The Black Hills of Dakota
The Crazy Horse Memorial was intense and strange. The Native American Museum there is very well done and there are craftspeople there working and selling jewelry and such. It is both fascinating and creepy, because the sculptor who made it had ten kids and they all worked on the mountain. Only a few are still deeply committed, so I am dying to know where the others are. Were they grateful or resentful for their childhood and legacy?
It is privately run because he and his family have always turned down federal funding, so the pace of progress is quite slow. The sculpture itself is proud and intricate. Only the face from the smaller model is complete on the mountain and I wonder if my great, great grandchildren will see it completed.
I guess I am glad we stopped at Mt. Rushmore so that I can say I did, but it is no great shakes. The carvings just don’t have the emotion of the Crazy Horse face. Did you know Mt. Rushmore was originally proposed to be of Red Cloud, Sioux warriors, Buffalo Bill and Lewis and Clark, but the sculptor insisted it be of “national importance” if he was going to dedicate his time to it? Hence, presidents. I did not know that.
The hike to Little Devil’s Tower made up for missing the actual Devil’s Tower. It was a death defying scramble at the end there. 3 miles was the perfect length for the kids. My barometer is that it’s all fun and games until the last third of a mile. Then, well, you know. Crisis mode. That’s when we start singing all the hiking songs I can remember from my 8 years as a Girl Scout. I said a boom chicka boom.
Sylvan lake was also fantastic. It is warm enough for swimming and has huge climbing rocks skirting the edge. Esme swam. Stephen climbed. Grandparents napped.
We capped our time in the Black Hills with one last bison jam and saw the cutest, tiniest little red dog (baby bison) yet.
