Thursday, July 18, 2019

GEOLOGY OF THE BLACKFEET REZ

Human beings and their culture are created by the land on which they live, which present the conditions under which they must shelter, eat and tell their stories. Forces that shaped this planet and the continents floating on its surface are still having impact on lives today. As one drives through the reservation, the traces that record millenia long gone can still be seen. 
The east side of the Rockies are a long gradual incline from east to west and the reservation also goes from the foothills of the Rockies (5,000 feet and more) to the flats (3,500 feet or less). This means that the area is an “ecotone,” shading from one ecology to another. The high side next to the mountains is good for grazing in summer and supports evergreen timber as well as aspen groves. The low side is flat, though dotted with prairie potholes in some places, and suitable for grasses such as small grains. The high side has access to cold swift snowmelt and the low side is mostly dry. Ranchers and farmers here, sometimes unable to drill a well, must sometimes depend upon underground cisterns for domestic use to which they haul water from town systems. Crops are dependent on rainfall or irrigation canals. 
The consequence of this difference is that when the old-time Blackfeet were forced to stay on a reservation, they preferred to be close to the mountains where there was still game and summers were more pleasant. Winters were even survivable so long as Chinook winds, warmed by their compression to get over the mountains, blew fairly often. The young Blackfeet were willing and able to go down to the flats and learn to deal with a bank or other lender in order to get and operate machinery. They tended to be of mixed blood, so this intensified the political differences of the two sub-groups of the reservation. When the original Dawes Act allotments were made, some people had split entitlements with homesteads on the hillsides or in the river valleys, but another acreage on the flats which turned out to be impractical. 
Inland Seas 
At one point the whole interior of the continent was slightly below sea level so that it formed a shallow sea full of marine life of various kinds. When the water drained and evaporated entirely, the land was bitter with alkali, colored with copper and iron concentrated by colonies of sea vegetation, and seeded with “buffalo stones,” the remains of little creatures rather like octopi or squids whose bodies were tucked into spirals (ammonites) or cornets (baculites) of shell. When the petrified sediments inside the cornets erode and separate into segments, they look uncannily like small buffalo in graduated sizes. This attracted the attention of the early Blackfeet who always felt that there was a connection between things that seemed similar, and who told a story about how these small stones, if protected and rubbed with fat, might “call” real buffalo to eat. Today it’s possible to buy baculite and ammonite remains in rock shops, such as the Trexler shop in the old church in Bynum, but the historically owned ones are protected as Native American artifacts.  Removing found examples from the reservation is illegal. 
Other more local seas formed when the glaciers intruded onto the land and trapped melt water along their southern edge. Lake Great Falls put the present location of the city underwater by 600 feet, though today’s city is built on the crest of the Sweetgrass Arch, a formation of rock bowed slightly upward. These lakes rivaled today’s Great Lakes. Icebergs broke off from the edges of the glaciers and floated out onto the water. Since they had rocks -- sometimes huge boulders -- embedded in them, when they melted they dropped the rocks in piles or singly. When the lakes dried up, these boulders became welcome scratching surfaces for itchy bison and perches for hawks who encrusted the top with their droppings. The circling bison wore small trenches which became moats when it rained. Small mammals dug their burrows under the the rocks, especially appreciating the jumbled piles of smaller rocks. Pretty soon each erratic boulder was a mini-ecology. 
A farmer once stood at a place bull-dozed away for road construction. It clearly showed three layers left by three glaciers: one was fertile and clear of stones, one was packed with stones, and one was mixed. Of course, the most stony one was on top! The prairie is full of stones about the size of melons, often rounded by tumbling and grinding as the glaciers moved them. A few of these stones were originally meteorites, which can be found with a metal detector since they are largely iron. Rather than sweep the entire prairie, meteorite-hunters check the stone piles in the corners of plowed fields where the plowing farmers stack up the stones that come to the surface. 
Early Blackfeet took advantage of the many “cobbles” of stones by using them to hold down the edges of their lodges, thus creating “tipi rings.” But also, seeing the patterns on the land these circles formed, they would outline a person where they were found killed in battle (see Hugh Dempsey’s The Amazing Death of Calf Shirtwhich includes a photo of such an effigy). Tom Kehoe was puzzled by tipi rings that had radiating lines at various compass points and of varying lengths. He suggested that they were meant to record trips taken by the occupant of the lodge. 
Under the surface of the land, whereever there were gravel beds and limestone with watercourses worn through, exist aquifers. These underground lakes, which wells try to tap, move water -- over thousands of years and miles -- from mountains to lakes. Most of the water under Montana seems to be moving from the southwest corner of the state to the northeast corner and on up across Manitoba to the major lakes up there. That is, regardless of what the surface water is doing, the drainage of the state is generally towards Hudson’s Bay. 
Giant Springs is a place where the ground is broken up enough that the aquifer underneath breaks through to the surface. In early days people had no concept of the limitations on underground water and if they punched a hole in the surface, they let the results flow freely or even, in the case of artesian rise in a fountain, whether they needed it or not. Today we are exquisitely aware that this water can be exhausted and projects have sought to find and cap the many wells now unused. 
On the surface the Blackfeet Reservation has three drainages which meet in Glacier Park at Triple Divide Mountain. One drainage goes north to Hudson’s Bay, one goes east to the Mississippi River and one goes west to the Columbia River. It is the southern edge of the Hudson’s Bay drainage, largely determined by the southern edge of the glaciers, that determined the northern boundary of the United States when Thomas Jefferson bought the Louisiana Purchase. 
