(Key Terms: Ma-Ka-Tai-Me-She-Kia-Kiak, Black Sparrow Hawk, Black
Hawk, 1767, Saukenuk, Pyesa, Rock Island, Black Hawk’s Watch Tower, Black Hawk
State Historic Site, Hauberg Museum, Sauk, Sac, Meskwaki, Fox, Rock River,
Sinnissippi River, Mississippi River, War of 1812, British Band, Great Britain,
Treaty of 1804, Treaties, Ceded Land, William Henry Harrison, Quashquame,
Keokuk, Fort Armstrong, Samuel Whiteside, Black Hawk War of 1832, Black Hawk
Conflict, Scalp, Great Sauk Trail, Black Hawk Trail, Prophetstown, Wabokieshiek,
White Cloud, The Winnebago Prophet, Ne-o-po-pe, Dixon’s Ferry, Isaiah Stillman,
The Battle of Stillman’s Run, Old Man’s Creek, Sycamore Creek, Abraham Lincoln,
Chief Shabbona, Felix St. Vrain, Lake Koshkonong, Fort Koshkonong, Fort
Atkinson, Henry Atkinson, Andrew Jackson, Lewis Cass, Winfield Scott, Chief Black
Wolf, Henry Dodge, James Henry, White Crow, Rock River Rapids, The Four Lakes,
Battle of Wisconsin Heights, Benjamin Franklin Smith, Wisconsin River, Kickapoo
River, Soldier’s Grove, Steamboat Warrior, Steamship Warrior, Fort Crawford,
Battle of Bad Axe, Bad Axe Massacre, Joseph M. Street, Antoine LeClaire, Native
American, Indian, Michigan Territory, Indiana Territory, Louisiana Territory,
Osage, Souix, Potawatomi, Ojibwe, Ottawa, Ho-Chunk)
Were
I to travel all the earth and see all wonders great and small
My
feet would land where I once stood as though I had not left at all
No
more a woman would I be if I could reach this lofty goal
No
taller would I stand in height, but I’d be deeper in my soul
The
wind would blow, the forests sigh, the birds and beasts would live therein
The
only change would be that I would know their beauty deep within
And
having reached the finish line, with placid pools of wisdom gained
What
other path in life have I but to take your hand and start again?
---------------
Back to the Beginning
There is a sense of anticipation whenever one approaches the
conclusion of some major project or significant event. I’m talking about the special events – the ones
that are months, or even years in the making.
I’m talking about that first kiss as an adolescent – the one that didn’t
feel clumsy. I’m talking about that
moment when you are about to walk down the aisle and say, ‘I do’. I’m talking about giving birth to your first
child. It is a head-swimming, physical sensation
that makes you aware of the exact position of your spine. It is a mix of eagerness, fear and awe, with
an undercurrent of pride.
With as much joy and celebration as I could gather to my
mind, I called out once more to all the spirits who may have chosen to take
this journey with me and return to their ancestral home of Saukenuk, telling
them that I had done everything in my power to ease their journey and balance
the energies of the universe with love, and honor and understanding.
As I drove down the streets past buildings that have long taken the place of the great trees of the forest in this beautiful area, I was struck by how foreign and lifeless it would appear to the members of Black Hawk’s band. The sharp angles and orderly patterns of our familiar life would look nothing like home if those people still walked the earth.
With effort, I tried to shed myself of the restraints of linear time and came to realize that any spirits who traveled with me would not be restricted to viewing the area as it is, but instead could see it as all things past, present and future. In our world we call it ‘imagination’ or ‘vision’. In the spirit world that is simply how it is. This all occurred to me just in time to turn the corner and see the joining point of the two great rivers, the Mississippi and the Sinnissippi, and then suddenly I was given a hint of that vision as a gift from those spirits. I was granted the ability to imagine what life was like for the people who lived here 200 years ago, and imagine a far-distant future where water, earth and sky are once again supreme.
