December 2009 River Ranch Diary

There are several natural things in the Great Plains that even the most casual visitor will unfailingly notice: space, sky, and wind.

Once having entered the Great Plains, the vastness of the space surrounds the visitor/traveler/guest, and its immensity occasionally stuns and sometimes even frightens the passer through. The space extends, seemingly unbroken, forever; and the traveler welcomes the sighting of a mountain range, the riparian vegetation along an ephemeral waterway, a river intersecting the traveler’s path. These things provide a sense of comfort, of orientation, a point of reference on a map. Fences, too, interrupt the visual flow of the land, as does the look of agricultural land as it has altered and interrupted the flow of the land far beyond that of natural geographic variances in the land itself, and it is almost impossible to imagine or visualize accurately what once was.

In the Great Plains one cannot help but watch the sky. The sky informs one of what is, and is the precursor, the messenger of what is likely to come. One watches the clouds, their color, shape, and movement, whether during the day or at night. In the sky, from a distance, the pattern of rainfall, the path of a distant storm can be viewed. At certain times of the year, firefighters in the Great Pains go out on lookout points to watch for lightning strike created fires. The sky let’s one know when to relax, to play, to work, or to seek shelter.

The sky is the messenger. One may not like the message, but. . . . The sky completes the panoramic view of the land; it accentuates and defines space. They meet on the horizon.

Wind carves the landscape, blows tumbleweeds into fences, drives dust or fire or rain or snow sideways. It slips through the trees and fences and grass and never seems to be gone. It is welcome on a hot, summer, sweaty day and cursed in a blizzard or at a fire. Wind sings and sighs, howls and cuts; it shapes the creases in one’s face. It saps energy in winter and restores energy in summer, cooling the skin. Wind comes from any direction and moves seemingly, almost capriciously at will while the presence of space and sky remains constant though changeable.

Today, out on the prairie, about two miles distant, under a cloudy, nearly sunless, cold, windy day, and after having searched for several hours, Dan and I located the herd of buffalo so much a part of space and sky and wind as to be easily overlooked. Nonchalant, and peaceful, they stood grazing in the distance. They could have been trees or rocks or shadows of trees or rock formations. Cold and shivering, wind scarred and nearly exhausted, we congratulated each other on a “mission accomplished” on such an inhospitable day. Then we turned back toward the ranch, for a stiff drink, and a steaming hot bowl of buffalo stew.