Marine Sediments 
Huge limestone deposits, that accumulated from the skeletons of many small shelly creatures when the land was covered with sea, are white and when eroded can take fantastic shapes. Lewis & Clark as well as modern boaters are always impressed by the “White City” castles and battlements along the Missouri River where limestone is exposed and fantastically eroded. 
Marine fossils of many kinds can be found throughout the state where ever the land is eroded enough to expose the layers of the land that were once underwater. Dinosaurs, though not necessarily marine, also emerge through the action of erosion. 
Volcanic Sediments 
Even when Mt. St. Helens exploded in 1980, the fine silvery dust sifted down in Montana. When the Cascades were catastrophically erupting as volcanoes, the results must have clouded the skies. This is the origin of “gumbo,” a sticky expanding and contracting soil that makes wheels useless. Sometimes called “caleche” or “bentonite,” some of it is pure enough to be valuable as a saleable commodity if one could get it to market cheaply. It is often used to block wells -- rolled into dry balls and dropped down the well shaft -- because when it gets wet, it expands greatly and plugs up the space efficiently. 
Wet, the stuff is extremely slippery and slimy. Some have suggested that the way the pyramids were built was by using caleche as a lubricant to slide the huge blocks of stone up inclines. Sometimes it’s hard to stand up in gumbo. Even harder is walking, since it is as sticky as it is slick, and in a few steps one’s feet weigh fifty pounds each -- whether or not one’s footgear stays on. 
The practical consequence of gumbo is that the village of Heart Butte was for many years only accessible when the weather was dry in summer or frozen in winter. The roads were impassible when the the gumbo was wet. Since the small settlement tended to be traditional old-timers, their children were not anxious to attend school past Heart Butte grade school graduation when they could legally quit, but if they did want to attend high school, they would either constantly be making up absences or would have to attend a boarding school somewhere -- maybe far away. 
When the road to Heart Butte was paved after the Flood of 1964, which nearly erased the small cluster of houses -- some of them log cabins -- and forced many residents out, people were suddenly able to return home while still commuting to jobs and school in Browning. Heart Butte became a housing center in the Nineties but since its infrastructure didn’t keep up, times were chaotic. Now it is somewhat defined as a “satellite agency” with a medical clinic. 
Aeolian Sediments 
People visiting the Blackfeet are always impressed by the wind and the amount of dust it carries. Some of the dust has been traced to its origins as far away as China, and it comes high enough and in large enough amounts to affect the climate by screening sunlight. 
In the millennial geologic times when the east side of the Rockies has been so dry that nothing could grow, wind has removed all small particles and left only a stony pavement, which has become the gravel beds that carry today’s underground water. When rain allows vegetation to return, the silts and particles once more built up into topsoil. 
More recently, plowed soil can create brown-outs so complete that traffic must stop; roads are closed. Since the terrible Dust Bowl of the Thirties in the midwest, people have become more cautious and take steps, like strip plowing and no-plow seeding, that prevent so much dust from blowing. When one looks at these strips, the green planted crops are obvious and so are the brown plowed strips. Gold strips are those left fallow with grain stubble and silver strips are those being “chemical fallowed,” which means that the vegetation has been killed to prevent weeds. It remains to be seen whether dust or herbicide is worse. 
The "Eruction" of the Rockies 
Underneath the continents, floating in huge plates or islands of the sixty- mile thick lithosphere, are mammoth sections that carry the continents like froth as they move around the planet. At one time the west edge of the Rockies was the coast of North America and was underlaid by a crack between plates. Then the crack, which earlier had pulled China and Mongolia away from Montana so that land once continuous and still similar was separated by the Pacific Ocean, reversed itself.  Then it was pushed under the edge of the land that became the Rockies. Where layers of sediment had quietly built up, the land was now forced on edge and even into somersaults, clearly visible now in the various colors of the sedimentary rock. 
The raising up of these mountains, which stretch all the way from Canada down through both North and South America, had profound consequences. “The Backbone of the Continent” formed a palisade against which the Blackfeet could take their stand against the rising tide of cultural change that trapped them there. It was the height of the Rockies that created the “catabatic” warm winds. They provided a refuge for game. In the years when there was good snowpack, they fed the streams that cross the reservation from west to east. 
Cretaceous Swamps: fuel and fossils 
All along the edges of the huge lakes and small waterways left by the inland seas and glacial melts, were swamps, The depositor of today’s fuels and dinosaur fossils. Dead animals and especially vegetation lived and died along those fertile places and added their carboniferous remains to the land in lodes of peat which became coal and then gas and oil. Gas and oil will ooze upwards, since they are lighter than stone, and accumulate where they are trapped in places like the Sweetgrass Arch
Discovery of oil and gas along the higher grounds of the reservation greatly increased the value of the land as well as the corruption and dissension that always follows big money. Early on, the effect of the wealth split the reservation population again between those who wanted to make quick money and those who wanted to learn how to manage their own assets. More recently the split has been between those who see the land as sacred and inviolable and those who want to aggressively explore. The first wave of exploitation has ended but there is always the hope that there are other reservoirs of wealth. 
A certain kind of story among the Blackfeet comes from the discovery of dinosaur fossils, which did not escape their reflections and which they recognized as bones. The general gist of the stories is that “water bulls” and “terrible birds” had catastrophic quarrels and that they probably lived under the water of lakes, since they were never seen, but occasionally their bones washed up. 