----------------------------
Walking on Sacred Ground
Across the street from the Watch Tower Lodge & Hauberg
Indian Museum lies the last remnants of the forest that covered these hills
when Makataimeshekiakiak ran through them as a boy and as a young man. The Black Hawk Forest, a state of Illinois
Nature Preserve, is the true guardian of the memories of this land. The forests, like no other beings, understand the
ebb and flow of life at a level beyond our own understanding, and if we
listen to the forests we can learn more about ourselves.
Please watch this short video and listen to what the forest tells you. The story is beautiful.
I wish that this video was of the Black Hawk Forest, but instead I must credit Samuel Orr for his beautiful time-lapse entitled 'a Forest Year'. The video was taken in New York.
At one edge of the Black Hawk forest is the Singing Bird Center, where we started our walk of remembrance and honor. Following the trails in the park, we walked a long, slow, clockwise circle. My husband beat the drum as we walked, and at times we stopped to enjoy the beautiful flowers, or fungi, or animals that we saw. Here are some of those photos.
Pokeweed (American Nightshade) - used as a treatment for rheumatism and arthritis
Yellow Slime Mold Fungi
Shelf (Bracket) Fungus - aka 'Artist's Fungus' - Used as an art medium
Another Bracket Fungus - possibly 'Hairy Bracket'
About halfway through the walk, we heard voices ahead, and knew that someone else had chosen this hot, muggy day to enjoy the trails through this lovely forest. Through mutual silent consent, my husband and I kept walking, me with my beaded headband and walking stick and he beating on the drum. Predictably, the three walkers (a mother and her two not-quite-teenage boys) fell into apprehensive silence as we approached. I was amused, but we just smiled and said hello as we passed, and then it happened. One of the boys simply couldn't help himself and he asked what we were doing.
I don't believe the woman would have spoken to us, but the boy who asked had clearly gained esteem in the eyes of the other boy for the sheer audacity and bravery involved. I still get a grin when I remember the wide-eyed look he gave. What followed was one of those experiences that boys remember the rest of their lives.
Deep in the heart of the Black Hawk Forest, to the slow, gentle rhythm of the drum-beat, I told our story and Black Hawk's story, and told them that we had traveled over 1000 miles following Black Hawk's trail, and that we were on the final day of our journey. I told them that the forest was once the home of the Sauk and Meskwaki peoples, and that some of the trees that surrounded us were alive and growing back in 1830 when those Indians lived here. I told them that the trees have spirits, and they remember the days when there were no cities and no cars, and that each of them tells their own story if you learn how to listen.
They asked questions, and I gave answers. I asked if they would like to participate in a ceremony honoring the grandfathers of the four directions, and they eagerly agreed. Closing my eyes, I faced north and began the ritual of honoring the spirits of each of the four directions, and mother earth and father sky. As I turned, and as I spoke, they each turned with me and listened to my words.
When I finished, they excitedly told us about the things that they had seen in the forest that day (we had become fast friends by that point) and wished us well on the last part of our journey. Even if that had been the only joy I felt that day, the day would have been worth it.
We continued on our walk, and noticed one fallen tree in particular that had the overall appearance of a moose laying down in the woods;
A LOT like a moose, actually.
If only...
It was shortly after this point that my husband began to notice that the drum was sounding really tired and dull. As we were walking past the part of the forest where there had once been a coal mine, (long abandoned) the sound of the drum gave out almost completely, and he had to resort to tapping on the wooden side of the drum to keep up the beat.
We were about a quarter mile from the end of our walk, so we just kept moving until we climbed a hill and entered an area that is maintained by the city as a forested park, with mowed grass.
Black Hawk Forest, Rock Island, IL
As I walked, I had been keeping my ears and eyes open for some sort of sign from my spirit guides, but I had seen nothing I considered significant until we walked into this lovely glade and the drum suddenly changed it's voice. Within a few steps its tone went from flaccid and dead to tight, high and cheerful, echoing off the surrounding trees.
I would not share these things if they were not true.
With renewed joy in my heart, I walked with my husband back to the Singing Bird Center, nearly done with my quest.
Of course, we went back to visit the statue in front of the Hauberg Museum. Being now the heat of August, there were no snowflakes drifting across the face of the stern-faced Makataimeshekiakiak, but he remained standing as we left him, wrapped in his blanket of stone and wearing his warmest stone leggings, gazing out over the cliff on the hill that bears his name.
