Mist lay along the river like smoke…

Mist lay along the river like smoke. The sun climbed slightly above the hills overlooking the river. Buffalo began to move out of the mist and into the sunlight. The chill would soon go out of the air; the mist would burn off the river. I saw Erney leave his cabin and turn left along the front of the building on his way to feed and water the partridge we raise for release. The horses came into the corral anticipating a portion of oats; so I complied and walked out to give some to them.

Dan, Erney, and I would meet in Erney’s room in about twenty minutes.

We would finish off Erney’s coffee and discuss the order of business for the day. It was kind of nice getting outside after a couple of days riding out the relatively severe winter storm. Now it was mostly a matter of digging our way out of the driveway and up the hill for about a quarter of a mile and then finding whatever had to be fixed, what fences were down or drifted over, what had been blown down, like chimney covers or roof vent turbines. We had been out of electricity periodically for the last couple of days, but it was nothing really serious.

So we began the work which lasted most of the day. Dan and Erney alternated sessions on the tractor. I mostly shoveled out paths to doorways and cleared steps or paths to the various buildings.

Occasionally, whenever I was taking a breather, I would look toward the river and see the buffalo, totally unperturbed.

Clumps of snow lay on their backs, attesting to the insulating efficiency of their coats. Not enough body heat escaped to melt the snow. Snow could stay on them for days if the sun and ambient temperature were insufficient to melt it. They were picture postcard perfect. Tiny clouds of steamy breath pumped from their nostrils as they calmly brushed snow aside with their muzzles looking for the mostly dormant grasses below. If the snow was too deep for efficient foraging, they simply moved to where the wind had blown the snow away. The calves fared not a bit worse than the adults or sub-adults.

These animals are born on the prairie, ordinarily between late March and late September, and they come equipped with every genetic memory and survival skill they need of the environment into which they are born. I have seen three day old calves swim the swollen and flooded Cheyenne River with no hesitation and no problem. I have seen a calf, born in mid-November, go into the Forest Service pasture in late November and emerge from there, perfectly healthy, in late March.

So here I am on this day a month ago with a snow scoop in my hand, sweating inside my coveralls, Dan and Erney taking turns being cold on the tractor, hoping the electricity will come on and stay on so we don’t have to set our clocks again, all the while knowing that to the buffalo every day is a Sunday afternoon drive and picnic in June.