Glaciation: The Old North Trail 
At various times when the glaciers withdrew or formed, they left a passage down the east slope that was not covered by ice for long periods of time. These grasslands became covered with a kind of braided trail that people and animals have used ever since. Traces of the dragging Blackfeet travois are still visible in some places. Highway 89 vaguely parallels this extremely ancient way.  A travois skid would work where no wheel could go.
Roughly perpendicular there must have been another east/west trail along the melting edge of the glacier where it stopped advancing. Since that edge withdrew and advanced according to the vicissitudes of climate, no visible path is worn in the land. But there must have been vegetation along that edge, which would attract grazers, which would attract predators -- including human beings. Thus the Blackfeet Reservation is at the cross-point of two major pre-historical passages. 
Watercourses and Aquifers: 
Run-Off Country 
Modern topography shapes a system wherein snow piled up in the mountains becomes streams feeding the prairies. The reservation is defined by rivers running west to east: the farthest north (Milk) and the farthest south (Birch) are shared by non-tribal irrigators and create political problems of international dimensions as water diversions age and tribal people become more willing and able to develop irrigation. The Winters Case has now determined that when the US Government creates some kind of land category -- whether it is a nature preserve, a bombing range, or an Indian reservation -- the legal presumption is that whatever its water needs are will take precedence over all state laws. But how does one determine those water needs when the population of the reservation has grown and has changed its practices so that now it needs far more water? This is a source of much anger and worry. 
The Blackfeet Reservation is greatly gifted because it lies across the eastern drainages of the Rocky Mountains. Since state water law is based on who was using the water earliest and who is farthest upstream, even without Winters the Blackfeet tribe is rich in water, one of the most basic necessities of life. At one time, the reservation included the Rocky Mountains, but at the turn of the 19th century when many people were starving to death on the reservation, the tribe was offered a million dollars to give it up. They asked for three million dollars, but in the end, in order to survive, they agreed on one-and-a-half million, thus creating Glacier National Park. 
When the lines were drawn, a little piece just south of the Park boundaries ended up with ambiguous status. Today it is often referred to as the Ceded Strip, and its ownership is contested because of the possibility of oil or natural gas in that area.) This is the location of the proposed Badger-Two Medicine drilling site that has been vigorously opposed.  Though the original treaty describes the east/west interface between the Park and the Reservation as going from peak to peak of the mountains, if you are looking at an ordinary road map, the boundary goes roughly from the Canadian line to Babb to St. Mary, to East Glacier to Heart Butte. 
Drainages formed when the overland glaciers withdrew to the north and the mountain glaciers melted back into the high country. A mighty valley like Two Medicine was formed by huge quantities of water which spread floodplains and carved cliffs that Blackfeet soon learned to use for piskuns (bluffs backed by flat land where bison could be stampeded over the drop-off, killing them, before there were any horses -- carbon dating shows that the oldest ones are the same age as the Egyptian pyramids) and winter campgrounds. Today there is still “run-off” from the Rockies, though the glaciers which are the remnants of the original sheets of ice, are much diminished and may disappear. Now this water irrigates crops and supplies the settlements. 
Hudson’s Bay Divide separates water in the St. Marys River, destined to eventually join Hudson’s Bay, from the Milk River complex (several forks combine) which drains east along the Canadian border, takes a loop into Alberta, and then -- returning to Montana east of the reservation-- finally rejoins what becomes the Missouri. Milk River country is broad and grassy, the location of many an old-time ranch and not a few outlaw hideouts. This has become a politically charged area when it was realized that though the branches of the Milk River arise on the Blackfeet Reservation, the treaty that addresses the water rights is only between Canada and the United States. Long ago an elaborate canal and siphon system was built that carries water far along the High Line to the east where communities have become dependent on it, but delayed maintenance.  Now it is on the edge of catastrophic collapse but no one has the millions of dollars needed for repair. Though the original treaty included the Blackfeet Tribe, there has been no practical benefit for them in the past, but they are determined to remedy that. 
In the central part of the reservation, Cut Bank Creek begins in forks coming out of Glacier Park. The south fork passes Kiowa Camp, a tourist facility on Highway 89. The northern fork goes east past Starr School, a little town originally populated by old-timers and anchored by the Starr School School [sic], and then passes the more recent Government Boarding School. Eventually Cut Bank Creek, before it reaches the Glacier County seat of Cut Bank truly IS flowing through cut banks. 
Browning, the biggest town and the capital of the Blackfeet Reservation, is on Willow Creek, which is ironically one of the least suitable drainages for supporting a large population. Willow Creek is a modest stream which continues east through Blackfoot before it eventually joins Cut Bank Creek and then drains into the Marias. In part, Cut Bank Creek marks the eastern boundary of the reservation. 
Still crossing the reservation from west to east, but farther south, there are three major rivers, each paralleled by a road. One of the most powerful and various is Two Medicine, which begins in southern Glacier National Park in the Two Medicine Lakes, continues in spectacular fashion below Looking Glass Pass through the town of East Glacier, and then curves through foothills and into ranch country. By the time it crosses the southern reservation, it has carved a broad valley with bluffs for piskuns (buffalo jumps) on one side and cottonwood stands along the water. This is where the Holy Family Mission complex stood -- a little east of Highway 89 -- and grew good crops in the fertile flood plain. Only the small church remains. The river continues on until it joins the Marias
