Native Americans have been severed, for the most part, for oh so many reasons. Yet there is a pull to preserve that way of life, even in the smallest of ways, because of what we can learn from the prairie, from the buffalo, and from the people whose lives intertwined with both.

Driving along the highways in Missouri in the month of July, one notices a sweet triad of color, shape, and form—Queen Anne’s Lace, blue Chicory, and Purple Clover. Tall, willowy Queen Anne’s Lace, a member of the carrot family, is the most striking of the three with large, lacy flower heads that sway in the breeze. We stopped at the Eagleville rest area on southbound I-35, the welcome center for Missouri. A large prairie area with a mown walking path covers the hillside behind the building, and Queen Anne’s Lace grows along the periphery.

Up on the hill, a grazing buffalo dropped his large head into the tall prairie grass. Animals need to feel ‘safe enough’ to graze—if there is a threat or danger of any kind in the area, they won’t be eating. Grazing or feeding and digestion are processes that are undertaken when the body is relaxed (a parasympathetic state.)

Another eye-catching and unusual plant in the tall grass prairie is Rattlesnake Master. Along with its great name, this plant is also a member of the carrot family. The gray-green seedheads hold small clusters of white flowers and were dried and used as rattles by native people.

We don’t often think about grasses flowering, but every plant that produces seeds has some kind of flower, as indistinct as it may be.

A standing buffalo on the hill was alert and watchful. Often herds of animals will have a sentry or ‘look out’ who will be aware of the surroundings and will warn others if there is some danger or predator.

Spiky crowns of lavender flower petals top Wild Bergamot or Bee Balm. Native Americans used teas and tinctures of this minty plant to treat respiratory illness and other ailments.

Another member of the Mint family is the Obedient Plant with snapdragon-like flowers that will stay in position after being turned in a certain way.

A charging buffalo haunched down in the prairie grass, head lowered, muscles taut, tail lifted. When danger has threatened the herd, energy is activated (sympathetic response), and the animals run or fight. (Running is the usual first line of defense. Males and closely threatened mamas will turn and fight.)

Blazing star or Liatris was just beginning to bloom from the top down on the purple-flowering spikes.

Dogbane is a toxic plant that was used by some native tribes as a fiber. The stems were rolled into strong, fine threads and twines.

While walking the prairie, stretching my legs, and appreciating the summer grasses and wildflowers, a Red-winged Blackbird chatted and sang its summer song.

To me, walking through a prairie feels like ‘coming home.’ It is familiar, reliable, sustainable, and beautiful—like a sanctuary. It relaxes my body, calms my mind, and feeds my soul. The wide-open sky gives me perspective on how small each of us really is compared with the world at large. The prairie grasses and plants remind me that, as small as we each are, we are part of an ecosystem or community that works together to create the greater whole. We grow and bloom in our own unique and wonderful ways. The buffalo sculptures were produced by Creative Edge Master Shop in Fairfield, Iowa, a great tribute to the icons of the prairie. Their depictions of the different states of the herd animals reflect the physiology of every mammal, including humans. One state not depicted, or not seen at least, was that of the freeze state—like that of a young calf lying in the grass, hiding from danger. Freeze, fight or flight, and rest and digest are all states that we humans slide in and out of automatically, just like the buffalo. Ideally, we would spend most of our time between the alert, aware, yet calm state and the relaxed rest and digest state, and use the freeze and fight only when absolutely needed. But how often do we find ourselves immobilized by some threat or fear? How often do we feel like running away from our life and its problems? How often do we fight with sharp words, lowered heads, and win-at-all-cost ways? Feel it. Think about it. Make a strong, powerful rope out of a toxic situation. Find your place that feels like ‘coming home.’

To Fly Above the Black Swamp

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Experience, which destroys innocence, also leads one back to it. –James Arthur Baldwin

I called bogus on myself when I re-read last week’s post before publishing—the last line was bothering me. Not because it wasn’t true, but because it wasn’t complete. Time and maturity do contribute to our becoming sparklers of light, but when I asked a question in a Facebook meme of what makes you happy during a rough time, one particular answer struck me. My friend Sharon answered with a picture of her young grandchildren—three sparklers of light with little age and no maturity. What they did have was innocence, the perfection of newness, pure emotions, and a drive to experience their world.

