Author: baraimondomecom

I have just read a fascinating account of a woman who, among other things, lived for 12 years on a cave. On purpose! Or, to fulfill a purpose, you might say.

Diane Perry was born in London in 1943. Her father ran a fish and seafood shop. Her mother stayed home and raised Diane and her brother. Everything looked pretty typical from the outside. But from the inside, Diane’s inside, to be more specific, it was not. Diane never felt as though she belonged there. She liked being alone and was drawn to the food, customs, and culture of the East, even though she did not know anyone from that part of the world. She also knew that when she grew up she wanted to be a nun, although she did not know exactly what that entailed. 

Her mother was a spiritualist, holding seances in her home and seemingly communicating with beings who, well, were not in the room. Combined with her natural curiosity, this led Diane to all sorts of unanswerable questions like “Is there a God?” “Why do we suffer?”  “How do we become perfect?”

Then, as an eighteen year old she borrowed a library book titled Mind Unshaken by John Walters. Halfway through reading it she announced “I’m a Buddhist.”

This guided her on a path of learning and discovery that would last to this day. (And, as she believes, will continue into her subsequent incarnations.) She moved to India, partnered with a guru, and became ordained as a Buddhist nun (the first Western woman to do so), receiving the name Drubgyu Tenzin Palmo. She lived in a monastery for six years, the only woman in a group of 100. Then her teacher suggested she go up into the mountains of northern India, where she could focus on her spiritual development. With others, she identified a cave at 13,200 feet elevation which, with a little improvement, became her abode. She spent the next 12 years there, growing her food, hauling her water, and sleeping in a two and a half foot by two and a half foot meditation box. She spent most of her time in meditation, with the last three years in full retreat. This meant total isolation.

We don’t know much about the nature of her spiritual experience during those years, because that is not something she chose to talk about. She did say there were times when she felt like her body was flying, when she experienced “incredible awareness and clarity when everything becomes very vivid,” and she felt “bliss.” The goal of all of this was to understand the nature of the mind. 

After all that time, what pulled her out of her retreat? Boredom? Hunger? Cold?

No, it was the police knocking at her door (rock?), informing her that she had to leave India because her visa had expired. The domain of bureaucracy had intruded on the realm of introspection. But it was just as well, because she was ready to get back to the West, to learn more about where she had come from.

She settled in Assisi, Italy and soon began enjoying pasta and tiramisu (good choices!). She studied history, philosophy, and music. When others got whiff of where she was they began inviting her to teach and present at conferences. She has always been interested in – and disappointed by – the role of women in Buddhism. She had seen that they neither received the same respect as men, nor did they have equal opportunities to learn or practice. She wanted to rectify that. So, dedicated to the path as ever, she went on a world-wide tour in support of a new nunnery. The logistics of establishing such an edifice were astounding. There was financing to be found, land to be bought, building permits to be obtained, and architectural plans to be developed. But Tenzin Palmo was not deterred. She had the resolve to make it happen.

The Dongyu Gatsal Ling Nunnery recently celebrated its 25^th anniversary. There are 115 nuns from Tibet and the Himalayan border regions, living, studying, and practicing there. Tenzin Palmo (now Jetsunma, a term applied to revered teachers and practitioners), a modest woman with no money and virtually no belongings, has changed the course of history for adherents of her practice. It is remarkable to think about what one person can accomplish when she possesses discipline, dignity, and determination. 

At last count there have been 287 law suits filed against the current presidential administration. As far as I can tell, each alleges a violation of one or more constitutional rights. With so much legal wrangling going on it’s hard to pick a favorite. But I believe I have identified one: the lawsuit being brought by the American Bar Association (ABA). 

The ABA is the largest association of lawyers in the United States and describes itself this way: 

The ABA was founded in 1878 on a commitment to set the legal and ethical foundation for the American nation. Today, it exists as a membership organization and stands committed to its mission of defending liberty and pursuing justice. 

Its goals are to: 

• defend liberty and pursue justice; 
• advocate for the legal profession; 
• eliminate bias and enhance diversity; 
• serve its members; and 
• advance the rule of law. 

Recently the current presidential administration issued a series of executive orders about ideas it doesn’t like: free and fair voting, climate change, independent scientific research, and many more. It also released a slew of executive orders against law firms who have taken positions it doesn’t like. Some of these law firms have compromised their principals in order to go along with the president, agreeing to change their activities and to donate millions of dollars in pro bono (that is, free) legal services to the president. Some have refused.

