Archives for June 2021

Badlands

June 27, 2021 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

It’s a fine line we walk. At least that’s what I thought growing up. On one side was the bad-lands; on the other, the good-lands. I always tried to stay in the goodlands—the consequences of the badlands, which were mostly made up in my head at a very young age, were catastrophic. I mean like banishment and death. That’s enough to make anyone fly right. That fine line is variable—set by our parents, our cultures, our experiences, and our own personalities and story-making minds. I was so invested in staying away from the consequences of the badlands that I tried to make sure that all my siblings and friends were never close to the badland banishment and you know, that other thing that could possibly happen. I didn’t want that to happen to me, and I didn’t want it to happen to anybody I loved.

It’s hard enough to keep oneself out of trouble, let alone all these other people…was that the beginning of my neurosis? Of course it was anxiety-producing—other people do their own thing, whether they are conscious of it or not. Which leads me to the badlands…and trauma. Traumatic events are always in the realm of the badlands. They threaten and often damage our feelings of safety and connection. Then we spend a lifetime trying to get those two things back. Ironically, the pursuit often lands us back in the badlands, because the anxiety and fear that trauma perpetuates can temporarily be calmed or concealed by addictive substances and activities—food, alcohol, tobacco, drugs, sex, gambling, and gaming. But the ‘high’ calm ends, and we want to, feel compelled to, do it again and again in order to soothe our activated nervous systems. None of those things are long-term solutions to what we need and want—in fact, they ‘give’ us all sorts of other problems.

The goodlands are not immune to problems when we are there in response to trauma. My trying to live in the goodlands was so fear-based that I rarely really enjoyed being there—it was more of a relief. Unprocessed trauma builds walls within our psyches and hearts as a protection mechanism—a necessary strategy for survival, except that walls also keep out love, joy, and goodness. Being in the goodlands with trauma also brings about a feeling of self-righteousness that is often cloaked with religion. I can blame/ discard/ disregard ‘those other’ people because I’m standing over here and ‘they’ are over there, in the badlands. I think I was in high school when I became aware of my dual feelings of self-righteousness and utter, shame-based self-consciousness. But I had no idea why I felt that way or what to do about it.

When we were west-river in South Dakota at our friends’ ranch, we hiked at a place they call their badlands—a mini version of Badlands National Park. It is as if the badlands fall from the grace of the prairie into a giant, barren hole of gumbo and tumbling boulders. It is other-worldly—intriguing, harsh, and compelling with its unique beauty. Come walk with me in the badlands…

Scarlet Globemallow (another common name–Cowboy’s Delight)

I walked the fine line for many decades of my life, embracing the goodlands and eschewing the badlands. I finally feel like I have ‘grown up.’ It’s not that I don’t think there is evil and bad things in the world, but the path we walk in life is wide. Most of us travel in and out of both lands at various times in our lives. If we look through a trauma lens, we understand that something happened to us or to another person that changed who we/they were as a person and affected our/their thinking and behaviors. We are them. We are all broken in some way. Our hearts have been split open at one time or another. Our feelings are many layered—some barren and raw, others tender and beautiful. We all wonder if the rocks are going to fall on our heads (again.) Our lives are a gumbo mosaic and a singing prairie. I have released my white-knuckled grip on the goodlands. I see the pearlescent shells and the delicate lilies of the badlands. We cannot outrun our traumas; we need to process and integrate them, all in due time. It takes a walk through the badlands to find our way back to safety and connection within ourselves.

Music of the Cows

June 20, 2021 by Denise Brake 12 Comments

We left the ‘Great Mississippi River’ on an abnormally frosty morning Memorial Day weekend to head west to the ‘Mighty Mo.’ I navigated our route to skirt construction in Minnesota and South Dakota and was happy when the prairie greeted my eyes. South Dakota is divided down the middle by the Missouri River, delineating our common reference to ‘east river’ and ‘west river.’ The River itself is something to behold. We crossed on one of two bridges that spans Oahe, a 231-mile stretch of the River that is widened by Oahe dam just north of Pierre. The River bluffs and the Mighty Mo heralded us into ‘west river.’