.
What Black Hawk Sees - The View from Watchtower Lodge, Rock Island, IL
On the ground, near the statue, we formed a medicine wheel using the sand we had collected back at the site of the Bad Axe Massacre. Within, we placed items that we had gathered on our journey, the quadrants decorated in black, yellow, red and white. At least one item in each color had been gathered that day in the Nature Preserve. When Black Hawk's people died at the site of the massacre, their bodies became a part of the earth that exists there today. By bringing that sand here, to this place, and pouring it onto the ground, I hoped to create a means of joining together these two physical places. By using the sand as a medicine wheel, I hoped to use the energy of that joining to nurture and heal the earth, in a way that celebrates the eternity of the circle.
In the center of this medicine wheel, we left our final prayer stick, filled with all the love and positive energy we could muster.
There was one, final step to take before our journey was complete. One, final sacred place to visit before the circle was truly closed. Below us, at the base of the cliff, ran the Sinnissippi River, tumbling gently over the rocks that give the river its more common name, the Rock River. It was time to sit with my feet in the river and have a smoke with the the spirits.
The summer sun dances merrily atop the tiny ripples that form on the water as it rushes over the sand and pebbles. The smell of the water is wholesome and rich, full of the memory of laughing children and the promise of eternal life. In the shallows, a family of mallards drifts lazily in the clear water of a spring-fed rill. Across the stream a kingfisher plunges violently into the water, only to explode from the river a moment later with its prize, a tiny minnow, in its mouth. In the middle of the river lies a tiny spit of an island, whose only inhabitants are two logs, an army of tiny sand and water-loving insects, and a dozen killdeer doing their best to make a meal of them.
I knelt and touched the water - warm and comforting in the hot August sunshine. The ducks cautiously approached, curiously hopeful of a handout but still beautifully wild and untouchable. As I waded out into the stream, I let the warm water wash over my feet, and let the feeling wash through my entire body.
The ducks did not follow me to the island, and the killdeer were positively unhappy when we joined them there, but they flew to the other side and quickly learned to ignore us. My husband and I sat on one of the logs, and I leaned my walking stick up against it with the end in the water where it started so very long ago. We sat quietly and smoked, letting the ritual clear our hearts and minds. Then we filled our mouths with the smoke and spoke to the spirits, the smoke flowing from out mouths so that it was possible to see our words, so that there could be no hidden meaning.
I felt very thankful at that moment. I was thankful for the sun, and the earth, and the water. I was thankful for the animals and plants that help me survive. I was thankful for my happiness, and all the things that were good in my life - far outweighing all the things that are hard. I was thankful for the freedom that had been given to me, and that I had the resources I needed to be able to make this journey. I was thankful for my spirit guides, in whatever form they showed themselves. I was probably more thankful at that moment than I have ever been in my life. I wish that I could remember to feel that way more often. Today, I am thankful for the ability to share these thoughts with you, and if you are reading this and are pleased by my words, I am thankful that I have been able to bring happiness to your heart. When our smoke was gone, I gave one final smile to the warm sunshine, took my husband by the hand, and walked back to shore. The circle was complete.
----------------------------
So why did I do this? Why did I spend money and time tracing the footsteps of a band of people whose lives were tragically ended by the advancement of the American ideals of westward expansion, and the pursuit of happiness? Of course, I have tried to talk about that in other posts, but now that I have reached the end of my journey, is there new insight? Maybe. In the end, I think I took this trip - and wrote this blog - for three reasons.
First, because I believe I was visited by the spirit of Black Hawk, and others, who felt that I had the ability to take this journey and tell the story on their behalf. I believe part of this journey was to satisfy their needs, tell their story about the terrible wrongs that were committed, and bring some measure of peace and healing energy to the places and spirits that were affected.
Second, because in learning about these people, and their lives, and their deaths, I was able to get to know the part of myself that was given to me by my Native American Grandmother, whose name has been lost to history. I now have a much better understanding of who she was and the values that were handed down to me though the generations that became my ancestors. It has helped me to better understand that part of me that is Indian, and becomes more important to me with every passing day.
