River Ranch Diary – January 30, 2009

A thin, white smoke rises from the twist of sage and sweetgrass. The holy man presents a prayer, carried by the smoke to the four directions, then to the earth and to the sky. A soft, regular drumbeat accompanies his prayer as he regards the small circle of men and women and begins an honor song to the herd of buffalo standing quietly about a quarter of a mile away. The holy man, then, proceeds to each person standing in the circle and offers the sacred smoke for them to waft over themselves. It is dawn, and it is on the Cheyenne River Ranch immediately before we move out to make meat for Wild Idea.

A second ceremony takes place with the expiration of the first animal killed. The song offers thanks to and for the spirit of the buffalo and demonstrates respect for that animal’s presenting itself as a part of the circle and wholeness of life. Similar ceremonies take place whenever we go into the prairie with the intent of procuring meat.

For me the ceremony signifies a recognition of the value of the animal to our lives, not only to the quality of the meat the animal gives us.

I strive to overcome the dubiousness of thinking that an animal volunteers its life for us. That is a native belief and may be true. An irony, nearly impossible for modern humans to comprehend, resides in that belief.

Without the buffalo the Native Americans of the Great Plains (extending from Mexico, through the U.S.A., and into Canada, essentially West of the Mississippi River and East of the Rocky Mountains) could not have survived; so TATANKA becomes a sacred entity and yet must be used for survival. Perhaps now the irony is more readily comprehensible.

I have a young friend, an aspiring writer, who worries that she does not yet have sufficient experience to write about life as she sees and lives it. She has humility and respect for life rather than arrogance toward life. She desires to see things as they exist rather than to accept someone else’s vested spin on them. She seeks the confidence in herself to respect that irony and to let it rise like the smoke of sage and sweetgrass wafted over her hands and into her nostrils in whatever ceremony is appropriate for her.

These things differ only in appearance, not at their center. In many respects eating has become a fast food enterprise rather than a celebration of life, of being alive. In that regard food has become a predictable, standardized set of tastes rather than the somewhat unpredictable surprise of a culinary experience. Buffalo has forever fed the PEOPLE, prepared in whatever manner was available. The surprise came with the corollary ingredients or lack thereof that accompanied the preparation. Today we have more leisure, more predictable ingredients, more potential variety for the methods of preparation.

And that irony strikes me once again, changes only in appearance, not in significance, but it requires a respect for ceremony, a respect for self, and a respect for the life and death of the animal that provides it–so I say to the buffalo, “thanks.” To my friend, “believe it.” And to you, “celebrate.”