“I am entitled to pass along this sacred necklace to someone else who is worthy to receive it,” Redfield said solemnly. “I choose to loan it to you. You will not have a successful vision quest without it.” As he spoke, Redfield removed the necklace and placed it over Graham’s head.
Graham was stunned. He looked down at the bear claw and cradled the sharp, curved object in his hand. “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” he sputtered.
“Listen, Gra’am, you are not a Crow. But with this sacred necklace, you can connect to the spirit world. The spirits will recognize the power bestowed on the person wearing this necklace. It will protect you during your vision quest. Once your journey begins, you need to wear it at all times.”
Redfield walked over to the cupboard and pulled out a short-stemmed briar pipe and a bag of tobacco, then sat on the bed and began to pack the loose leaves into the bowl. “Any questions so far?” he asked, looking over at the young man who was still inspecting the bear claw.
“Well . . . what about the full moon? I’m not sure I want to be alone on a night like that in a strange land.”
“The necklace will protect you, because the bear spirit is a healer and a protector. There’s no need to be fearful while you are wearing it, because you have my Baaxpée.”
“But this is a bear claw. I was an eagle in your vision.”
Redfield lit his pipe and let several small puffs of smoke escape from the corner of his mouth as he pulled air into the smoldering leaves in the bowl. “Yes. We need to add a personal item to the sacred necklace so my Baaxpée can be fully transferred to you.”
Graham’s eyes widened. Until now he had forgotten about his successful search in the attic yesterday. “How about this?” he asked, as he took the display box from his pocket and handed it to Redfield.
The Crow opened the case and studied the award. He nodded approvingly and said, “This is perfect. Can we remove the eagle from the ribbon?”
Graham asked for a pair of pliers. Redfield found the tool in one of the cardboard boxes and handed it to the young man, who carefully twisted the split ring encircling the ribbon until the eagle was free.
Redfield reached into the same drawer that held the necklace and pulled out a small box. He sifted through different sizes and colors of glass seed beads until he found two that suited him. After removing the necklace, he threaded a red bead and a white bead onto the elk-hide cord. Next, the metal ring attached to the head of the eagle was threaded onto the cord. The two beads and the eagle were slid to the end of the cord. The new pendant necklace featured a bear claw and an eagle separated by two beads.
Redfield knotted the top of the cord and placed the necklace around Graham’s neck. “There,” he proclaimed. “I am the bear. You are the eagle. The red bead represents me, and the white bead is you.”
Graham walked into the bathroom and gazed into the tarnished mirror above the small sink. The bear claw and the eagle rested at the bottom of his sternum. He was still somewhat skeptical about the ability for someone to be contacted by a spirit who would bestow a vision. But in that moment, he was cognizant of the immense privilege of wearing this sacred creation.
Redfield interrupted his reverie. “We need to do one more thing to prepare you for the journey ahead. Put on your coat, and let’s go outside.”
The Crow put his short pipe on the wooden table. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a leather zippered pouch and a pipe at least eight inches long. He donned a lined suede jacket and beckoned for Graham to follow him outside.
Graham followed Redfield as he walked through the sycamore grove behind the camp and followed a trail that led to the top of a small hill. Homogeneous clusters of apple trees and peach trees stretched in every direction from where they stood. A cold breeze wafted over the top of the hill, causing Graham to pull his coat collar up around his ears.
Redfield cradled the long-stemmed churchwarden pipe and pressed some contents from the leather pouch into the bowl. “This is not regular tobacco,” he said preemptively, anticipating Graham’s question. “It is mostly dried inner bark from the willow tree. The Crow have another name for the willow. We call it the toothache tree, because the bark can relieve minor pains. We add a small amount of tobacco to the willow bark so it will burn more easily. Some of our people call this mixture kinnikinnick. It is used in ceremonies and for special occasions.”
