After speeding away to a special assignment that includes social media, my life and my blog have been left in a dust cloud, pressed flat in the gravel like dehydrated roadkill. I worked my old job and my new job for five weeks until my work got transferred. Days never really ended. I forgot things. I needed everything to slow down. I needed a break.
And there is the crazy, polarizing presidential campaign, the racism nightmare, terrorism. The national stress level is crushing on top of too little sleep/too much work.
Thankfully, I had long ago set up a trip to Montana to visit American Prairie Reserve and Yellowstone National Park. After the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge occupation, I wanted to visit some refuges to – you know, take public land back. Back from those cowboy hat Trojan horses funded by the resource extraction industries. The next few posts are about this trip.
What with my work-squashed neurons, I did a marginal job packing, and had to fill in a few things at Missoula. Mostly, I had enough or maybe a little much. Why I brought 3 pounds of cheese is a mystery. Simple math and consideration of cheese’s gastrointestinal effects would have fixed that.
I relax driving long distances and watching scenery slide by. It’s meditation for a former Midwestern road tripper. By the time I reached Buffalo Camp at APR’s Sun Prairie unit, my brain had emptied, and I’d heard enough farm radio to forget about the world. And I agreed with the greeting on the sign. It was good.
On cue, the Welcome Wagon bison showed me the location of my tent platform. I didn’t ask him to stay and fluff my camp pillow, but he seemed willing to linger.
Don’t worry- the deepest part is hidden on the left.
Of course, the first thing I decided to do was to cut my wrist with a knife. Because too much crazy going on. For the first time in my knife-wielding life, I reached one hand over the other to grab something and neatly sliced my skin with the upward pointed tip.
The wound wasn’t terrible, though it was a bloody mess and will leave a scar. It doesn’t really look like I tried to off myself: I would get a D- for the effort. But if that tip had been 1/4 inch lower and an inch to the right- well, that would have been pretty dicey so far away from help. I’ve been there, long ago in northern Minnesota, with knee slices, broken ankle, appendicitis, and nearest medical care 45 miles away. This one was easy, something pressure and gauze could fix once I decided to quit dripping blood on the tent and do something about it.
Finally, after setting up my temporary abode, I could stretch my legs walking out to the prairie dog town across the creek. I could watch the prairie sunset and moonrise and curl up well-insulated in my sleeping bag, ready to start exploring the next day.
The Harvest Moon is almost upon us…
Silver Snag Studio 