Room To Roam: BIG Sky Montana

and the Prairie Lass

I struggled to climb the hill, panting and sweating as I try to reach Mister's hand. He was walking fast, examining the plaques of information about the battle between Lakota and Cheyenne Indian Tribes and the United States 7th Cavalry led by Lt. George Custer.

The Battle of the Little Bighorn, as it is now famously known, is one of the fierce battles in American history. One of the sign said: Here, in the valley of the Little Bighorn River on June 25 and 26, 1876, more than 260 soldiers and attached personnel of the U.S 7th Cavalry met defeat and death at the hands of Lakota and Cheyenne.

Mister,as always have been, wanted to read all the multimedia offerings scattered around the hillside. I got tired.

Sitting on the bluffs, which might have been where the U.S. Cavalry ran for cover,I looked down the valley filled with green,lush vegetation, and imagined the quiet village of tepees, eyes big and small peering from tiny holes. Heartbeats drumming in unison, as they watched their husbands and sons fight for their land. My imagination cut off when a piece of grass flew right in front of my nose. The relentless, howling wind makes my hair sweep against my already sun burned skin. I wonder if I were a Cheyenne... I can see myself, on a robust horse, galloping down the valley floor with certain abandon for poise,beauty and fashion. Like an audacious woman Cheyenne.

( I took this picture of the horses at the Little Bighorn Hill

who refused to let our car pass for what seems like forever,

farting and yawning at us. Sweet.)

Did they have regard for things of beauty ? Did they have several moccasins and buckskin dresses for different occasions ? Did they worry of their skin brushing against the prairie grass? I wonder how they were like, as daughters, as mothers, their domesticity around the tepees.

If I were a Cheyenne and knew only the life I have, I will be no different from any woman of today, albeit lacking of things mechanical. I would enjoy visiting with the mamas and the papas, weaving colorful grass baskets by the meadow... and I will have the same sentiment- if my son's lifeless body comes riding on a saddle of a half-craze horse.

"It's time to go !", Mister rounding us and headed to the car.
I slowly got up and looked down from whence my bottom formed the flattened grass. I realize, I didn't mind sitting there after all. I am no different from a woman Cheyenne.