Badger Creek runs roughly parallel to Two Medicine but a little farther south. At one time it was the Old Agency where it meets Highway 89. Further on, where it joins the Two Medicine River, is the corner where eastern Glacier and Pondera Counties meet. A section of the reservation here and another piece to the west around Heart Butte are both in Pondera County. All the rest of the reservation is in Glacier County. 
Birch Creek is the southern boundary of the reservation, beginning at Swift Dam. In June, 1964, there was a terrific flood during which Swift Dam failed and sent a wall of water downstream that killed whole families, more than thirty individuals. Birch and Badger also turned into killer torrents and the St. Mary drainage was devastated. Two Medicine and Sherburne dams in Glacier Park also collapsed. These three dams were federal but had not been inspected or maintained. All Highways in every direction were washed out. Decades later some of the rafted flood debris is still easy to identify, but the brush has grown back. 
Another smaller stream, Blacktail Creek is just a little north of Birch Creek. It’s headwaters are just east of Heart Butte. Eloise Pepion Cobell, a descendant of trapper Polite Pepion and herself a banker who dared to take on the United States government to demand that they straighten out the mess they had made of Indian Trust Funds, grew up in a modest ranch house on this creek. 
Heart Butte is the farthest upstream community on Birch Creek and is quickly growing into a secondary agency. 
Considerably downstream on Birch Creek is Willow Rounds, circles of meadows where the people camped, leaving another kind of circles -- tipi rings -- that are the remnants of old Blackfeet campsites. It was the location of an early trading fort, and even more downstream is “Rock City” where Two Medicine and Birch Creek merge into the Marias, a main branch of the Missouri/Mississippi complex that was an important “highway system” in the exploration and development of the prairie West.  The name refers to the erosion carving of the banks, "hoodoos" which seem like buildings.
Fire, thunderstorms, grass and bison 
The key to an ecology is the way the most basic forces balance each other, creating a constantly renewed source of energy that ultimately draws on the sun. Once the prairie was established as a sheet of grass, it was able to sustain huge herds of bison, which grazed intensively in one spot and then moved on. The kinds of grass evolved in response to this occasional “mowing and fertilization.” Thunderstorms played into this in two ways: the electrical charges of lightning created substances in the land that contributed to fertility and the fires the lightning set acted in somewhat the same way as the bison, removing old dead grass while carbonizing it so that plants could use the ash. 
Volcanic Blisters 
Not every volcanic upwelling from deep in the earth results in what we think of as a “volcano” with a top that spews lava and ash. Some magma extrusions never break through the overlying rock, but form blisters that raise the earth high into landmark “mountains,” which are navigational aids, storage for snowpack that feeds springs and wells, and -- in the time of the major glaciers -- “refugia” from the grinding ice. Even now they offer a welcome respite in hot weather and popular hunting locations. The Sweet Grass Hills strike everyone as special to the point of sacredness. 
The name of the Sweet Grass Hills is a misnomer: the original Blackfeet word means Sweet Pine, which is balsam fir. Not much sweetgrass grows in the hills, but sweet pine abounds. The sweetness of both is from coumadin which many of us know as a blood thinner. 
Holterman's glossary gives katoyisix (accent on the first “i”) as an animate (living) plural for sweet pines. McClintock used katoya to translate balsam fir, sweet pine or abies lasiocarpa. But he calls sweetgrass sipazimot(i) and says it is Vanilla Grass or sevastana odorataKatoyis (accent on the “i”) is also the name of Bloodclot Boy or Monster Slayer. Old timers call the same formations “the Bloodclot Hills.” The forms of the complex of three major hills are about the same shapes a blob of clotted blood from a bison carcass might take. 
These volcanic upwellings, depending on a number of variables, might carry valuable mineral deposits to the surface or even precious stones like the famous Montana sapphires. Gold (that monster creator) was discovered on the center butte in 1884 and almost instantly whites thought of a hundred reasons why the Blackfeet would have to give up those hills. The government didn’t care that it was the last holdout of the buffalo, who liked to calve in the sheltering folds of the coulees. Title changed hands in February, 1887, but it was not until late in the twentieth century that the compensatory “Big Claim” payout arrived in the hands of the tribe. 
There was a little ghost town around the gold mine, but the local ranchers got tired of animals getting trapped in the buildings and prowlers coming to pry in the remains, so they bulldozed the place flat. Today’s threat to local people (How often do the ranchers get pushed down the same paths as the Indians before them!) was the invention of cyanide heap leach mining: If one makes a lake, lines it with “impermeable” membrane, heaps up gold ore in the middle and pours cyanide over it, one can recover tiny traces of gold. Of course, there is NO membrane that doesn’t leak, and the Sweet Grass Hills is the watershed for wells for many miles around, still full of value after the buffalo and gold are gone -- cyanide would poison them all. Even worse, by the time the whole butte is chewed up and “leached,” there would no longer be anything to which one can lift one’s eyes when in need of spiritual renewal. 
A search engine such as Google is exceptionally rewarding if you look for “Sweet Grass Hills.” For one thing, there is excellent photography so that you can see for yourself the “signature” horizon line of these volcanic peaks. For another, one can make contact with the organization that works to block any more moves towards cyanide leach pads. Not least, students at Chester High School have posted essays about what the Hills mean to them. And John Holt, Montana writer, has written about the blue fire he claims to see there. Peter Bowen, in his Gabriel Du Pre mystery series, dealt with heap leach mining in the novel “Long Son.” I wrote a story about the hills myself in “Twelve Blackfeet Stories.” 
Spanish Basque sheepherders also lost their hearts to the Hills when they pastured bands of sheep there. They built tall stone cairns from the moraine stones that abound. But there are far more ancient and mysterious structures. 

