Crazy Horse and other Crazy Stuff.

I grew up in house of books, but my mom was a clean freak and she thought bookshelves were too messy because of the different sizes and different colors, so our book shelves were hidden. There were big wall length shelves in our den under a picture window behind a couch. To get to the shelf, you could pull the couch out, or crawl into the space between the couch and the wall, and look at books while hidden away. That’s how I did it. The second large collection of books was in the pantry. The pantry was at the backend of a converted garage, and it was always cooler in that room. I would wear my winter coat if I wanted to peruse that shelf. I offer these details to illustrate my commitment to reading and to recall my first discovery of Crazy Horse.

On the pantry bookshelf there was a mishmash of my dad’s college books and that’s where I found “Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee.” I was interested in someone named “Crazy Horse,” because I was crazy about horses. I was pretty young when I picked up that book, but it started my deep dive into learning about the Lakota people. Being able to visit the memorial was a great honor for me and a because of the weather and time of year, I got a private tour and got to spend time in the museum all by myself for as long as I wanted. The experience was an artist’s paradise.

I carved something in stone once. My piece was about eighteen inches high in marble and it was difficult, physically demanding, and I never finished the piece. So to take on the massive proportions of the memorial was sort of “crazy.” The artist knew the project would outlive him, but he included his children, and in turn his grandchildren in continuing the legacy. There still might be thirty to fifty years before the sculpture is finished. But a huge crane was recently installed and a robotic arm can be programmed to do some of the work, so the carving speed could change with technology. I hope to see it finished in my lifetime.

I watched a movie about the artist and he said to be asked to create the sculpture of a great leader was an honor for a Polish immigrant orphan. He also said in the film, “Don’t forget your dreams.” I kept thinking about that phrase as I walked through the museum marveling at the ancient paintings, beadwork, pottery, and wood carvings gathered from Indigenous people all around the country. The work was beautiful and highlighted the resilience and legacy of so many artists and people. It was an honor to be among all the greatness gathered in that space.

My writing retreat is in Lead, SD and the state highway to get there was closed, so I had to go to the interstate and through Rapid City, so I left the memorial before l really wanted to, but I figured I’d have time to check out Deadwood, the infamous town of the Old West, but first I did laundry.

Laundromats and I are not friends. The craziest things always happen to me in them. This was no exception. The lights didn’t work, so the shop was dark. The soap dispenser ate my quarters. There was one other customer and he gave me a scoop of his Tide which I accidentally dumped into the softener dispenser and then transferred it into the right place with my hand. When I started the washing machine, it was so loud that I thought it was breaking, and when the spin cycle came on, I honestly thought the machine was going to explode. I put the clothes in a dryer and it didn’t work, I tried four before I found one that actually spun, but after forty minutes my clothes were still wringing wet, but my rental car has heated seats, so I just spread my jeans out in the car and drove around Deadwood a bit. That’s when a herd of Big Horn Sheep crossed my path.

While I was waiting for them to clear away, I saw a bar and grill named, “Mustang Sally’s.” That was a must stop. While I was eating my chili in Mustang Sally’s, the snow started. It was beautiful, light and crystally. I thought I was in a Hallmark holiday movie.

I still had time to kill, so I decided to go check out Calamity Jane’s gravesite. The map said it was less than a mile, but I decided to drive because of the snow. In the time that I left Sally’s and drove up to the grave, the snow was a blizzard. The cemetery was closed and I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to drive down the hill. I know I have grown up in snow, but I have never seen so much snow so fast. I only had five miles to drive, but it took forty minutes to get there and it was terrifying to drive in blinding snow and trust that GPS knew the way.

I made it safe to the retreat and was welcomed to a warm, cozy, gorgeous mountain house with a roaring fireplace and herbal tea. I thought about the Crazy Horse carvers and the strength and passion it’s taking to continue that dream. I really do hope I get to see the sculpture again. Even if I don’t see it finished, the progress alone is a testimony to facing challenges and believing in the dream no matter what.

The wind is still howling outside, but I feel pretty safe and inspired and ready to write my stories.