Third, I believe I did this because somewhere in the world, at some time in the future, there will be someone who reads this blog and it will change their lives for the better. It's possible that the person meant to read this blog has already visited, read through these pages, and is even now benefiting somehow from what they read. Perhaps it is a white person who is learning for the first time about how Native Americans were treated right here in our own corner of the earth, and is more understanding of the sins of their fathers, and more open-hearted towards Native Americans. Perhaps it is a Native American person who reads this and allows the painful memories of the past to become the soothing wisdom of the future. Or perhaps it is for the Granddaughter of Makataimeshekiakiak whose Native American history has been forcefully wrenched from her, forcing her to use the name 'Hawkins' and being told that means 'Hawk's kin'. Maybe this journey, and this blog is meant to give her some sort of solace, or maybe just an outlet for her grief. Maybe this person - the one whose life will be changed for the better because of what they read here - is you.
As for myself, the thing I've gained that stands out most in my mind is the knowing of just how terrible were the wrongs committed against the Native Americans in forcefully removing them from this great land of ours theirs. I certainly knew that the Indians were here before the Europeans came, but in my school I never heard about how insidious and one-sided the treaties were, or how unscrupulous the tactics, or how widespread and egregious were the hate crimes committed in the name of westward expansion and 'protecting our women and children'. Not to mention the hypocrisy of a people who fled to this land under the threat of religious persecution and then used that self-same religious fervor to subjugate and condemn the people who were there before them. And I'm not just talking about the Black Hawk conflict. This same story of unjust persecution and extermination can be told over and over again.
This knowing - this knowledge of a dark and shadowed past - is a true thing. It is an evil thing, and yet it is a good thing. It is something to be held as a treasure and examined in the brightest light. The blackness of this knowledge cannot survive in the light, and the deeper wisdom will shine from within. That wisdom is the willingness to know right from wrong and the courage to act on the side of right.
Another lesson I learned is so obvious it needs to be explained. It is the idea that even though I am but a tiny speck in the vastness of the universe, and the span of my lifetime does not represent a single drop in the fathomless oceans of time, nevertheless my life can and does have a profound affect on the world. Yes, yes, I know, one person can make a difference, blah, blah, blah. But it is true. Not just the ones whose names strike a chord in history - for good or evil - but everyone, everyone makes a difference. Think of Deer Heart and Yellow Flower - think of Cau-kee-ca-mac. Think of the Six Sisters and Two Eagles. Even their deaths had meaning, and we are all benefiting from the memory of their lives. That means that everything I do - right down to which words I choose to put down in this blog - have meaning, and will have an impact, for better or worse. I hope that I have chosen words that heal more than they harm.
There is a saying that inside each of us there are two wolves battling each other. One is good. It is kind, caring, thoughtful, and loyal. One is evil. It is vicious, hateful, spiteful and treacherous. The one who wins? The one you feed.
So as I close the circle on this journey, indeed as I near the end of my Medicine Wheel, I know that my sacred duty is to pass on the knowledge and wisdom that I have gained, and to give others the best of what I have so that they too can live their lives in harmony with each other and with nature. Now more than ever, with so much hatred and evil in the world, we all have the individual responsibility to heal the earth and all the people in it.
No one person can heal the earth, but if you commit yourself to improving what is within your power to change, then everyone will benefit. Look beyond yourself, and look beyond your lifetime. Try to act with a vision of what your impact will be seven generations from now. If in your lifetime you teach five people to be more accepting and caring of others, and those five people each teach five more, then seven generations from now 100,000 people will hold this wisdom in their hearts. In this way, one person can change the world for the better.
I have journeyed all my life to find one of the sacred seeds of truth. I have planted it here, hoping that it will grow into a sacred tree and bear fruit of its own. I encourage you to go in search of your own sacred seeds, and nurture them, and together we will plant a sacred forest.