The U.S. Government, in the course of the Big Claim, tried to refute the claim of the Blackfeet that the place was sacred by saying that there was no church there, no altar or Stonehenge to prove that anyone ever worshipped there. This is a false notion, since to the Native American peoples all land and life was sacred. Still, a place so distinguished was a “power center,” a place a little more holy than others. And the “proof” turned out to be low stone walls just about the right outline for a man to lie down in and just about high enough to make a bit of shelter from the wind. They are for Vision-Fasting. 

Wednesday, July 17, 2019

A MOTORIST'S GUIDE TO THE BLACKFEET REZ

(This is part of a document that is a book available at Lulu.com/prairiemary.

At one time the Blackfeet territory extended roughly from Edmonton to Yellowstone and from the Rockies to the Black Hills. The “tribe” was a loose confederation of similar people who based their culture on the buffalo. Because they ate well -- plenty of meat plus many roots and berries -- they were big, healthy, handsome people who had time for talk, games, ceremonies and the embellishment of their fabrications like their clothing and lodges. The basic unit was not the “tribe” which is mostly a category thrust upon them by white people, but rather affinity bands of about a hundred folks knit together by friendship, culture, and genetics.  Sometimes one strong male leader was chief, but often a small leadership group more or less traded the job of “riding point,” depending on the task at hand, whether war, hunting or locating a new camp. 

The bands had relationships with other bands, “cousins” so to speak, and more or less grouped into what first-encounter whites called “tribes,” based on language, customs and ceremonial groups. The four major Blackfoot tribes belonged to an over-arching confederacy that dominated the area from today’s Edmonton, to Yellowstone, from the Rockies to the Black Hills. A related group was the Gros Ventre. Annually all the tribes gathered for the talking and ceremonial feasts that bonded them together. Necessarily, the biggest group met in the spring when grass and meat were abundant. 

The Blackfoot Nation ended up on both sides of the 49th Parallel. In Canada the reserves were much smaller, more protected, leaving the culture intact. Assets were left tribal, held in common. These people have changed much less than the Montana group and act as a welcome reservoir of old ways and the Blackfoot language. (Canadians say “BlackFOOT” and spell the name of the name of the Montana band as “Peigan” rather than “Piegan.”) 
Returning to the American side, it is useful to note that the Southern Piegan or Amskapi Pikuni reservation is bounded on two natural lines. One, to the north, is the complex of glacial moraines and volcanic extrusions that determined the 49th parallel when Thomas Jefferson bought the Louisiana Purchase, which was defined as the drainage of the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers. The other, to the west, is the Rocky Mountains that form a natural barrier of ramparts and stone curtains. But the eastern and southern borders of the reservation, originally set as nearly half of Montana, have been steadily pushed back by white settlement. 
In 1855 the Lame Bull Treaty was signed with a “chief” more or less designated by whites. 
In 1873 an Executive Order moved the southern boundary up to the Missouri River. 
In 1874 an Act of Congress moved that border north some more. 
In 1888 the land now called “the High Line” after the Great Northern railway line was “sold.” The buffalo were gone and Blackfeet were starving. 
In 1896 the part of the reservation in Glacier Park was sold. This also gave the Great Northern Railroad access to Marias Pass. 
Somehow, mysteriously, the eastern boundary drifted farther west so as to leave oil fields off the reservation. 
These boundaries have been contested ever since. The most controversial at the moment is the Badger/Two Medicine at the SW corner of the reservation, between East Glacier and Heart Butte, part of the so-called “Ceded Strip.” There is thought to be oil there, but it is definitely a spiritual resource as well. 
The best map to use is a topo map like the Montana Atlas & Gazeteer because so many of the roads conform to topography so that it’s easier to see the logic of them. PRIMARY Highways 
Two natural paths travel perpendicularly across the reservation. One is the Old North Trail, an ancient braided N/S trail along the east side of the Rockies, originally worn as game paths and nomadic trails that stretch from the Arctic Circle all the way down the Americas. It is so worn into the land that one can still see travois marks in places. On the US side the Highway 89 roughly parallels this route, in Canada the route becomes the Al-Can Highway and gives access to Alaska. 
The other natural path must have originally been the edge of the glacier, where it was melting enough to support vegetation, which would attract grazing animals, followed by predators including humans. Today this path, as it might have been at one point in time, is roughly traced by Highway 89 and also what was built as the “High Line” of the Great Northern Railroad. 

