Leaving Keystone

We spent the last two nights in Keystone, South Dakota.  Keystone is a family orientated, tourist town about two miles from Mt. Rushmore.  According to the counter girl at the Iron Horse Coffee Company, where shots of espresso are Fifty Cents! Keystone takes pains to remain family friendly.  So no hard liquor, which is surprising as we passed numerous drive up liquor stores before arriving in Keystone!  Homer was pacified with the beer they did offer, the wine was worse than the cheap stuff at fraternity parties, and  the ice tea was below average, but we did not come to drink now, did we? 

No, we came to see Mt. Rushmore and the work on Crazy Horse.  We learned that the sculptor, Gutzon Borglum, created no less than nine working models, that each was with out exact detail, as he had to wait and see what the rock offered once the blasting was complete.  That he worked with what nature gave him to create his ultimate master piece; that, without his “Men of the Mountain” and his son Lincoln that the monument would never have been completed.  The lesson is easy to understand but hard to achieve.

With this in mind, it hardly seems worthy to stop at the reptile house, the various caves or have out picture taken wearing old fashion garments.  Rather, it was best to leave with the thought of what is being accomplished at Crazy Horse.  That one man, working to fulfill the wishes of old Indian chiefs, without any financial support, other than what he and his family can earn or produce, has started a monument, that will transform a mountain, dwarfing Rushmore in size and forever reminding us of the spirit of the American Indian.

With those thoughts we left Keystone, with three dollars worth of espresso, and headed for Devils Tower, Wyoming.  Taking the scenic route we traveled threw many small towns and villages as well as Deadwood.  Deadwood looks as awful as it did in the HBO series.  Situated in a valley, the town proper is squeezed tight along two streets all lined with casinos.  As Homer says,”Vegas without the lights”, and Vegas without trees.  The local trees have fallen victim to the blight, which has left the hills surrounding the valley looking like a grave yards in a horror film.  It had absolutely no appeal to us.

The Devils Tower was exactly the opposite, located just inside the Wyoming border with South Dakota, the butte rises five thousand one hundred and twelve feet above the prairie.  Many Indian nations of the Great Plains consider it a sacred place with legends as to its creation and the creation of the earth and sky.  Early settlers also recognized it special significance and despite some opposition, caused it to become one of our country’s earliest protected sites. 

The journey to Devils Tower exposed us again to the vast spaces and varied topography of the region.  At times the landscape was dominated by sandstone so red it also most felt hot.  Other times the land was vivid green, reaching beyond our sight, only then to turn to scrub and brush.  The contrast between the beauty of the land and the harshness of the existence is often hard to comprehend. I look out and see that some have fashioned a way of life from this land, a way of life I would not have any idea of how to describe, but a life filled with the same dichotomy that Homer and I face.

Along, on our journey we pulled into a country store that is supposed to have been in existence for over a hundred years.  Selling every thing a family living on the plains would need, as well as serving as the local post office and meeting the needs of the passing tourist, especially the bikers on the way to Sturgis.  Homer decided to shop for a western belt, after making his purchase, despite the fat mouse than ran in front of my feet, he learned that the belt did not have the pedigree that was clearly implied, but the purchased allowed a way of life to continue.

As we seek lodgings we look for the familiar, so as to insure wifi and comfortable quarters while at the same time searching for food authentic to the region. We have learned that we can not escape the Sysco truck. And not sure we want to. While looking for authentic food, we expect that each place we stop will have the sweetener Homer likes in his coffee and good tea for me. Every where we look we are faced with sameness that we both require and perhaps resent.

Today, I did not take many pictures, drove a lot and thought maybe too much. I take with me to bed the memory of the prairie dog who looked up at us and seemed to ask,” Ya, what do you want, the delightful young woman in the coffee shop who made our espresso, and the young waiter and line cook at “Olivers” restaurant in downtown Sheridan, Wyoming, who provided us with a meal sans the Sysco truck’s help.  As well as this blog that has become such an important part of this wonderful journey.