The reason for our prairie trek was to see our friends and help them with their annual branding. I had long wanted to be a part of the crew, and this year, serendipitous timing and texts (and Covid shots) made it a reality. I was super excited! West river was where I spent three of the best summers of my life working with my rancher friend as wranglers at a Lutherans Outdoors’ camp. So as we headed west from the River, it felt like a homecoming of sorts.

It was good to be at the ranch with our friends, their kids and grandkids, and other family and friends who gathered to help with the sizable task of branding, vaccinating, and castrating the spring calves. When we awoke Saturday morning, it was raining. Luckily the shower was expected to move out quickly, so after a slight delay, people and equipment were gathered up, and we headed out to the branding pen pasture. The yearlings kept their eyes on those of us who stayed at the corral, while the cows and calves were rounded up by those who know the land and the cows. They used modern-day horses—Ranger side-by-sides—to bring the cattle to the holding pens from the far reaches of the big prairie pasture.

This man lives and breathes cattle. He has raised and cared for cows, calves, and bulls his entire life, planning his days around the needs of the animals and the ranch that sustains them. He has a moving, living strategic plan in his head—as detail-oriented as to a sick calf or dry cow and as big-picture as putting up hay for winter, along with a million other things in between and beyond.

After penning everybody, the calves were separated from the cows. I will mention here that as soon as we arrived at the branding pen, the bellowing began. The yearlings maybe thought they were going to be fed, and when the cows and calves arrived, everybody was talking—the yearlings to the cows, the cows to their calves (and maybe to their last year’s calves), and the calves to their mamas. It was noisy!

The chilly, cloudy morning was a good thing for the cows and the workers. Far to the west, we could see the sky beginning to clear where the sunlight was reaching the ground. It took many hours before it reached us.

Cows are curious, intelligent creatures with strong mothering abilities. Aren’t they beautiful?

Once the calves were separated and the cows returned to the original pen to wait patiently for their babies to return to them (loudly patient, that is), the calf table was oiled, the branding irons were set up, the vaccine guns were loaded, and the castrating tools and disinfectant were placed at the back of the chute. Two people vaccinated (I was one of them—yay!), one branded, one castrated with help from two others for holding and spraying antiseptic, two or three ‘pushed’ calves through the round pen into the chute, and Chris helped run the tilt table. The branding irons are heated up by electric that’s powered by a generator. Brands are used to mark cattle in order to identify the owner in case one is lost or stolen. Each brand is unique and registered, so ownership can be proved. One of the calves that ran through the chute was already branded and belonged to a neighbor. Barbed wire fences are not impenetrable for a small calf in these large pastures. So the work began in earnest. A calf is let into the chute. The tilt table holds the calf and is pulled parallel to the ground. One, two vaccinations, branding, castrating if a bull calf, disinfecting the wound, and tilting back upright and releasing to his mama. When we got into the rhythm of our work, I counted about 15 seconds for the whole process—that’s teamwork! We couldn’t see into the tub pen, but the calves kept coming, and we kept doing our work to the droning sound of the generator, the smell of singed hair, and the bellowing of the cows and calves.

After hours of those sounds saturating our ears, a funny thing happened. I thought I heard music. I looked over my shoulder to see if someone had opened the truck door and turned on the radio. Nope. I worked on. It sounded like there was a PA system playing music—I couldn’t make out any words, but the music was there! Music beyond, above, and intertwined with the white noise of the generator and the constant bawling of the cows and calves. It was surreal and ongoing. The sun began to shine, and the rhythm of our work and the music of the cows flowed through me.

It was a long, wonderful day. We ‘worked’ over 250 calves. The calves found their mamas and returned to the pastures. We went back to the ranch house for a delicious meal. My other west river friend who worked with us at the camp way back when, brought a bottle of wine to share as we caught up with each other’s lives. I fell asleep that night with great satisfaction and happiness.