To trace the Montana reservation through its past, the original Indian agency was at Fort Benton, because it was as high up the Missouri River that riverboats could travel. The original adobe Fort Benton is now reconstructed. 
The next agency was just north of Choteau where there is an historic marker by the highway. No buildings remain, but local historians have placed some huge boulders to mark the site. Also, it’s possible to see the vague indentations of graves from smallpox epidemics. 
The next Indian Agency was on Little Badger where it crosses Highway 89. Here again no buildings remain. The sixty people who died in the Starvation Winter were left on the top of Ghost Ridge, unburied as in the old time way at first, but then covered with blown dust where bushes took root.  At some point the BIA agent had the area burned.   
Today’s Indian Agency is Browning, for many years an "island of jurisdiction" where the schools and town operated according to Montana law.  Today it is no longer an island and even technically no longer a town.  The schools remain as state entities but have been joined by independent immersion and religious schools, plus the Blackfeet Community College, which belongs to the tribe though it means standard academic evaluations.
Just south of Browning, Highway 2 comes in from the east and continues on top of 89 to the other side of town. There are three stoplights on this stretch. The one farthest east, by the concrete tipi, controls access to the Duck Lake Road, a much less steep and winding road to Babb and along Duck Lake. 
The second is where the old main street of Browning intersects the highway. To get to the real town or to the hospital, turn north there. To get to the schools, turn left. The third stoplight is by the strip mall. If you turn north one block, you will see the Methodist church to the left and the Catholic Church of the Little Flower to the right. The Methodist church has “picture” stained glass windows by Brent Warburton, showing a stream running from Chief Mountain . The Catholic Church has more abstract windows by King Kuka, depicting the Stations of the Cross. 
Past Browning Highway 89 continues on to the west until it gets close to the mountains and veers north. Kiowa Kamp is a little tourist crossroads where Highway 49 cuts across to East Glacier. This highly scenic route is called “Looking Glass Pass,” but it is a little scary for flatlanders. If you are worried, traveling from East Glacier to Kiowa Kamp (west to east) will keep you on the inside of the road.) 
After that, the intersection with the Starr School road is on the east just ahead of the west trail into the Cut Bank campground of Glacier Park. One can follow the Starr School road back to Browning. There are a growing number of home-site access roads that branch off from 89 and one should not assume campers or even sightseers are welcome. This is not wilderness. 
Next Highway 89 crosses Milk River Ridge and the Hudson’s Bay Divide. North of this divide the water runs north and east until it empties into Canada’s Hudson’s Bay except that historically some water was diverted to the US side along the High Line. You will be able to see a pyramid-shaped mountain called “Triple Divide.” A raindrop in the right place on that peak will split into three drainages: down the Missouri/Mississippi complex to the Gulf of Mexico, up and east to Hudson’s Bay, or west into the headwaters of the Snake River and then the Columbia. 
Down the long incline that enters the St. Mary Valley and lakes, called the “Inside Lakes” by the Blackfeet, is St. Mary the town. Through St. Mary to the west is “Going to the Sun Highway” which crosses Glacier National Park at Logan Pass. Highway 89 continues through St. Mary along the east edge of the lower lake. About halfway along the lake one can see across the lake a peak that looks a bit like the profile of St. Mary. 
Babb is at the north end of the lake and is the entrance to Many Glacier. That road travels along the north edge of Sherburne Lake and ends at Many Glacier. On the other side of Babb, Highway 89 continues along the west side of the Saint Mary River. The scenery will be dominated by Chief Mountain, which is nearly on the border. 
In summer, Highway 17 branches to the West and goes to the Port of Chief Mountain while Highway 89 continues to the Port of Piegan, called Carway on the other side of the border. The first town of any size in Canada will be Cardston, closely associated with a Blackfoot reservation, but also with a strong Mormon presence.
Highway 2 enters the reservation just west of the bridge across Cut Bank Creek outside of Cut Bank and then continues west parallel to Cut Bank Creek. Lewis and a hand-picked group of his men came this way to discover the limit of the headwaters that defined the Louisiana Purchase.  They followed Cut Bank Creek. An obelisk by the Highway marks the vicinity of their “Camp Disappointment” where they realized that the border would be the 49th parallel rather than the 50th. 
A grain elevator marks Meriwether Road, named for Lewis, which crosses the Canadian border at Del BonitaGrass Winds Veterinary Clinic is run by Ethel Connelly, DVM, a Blackfeet woman veterinarian from a noted cowboy family. The wheat fields along here are called Seville Flats. 
Before coming to Browning the highway passes what’s left of the little town of Blackfoot. At the turn of the nineteenth century, this was as far as the railroad went. Since the machines and crew had to stay over and turn the train around, a complex of boarding houses, cafes, mercantile stores and bank grew up. As soon as the railroad found its way through Marias Pass, the little town withered and died. Most of the buildings have been moved or lost due to fire or other destruction. 
Highway 2 joins Highway 89 just south of Browning and the two continue joined on the way through the town. Watch carefully for wind since the conjoined highways enter through a pass and bridge combination that produces sudden high side-winds. Highway 2 continues on to the west on the other side of town, leaving over a high ridge and another railroad bridge -- a second place the wind pounds hard. This location is sometimes in the national news because of overturned trains and semi- trucks. 
The last town before leaving the reservation (or the first if coming the other way) is East Glacier, a town created as a resort for the railroad, marked by a huge log lodge. Just a short distance past is Summit, where there is a statue of the first white man, Stevens, to discover Marias Pass, which made the Great Northern railroad possible. 
The boundary created when Glacier National Park was ripped out of the side of the Blackfeet Reservation, caused three small towns to form, each serving in its own way the tourists who are their economic core. 
East Glacier is unique because of the “high-line” of the historic Great Northern Railroad which enters Marias Pass on the east side of Glacier Park and emerges at the west side of the Park, mostly tracing the southern boundary. It was the discovery of this pass that allowed the High-Line tracks to be built, just in time to keep the transportation business from migrating across the Canadian border to the Canadian railway. 
At the end of the road that follows the Two Medicine River to its origin, Two Medicine Lake where there is a campground in summer and the launch site for a boat tour. There is a small camp store with a cafe. It's a deadend.
You can take a look at St. Mary right this minute (if it’s daylight and the camera is working) by going to the Glacier Park webcam system: http://www.nps.gov/glac/photosmultimedia/webcams.htm   Last summer there was a forest fire almost directly in front of the camera. The webcam shows the entrance to the Going to the Sun Highway. 
Babb supports a school, two churches (Methodist and Catholic), an Emergency Medical Tech team, a year-round grocery store, and a post office. Nearby Duck Lake is surrounded by seasonal and permanent homes where many Canadians as well as locals love to ice fish all winter. 