Graham immediately understood the connection between the willow and its medicinal properties. He knew the Latin name for the willow genus is Salix, and the primary chemical compound of common aspirin is acetylsalicylic acid. Native Americans identified the willow as a source of pain relief long before Western societies developed aspirin as an analgesic.
Redfield held a match to the pipe and sucked air into the stem a few times to draw the flame into the bowl. “Watch carefully,” he instructed his young protégé. The Crow Indian held the smoldering pipe in his left hand and extended it above his head. Next, he pointed it down toward the earth. Finally, he faced north, then east, then south, then west, pausing and extending the pipe in front of him at each compass point. After pointing the pipe westward, he inhaled deeply from the pipe stem, held his breath for a moment, then blew the smoke toward the sun setting on the distant horizon.
“We perform this ritual, so the Creator hears our prayers,” he informed Graham. “The smoke carries our requests to the spirits. Up to God, down to Grandmother Earth, and in all four directions of the wind. Your vision quest lies west, so we blow the smoke in that direction. It’s very important to express your thoughts as you move in these six directions. A strong petition will ask for your eyes, ears, and heart to be opened. You ask the spirits to guide your path with the final request.”
Graham nodded. “I understand. But . . . well . . .”
“You’re not comfortable praying to a Crow spirit,” Redfield guessed.
“That’s right. I’m a Christian.”
“Do you believe in spirits?”
“My faith teaches us about a triune Creator—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. They are one in the same.”
“Well, then. Let me tell you a little bit about our belief. Crows are religiously tolerant. Thomas Yellowtail is a prominent medicine man. He uses a wagon wheel to describe the world’s religions. Each spoke represents different people and religions in the circle of life. All spokes are connected to the same Creator. According to Yellowtail, everyone has a different way to establish a spiritual relationship with God. And they are all valid. It’s up to each person to choose a method that is most effective.”
“So . . . I can pray to the Holy Spirit?”
“It’s a personal choice,” Redfield replied.
Graham felt relieved. He raised another concern that was physical, not spiritual. “Do I have to smoke the pipe?”
“Yes. Your words are carried in the smoke. What’s the problem?”
“I’ve smoked only once, and it made me sick.”
Graham could vividly recall the time and the place of his first (and he hoped only) smoking experience. One day when he was twelve, Graham was helping his dad paint the workshop. They finished the job right before dinner. Leroy told his son they should celebrate and proceeded to pull out two fat cigars from his shirt pocket.
“Here you go. Let’s light ’em up!” he said, striking a match and holding it up for Graham, who stared at his father incredulously.
The young boy obliged, and soon they were puffing on the stogies. Ten minutes later, Graham became dizzy and started puking in the weeds beside the shop. It was the reaction his father had foreseen. Leroy told him there was no need to try anything that was lit up and inhaled. It was a lesson young Graham took to heart, and he never had a desire to smoke again.
“It’s not regular leaf tobacco, Gra’am,” Redfield assured him. He proffered the long pipe. “You don’t have to inhale the smoke.”
Graham placed his hand on his chest and felt the eagle-bear claw necklace under his coat. He regarded the Crow Indian standing near h
im, exhaled, and accepted the smoking device.
Pointing the pipe skyward he entreated, “Holy Spirit, hear my prayer.”
Extending the pipe toward his feet he said, “Thank you for the blessings of the earth.”
He turned to the north and said, “Open my eyes.”
He turned to the east and said, “Open my ears.”
He turned to the south and said, “Open my heart.”
Finally, he faced west and said, “Guide my path!”
Graham closed his lips around the stem, pulled air through the bowl of the pipe, and blew a thick cloud of pungent smoke toward the disappearing sun. He watched as the white vapors swirled briefly in the late-afternoon breeze before vanishing.
Redfield nodded his approval. “When you are standing at the Dragon’s Mouth under a full moon while wearing the sacred necklace, you don’t need to smoke the pipe. Your appeal has been sent in advance. Simply say these same words aloud.” He held out his palm for the pipe, which Graham gladly surrendered.