The next day was an incredibly beautiful day—blue skies, hardly any wind, and comfortable temperatures. We did some hiking (next week’s post), ate, rested, then went out to the stock dam to fish. Three of them fished while I wandered around the pasture, smelling the sweet, earthy smell of sagebrush and finding beautiful prairie flowers.

The two-year old heifer cows and their calves that were branded the day before, were grazing and roaming this pasture. It had been a chaotic, stressful day for both the cows and the calves, but all were settled down and back to normal.

After Chris threw in ‘one last cast’ and then another ‘one last cast,’ he caught a nice-sized bass, the only fish of the evening! We headed back to the ranch, and stopped to take in the view of the breaks and a butte in the distance. A colorful sunset closed the day, aptly with a cow on the horizon.

On our way back home on Monday, I prefaced my experience to Chris with “I know this sounds strange…” and set up how the cows were bawling and the generator was humming and the work was rhythmic and it sounded like…and he stopped me. He said, “It sounded like music.” YES! Oh my gosh, you heard it, too?! So I wasn’t crazy! Willie Nelson tells a story about his grandmother telling him, “Music is anything that’s pleasing to the ear.” The bawling of the cows and calves must have been pleasing to our ears! It’s funny what our brains do, but I’m a believer in the music of the cows. I’m a believer of raising cattle on the vast prairie pastures, of the hard-working ranchers who tend their herds with diligence and tenacity, and of the love that my rancher friends have for their cattle and their incredible ‘west river’ land.

The Ripples of our Lives

June 13, 2021 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

There is something very valuable about celebrating another birthday…. Actually, there are many valuable ‘somethings.’ The first of which is I’m glad to be alive. There are way too many people younger than I am who have lost their life for one reason or another. I am grateful to be here on this Earth, especially after (and yet, during) a global pandemic. Hallelujah! Secondly, six plus decades gives a person something to work with, as in life experience. Things happen in the span of sixty-some years! It gives a person ‘perspective’—a gift you don’t know you have until you have it. Also, and this was brought to my attention from the Happy Birthday greetings on the instant media we now have, over the years, we interact with and move through so many people’s lives. It is mind-boggling, humbling, and sacred all at the same time.

We enter this physical world with no choice in the matter (though that is debatable by many) and travel the path well influenced by our cultures and our families. As we progress through childhood and adolescence, we make more and more choices for ourselves and about our responses and onto which path we would like to go.

There is curiosity, risk-taking, fear, rules, rule-breaking, consequences, action, inaction, and finally, some sort of perspective from the experiences.

During that journey, we come face-to-face with beauty and with hard things, some of which are ugly, distasteful, and contrary to who we are as a person.

Thank goodness there are bridges to get us from one side to another! We can choose to be on either side, we can move away from the ugly things in our lives, and we can stand in the middle of the bridge and discern where we need to/ want to go. I’m not saying it’s easy. There are siren calls emanating from the unseen places on both sides. This dualistic reality of our lives is our lives. No one escapes it. It is a struggle and a gift.

The ugliness we see is heart-wrenching, but the beauty of life transcends and overcomes, no matter how fleeting it is. Beauty is hope.

Milestones allow us to take a moment to rest in our victories, to be grounded in our convictions, and to wonder what comes next.

But getting back to those people in our lives….

I had birthday greetings from relatives who have known me all my life, one from my high school years, many from my undergraduate college years, from my married-into family members, others from neighbors, co-workers, and church friends in three different states, and some from my graduate school years. Each one of these people is valuable to me. I can recall stories of our time together, the connections we made, the work we did, the laughs we shared, and the difficult things we may have encountered. Each is a unique beauty in my life.

It’s easy to take people for granted…or to dismiss them—when we’re in our own shell of survival, when we are too busy for our own good, or when we find ourselves on the other side of the bridge from them. A birthday reflection of our past reminds us of the sweet people who have impacted our lives.

I have grown from every relationship. It is an honor to be a part of this amazing life with each one of you.

And so I move on from this ordinary birthday milestone of life-and-friend celebration. But know this: I carry you with me—the ones who greeted me and those who did not. The ripples of our lives are entwined.

