A Walk on the Wild Side

It was the first official day of fall when Levi and I headed to the ranch, up on the South Dakota state line, near Gordon. My family has been congregating there to hunt and vacation since long before I was born. Most people would think the ranch is in the middle of nowhere, and they would be mostly right. Click here to read more about the ranch.

This time, Levi and I were on our way to see my Mom and Dad, Uncle Gary, and my sister, Laura, and her husband, Kent, who had come to cut firewood and get the place ready for the fall hunting season in November, when many of the family's hunters will return to hunt the mule deer that are so plentiful on the ranch. It didn't matter that the weekend was predicted to be a rainy one, but the amount of rain mattered, so I checked the unpaved roads carefully to see how much gravel was on them, just in case it rained a lot. I didn't want to get stuck when it was time to drive home!

We arrived just as the sun was setting, although it was kind of hard to tell, since dark clouds covered the western sky. We sat down to enjoy a good supper of roast beef and potatoes and gravy, and fresh tomatoes from Gary's garden. Levi relished the good-as-homemade chocolate chip cookies and really-homemade applesauce cake we had for dessert. Then, after the table was cleared and the dishes were washed, everyone gathered around the fireplace in the cozy living room, soaking up the heat and good conversation while Levi experimented with his Jenga block structures on the coffee table.

When bedtime arrived, we piled the blankets on our beds so we could each stay warm in the mostly unheated house. The temperature dropped down into the mid-forties that night, just as predicted, and we awoke to a chilly, dreary, drizzly Saturday.

The kitchen was toasty warm, though, because someone had started a fire in the cookstove. After our traditional breakfast of pancakes and bacon and eggs, everyone went their separate ways, some working outdoors, and some staying inside the comfortable house.

After my shower, I decided to brave the weather, so I used my inhaler to stave off any exercise-induced asthma, and invited Levi to join me for a hike. He elected to stay inside with his Jenga blocks, so I bundled up in my winter coat and gloves, and set off by myself. When I met Dad in the lane, he warned me that the tall grass was wet, but I didn't care. I had brought extra clothes (and shoes) this time, so I didn't mind the thought of getting soaked.

The gate was open, since the bulls had not yet been brought to their winter pasture. It wasn't long before I was wading through the waist-high grass that grew on the unmowed two-track leading down to the Wounded Knee. Sometimes, we drive right through the creek, but this time, I made my way across the footbridge that was rebuilt a couple of years ago, in memory of my Uncle Lee, who also loved the ranch.

The creek has plenty of water this year, thanks to abundant rainfall this past spring and summer. I was thankful for the bridge, since I didn't feel like wading through the knee-deep creek, which was too wide to jump across, at least in that spot.

After crossing the bridge, I trudged up the hill and across the meadow. When I stopped to catch my breath, I couldn't help but notice the stillness all around me. There was no wind at all. No birds were singing, that cool, misty morning. There was no traffic on the gravel road that bordered the ranch. For a moment, I felt all alone, enveloped in a totally quiet cocoon of mist, until I realized that God was there with me in his breathtakingly beautiful pasture, as he always is, and I rejoiced in the wonderful world he has made for us.

As I made my way through the meadow, I remembered the many times we had joined Dad at the top of the bluff, where we sifted through the dirt at an old Indian campsite, looking for bits of pottery and stone scrapers, and even an occasional arrowhead. I thought back wistfully to the summers when my cousin, Deb, and I rode our horses through the meadow, clear to the far fence line and back again, ducking our heads under the low-hanging branches along the way.

On this day, though, I veered to the right, up the hill to the top of another bluff. I wanted to get a picture of the ranch house down below.

At first, all I saw were trees, the majestic, mist-enshrouded evergreens that grow there on the Pine Ridge, and the others, leaves beginning to turn from green to gold on that second day of Autumn. But then, there was a break in the trees, just as I remembered, and I was able to take several pictures of the house, looking like a little, brown dollhouse in the drizzly distance.

I must confess that my heart was beating a little faster as I continued up and over the top of the bluff, and down the other side. I don't think I've ever taken that particular route by myself, and certainly never on a rainy day. By then, the mist was turning into a steady, light rain, so visibility was reduced tremendously. I wasn't sure I could find my way to the other creek crossing, down by the swing, and I hadn't thought to ask anyone if there was still some kind of bridge across the creek there, but I decided to give it a try. If all else failed, I knew I could always turn around and go back the way I came.

The deer trail near the creek was mostly obliterated by the tall grass, but I found my way down to the creek without any trouble at all. I was thrilled to see the wooden plank bridge that meant I could complete the circle back to the house.

The swing was still hanging there, too, suspended from the old cottonwood tree, as it has been for nearly all of my life. The board seat was missing, but I probably could have found it if I had taken the time to look where it was usually propped up, next to the tree. I put my foot through the loop at the bottom of the rope, but I decided to wait until another day, when I wasn't all bundled up in my heavy winter coat, to swing across the creek.

Now, it was just a short walk back to the house, but I decided to take advantage of the solitude to try to take a few selfies! If you know me, you know I don't usually take pictures of myself, but I thought I could experiment while I had the chance, since most pictures others take of me usually end up with some strange expressions on my face. They say that "practice makes perfect," so I decided to practice. Many of the photos were awful, as I expected, but they got better as I went along. 

As I passed the more primitive of the two remaining outhouses, I decided that it might make a good backdrop for some pictures. If Levi had come along, I might have bribed him to pose for me, in front of the outhouse, but since he had opted out of the hike, I had to make do.

I have used this outhouse, and the other, better kept one, on several occasions. The ranch house has only one small bathroom, so when a dozen or more relatives descend on the ranch, the outhouses come in pretty handy for all of us. We don't take those extra restroom facilities for granted, primitive though they may be.

By now, my jeans were drenched, up past my knees, and the water in my shoes squished uncomfortably with every step, so it was time to head past the picnic tables and the bunkhouse, back inside where it was warm and dry.

I took off my shoes and set them on a towel, in the cookstove's warm oven, to dry. My socks were so wet that I needed to wring them out. I hung my coat on the back of a chair, changed my pants, and helped get lunch on the table. My Mom has always made some mean chicken and dumplings, perfect on a chilly, wet day.

I think everyone indulged in a nap after lunch; rainy days are best for napping, after all. Then, Levi and I folded our blankets and loaded the car, ready to head home before dark. Laura had offered to follow me to the paved highway with her truck and tow strap, just in case I needed it, but the rain gauge showed only a tenth of an inch of precipitation, so I figured we would be safe enough.

And, indeed, we found the road just damp enough to keep the dust down; there was no mud to speak of. Levi sat in the front passenger seat as we drove past the bales of hay that seemed to line the road; it has been a good year for hay. 

I marveled at the beautiful Autumn colors in the hills, the reds and golds and greens that make Fall the season of changing colors.

And so we headed home, past the open fields, and aging silos, and windmills spinning in the breeze, past the cattle grazing in the hills, past the pheasants flying up in front of the car from time to time, and back to civilization, as we know it.

I would like to stay longer, but we have things to do at home. Still, I can thank God for time with family, and another glimpse of simpler times and nature at its finest. It was so much fun, once again, to take a walk on the wild side.

But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you; or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish in the sea inform you. Which of all these does not know that the hand of the LORD has done this? In his hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind.  Job 12: 7-10