Browning is complex, intriguing, historical. Some people drive through, not stopping, and remark that it is “so depressing.” Others are curious about what they take to be poverty, suffering, drunkenness, and lawlessness. Some of them stop and try to be part of the action, or at least take photos of some colorful Third World person. Neither observer is really seeing what is there: story upon story upon story, some universal and some unique. 

The Dawes Act, which split up reservations into allotments the same way homesteading did and allowed individual Indians to take title, which made some vulnerable to swindles, had another dark side. When the first owner died, his allotment was divvied up among his descendants. When they died, the land was divided again. Today some city lots in Browning are owned by more than a hundred people, some of whom haven’t been seen or heard from for decades. Some of the land was put back into trust by regular owners, so they wouldn’t have to pay state or county taxes. Land with a multitude of owners could only be handled by keeping it in trust and any profits sent to the various owners. IF they were sent and we now know that records and diligence were seriously deficient. If there were liabilities, everyone ducked. This is such a prevalent problem that a special commissioned court has been established to re-establish consolidated ownership of individual properties. When settlements formed and Dawes Allotments were signed, two communities were the choices of many old-timers: Heart Butte and Starr School. Both were in foothills of the Rockies where there was still game and water was abundant. They were isolated by unpaved roads and widely separated from each other. 
Since the old-timers couldn’t speak English, they were dependent upon interpreters. Strangely two brothers, estranged from each other, became leaders of these two communities. Their grandfather was Isidore Sandoval or Sanderville (depending on who kept the records) and their father had the same name, Isidore, which also confuses records. This family was originally Mexican, coming up the Mississippi and Missouri drainanges, but became increasingly Blackfeet, occupying a much needed interface between full-bloods and whites. 
This family complex is interwoven with almost every major white name in Blackfeet history. George Starr, for whom the community of Starr School was named, was among them. Isidore the younger was staying with Malcolm Clarke when the man was murdered. 

Before you drive to Heart Butte along the north side of Birch Creek, you might want to note the location of a town that no longer exists except in stories, but what stories! The town was created on the south side of Birch Creek when the Methodist Indian Agent threw both the bootleggers and the Jesuits off the reservation. They set up their cabins side-by-side and both did brisk business. The Big Flood of 1964 wiped out the last traces of building and the owners of the land do not appreciate trespassers, but the old access remains.
(More to come later.)

Tuesday, July 16, 2019

DARK NIGHT

Yesterday was divided between weed-whipping what grass would stand back up after being flattened by hail, pulling up weeds by their roots, untangling and piling the branches the wind tore down -- until my shoulders ached and I was out of breath -- and then at the computer trying to do something metaphorically similar with the concepts that plague us. Like the invention of capital, predatory capitalism, venture capitalism, and monetary systems plus industrialism plus xenophobic nations plus climate change.  I went to YouTube so there would be diagrams to follow.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-epr8lPIZYE  I kept hearing about Picketty so https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i78cyClvaeg.  And so on.  I don't quite get it, but it's a start.  I appreciate Khan Academy.

Going to bed early, I had the covers to myself because all the cats were outside where the moon is still nearly full, clambering through the big cottonwood tree.  Waking at two in overcast blackness, I was full of impending doom.  The house has broken windows and the cap on the furnace vent has blown off.  Shingles are missing.  The back door is too misaligned to be locked conventionally, so it is secured with a bolt across the whole door, an improvisation. My pickup has enough gas for the moment, but the firing has occasional misses and hail punched holes in the bed topper.  I'm sorting and weeding books, so there are stacks of them and boxes of them everywhere.  Two o'clock can be terror time.

