Last year, for perfectly obvious reasons, I missed the annual vacation. And this year time was tight, so the options were limited. Also, none of us wanted to go hang out with the big crowds. Not this year, because the disease isn’t burned out and I really don’t feel like getting seriously ill.
Again. Because I’ve been there before.
So off to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan I went, a few peeps in tow. It’s a fantastic place to go if you don’t want to hang out in crowds, and all you want is the experience of a beach with none of the hassle and astronomical expense.
Yeah, it cost a few centavos, but all in all it can be done on a budget. Probably my biggest complaint is how far it is from anything, but that’s also an attraction. You have to be determined to go to the beaches by Lake Superior. Lemme tell you, though, it’s worth the trip. It does require some careful planning though, as well as a selection of the right time of year.
If you hit it wrong, mosquitoes and biting flies can be pretty bad. And needless to say cold can be an issue as well, even in high summer. If you want to bask in the sun at ninety degrees and people watch, this is not a vacation for you.
But if you’d like to hike and see some spectacular scenery, then give it a look.
You’ll see stuff within the park that isn’t anything like a visit to the Outer Banks or Virginia Beach. Almost no crowds. Desolate beaches. Amazing swimming opportunities. Raw nature, seemingly endless expanses of mixed boreal forests. In terms of the Lower 48 east of the Mississippi, this is pretty close to as wild as it gets. The Smoky Mountains don’t really compare, especially not in terms of crowds.
And did I mention Lake Superior? The darn thing is crystal clear and it compares better with the sea than a lake. Excellent swimming, if a tad bit cold.
I went out on a speedboat excursion, it was a great heap of fun. What was better was that when I dried off there wasn’t the sticky film that salt water gives you. Same with kayaking the local lakes and rivers. I had the pleasure of doing a seven mile stretch with a family member, and it was a hoot.
Over and over again I marveled at how the kayak would navigate a few centimeters of water, and then how it handled rapids and deep pools with aplomb, even fallen trees. There was very little trash in evidence, and tons of wildlife. I saw various sorts of fish, cranes, turtles and even a mink as it attacked a duck.
The kayak trip, on the Au Train River, was a real highlight. Even if it revealed what terrible shape I’m in, really. Nothing like the occupational condition I was in during my military heyday.
But still, I was in good enough shape to get it done. And the excursion was a lot of fun. I highly recommend it to anyone who passes by.
Even though “just passing by” isn’t something you do on the Upper Peninsula. You have to really go out of your way to go there.
But it’s worth it.
And it got me thinking. What, exactly, do I really need? Not a whole lot. I’m pretty satisfied with my small following, and my internet peeps. A trip to the wild places, a short journey down a river. Good food. Uninterrupted sleep. Reliable vehicles. A lush garden.
The above vehicle, the new for 2022 Ford Maverick, is a truck I can get excited about. You can “build” your own here; if you like what you see you can order one on the website.
What’s the big deal, you say. It’s a stupid truck, nothing new.
Wrong.
What you are seeing with this little hauler is a return to the concept of an inexpensive, practical work vehicle at a budget price, starting MSRP is 19,995 (even though you’ll never pay that. There are fees and taxes that will push the real floor price to about 23,000, plus there are a few options you will certainly want.)
Another very important feature about this vehicle; this is the first budget truck that I can think of that comes standard with a hybrid gas/electric drivetrain. So that base MSRP is for a hybrid work truck!
Friends, that is a big deal. It is a signal from one of the world’s biggest auto makers that the era of mass electric transportation has finally dawned.
And did I mention that the Maverick is priced nearly fifteen grand under the base of say, Chevrolet’s Colorado?
Ford hasn’t just undercut the market, they placed a breaching charge on it and lit the fuse.
20k USD for a new truck. Hybrid drivetrain as a standard feature. What else could there be?
Turns out, there’s plenty. This vehicle is made with the DIY crowd in mind, the little truck is like a Gerber tool. Ford says that the bed is perfectly capable of hauling 1500lbs/750kg. This is not a trifling amount of weight. The stubby little bed can be easily configured to haul sheets of plywood, drywall or two by fours.
Also, this little guy is a camper’s delight, as the standard king cab can easily haul four adults and their gear, and the truck can be equipped with an AWD option and a Ford “FX4” option in the higher trim packages.