The willingness of law firms to kowtow to the executive office is deeply alarming. If lawyers are not defending the rule of law, who is? The current president has a long list of people he considers enemies, such as officials who worked under President Biden, attorneys who prosecuted the rioters who stormed the Capitol on January 6, 2021 (the president pardoned the insurrectionists); and his own former administrators. Without anyone to defend them, how will the rights of these individuals be protected? After the administration is done with them, who is next? A country without effective lawyering is one where we are all subject to abuse and worse.

So I was grateful to see the ABA step up. The ABA is quite inclusive regarding the range of defendants it names. It is suing the president and 18 departments and agencies and their heads, including the Department of Justice, Office of Management and Budget, Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, General Services Administration, Office of the Director of National Intelligence, and more. 

The complaint alleges that the president has “used the vast powers of the Executive Branch to coerce lawyers and law firms to abandon clients, causes, and policy positions the President does not like.” It says:

The Administration has carried out this policy (the “Law Firm Intimidation Policy” or “Policy”) through: 

• a series of materially identical executive orders designed to severely damage particular law firms and intimidate other firms and lawyers (the “Law Firm Orders”); 

• a series of similar “deals” or “settlements” between the Administration and certain law firms in order to avoid such Orders or have them rescinded; 

• other related executive orders, letters, and memoranda . . . ; 

• and public statements by the President and his Administration publicizing the objectives of the Law Firm Intimidation Policy. 

The complaint details the series of steps the administration has taken against firms it doesn’t like. Sanctions against the law firms include those related to security clearance, government contracts, and federal employment – basically, attempting to obstruct their ability to represent clients, thus forcing them to discontinue their practice of law. 

The complaint explains that while some firms did not collaborate with the administration and instead, sued, many others went along with it in order to “attempt to avoid becoming the next target.” This resulted in firms agreeing to stop what the president wanted them to stop, such as diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives, and agreeing to donate hundreds of millions of dollars of free legal service. This despite the fact that there is “there is nothing stopping the government from returning to target [these firms] in the future.”

The allegation that sent the most chills up my spine was “The Law Firm Intimidation Policy has successfully coerced much of the profession to forego constitutionally protected activity, including litigation against the Administration.” Think about that for a minute:

Some of the top lawyers in our nation are now afraid to exercise their own constitutional rights.

The founders of our nation created a Constitution and included a Bill of Rights (safeguarding free speech, freedom of the press, due process of law, and other civil liberties) to shield everyday people – that’s you and me – from a tyrannical king. If there is no one left to enforce these rights, our system of government – and our nation as we know it – is over. Gone. Kaput. The ABA has got to win this one.

I will be following this case closely. May the outcome support our Constitution, protect our rights, and put an end to these egregious attempts to destroy our democracy.

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You will not find photos of my yard on gardening websites. Neighbors do not stop by marveling at the profusion of flowers grown at the hands of my green thumb. I do not need to cut back my azaleas because they are taking over. 

The soil in my yard is clay-ey and full of rocks, the lawn full of weeds, and the sun passes over without making a stop. Plus the area is so big as to make the whole prospect of gardening overwhelming. That doesn’t stop me from trying. I plant stuff every year, and sometimes the trees or flowers survive into the next year. Yay! From time to time plants and shrubs that I can’t identify take root. Probably most of these would be considered weeds (poison ivy, anyone?), but as long as they are not dead I leave them alone. Come to think of it, I leave the dead stuff alone too.

My yard has an interesting feature. I have two stone benches positioned over some tiles, which face an upraised rock with some flowers growing around it. It was put in by the previous home owners as a memorial to their daughter who died at a young age. It serves as a reminder to me that life is fleeting. 

Like the rest of my grounds, this section is nothing to crow about. Clay-ey soil, lotsa rocks, weeds, etc. With so much else not going on in my yard I hadn’t paid a lot of attention to its upkeep.

A few years ago one of my neighbors asked me if it would be all right if she sat and rested on one of the benches while she was out for a walk. She said she was getting really tired on her afternoon strolls. “Of course!” I answered. “You don’t have to ask!”

I don’t know if she ever took her break on the bench, but not too long after that she passed away. 