Our day of the dragonfly at Mille Lacs Kathio increased exponentially when we drove the short distance from Kathio to Father Hennepin State Park, situated on a large peninsula on the southeastern side of Mille Lacs Lake. I am in awe of this lake. Its size alone—207 square miles—is enough for one to appreciate, but it also contains clear and beautiful water along with a brag-worthy population of walleye and other fish.

The park was named after Father Louis Hennepin, a French priest who explored the area in 1680. He wrote about the landscape around the Lake and the Mdewakanton Dakota people who lived there. Chris and I hiked the lake-hugging Pope’s Point Trail through a hardwood forest of Maples and Basswood that must be spectacular in Autumn.

We soon came to a black water swamp/lagoon that stretched along the inward side of the trail. It was a sharp contrast from the clear, blue water of the Lake. It made me think of the Bobby Bare song Marie Laveau—‘Down in Louisiana where the black trees grow, lives a voodoo lady named Marie Laveau…’

‘She lives in a swamp, in a hollow log…’ When I researched the history of the Park, I found that Father Hennepin called this area of Minnesota ‘Louisiana’ in honor of France’s King Louis XIV (and conveniently his own name), and later published a book Description of Louisiana from his extensive writings about the area.

The black swamp was intriguing and messy compared to the simple, open water of the Lake. And while the swamp water itself and the muck surrounding it were so yucky looking, I marveled at the crisp green grasses growing up through it…

…and the many exquisite dragonflies flying and landing on grasses and branches.

As the open swamp water ended, we came to a forest of ferns, five feet tall and glistening in the sunlight.

We reached Pope’s Point Overlook with water stretching before us on three sides. A mother Mallard duck with her ten babies all in a row swam close to shore.

At ease, ducklings.

While we watched the ducklings, hundreds, if not thousands of dragonflies filled the air—dark, darting dots against the blue sky and water. Wow!

What I thought were two white boats far out on the lake were actually one white boat and one white rock island. Hennepin Island, one of two tiny islands that make up the smallest National Wildlife Refuge (less than one acre total), is home and nesting grounds for the Common Tern. Though its name implies otherwise, the Common Tern is listed as a Threatened Species due to loss of habitat. These tiny protected islands are one of the last remaining nesting areas in Minnesota for the terns.

We walked back the forest trail to the sandy beach where dogs fetched sticks from the water, children played, and adults lounged.

It is a beautiful, peaceful place, worthy of exploration, admiration, and reflection.

Many of my friends have experienced the newness and perfection embodied in the tiny being of a grandchild. They can experience again the innocence of childhood, the energy of pure emotions that aren’t labeled good or bad, and the innate drive we all have to learn and truly experience the world around us. Those tiny beings are sparklers of light. Somewhere in Life, we encounter the messy, yet intriguing muck of the black swamp. Where does it come from? Why is it there? How do we get from the perfect innocence of a new being to the messy muck? We can have all of our ducks in a row and try to stay clear of the black water, yet sometimes we find our feet stuck in the muck. That’s when we learn from the dragonfly, and if it takes thousands of them to lift us up, so be it. Any moment in time, any glimpse of someone’s life we see, any given situation we find ourselves in, is not the complete picture. It is true as the sky is blue at that moment, but we don’t see to the depths or know the influences. We no longer know or use the pure emotions to guide our behavior—we take refuge from them on the rocky islands of denial and ‘grown-up-ness.’ So in reality, I shouldn’t call bogus on anything. It’s just a snapshot picture of a bigger, more complete mural of the situation. Maybe our dragonfly message and moment is to use our time and maturity, our experiences in the muck, and the innate drive to learn and develop in order to be at ease, to return to our newness, and to fly above the black swamp.