I'd heard Trump's sexist attack -- nothing new there.  Computer on.  Twitter was exploding with reaction.  At last.  CHUNK had another of his amazing animated cartoons of the toddling tinyman who is NEVER sexist, always stable, higher IQ than geniuses, richer than anyone can believe, and the most humble person on the face of the planet.  Did I mention faithful intimate relationships with mature nurturing women? 

Rick Wilson wrote a satire that had me laughing.  Trump's two fav children are deposed by the incarceration of their father and Ivanka has taken refuge in the Midwest, working at a diner until someone she fears finds her.  

A sample:

"The tension drains out of her. "So you're not here to..."

Jerry [formerly known as Jared] grins, "What? Kill you in a weird ritual with a lot of candles and chanting with a priest in a goat mask, then ritually butcher you then dance naked in your skin? Jesus, Ivanka, I'm not Stephen Miller."

Nor is this bit of fan-fiction out of "Eyes Wide Shut."   Maybe.  Laughter woke the cats, who wanted food, and I'm hungry as well.  Friskies.  Toaster waffles. Raspberry yogurt.  It feels possible to go back to sleep.  Nothing dramatic really happened.  There were no national raids of cities, people loaded into boxcars  -- Trump lied again. The four Squad leaders are calm but determined.  Lindsey Graham is not.

Ever alert, the marketers are offering doorbells that tell you who's out there, since unless there is a court order, judge-signed, warrant, you don't have to open up.  Not even open a car.  ICE cannot issue valid warrants.  Lock the doors and refuse politely.  Quietly, the old campaigners from the escape-from-the-draft-movement are remembering how to evade authorities who are not backed by the culture, who think they ARE the law only because they wear the uniform.

It's 8AM.  The kittens who stayed up the rest of the night to play, rattling around tipping over book stacks, are now exhausted and sleeping.  It has rained softly.  The town is silent except for dependable people driving by on their way to work.  There are half as many as there used to be.  Half the houses are for sale.  Half the windows are boarded, waiting for new glass.

Is it bad that I use my computer as a window?  A tall figure with a white forehead is there.  He doesn't work for the FBI.  Wendell Berry.  https://www.newyorker.com/culture/the-new-yorker-interview/going-home-with-wendell-berry  I had been thinking about him because of the little circle of far-north Canadian farmers that are living his kind of life.  Fine educations, religious literacy, private capital and all, they post from their "office" while driving tractors and on the backs of horses, moving cattle.  No one says, "Go back where you came from."  They are busy making a better place where they are.

Berry went back where he was from, Port Royal, Kentucky, and blended his academic career with running a farm.  "The integration of the various animals and crops into a relatively small acreage becomes a formal problem that is just as interesting and just as demanding as the arrangement of the parts of a novel."   He knew about the "village virus," accusations of ignorance and narrowness, but he was somehow immune.  He never told anyone to get out.

It's not that I agree with Berry all the time.  It's just that I like his attitude, his calmness, his willingness to work things through -- literally "work" by putting energy and thought into everything.  In the Sixties when he started out, there were a lot of people thinking along the same lines -- Wes Jackson, Schumacher, Rodale.  Some of them were in Canada.  

There is on my Twitter feed another group of people, the indigenous families that were "always" there and who are beginning to work through corporative resource capture and industrial-triggered climate change.  They are funny, experimental, and willing to risk death.  They are changing a nation.

So now it's almost nine o'clock.  The federal trials are beginning on the East Coast.  The doors everywhere are being pried open.  My mother used to say,  "The mills of the Gods grind slowly but they grind exceeding fine."  Babies are dying in cages at the border.  People have been deported to places they don't know since they weren't born there.  Injustice, poverty, injury, mental trauma, are added to fear of crimes people barely escaped.  The base of much of it is drugs sold to prosperous Americans as a pleasure and escape.  There's blood on the diamond dust.


If I survive, which I won't for very long since I'm old, I'll be very interested to see what happens next.  In the meantime, I'll push the kittens aside and nap a little bit.  And, Wendell, you need to know that I never did agree with you making your wife type all your eighty books, though she did it willingly.  Could be I'm just jealous. But I'm five years younger than you.

Monday, July 15, 2019

A LITTLE VOCABULARY RIFF

In the Blackfeet language:

“Amo” means “this” as in the phrase “this here,” as if you were  pointing something out or handing something to another person.   “Amoiauk” you would say.

“Ami” means up, upstream,  “Amiaupi” is to mount.  “Amiawani” is to fly up and “amipuk” is air.  

“Amiskapi” means south as in “amiskapi pikuni” which is the branch of the Blackfeet nation that I know and lived among for a while.

“Ana” also means clear and “ikana” means to shine, to be bright, as in “Mistakisz Ikanaziaw”  which means the “shining mountains,” which are the Rockies, where the Blackfeet ended with their backs against the ramparts of the east slope.

“Ama” means to smell.  “Sipazimoi in” means sweetgrass which is a cleansing incense.

“Ani” means to say, to tell, to mind, to obey.  

“Amap” means always.

I only know a little Blackfeet, but I want to learn more, more about it, to say it always clearer, rising up....

And to be there, to say “this here” and be able to gesture at the shining mountains, the sweetgrass, obedient to what is there.

“Amoni” is a breath or puff of wind.
“Ami” means to be the one.


It is I who speaks in this puff of wind.