I decided that I wanted to make sure that anyone who wanted to sit and rest would feel comfortable doing it. 

First of all, speaking of comfort, there was the question of the stone. Not too appealing to your tush. So I bought a couple of cushions. Then there was the matter of how would people know it was okay to sit? Most walkers-by would not just roam into someone’s yard and park their butt on their bench. So I had a sign made that said “Need a rest? Have a seat!” Then the hard part: it really is not that inviting an area. I wish it was lush with the aforesaid azaleas, a smattering of  snapdragons, maybe even a bed of roses. But, as I have already described, clay-ey soil, rocks, etc. Nonetheless, I have been working on the space. I laid a simple stone pathway from the street leading to the bench. I planted a few trees and shrubs. (I practically broke my shovel digging into the ground.) I picked up a bunch of random sticks. Still, it was not that beautiful. What to do? Finally I decided to take that approach that it might not be much, but I am offering it in good faith, and anyway, it’s all I got.

I still have not seen anyone sitting there. Maybe ramblers still are reluctant to march into a stranger’s yard and make themselves at home. Maybe they wouldn’t mind someplace nice, but my little cove doesn’t measure up. Or maybe nobody gets tired. 

I realize that maybe I am just doing this for myself. It’s possible that no one else notices or cares. I think that is all right. To nurture a welcoming idea, to care for plants that are just getting started and need protection, to extend what I own for others – I think it is all worthwhile.

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Last weekend I traveled to Mathews, Virginia, a tiny little town (population 1145) on the beautiful and peaceful Chesapeake Bay in Virginia. I was there for an organized bike ride, the Tour de Chesapeake, which has been hosted by the town for many years. Lots of itty bitty towns host rides, or races, or other events to bring tourists into the area, show off the sites, and bring in a little revenue. It’s fun to visit someplace new, seeing it all from the saddle of a bike.

The event was well organized with lots of friendly volunteers, well-stocked rest stops, the best pound cake I have ever eaten, and even free camping! 

The hub for the event was Thomas Hunter Middle School. That’s where you picked up your registration packet and goodies like t-shirts, maps of the route, mementos, and the like. The camping area was behind the building.

The school has an interesting legacy. The first Thomas Hunter School was built in 1926-27 for black children, who were prohibited from attending school with white children. It was named for a formerly enslaved man. 

The original structure was assembled with funds raised mostly by the black community. Additional money came from white individuals and the Julius Rosenwald Fund. Julius Rosenwald was President of Sears, Roebuck back in the day, which was then wildly successful. As a result, Rosenwald became extremely wealthy. Unlike some of the rich men who make headlines today, Rosenwald spent much of his fortune helping others. For example, he supported the causes of the African American community, such as the NAACP, Historically Black Colleges and Universities, and schools in communities with a high percentage of black students. The latter were known as “Rosenwald Schools.” 

In the lobby of the school was displayed a photo of a beloved principal of the school, who served for 28 years, J. Murray Brooks. He was black.

This institution developed out of partnerships and care for students who were being overlooked and neglected by the majority culture. It felt comforting and welcoming to be in a school with this kind of history.

That’s why it came as a shock to see the massive memorial to the Confederacy just across the street. A towering flagpole bearing a Confederate flag anchored the site. Below stood four statues: two of soldiers in uniform, one of a woman in a long dress, and one of Jesus. Yes, that Jesus. Beside it was a sign proclaiming “April is Confederate History and Heritage Month.” (It was mid-May.)

I nearly crashed my bike. 

Later I learned that the monument was built by private citizens – not at the end of the Civil War – but in 2024, 159 years after the Confederacy was defeated.

How could this celebration of slavery be parked across the street from a community facility with a history of supporting black children? Why would someone target youth with their message of racism? Why is our country moving in the direction of exclusion and divisiveness? Is that good for anyone?

I was at least glad to see the when the monument was erected, staff at the school “love bombed” the students in an attempt to soften the oppressive experience. 

The world that I want to live in has more love bombers and Julius Rosenwalds and fewer haters. I won’t be back for the Tour de Chesapeake, but I will work with people trying to make a positive change to have a go at healing our troubled country. 

These are tough times. Seems like tried and true principles are burning down around us. Chaos is rampant. Anxiety is everywhere. Key leaders are failing us. Whom can we look to for inspiration?