There is so much more to life than what we see on the surface—and even that is complex, multifaceted, and almost beyond our senses and comprehension! Life is good. It is a miracle. Thanks for being a ripple with me!

Fishing in the Clouds

June 6, 2021 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

We had a wonderful western weekend over Memorial Day, and I’m anxious to share that…, but my mind wouldn’t let me skip over a couple other places we visited in May. Nature changes in leaps and bounds during May, so three weeks ago already seems and looks like months have passed. On our anniversary, we hiked with fishing pole in hand and picnic lunch in backpack to spend a whole day in the forest. Fishing is a pastime I don’t share with Chris—it seems to be one of those things that takes a measure of skill, a modicum of knowledge, and a whole lot of luck. I’m glad he fishes—he was coming back from a northern fishing trip with his Dad when we met in a one-in-a-million moment all those years ago. Fishing seems to be an enterprise in hope, and for that reason, I like the idea of it. What I captured with my camera when he was fishing that day illustrates ‘hope’ even more—he was fishing in the clouds!

What kind of pie-in-the-sky idea is that?! Exactly—it doesn’t make sense.

He throws a line into a place he cannot see. He ‘tries’ a lure or bait that might attract a certain fish. He waits. Cast, wait, repeat. The desire is there, but the outcome is unknown.

Meanwhile, I’m finding other things to look at on the mounded peninsula—flowers and new leaves on trees, fallen branches and logs that eventually disappear into soil, a tree bowing to kiss the water-clouds.

The outcome was no bites, no fish, and some weedy line—a perfectly ‘normal’ outcome from the bank of a never-before-fished-lake. But for a fisherman who likes to fish and who usually practices catch-and-release, the endeavor was not a bust. The point was to fish, not to catch. So we munched our snack of cheese and crackers as we gazed at the water-clouds, knowing full well that a cast into the unknown would happen again. We hiked on through the greening forest, amazed how the sunlight was already having trouble reaching the ground through the new green canopy.

The design marvel of emerging plants is enough to make anyone believe in ‘fishing in the clouds.’ From a packed spike of green pushing up through the Spring soil unfurls a Jack-in-the-Pulpit! What a simple, intricate, inconspicuous miracle.

There was a beautiful Tamarack bog where brilliant yellow Marsh Marigolds bloomed in profusion, and the Tamarack (or Larch trees) pushed out bundles of soft, new needles.

Along the marsh-gully, we saw an old car with tires and engine sunk into the mud. It had been there a very long time. Nature was working to re-claim it—in the mud, by the fallen trees, and by the new trees growing around and through it. We wondered how it got there, what its story was in relation to the pristine forest around it.

What was bare trunks and dried leaf litter just weeks ago was now green, growing, and dappled by sunlight.

Fishing begins with a cast, a toss into the unknown. The outcome is beyond our control. How many eggs don’t make a bird? How many baby birds don’t make it to adulthood?

Why does one tree die and slough off its bark while another is ‘stitched up’ with a wound-healing, zig-zag scar?

With Nature, the ‘tries’ are abundant. Millions of acorns fall to the ground and sprout by a miraculous, shell-splitting force. Maple seedlings cover an embankment. Dormant perennials emerge after every harsh winter and push away the old in order to grow, develop, and reproduce.

Mother Nature casts, waits, repeats. Thank goodness she does. We believe in the cycle of seasons; we depend on it. She reaches for the sky with all her abundance—she is full of hope. Yet Nature is also full of destruction and decay—many launches end in death: few seedlings will grow into a mature tree. Only a number of fish eggs will grow into an adult fish. Nature teaches us that we can’t just skip over the not-so-good parts to only embrace the beauty. We can’t skip over the waiting, the boredom, the loneliness, or the pain to get to the good stuff, to what we want. But we can keep on casting into the cloudy unknown—again and again and again. Our desires become a fling of fate; the outcome is unknown. Perhaps we will reel in a fish or a job or a mate. Nature’s odds have produced an amazing, abundant, beautiful world. Keep fishing in the clouds!

Archives for June 2021

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