I was wrong, entirely.
Little Big Horn is sacred ground. The visitors, including children, were hushed, respectful, almost reverential. No music, no earbuds, no sibling squabbling. The only sounds were the calls of the prairie birds, the clicking of cameras, and whispered conversation.
The memorial marker is on a hilltop, the highest point for miles around, on a never ending treeless prairie. White stone markers tell where the soldiers and civilians fell. Granite markers tell where native warriors fell. The markers dot the landscape.
We stood where 7,000 died.
On the walk back to the parking lot I passed a young Indian. He was tall, lean, with braided black hair. He was standing near a group of markers, quietly chanting.
It was very moving.
Nicely written. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteWow I really admire you man. This is one spot I always wanted to visit. To come to the "Greasey Grass" and walk where Custer and Reno and Benteen and Crazy Horse and Gall and Sitting Bull once fought to the death. Way cool.
ReplyDeleteIn your honor I will be doing a whole bunch of calvary posts. Ride safe dude.
I've been there, almost exactly this time of year too.
ReplyDeleteI was driving across the country from Spokane to Boston to get married and I made it to the rest stop near Little Big Horn on the first day.
I slept in the car and dreamed of the history that took place near by.
17 years ago, almost to the day.