Sparklers of Light

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As I explained in last week’s post, I was making a bee-line for the bog when we hiked the ‘Touch the Earth’ trail at Mille Lacs Kathio State Park. It was what I was anticipating in my head and needing for my spirit. But with camera in hand, I was stopped almost immediately on the trail by the presence of a Large-flowered Trillium. Trillium literally means ‘three-parted lily’ as the three white flower petals rise from a whorl of three deeply-veined leaves. It is a spring ephemeral woodland flower that blooms while sunlight still reaches the woodland floor. It is an interesting flower, protected from picking in the state of Minnesota, but unfortunately not protected from herds of white-tailed deer that can kill a colony of the fragile plants by browsing. Ants are the major source of seed dispersal, taking the fruits to their underground homes for eating then leaving the seeds. It can be several years from seed germination to flowering for these long-lived, slow-maturing perennials.

After pollination and as the flower ages, it turns a rosy pink color. Like many of the Spring Ephemerals, the foliage often dies back in the heat of summer.

Another tri-leaved flowering plant blended in with the surrounding greenery—the unusually-flowered Jack-in-the-Pulpit.

The Starflower plant has 6-8 petals and a whorl of 5-9 leaves, most commonly 7 for both.

The adaptable Columbine seem extravagant and showy in color and form as the nodding flower heads brighten the trail.

After such a rainy Spring, the bog wasn’t the only soggy place in the woods. Ferns and other plants who like wet feet were tall and vibrant with the abundant moisture.

Lavender-pink Wild Geraniums spread little carpets of color along the trail and deep into the woods.

A young Meadow Rue plant caught my attention—no flowers, no bright colors or extravagant form, but a green, flat table-top of foliage in the dappled sunshine.

A toad, still using his camouflage coat to hide from sight, was one of the few critters we saw on our hike.

A bright, white line of light shone on a meadow of grass that had gone to seed.

After our meander of the bog boardwalk and the treasures that presented themselves, I felt myself shift and settle down a bit. The landscape shifted some, too. One of the most interesting ferns was the Cinnamon Fern. The thick spikes of green fruit dots—the fertile fronds—will turn to a rich, cinnamon brown color as the sterile fronds surround them in a vase-like shape.

In a sunny area around the bog was a stand of Willows that had flowered and gone to seed. The cottony seedheads were like sparklers of light.

Gooseberry bushes were setting fruit—green striped berries that will ripen to reddish-purple.

We walked through a section of soothing Pine forest where the path is covered in fragrant, brown needles. The ‘Touch the Earth’ trail offered a sampling of many types of ecosystems.

We saw many Dragonflies on the after-bog trail. They were gently, quietly flying from one branch or stem to the next. Their iridescent wings and large eyes make them look like little sprites flitting through the greenery.

There is something that happens when we have our eyes and hearts set on a certain destination, when we single-mindedly want what we want. We often are rewarded with ‘the good stuff’ that we have anticipated. But sometimes, we are not. We get to our ‘destination,’ and the thing we desire is not there for us or circumstances have changed in such a way that our original plan is now defunct. Now what?! Often we despair, get stuck, don’t know which way to go from there. One mistake we tend to make during that bee-line journey is not paying attention to the details on the pathway to our destination. We overlook plants, people, intuitions, time, warning signs, and/or experiences that potentially have meaning for us and that could have made a difference in the trajectory of our journey. We can learn from the Dragonfly.

The Dragonfly symbolizes change, adaptability, light (joy and lightness of being), transformation, and emotions. They can move in all six directions, changing their flight pattern in their search for food or rest. They spend most of their life cycle in the water, which symbolizes emotions and the unconscious. But they also transform and adapt to land and air. Their iridescent wings can display different colors depending on the angles and polarization of the light striking them. Their large eyes represent clear vision of reality, removal of self-created illusions, and wariness of deceit. All in all, they represent mental and emotional maturity—what we all need in order to make the changes to reach our full potential as human beings. In our three-parted lives of mind, body, and spirit, we have the opportunity to grow and learn to move along with the ease of a Dragonfly. It takes time and maturity, but we can become sparklers of Light!