No Place Like Home: Notes from a Western Life

Overlooking Antelope Ridge

Overlooking the Antelope Ridge Finally home on the ranch, I wake before dawn when a Say’s phoebe perches on the deck railing to announce its hunting plans. My hair flows across the pillow, ruffled by a breeze sweet with scents from drying grass. Unusually heavy rains all spring have nourished smooth bromegrass nearly as tall as Jerry. The lightest breeze makes the bobbing seed heads ripple, like a dense pack of tawny animals running ahead of the wind. Beautiful, but as the summer grows hotter and drier, these grasses will be transformed into an acute fire danger. When I was growing up here, the native grass was usually no more than four inches tall, so I could see my feet in case a rattlesnake was using the same route. Walking through this lush growth makes me nervous; my feet tangle in bindweed, goosefoot, and mullein grown larger than I’ve ever seen it. Invasive grasses like crested wheatgrass and smooth bromegrass tower over the native big bluestem, sideoats grama, and blue grama, and the air is dense with pollen. The Westies’ ears and noses collect sharp seeds from the weed we call beggar’s-lice; needles of cheatgrass seed burrow into their flesh. Russian thistle is growing in our two-track road. Almost daily I spot some species of grass I usually see only in pictures, grown from seed that has waited in the soil for decades. Besides our usual plains pricklypear, we now have colonies of fragile pricklypear, a cactus I believe may be capable of leaping several feet to embed itself in the paw of an innocent city dog. The spiny fruits stick so tightly to a pant leg or boot that they can be removed only with pliers. Overlooking Antelope Ridge Nn 193 contradictions. Naturally, since I’ve called this rural town home all my life, I’ve been as happy and exasperated with my neighbors’ opinions as they have been with mine. They rolled their eyes when I married George, with his headband, long hair, earring, and beard. When I was traveling the state speaking against uranium mining and the disposal of nuclear waste in Fall River County, I got telephoned death threats from people whose voices I recognized, while other neighbors surreptitiously handed me cash and thanked me for speaking for them. On the first Memorial Day after George died, I visited the cemetery and noticed his grave didn’t have a flag like those of the other military veterans. A couple of phone calls revealed that the local vets had judged by appearances, drawing the wrong conclusion from his long hair; since then, the flag has appeared on schedule. Friends from more populous areas roll their eyes when I insist I’m a South Dakotan. Why do we hate environmentalists, Indians, women, and Democrats? they ask. Why are we so anxious to pollute our air and water? I’d like to join in the county conversation about our future, because I believe Francis Bacon was right: “Things alter for the worse spontaneously, if they be not altered for the better designedly.” How, though, do I reconnect? I can start with the people I used to neighbor with who are still here, though their situations have changed. A couple of families whose pioneering grandfathers crossed the plains in the same wagon train with mine have found that the fourth generation can’t get along, and divided their land, just as my father and uncle did. In other cases, deaths, education, or marriage have changed the way a family does business. While I’ve steadily increased my contributions to several local fire departments, helped with cemetery upkeep, donated anonymously to the flood cleanup and other local causes, I haven’t been visible at meetings . We probably won’t begin attending church or join fraternal lodges. If I want to connect with other residents of the community, I have to do more than disapprove of their choices, but this may not be easy. Contradictions. My district has three state legislators. When I began speaking on the uranium mining and waste issues, one of them poked me hard in the chest and told me to “go home and have babies.” His job, he insisted, was not to represent the opinions of the voters in the district, but to use his best judgment on their behalf. He’s still in office, and I hope to 194...