--------------------
Grandmother - I have searched for you all my life. I never learned the name you used in life, but I know who you are because you have watched over me, guiding my path, and you have led me to discover the sacred seed of truth that gives meaning to my life and peace to my spirit. In searching for you I have discovered who I am.
To honor your memory, and your life, I will call you Voice of my Heart, so that I may remember you, and those that hear of you may have a name to remember you by.
Voice of my Heart - how could you know that there would be an empty place inside of me that needed your strength, and wisdom and guidance? How could you know that unless I walked the path you walked in life, I would never know myself? Is it because you, too, found the sacred seed of truth by listening to your grandmothers? How you must be smiling now, knowing that I have finally found you, and discovered that you were always within me. I have heard you, Voice of my Heart, and I will never forget the love you have given me. Ah-ho.
(Key Terms: Ma-Ka-Tai-Me-She-Kia-Kiak, Black Sparrow Hawk, Black Hawk, 1767, Saukenuk, Pyesa, Rock Island, Black Hawk’s Watch Tower, Black Hawk State Historic Site, Hauberg Museum, Sauk, Sac, Meskwaki, Fox, Rock River, Sinnissippi River, Mississippi River, War of 1812, British Band, Great Britain, Treaty of 1804, Treaties, Ceded Land, William Henry Harrison, Quashquame, Keokuk, Fort Armstrong, Samuel Whiteside, Black Hawk War of 1832, Black Hawk Conflict, Scalp, Great Sauk Trail, Black Hawk Trail, Prophetstown, Wabokieshiek, White Cloud, The Winnebago Prophet, Ne-o-po-pe, Dixon’s Ferry, Isaiah Stillman, The Battle of Stillman’s Run, Old Man’s Creek, Sycamore Creek, Abraham Lincoln, Chief Shabbona, Felix St. Vrain, Lake Koshkonong, Fort Koshkonong, Fort Atkinson, Henry Atkinson, Andrew Jackson, Lewis Cass, Winfield Scott, Chief Black Wolf, Henry Dodge, James Henry, White Crow, Rock River Rapids, The Four Lakes, Battle of Wisconsin Heights, Benjamin Franklin Smith, Wisconsin River, Kickapoo River, Soldier’s Grove, Steamboat Warrior, Steamship Warrior, Fort Crawford, Battle of Bad Axe, Bad Axe Massacre, Joseph M. Street, Antoine LeClaire, Native American, Indian, Michigan Territory, Indiana Territory, Louisiana Territory, Osage, Souix, Potawatomi, Ojibwe, Ottawa, Ho-Chunk)
When I think of the Mississippi River, my mind conjures up
barges, unless I think about the ‘Olde’ Mississippi where the image changes to
paddlewheel steamboats. Taken together,
it’s obvious that my top-of-mind concept of the Mississippi is one of
transportation, travel, and commerce.
Everything that I have learned about the Native American peoples of the
early 1800s tells me that they also recognized the importance of the
river for transportation and commerce, but the similarities end there.
The Mississippi River of the 1830's bears little resemblance
to the one I grew up with. At that time
the waterway between Red Bird’s village in present-day Victory Wisconsin and
Makataimeshekiakiak’s village at the mouth of the Sinnissippi (Rock) River was
175 miles of muddy, meandering and criss-crossing channels through countless
sloughs and islands. As a natural
waterway, the river flowed with many forms and moods, at times deep and
forbidding, and in places shallow enough to wade across.
Today, the water is still muddy, but most of the islands are
gone. There are now seven dams blocking
the natural flow of water along this route; concrete and steel testaments to
the ambitions of man and commerce in pursuit of the almighty dollar. The first Lock and Dam system in the upper
Mississippi, Lock & Dam #2, opened for business in 1907 making it possible
to navigate the Mississippi river four miles further upstream to
Minneapolis. Lock & Dam # 1 was
originally scheduled to open in 1909, but a revised and more ambitious plan
called for the destruction of Lock & Dam #2 and the new project, complete
with hydro-electric generation was completed in 1917. Ever since then, the spirit and demeanor of
the upper Mississippi changed from a wild and lively colt freely roaming the
hills to a cantankerous caged stallion still capable of occasionally breaking
through the stall door.