“There is one other thing I need to tell you. Most men who enter the spirit world stay there for a brief time—usually for a few hours. That was my experience. But sometimes a man on a vision quest is gone for days or even weeks. If you are in another world longer than a few hours, you must ask the spirits to help you return. Go to the Dragon’s Mouth under a full moon while wearing your necklace and repeat the same ritual. If your experience has set you on a path toward achieving an honorable vision, the spirits will bring you back to the present time. If not, you will stay in the spirit world until you are prepared to fulfill your vision.”
“I have something for you,” Redfield pronounced, as he handed the leather pouch of kinnikinnick to Graham.
“I’m never gonna use this,” Graham responded truthfully.
“Take it with you. And buy a small pipe. You may find the combination useful.”
Although Graham doubted he would ever open the pouch, he didn’t want to offend Redfield by refusing the gift. He accepted the bag of aromatic willow bark and tobacco.
“Your path has been prepared for a personal vision quest. The rest is up to you.”
* * *
As Graham drove home, he experienced a range of emotions. He was euphoric over the personal endorsement and encouragement of Redfield to pursue his vision quest. He was humbled by the gift of a sacred necklace hanging around his neck. At the same time, he was skeptical about his ability to connect with a spirit that would hear and respond to his request by using the Crow ritual.
When Graham glanced down at the instrument panel of the faltering Studebaker and saw it was running hotter than normal, he felt another emotion—anxiety. How would he get to the Land of Burning Ground? He quickly pushed this quandary from his mind and resolved to find a way to make the journey. On this cold winter evening, Graham vowed to fulfill his vision quest.
Chapter 7
May 1971
The Greyhound Scenicruiser bus slowed on Interstate 90 as it approached the exit ramp for Buffalo, Wyoming. Graham awoke from a fitful sleep and rubbed his neck, which had stiffened while he was slumped against the window with a ball cap pulled over his eyes. The bus turned right at the bottom of the ramp, swaying briefly from side to side when the large dual wheels slipped off the road into a large pothole. A few minutes later, the long blue-and-white vehicle pulled into the parking lot beside a Laundromat that served as a bus stop. The stocky driver peered into the wide rearview mirror suspended over his head and announced this was a lunch stop, and the bus would depart in forty-five minutes.
Graham watched from his seat at the rear of the bus while a dozen passengers rose from their seats and clambered toward the exit. A tall, lanky man seated across the aisle stood and retrieved a soiled beige cowboy hat from the overhead storage compartment.
“Better get some chow,” the cowboy said. “The diner across the street has decent grub.”
“Thanks,” Graham replied drowsily. He wasn’t hungry but realized he should eat something. All the snacks in his backpack had been consumed. “Mind if I go with you?”
“Nope.”
Graham followed the cowboy down the aisle of the bus and stepped into a bright, warm sun. The driver locked the bus door, and the three men walked across the street to a single-story, russet stucco building with a large glass window. The other bus passengers had already taken a seat at one of the small square tables supported by chrome posts. While the driver scooted onto a round stool at the counter, the cowboy removed his hat and tossed it onto the faded red vinyl seat of a booth at the front window. He slid in beside his hat and gestured for Graham to join him.
“Name’s Alton,” the lanky man said.
“Graham. Nice to meet you,” he replied, shaking the stranger’s hand.
Alton grabbed a menu resting behind the tabletop jukebox and flipped it open. Graham did the same. A few minutes later, the waitress approached. The cowboy ordered three eggs, hash brown potatoes, bacon, toast, and black coffee. Graham ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke.
“What brings you to Wyoming?”
“I’m headed to Yellowstone. I have a summer job working as a dockhand on the lake,” Graham explained.
“Yep. I’ve run into other young folks doin’ the same thing over the years. Great place to live in the summer.”
“What about you? Where are you headed?”
