A couple of weeks ago we had a nice Fall rain–finally. The buffalo were in a pasture on the other side of the river, which is not always a good situation. The river rises, taking the fences that span the river with it on its tumultuous way downstream. This untoward event leaves the buffalo herd unhindered from drifting up to higher ground and into the U.S. Forest Service land where the cattlemen leasees still have their herds on the summer pastures. It would not be good for us to encroach on their grazing, even as a result of this high river, act of nature event.
As soon as we could get through the fields along a muddy field road, Erney and I went to look at the fences crossing the river. To our surprise they were still partially intact, and the river was too high to cross safely; so we retreated to the ranch. On the way back to our dwellings we left open the gates leading into the pastures where we wanted the buffalo to be…on our side of the river. Personally, I was afraid that the river would remove the remaining wires, and the buffalo would wander out; so about three hours later I went back to the river to look the situation over. The river had receded a little, but now that was no big deal.
To my surprise, and I must say delight, the herd had crossed the river (an event I would like to have witnessed because there was a one-week-old calf among them) and came through the gates that Ernie and I had left open. Now my worry was over and the job simple, close the gates behind them and go home to a shower and dry clothes.
Since then, I have been thinking about a Native American belief, and I have been thinking about last month’s RRD entry; and I have been trying to see if those two things and this high water river action would fit together; so bear with me for a few more minutes.
Last month’s entry was a linear thought process: my early years with buffalo in the Wichita Mountain Wildlife Refuge stretching across a rather long space and time essentially devoid of buffalo, and my latter and/or present years with buffalo on the Cheyenne River. The Native American belief holds that the buffalo presented itself to the people for the people to survive. It is probably a stretch for me to assume that the buffalo came home to us; but I have no way to prove or disprove that. I’m glad they did what they did. I’m not sure I need to know why they did it (better grass, drier ground??). It may not matter; the fact is that they came across the river and in my mind bent that linear thought process into a completed circle, and once again I am delighted.