Where Battle Island now sits the view across the Mississippi
River is broad and relatively free of islands.
This was not the view when Black Sparrow Hawk and his people arrived in
1832. Numerous islands, known as willow
islands, because that was the largest vegetation they would support, dotted
their way across the river, marking tantalizing stepping stones to
freedom. Many more of his band would
have survived if not for the arrival of the steam ship ‘Warrior’ to ferry men
from island to island where they could scour the undergrowth for
survivors.
One of the discoveries we made on our trip was The Great
River Road, as it’s known. It’s a
network of federal, state and local roads which hug the banks of the
Mississippi from Lake Itasca to the Gulf of Mexico. The route is over 2000 miles in length, a full
50% longer than comparable travel along the interstate highway system. This road system meanders almost as much as
the river itself, and lingers lovingly in small towns forgotten by its
straight, fast and four-lane brethren.
The Great River Road is meant to showcase the history and beauty of the
ten states that border the Mississippi from north to south and, if you are
limited to four-wheel transportation, is the next-best thing to rafting with
Huckleberry Finn. At times the roadway,
of necessity, takes the traveler away from the river itself and through the
surprisingly majestic bluffs that border the river, and at times hugs the
water’s edge like the lines on a state map.
No matter where we went, we enjoyed the time off the interstate
highways.
Ferryville, WI
A few
miles downriver from the Rush Creek State Natural Area we pulled into a town
called Ferryville, WI, and there was a great little concrete patio with flowers
and benches right across from Jake’s Sportsmans Bar and Grill. Aside from a state Historical Marker
extolling the history and virtues of the late Governor Patrick Lucey (he died
just a few months before our visit here) there is also a pair of signs showing
how the river has changed over the last 100 years or so. It is hard to imagine the river in its former
state, blanketed with trees and islands that no longer exist, but the photos
help the traveler slip back in time and see the river as it once was.
A Boat Ride
Bald Eagle
Eagle's Nest
Of course, no matter how much we enjoyed traveling the
roadside, darting along the water’s edge and up through the hills like
shearwaters and cliff swallows, our trip could not have been considered
complete without actually taking a boat ride.
One of our goals was to find places along the river that would appear
approximately the same now as it might have in Black Sparrow Hawk’s day. Of course this would not be possible without
getting off the pavement and onto the water, so we went to Prairie Du Chien and
boarded the Mississippi Explorer. I
would like to say that this was one of the highlights of our trip, but I’d be
lying. Though touted as being “#1 in
wildlife cruises on the Mississippi”, we were taken for a tour of all the
things that take away from the beauty of this once-proud river. Don’t get me wrong – the captain went to
great lengths to find an Eagle for us to see along the bluffs, and through a
backwater slough to see a large, active beaver lodge, but first we were guided
past barge-yards, shipping channels, the hulk of an old dredge boat, and one
large, active casino. We sat
cheek-to-jowl with about a hundred like-minded tourists each craning for a view
in the uncomfortable benches inside the boat.
We took several pictures, and I’ve shared some of them here, but the
Mississippi River as seen from the deck of this boat was a sincere
disappointment.
The trip was not a total loss, however. As always, one of the more interesting parts
of our journey was meeting the people who came to us and asked us for our
story. I say it that way because I did
not go out of my way to find people to talk to.
They just came to us, and asked us what we were doing. From there, the story just flowed out.
One such person was a fourth-grade teacher (I seem to have
met a lot of fourth-grade teachers on this trip!) who was actually looking for
new material to fill out her curriculum.
We gave her one of our cards for the blog, and I have a good feeling
that she was one of the many page views we got in August this year.
Even as I write this it occurs to me that this boat trip
would not have been possible without all those locks and dams. Personally, I would rather have been in a
canoe.
More about the Great River Road
One of the reasons the highway engineers could not lay the
roadways directly along the side of the river is that the railway beat them to
it. Laying to both sides of the great
waterway, within casting range in most places, is mile upon mile of
freight-bearing track, two sets of tracks on each side of the river to
accommodate trains in both directions. At
roughly 45 pounds per linear foot, this means each mile of waterway has
5,280*45*8 = almost two million pounds of steel. (That’s well over 500,000
kilos/kilometer.) I cannot fathom how
much road base crushed gravel was used to build this line, or conceive of the
number of trees cut down to produce the 12,000 8x8 ties per river mile.