I’m lucky enough to be in a book group with a lot of smart women. One of the books we have been reading is “Be Free or Die: The Amazing Story of Robert Smalls’ Escape from Slavery to Union Hero” by Cate Lineberry. If you need an example of someone who overcame great odds to do great things, Smalls is the big guy.

Robert Smalls was born into slavery in 1839 in Beaufort, South Carolina. Growing up, he witnessed the savageries of enslavement: whippings, the placing of people in stocks for hours at a time, deprivation of food and water, separation of families, and other brutality. 

His enslaver, Henry McKee, saw potential in Robert, and took steps that benefitted them both. He sent him to Charleston, a busy city on the water, and hired him out, allowing him to keep a small portion of his wages while McKee took the rest. Smalls was smart and ambitious, and was able to influence McKee to allow him increasing opportunity. From the age of twelve on, Robert held jobs as a waiter in a hotel, as a lamplighter, and a loader on the docks. Later a schooner owner hired him as a sailor. He married an enslaved woman, and they had a child. He wanted to buy the freedom of his wife and child, but the cost seemed insurmountable. Plus, he would still be a slave himself. How would he be able to remove his family from this life of servitude?

This was a grueling period in our nation’s history. South Carolina was the first state to secede after the election of President Abraham Lincoln in 1860. Union troops then occupied Fort Sumter. South Carolina believed that the Union had no right to inhabit the space, since South Carolina was no longer a part of the Union. As a result, a standoff ensued between state and federal soldiers, which lasted for many months. As time went on, more southern states joined South Carolina in seceding. In March 1861, Confederate forces attacked Fort Sumter, thus setting off the Civil War. 

Smalls watched with growing concern. He could not see how he could obtain the freedom of his family under these circumstances. 

By May of 1862 he had worked his way up to become the captain of a Confederate ship, the Planter. It was here that he had an idea. I know, he thought, I’ll just take over the ship and pilot it on over the to the Union side.

Oh, sure. Obviously, the stakes were high. He had to pass through the heavily militarized area off the coast. He had to fool the Confederates into thinking he was a white captain. He had to hope that Union ship personnel would avoid attacking a vessel from the Confederacy coming in their direction. He could easily be killed any step of the way. Was it worth it? Was it even possible?

Smalls’ bravery and determined pursuit of freedom won out. Unbelievably, he and the Planter made it to a Union ship unscathed. The Planter was carrying precious cargo – his family, several other enslaved people, massive amounts of Confederate weaponry, and a book translating the coded messages the Confederates used in flag communications. While he was relieved over the safe passage of the people with him, Union leadership was grateful for the strategic advantages he brought.

Smalls went on to actively support the Union and anti-slavery efforts. He convinced Lincoln to allow Blacks to serve as soldiers. He continued piloting vessels for the Union side. He raised money to support formerly enslaved people. After the Civil War, he started a business, published a newspaper, and was elected to Congress. He bought McKee’s home, which was being sold for back taxes. He invited McKee’s widow and some of her children to come live with him, which they did. However, they would not eat with him. Smalls met this snub with kindness and graciousness. Later he gave the family money and helped one member be accepted into the U.S. Naval Academy. It seems that while being daring and courageous, he was also compassionate and empathetic.

It is easy to see the hard things around us and feel stymied. Let us look to a hero like Smalls who saw a narrow path to freedom and took it, worked to build a better way for others, and kept his humanitarian spirit in the face of ugliness. Let us not give up, but move forward with determination and grace.

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And of course, it would not be a trip to South Dakota without stopping by the Corn Palace. As in, the world’s only corn palace. No, it is not made out of corn, it is an homage to corn. An homage to corn as a way of getting attention. Seems that back in the day many mid-Western cities built one corn palace or another to publicize the city and its goods. According to Wikipedia, From 1887 to 1930, at least thirty-four corn palaces were built across the Midwest United States. Only the Mitchell Corn Palace has remained intact. That’s some staying power. Today you don’t even have to go to Mitchell to see it, you can just watch the Corn Cam from the comfort of your Lazy Boy. But you should go anyway.

So, what does a corn palace actually do? Well, it stands on the street looking exotic and interesting, what with its onion-shaped domes and its multiple murals made from a range of corn colors. Inside there are more corn-based works of art and a gym that hosts concerts and basketball games, including those of the Mitchell, South Dakota Kernels. Haha, the Kernels! There is a detailed timeline of the history of the place stretching along the walls. There is also a gift shop, where you can buy tote bags that say “World’s Only Corn Palace,” mugs that say “World’s Only Corn Palace,” t-shirts that say “World’s Only Corn Palace,” and hats that look like dinosaurs. 