“A ranch in the Gallatin Canyon just south of Bozeman. I’m goin’ there for the summer.”
“Oh? And what will you be doing?”
“I’m a wrangler at a dude ranch. Help city folk like you learn how to ride horses and such.”
“I’m not city folk,” Graham heard himself respond defensively. “I grew up in a small, rural Pennsylvania town. It’s my first time west of the Mississippi, though.”
“Hey, young fella. No offense. I just could tell by lookin’ you were from back east.”
Graham shifted the conversation. “So, I’d really appreciate any advice for a first-time Yellowstone resident.”
The waitress brought their drinks to the table, and Alton took a sip of steaming coffee before answering. “Don’t be stupid,” he said succinctly.
Graham recoiled at this advice. “Excuse me. Can you be more specific?”
“Sure,” the wrangler replied as he leaned against the high back of the booth. “Don’t be stupid around animals—bison, moose, and especially bears. Every year three or four park visitors are injured by a bear attack. Sometimes they’re even killed. It’s almost always the person’s fault. Bears are just being bears if they attack people.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, I’m sure the park rangers will give you more detailed guidance on bear safety in your orientation. But I have my own rules about bears. I’ve lived in Wyoming and Montana all my life. There are five common-sense rules to follow when you’re in bear country.”
Alton held up his index finger and said, “Rule number one: Never hike alone in the backcountry. Always have at least one other person with you. Bears are less likely to be aggressive when there’s a group of people. By the way, bears are more active at dusk and dawn. So, avoid hiking during those times.”
“Okay, that makes sense.”
“Rule number two: make some noise when you’re hiking,” Alton said. “Bears don’t like to be surprised. Shout occasionally to make your presence known. That reminds me, do you have a bear bell?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a bell you hang on your pack that jingles as you walk. Buy one when you get to the park.”
“Got it,” Graham replied. He was listening intently to the cowboy’s advice.
“Rule number three,” Alton said as he held three fingers in front of him: “Avoid carcasses. Bears will guard carcasses and may be bedded nearby just out of sight. If they see you approach the carcass, they will likely attack.
“Rule number four: Stay on the trail. Don’t wander off the path or walk in dense undergrowth.
&
nbsp; “And the last rule is the most important. When people violate this rule, they are often mauled by a bear . . .”
The waitress appeared with their plates of food. She set them down and asked the two men if they needed anything else. Alton grabbed the glass salt and pepper containers and added a generous amount of both seasonings to his eggs. He snatched a slice of bacon from his plate and bit off a piece of the cured meat, then picked up his fork and dug into the pile of hash browns.
Graham started eating his sandwich and waited patiently for the cowboy to complete his list of bear rules.
After Alton finished his eggs and potatoes, he looked up. Resting his right elbow on the table, he pointed a slice of bacon at Graham while he lectured: “You absolutely avoid a sow grizzly bear with cubs. Stay away or back away. If she feels threatened, she will charge and kill to defend her young. It doesn’t matter how many people are in your group. She weighs four times more than you do. She is two feet taller. She has three-inch claws and two-inch teeth. She will outrun you. She will even topple small trees to get her prey.”
Alton bit off half the bacon strip before asking, “Any questions?”
Graham felt a chill run up his spine as he imagined a six-hundred-pound mother grizzly bear with razor-sharp claws and fangs pinning down and mangling a victim. He had read about grizzlies in Yellowstone but hearing it from someone who knew their behavior made these bears simultaneously magnificent and frightening.
“No, sir.” Graham was at a loss for words.
“We better go,” Alton said as he donned his hat. He picked up the checks and walked up to the counter to pay for their lunch. Graham objected to his generosity, but the cowboy just waved him off and said he would take care of both checks. As they walked across the street to the waiting Greyhound, Graham marveled at the benevolence of this stranger and wondered if this was an attribute common to residents in this part of the country.
* * *
Burning Ground Page 8