All of this steel, gravel, and lumber combines to create a
zone of interference between the road traveler and the river which must be
crossed if one is to enjoy an unadulterated view of the waterway. There are certainly places along the river
where that is possible, and I have included a few of the pictures I took at
several such places.
Here are a few more shots from Pike’s Peak:
Here are some interesting flowers and lichens I saw on the way:
Here are some terrific shots of the river itself:
And some photos of the road and bluffs:
A Gift from Mother Earth - The Waters of Life
OK – so there’s a story with this last shot: My husband and
I were driving down one of the smaller roads near the river, and may I just say
the bluffs on our left were magnificent.
There is a reason these hills are largely untamed – they are
untamable. Oh, I suppose some
cliff-dwelling agoraphobic with more money than common sense could bolt a
McMansion onto one of these bluffs and even pay for a miles-long driveway to
claw their way back and forth from their garage to the paved roads of the
common people, but for all practical purposes these hills will remain as
unchanging living portraits of times long past.
As we were admiring the bluffs, we noticed the tell-tale bright
clover-green color of plants which only grow in crystal-pure, fresh spring
water. Of course, we stopped immediately
and then noticed that someone had placed a pipe into the hillside and hung a
ladle next to the steady trickle of water.
Thanks to their kindness we were able to easily fill our water bottles
and enjoy the pristine water that has probably been seeping out of this hillside
for thousands of years. It is one of
many thousands of springs just like it all along the river, but somehow the
added touch of putting the ladle there was special.
Fort Crawford Museum
If you have been reading my blog, it goes without saying
that the legend of Black Sparrow Hawk has grown substantially larger than
life. I have run across literally
hundreds of tangible references (bridges, businesses, creeks, streets, parks,
etc.) and thousands upon thousands of online resources to go with over 100
books that have been written about the man.
Everyone, it seems, wants to claim a piece of that history for their
own.
When we arrived in Prairie du Chien, we could not pass
without stopping at the Fort Crawford Museum.
It’s claim to fame is the iron bars which once were a part of the jail where
Black Hawk was briefly imprisoned in 1832 after his ‘surrender’ to Zachary
Taylor and the United States. Whether
Black Hawk was able to stand behind and grasp these bars as he looked out at
his jailers is unclear from the description on the accompanying plaque, but
they are an interesting and literal window to the past. By the time Black Hawk came here on August 27th,
the massacre had been over for weeks.
I stood briefly on one side of the prison bars and stared through as though they were between me and my freedom. Perhaps Makataimeshekiakiak was standing there with me. One thing I have come to learn is that even if there had been no bars, he would not have left. It wouldn’t have been honorable. I stepped out from behind the bars and freed myself from the past. It was time to move on.
Inside the museum, (it will cost you $5 per person to enter) there are a small number of exhibits loosely associated with Black Hawk. These are the white man’s histories of the area and the interactions with the Native Americans, and the information is notably biased in its perspective. A key example is the legend of the great cottonwood tree that once stood in the center of one of the town’s main streets. The legend is that Black Hawk spent several days hiding in this tree before his eventual surrender, an obvious and ludicrous fabrication, but people will tell their stories.
I remember another story I heard about the killing field at
Bad Axe – there was a legend that two of the soldiers had been buried with a
sizable amount of silver, and that someone had planted a tree by their
grave. Later, it was said, those who
buried them returned and dug up the treasure.
Impossible? Not really, but I
have yet to see the soldier who carries a large amount of treasure with him as
he tromps through unexplored mountains, thickets and swamps.
Sculpture Park, Prairie du Chien
Inspiration is a fabulous thing. It is the inner voice that tells us to
convert a thought or idea into a reality.
Life, and art, is hard work. It
takes dedication and perseverance. In
Prairie du Chien there is a place called ‘Sculpture Park’, which is the
personal showcase for local artist Florence Bird. In the park are numerous bronze sculptures
depicting historical figures from the area.