After we had our fill it was time to pop over to another midwestern gem, the City of Fountains, the Cradle of Jazz, birthplace of the Money Museum, and home of Taylor Swift’s boyfriend’s football team. Kansas City, here I come!

We ate a grown-up dinner there. There is apparently a famous chef called Lidia, and she owns a famous restaurant called Lidia’s. RunningBarb is more of a Chipotle kinda girl, what with their “lifestyle bowls” and guacamole made from unrotten avocados, not like the kind you get in the grocery store. You know, you buy one when it feels almost ripe, bring it home and let it age for a couple of days, all the time holding back on eating those chips, then when the fruit seems like just the right degree of soft, you cut it open and see the entire inside is black. No, the Chipotle guac is superior to the kind you make at home with a decomposing piece of fruit.

But that is not the point. The point is, we went to a restaurant for physically matured human beings. It was quite glamourous. There were words on the menu written in Italian, like arancini, secondi, and salmone, with an e. The waiter was a real waiter. He did not call us “guys.” He did not ask us if we were “still workin’ on it.” He did not try to wrestle my plate out of my hands before I was finished eating. Has that ever happened to you? I’ve got half a mashed potato that I’m still “workin’ on,” and the waiter thinks I am done and tries to rip my plate out of my white-knuckled hands while asking “Are you guys ready for the check?” This is unacceptable. If I am still shoveling food in my mouth, by definition I am still eating. 

But at Lidia’s we experience the hallmark of good food and good service.  

Speaking of which, did you know Kansas City is the base of Hallmark cards? Yes, those sweet, adorable, endearing, cute, darling, charming, get-me-some-insulin-now missives that we send to family and friends. We totally had to tour the visitor center. We learned that the story of its founding was – well – Hallmarkian. We [d]iscover[ed] how an ambitious teenage boy from Nebraska tucked two shoeboxes of postcards under his arms and set out to create an iconic company in Kansas City. And now they make wrapping paper with a little grid on the back so you can cut it straight and make your gift look fabulous. Top it off with a free bow you get from the clever visitor center bow machine, and Bob’s your uncle.

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Setting out from the west end of South Dakota heading east you see nothing but wide blue skies, cottony white clouds, dry endless rolling hills, and an incalculable number of billboards for Wall Drug. In fact, advertisements for Wall Drug start as far away as Greybull, Wyoming, 394 miles west of the place. North of Wall, signs can be found along I-90 from Minnesota to Billings, Montana. You can’t say you didn’t know.

What is Wall Drug? According to Wall Drug, Wall Drug is “a souvenir destination,” “a piece of South Dakota history,” and “a memory in the making.” In layman’s terms, it is a tourist attraction where you can buy lots of stuff. Like tote bags that say “Wall Drug,” mugs that say “Wall Drug,” t-shirts that say “Wall Drug,” and hats that look like dinosaurs. Despite the excitement, RunningBarb can honestly say that this is the kind of place you only need to visit once in your life.

And then we were headed off to the geological formation that gave the town its name, the “Badlands Wall.” The barrier rose up from and along the valley at the bottom. We free-camped on the edge of it. From that spot you could look down into the vast brown floor beneath. We watched a vivid colorful sunset and then hunkered down for the night. Once the orange ball disappeared the wind kicked up. It blew wildly in the dark. It never let up.

And haven’t you always wanted to visit places with the word “bad” in them? The Badwater Basin in Death Valley, Bad Axe, Michigan, and in South Dakota, Badlands National Park. What makes them so bad? According to the National Park Service, it is a place of extremes: Extreme hot in the summer, extreme cold in the winter, extreme mud when it rains, extreme dry as a bone when it is dry. Indigenous people lived there only part-time, and later, white settlers struggled to make a living there, even with heaps of government support. Total Little House on the Prairie.

We spent some time in Badlands, hiking across the beige barren terrain, climbing up to the overlooks, and viewing the bighorn sheep, which survive and thrive even in the harshest environments. They look so relaxed.

