I did stick the landing

My last night in Mission. The car is about 80 percent packed and there's still plenty of room for me. I took a break to snap some photos of the beautiful sunset. I then thought it would be fun to take one last self-portrait. It took two attempts to get it right.

Attempt #1: Here I am falling off the gate.

Attempt #2: Here's the shot I had in mind.

Oh!

I just sent out my goodbye e-mail to friends, colleagues, and volunteers. The first three responses began:

"Oh Brian, I can't believe the day is already here."

"Oh how sad for us!"

"Oh my dear, dear Brian!"

Oh my goodness! They were all sweet messages and I'm definitely smiling. It should be a good day.

One box down

I packed my first box for next Monday's big drive west. I swear, it seems like just yesterday I was doing this.

Dread the packing

Two weeks from this moment, I'll be driving west somewhere in Wyoming toward my new home. I'm in denial I have to stuff all of my crap into my little car. I hate packing. It falls somewhere on the hate scale between lying and raisins. It's bad enough just putting a bag together for a weekend trip. The good news is I might place a holding deposit on an apartment in the next couple of days. The quicker the move-in, the quicker my worldly possessions are out of the car.

Ugh.

Try it! You'll like it!

You know it. My family knows it. I know it. I'm a picky eater. So, when there's a food out there I'll actually eat, you can pretty much guarantee that it's plain, not exotic, and palatable to someone who has issues with food textures.

Let's talk about buffalo. It's popular 'round these parts. The Rosebud Sioux Tribe has a buffalo ranch. And buffalo can be found on many menus across the state. I've tried a buffalo burger and, frankly, it tastes just like a hamburger. And it happens to be leaner than ground beef.

Since I happen to like buffalo, it means it's gotta be innocuous. Would Mom and Grandmom try a bite of it during their recent trip? Hell no! Now I know how they must have felt when I was a kid, refusing to try something new, green, or fruity. Or even as an adult how I won't touch chunky spaghetti sauce. But still! If I like it, how bad can it possibly be?

We were pretty chatty with everyone we met during our travels. And the topic of buffalo almost always came up.

"Have you tried buffalo yet? No? But it's not gamey at all. And it's lean!"

But they could not be swayed. In fact, when we checked out of our hotel on the final morning of the trip, Grandmom lied to the gentleman we had met the night before at the hotel gift shop. (A gentleman, by the way, who took a liking to yours truly.)

"Did you try buffalo last night?"

"Yes we did!"

In the end, they both boarded their flight back to the east coast without experiencing a South Dakota delicacy. Their trip was incomplete.

The family visits the rez

Mom and Grandmom visited last week and I have to say that the trip was a success. My itinerary turned out to be a good one, even accounting for a few unexpected events (a missed flight connection, my attending a wake). This was the first time in the nine years since I moved away from Delaware that any member of my family had come to visit.

All told, we didn't spend too much time on the reservation. But I think it was long enough for them both to get a handle on what my life has been like for the past year and a half. Along with them just having a good time and dispelling myths about Native Americans, that was my goal for their trip.

Now, Grandmom did drive Mom and me crazy at times. It was bound to happen considering the five days and 700 miles in my little car we spent together. And the fact that it is my grandmother. To her credit though, she asked questions about life on the reservation. Many, many questions. Her phrasing was a bit odd; there was a lot of, "So, do the Indians work there?" and such. But I attribute that to both Delaware's distance from reservations and her lack of familiarity about this area of the country and Native Americans in general.

But her questions weren't so far removed from what I hear from Habitat's out-of-town volunteers each week during the summer. And I always tell them that there are no stupid questions, because, like my grandmother, most of them had never before set foot on a reservation.

The highlight of the trip for both of them was last weekend's Crazy Horse Volksmarch. This was the 25th annual hike which takes hikers 3.1 miles up to the future arm of the Crazy Horse Memorial in the Black Hills and back down. Hikers are only allowed on the monument one weekend per year, so I'm glad they (and me too!) had a chance to experience that.

Grandmom had to take a number of rest stops, which was perfectly fine. I tried (and tried) to convince her that this was not a race. The Volksmarch brings out many folks who aren't used to hiking up mountains in the mile-high air. Our fellow hikers were scattered alongside the trail on boulders and tree stumps throughout the entire route. She didn't think she'd make it, but she did and was thrilled at the top. Good stuff.

Besides the Volksmarch, we visited the museum and the purple church down at the St. Francis Mission. We went down to Valentine, where we walked along the Cowboy Trail on the old railroad bridge over the Niobrara, and hiked in Smith Falls State Park, where I had never been before.

Driving out to the Hills, we stopped in the Badlands and at Wall Drug. They could have spent all day at the Wall Drug. You see, Mom and Grandmom are shoppers. The Wall Drug stop was also the source of probably the funniest conversation of the trip, courtesy of, naturally, Grandmom.

Wall Drug is known for its jackalopes, a fictional creature. There's a huge, rideable one in an outdoor area of the Wall Drug. Mounted jackalopes and a variety of jackalope-inspired tchotchkes are available for purchase throughout the store. After lunch, Grandmom refused to sit on the jackalope for a photo. I, with no shame, got up on the thing instead, striking a classic bucking-bronco pose. (Mom has the photos on her camera. I'll be sure to post them when she sends them.)

Fast forward a couple days to breakfast in Rapid with a friend of mine. As we recounted our travels for her, Wall Drug and the jackalopes naturally came up:

Me: And I rode the jackalope.

Friend: You know, it took me the longest time to realize that a jackalope is a cross between a jackrabbit and an antelope.

Grandmom: Brian, you told me the jackalope was made up! (I swear, she had an accusatory tone, like I was trying to trick her.)

Me: Grandmom, think about it. A jackrabbit mating with an antelope?

Grandmom: ...

All told, the five days flew by. The most common theme evident in their remarks about this area from both of them during the trip was about the land:

"There aren't any houses."

"You just never see any people." (Mom said this a number of times.)

"There's no smog."

"The land just keeps going and going."

"You can see forever."

They were amazed, yet their words lacked that Gee-it-would-be-refreshing-to-live-out-here quality. Their comments instead reminded me of the stories I've read about the homesteaders who came out here in the late 19th and early 20th centuries who were overwhelmed by the enormity of the land. (That, and the wind.)

The only downside to the trip was that my dad didn't come out as well. I still think he would have had a blast working with the Habitat volunteers on the job site. But he doesn't travel. Ever. However, word on the street is that he wants to take the family on a vacation. One of the islands and a cruise have both been mentioned as possibilities. If you've known me for more than five minutes, you know I'm not one to lounge on a tropical beach or by a pool on a cruise ship. But an all-expenses-paid trip? I think I can convince myself it would be an adventure.