The very first sculpture was of Black Sparrow Hawk, and it was dedicated
in October of 2005.
Prayer Flag
As I stood looking at the statue, I centered my thoughts on
all that I knew of Black Hawk and his people.
The statue is life-sized, and shows a weathered but proud and resolute
Indian leader of men, wearing clothing that looks like it was pulled from
history, draped on the statue and turned to bronze. He is staring forward, and walking with grim
determination towards an uncertain future.
This, truly, was the man as he marched towards Fort Crawford in
1832.
I felt very close to Black Hawk at that moment. Whether I became as still as the statue, or
whether the statue came to life, we were temporarily at the same point in the
universe.
“Look over there,” my husband said.
Flying low and slow over the fields was a Red-Tailed Hawk,
heading towards us. I stood and smiled
as it flew over, and when it sounded its screaming cry and flew away I got a
lump in my throat and chills down my spine.
It was a good day!
Oh! Great River!
River of Strength – River of Pain – River of Sorrow– River of Time– River of Life
River of Love – River of Hope – River of Dreams
– River of Healing – River of Creation
When the soul of a river is weeping, who but the Great Spirit
can count its tears?
The lives of men and beasts have struggled, raged, and ended
while your peaceful waters flowed. The greatest of oaks have risen from the earth, grown fat
upon your endless flow and then slowly returned to the soil, and still you rolled
on, undaunted and unoffended.
You have written your history into the stones of the earth, and
moved mountains with the sweep of your graceful arms. You were born of the glaciers, and have felt
the tread of mastodons and saber-tooth cats, and have outlived all of them,
stronger now than ever.
I am but one small being, with a small voice, but I shout out
to you now with all the strength in my soul.
I cannot count your tears, but I can feel your pain. Let my love, and my joy, and my happiness, and my
strength be like antivenin in your blood.
Let me be a conduit for the healing energies of the earth and for all
those who believe we must heal the rivers and oceans before all is lost.
Let my one small voice ring with the
bell-tone of millions if that will mean we can slow, and stop, and reverse the
terrible pain we have caused you. May you once
again dance across the land, cured of your sadness, and may you live to see the
very stones of the earth erode to tiny grains of sand then form again into
rock.
(Key Terms: Ma-Ka-Tai-Me-She-Kia-Kiak, Black Sparrow Hawk, Black Hawk, 1767, Saukenuk, Pyesa, Rock Island, Black Hawk’s Watch Tower, Black Hawk State Historic Site, Hauberg Museum, Sauk, Sac, Meskwaki, Fox, Rock River, Sinnissippi River, Mississippi River, War of 1812, British Band, Great Britain, Treaty of 1804, Treaties, Ceded Land, William Henry Harrison, Quashquame, Keokuk, Fort Armstrong, Samuel Whiteside, Black Hawk War of 1832, Black Hawk Conflict, Scalp, Great Sauk Trail, Black Hawk Trail, Prophetstown, Wabokieshiek, White Cloud, The Winnebago Prophet, Ne-o-po-pe, Dixon’s Ferry, Isaiah Stillman, The Battle of Stillman’s Run, Old Man’s Creek, Sycamore Creek, Abraham Lincoln, Chief Shabbona, Felix St. Vrain, Lake Koshkonong, Fort Koshkonong, Fort Atkinson, Henry Atkinson, Andrew Jackson, Lewis Cass, Winfield Scott, Chief Black Wolf, Henry Dodge, James Henry, White Crow, Rock River Rapids, The Four Lakes, Battle of Wisconsin Heights, Benjamin Franklin Smith, Wisconsin River, Kickapoo River, Soldier’s Grove, Steamboat Warrior, Steamship Warrior, Fort Crawford, Battle of Bad Axe, Bad Axe Massacre, Joseph M. Street, Antoine LeClaire, Native American, Indian, Michigan Territory, Indiana Territory, Louisiana Territory, Osage, Souix, Potawatomi, Ojibwe, Ottawa, Ho-Chunk)