Satisfied that we had experienced the Badlands without anything – well – bad happening to us, we continued on to the tiny town of Chamberlain. Despite its miniscule size, it has a lot going on. For one, it has the South Dakota Hall of Fame, where famous children of the state have their time to shine. Some you might know, like Tom Brokaw and George McGovern. But how about Grace Fairchild, who was a community leader back in 1902? What about Bruce Bad Moccasin, who worked to improve the lives of native people? And there is also Ben Soukup, known to many of us through his work advocating for the rights of deaf people. We could have spent all day there learning about these committed and interesting people. But then we would have missed the Dignity: of Earth & Sky sculpture towering over interstate. And downtown Chamberlain, where we got lost in a sea of antiques and interesting artifacts, such as dress patterns from the 1970s like your mom used to use, boys’ toy cars from the 1940s (they were always for boys back then), and Smith-Corona typewriters from who knows when. I purchased a Thanksgiving memento of our trip – a couple of ceramic turkey candleholders – and later looked back fondly when the day rolled around. Memories!

Another great thing about Chamberlain is that the city will give you a hunk of free land just for moving there. 

Ah, South Dakota. Land of “Great Faces. Great Places.” Where the population is 10 people per square mile, the state fossil is triceratops, and the state nosh is chislic.

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There is another guy carved way up there on a mountain, who does not receive as much attention as the four on the (Mount Rush) more. He is bigger, has been in the making for much longer, and is not even finished.

The story of the Crazy Horse Memorial is wild. Seems that back in 1939, a Polish sculptor living in Boston, Korczak Ziolkowski, won accolades for his work at the World’s Fair. This attracted the attention of Chief Henry Standing Bear, a member of the Lakota tribe in South Dakota. Chief Standing Bear approached Ziolkowski with the idea of carving Crazy Horse out of a mountain in the Black Hills. Crazy Horse was a revered Lakota leader who led his people to victory over General Custer at the Battle of Little Big Horn. 

Ziolkowski was honored to be asked, and agreed to carve the monument. Oh, and there were a few matters that needed to be addressed before the work on the mountain started.

One, there were no roads leading to the site.

Two, there was no place for Ziolkowski to live in the area.

Three, the land envisioned for the site was owned by others.

Four, there was no money to pay Ziolkowski or additional hands working on the project.

It kind of went on that way for a while. But Ziolkowski was undeterred. He built a road, put up a house, negotiated purchase of the land, and started a dairy farm to establish an income. His future wife, Ruth Ross, followed him out there. Together they had 10 children, who helped with all the work, and some of whom are involved in the project today. 

Construction on the project has been going on for 70-some years, and there is no completion date in view. 

There is more to see in the area than the remarkable carving. A Native American museum, which includes thousands of artifacts from the area, is located on-site. It provides a colorful education of the history of the original people in the Black Hills. There is also a small educational facility for Native students, and the Memorial holds cultural events throughout the year.

I was impressed with the Fitzcarraldo-like tenacity of Ziolkowski and the rich amount of information presented at the museum and out-buildings. I learned a lot of history. I valued being able to view the intricate craftsmanship of the various headdresses, robes, jewelry, and ceremonial items. I felt enthusiastic about being there.

But not for long.

Indigenous people have had their language, culture, and spirituality ripped from them. Most of them are gone now, victims of genocide. Within the communities that are left today are high rates of unemployment, poor health care, violence against women, and other scourges. I felt uneasy celebrating their past. These two feelings – appreciation and regret – sat with me.

After a couple of days in the South Unit we decided to show some love to the North one. I guess a lot of people think if you tick off a visit to the South Unit only, that counts. Not RunningBarb! She refused to just walk on by the cannonball concretions in the north. The what? Concretions are hard mineral masses found in sedimentary rock or soil. Over time the soft material around the hard substance erodes, exposing the hard body. In Theodore Roosevelt National Park many of the exposed concretions are round, leading to the name “cannonball concretions.” They look like giant orbs dropped by some extraterrestrial juggler.  

Another day, another hike through the grassy plains, up a ridge, through the dry hills, around a loop, and back. We thought the South Unit was empty, but we practically had this place to ourselves. Just us, the dirt, the sky. No thought of doing anything else. Serenity.

