Right now, I'm reading a memoir called Dakota by Kathleen Norris. She moved from NYC to her family's quiet, hardscrabble back road roots of Dakota. I am fascinated and taken by American prairieland. Prairie is a French derivative word for meadow; I learned that tidbit in South Dakota this time around. Kathleen Norris describes how, in Dakota, the endless grasslands waving in the winds on their rolling hills and the unstable, stormy [yet often dry] climate, all remind her of the sea. I get that. I love the sea. Therefore...
Indeed, an ocean used to exist there. Just as an ocean surrounds little Easter Island. I was struck with complete wonder by how much the knobby, grassy hills of Easter Island looked like the knobby, grassy hills of central South Dakota. I have not seen such distinct, stumpy little hillocks rambling away like that at any other landscape I've visited, save for these two places, so far apart from each other. How strange.
We spent most of our Dakota time in the Blackhills area. How very patriotic on that Independence weekend, no?
We spent most of our Dakota time in the Blackhills area. How very patriotic on that Independence weekend, no?
I've been aching to see the Badlands again since my first trip as a young teenager. They were still magical:
Interloping on a family of antelopes:
Other sights included Beautiful Crazy Horse:
Roadside beggar at Custer State Park:
Steppes of the Black Hills:
STILL a favorite of mine and STILL a hard act to follow, this guy:
Interloping on a family of antelopes:
Other sights included Beautiful Crazy Horse:
Roadside beggar at Custer State Park:
Steppes of the Black Hills:
STILL a favorite of mine and STILL a hard act to follow, this guy:
Very personal with adorable prairie dogs:
I love Wyoming's endless butte country and its authentic Western vibe:
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