Bison in the Badlands: September 29

This morning we woke up to 100 bison grunting and growling and grazing around Butter.  We were in the Badlands of South Dakota, and were told explicitly not to get closer than 100 feet.  Apparently, they weren’t told the rules.  We watched them from the upstairs bedroom, dipping our heads down, stretching, to see them from the backseat window.  I crawled down, groggy but excited, and snapped some photos, wondering if they’d mind, if they’d come at us like they did the poor chap yesterday in the Land Rover.  They didn’t even bother to look up.

We drove to find a nice sunny spot with good views to make breakfast, and afterwards prepared for our long drive to WY.  On the way, Butter got another flat tire.  Her 4^th (Andre thinks her 5^th) on this trip.  A tribute to all those backcountry roads.  We pulled over to change it, and met Don, a 78-year old farmer who works 1200 acres by himself.  He grows oats, wheat, and millet, the latter of which goes mostly for bird feed but he sprinkles it in his oatmeal every morning.  Don talked about the pipe that transports water 6 miles to his house, his 3 sons, 2 of whom are cowboys, and his experiences working the land.  He lives in the same house he was born in, the house his parents built in 1908.  He’s been farming since before he could even form memories.  He also told us about the miles and miles of sunflowers growing along the road on which we were parked.  The seeds were harvested to make oil, which made sense after tasting them—they were tiny and not all that flavorful.  I was tempted to take a few, but thought better.  Why eat bad food when we’ve been living like kings?  Despite our political and philosophical differences, Don and I had so much in common, reminding me that the “us versus them” dialect is one of war, and should just be considered silly by now.  We’re all in this together.

The tire was changed, we said goodbye to Don, and headed to Mt. Rushmore to play tourist.  Too thrifty to pay for parking, and went for a pull-out about a mile or two away.  A steep trail led right up to the walkway meant for the tourists who paid the fat parking fee.  We took in the views, made lunch in the bus, and moved on.  We were on a mission.