After our mesmerizing stay in North Dakota, we headed south to its neighbor. One of our first stops was Spearfish, where they have a canyon, waterfalls, ice climbing, skiing, and a hipster downtown. If you didn’t know you were in South Dakota you’d think you were in Colorado. Next off to Custer State Park. Bison a-GAIN! And more hiking and seeing the beautiful wonderland and breathing the clean air and feeling the cool breeze on your face. 

Then there was the mammoth site. There is a spot in Hot Spring, South Dakota, that holds the bones of more than 60 Columbian mammoths. 

It started out as a normal day in June 1974 for George Hanson, what with getting the kids off to school, packing a ham sandwich, and digging up the ground for a new housing development. Things went sideways when his backhoe struck something odd. Was it a cannonball concretion? A Singer sewing machine? An electric can opener? It was none of these. It was the giant tusk of a large animal. George’s son had taken classes with the famous paleontologist Larry Agenbroad, and George met Larry (this was before Harry met Sally), who began digging into things, so to speak. It’s not what you know, it’s who (really, whom – don’t get me started) you know, right? He and others eventually unearthed quite a menagerie. The way those beasts got there was kind of sad, for them. There was a big sinkhole surrounded by grass. The animals would eat the grass, slide into the sinkhole, and be unable to get out. Then they perished.

However, their misfortune became science’s treasure.  

While South Dakota may be famous for the old bones below the earth, it is also well-known for the ones above it, figuratively speaking. I refer to, of course, Mount Rushmore National Memorial, home of the profile carvings of Presidents Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Lincoln. Also, home to one of the largest parking garages in South Dakota! The thing goes on forever. Which shows you how popular this place is, with 2.4 million visitors per year. Compare that to the 600,000 at Theodore Roosevelt National Park. While the story of how the Memorial came to be is interesting, and the description of how they built the thing are mountain- and mind-blowing, I did not find that looking at the four faces grabbed my attention or drew me in. My big source of curiosity was “Why does Jefferson look like he is at the back of the pack, squirming to get in front?” Turns out he originally was designed to pose on Washington’s right, but the rock there didn’t work out, so they squeezed him in on the big guy’s left. And that’s how he went down in history. Isn’t that just how it works out sometimes?

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Next off to Lead, home to many interesting South Dakota sites, my favorite being SURF. SURF stands for Sanford Underground Research Facility, a lab 4850 feet (that’s 1478 meters for you international readers) underground. They call it “deep science.” Ah, deep in so many ways, and what a sense of humor. What do they do there? RunningBarb will let them explain:

America’s Underground Lab hosts world-leading experiments deep underground, seeking answers to some of the most profound mysteries of the universe.

Scientists study mysterious particles like neutrinos and dark matter deep underground where a mile of rock shields experiments from cosmic radiation that constantly bombards Earth.

Okay, now RB is not going to expound upon all of that right here right now, but here’s the thing. This site started out as the Homestake Gold Mine in 1877. From that time through 2001 it produced more than 2.7 million pounds (that’s 1.24 million kilograms for you international readers) of gold. It was the largest and deepest gold mine in the Western Hemisphere. It was the second-largest gold producer in the United States.

But times change, and it reached a point where it was no longer economically viable. So now there is a giant hole in the ground filled with toxic material. What to do?

Enter some very smart people with new ideas, and it was rejuvenated in 2007 as a location for various science projects. Later, in 2011 it was transferred to the Department of Energy as the Sanford Underground Research Facility (SURF). It now hosts the Large Underground Xenon experiment (LUX), the Majorana Demonstrator, and the Deep Underground Neutrino Experiment (DUNE). 

If want to know what neutrinos and dark matter and all that other stuff are, please read someone else’s blog.

What RB can tell you is that if you want to study that kind of stuff (and who doesn’t) you’ve gotta go where the sun don’t shine. That’s because cosmic radiation can interfere with the observation of these phenomena. (And you are going to have to go somewhere else for that explanation also.) 

However, the visitor center has all sorts of cool displays and videos describing the history of the place and the work currently being undertaken. You can learn a lot there. Like, dark matter is everywhere! And neutrinos are passing through you every second of the day! Also, you can see the gaping hole in the earth caused by all those years of digging and digging deeper. Very odd to witness all that environmental damage yet know that if the mine hadn’t been there most likely the lab would not be, and then we would not be learning all this scientific stuff and understanding the universe a little bit better. 

So, yesterday’s worn out gold mine became the site of some of today’s mind-blowing scientific discoveries. What a world. 

Thanks for reading!

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