IMO, I think AWD beats 4WD hands down. Why? AWD is always there when you need it, and 4WD requires some trick reflexes at times, especially on roads that are dry with the occasional treacherous icy patch or snow drift.
Complaint: Ford does not make AWD with the hybrid engine. You have to get a pure gas-burner if you want AWD. True, it’s an efficient turbo four, probably combined 29-30ish, but the hybrid gets sick mileage. It would have been awesome if Ford had planned the hybrid and the AWD package together.
Oh, and did I mention that this little guy can tow 4k lbs/ 2,000kg? Of course, you have to buy the package for this capability, but it’s there.
There is so much to like about this truck. Large electronic console, user-friendly controls. Simple where it needs to be, no-nonsense as well. Back-up cam.
If this truck pans out, and early reports from reputable sources says it may, then this little truck is a game-changer.
I’ve never been a Ford acolyte, but it’s hard to ignore this offering.
Supposedly this is an image by the AP of Bagram AB today. If so, looks like they forgot the flag. See AP article snippet below, the BBC is reporting the same thing.
How shambolic can this possibly be? They didn’t even arrange for a cheesy change-of-command ceremony? What, did they just herd everyone aboard a C-17 and roll out?
Jeez. I hope they at least had a plan for making sure they didn’t leave anybody behind. Just imagine that you’re “Third Row Joe” and you wake up on your cot and things are a bit quiet. You get up, walk out to the road running parallel to the flight line and there’s nothing. No golf carts or side by sides, no troops walking along. No one waiting for the DFAC to open, no Blackhawks on final.
Just a few looters with AKs. Or could they be Taliban?
This would be a bad moment in Joe’s life. So let’s hope it didn’t happen. But what has assuredly happened has been the abandonment of those who fought by our side. Disgusting.
Who planned this goat rope? This disgrace?
Most people would shrug and say something like “It’s good the troops are leaving.” But there’s “leaving,” and then there’s “LEAVING.”
This feels like stiffing a waitress for a party of twenty when her boss is a serial killer, and you know it.
When I think of the years. The lives. The straight-up bad stuff.
I’m building a new trilogy over there, a science fiction world of artificial intelligences, dead heroes, treacherous voyages, strange worlds and colonists run amok.
It’s been fun so far and I’ve barely started!
There are three tiers, each with deepening levels of involvement. 3, 5, and 10 bucks USD. The choice is yours, of course.
Inside the site there are already five chapters plus analysis waiting, so plenty of meat to get things started.
I thought to do something a little different today, readers, and talk about a great local eatery and an amazing dish I had there today.
First, an admin note; here’s their website. It’s pretty slick.
And a brief aside about what I’ve been up to before I talk about the important stuff, the food. As you all know, I’ve been in a flurry of activity finishing up my latest book and prepping the new website, just this morning I finished scheduling the serial posts of 42 chapters, one or two each week for a while to come. Plus analysis of each piece, mind you. Lots of stuff to read once the site launches.
It’s keeping me busy. The official launch is on the 28th of June, just day or two from now. Keep an eye peeled; the link will appear here as if by magic.
Well, I needed some downtime from all those chores, so I went into town with my kid today and we sat down at a favorite local eatery and I opened the menu, looking for something new.
Just a few days ago a friend was talking about an establishment in Australia that I won’t be able to visit, as it is closing. He waxed poetic about a sandwich called the croque madame, and I wanted one. I needed one. But I thought I could not have one.
Lo and behold I was wrong.
This quirky little restaurant just added one to the menu. I pounced.
When it came out, it looked and smelled amazing. Seriously. Good quality bread with a generous slice of ham. A perfectly proportioned slather of mustard and white sauce. Homemade chips (crisps). An obviously quality fried egg perched on top, Swiss cheese, good Lord.
As an aside, you can always tell a quality egg. Not important? I beg to differ! A good egg is first of all fresh, not sitting around in Walmart for a month. Second, the yolk must be firm and well-defined. Finally, the colors should be vivid, vibrant, and not pale or in any way off.
Later Alligator uses quality eggs. You should too. But I digress.
The help and service was good, as always, and I couldn’t wait to try this open-faced sandwich out.
For a change I didn’t need to add any salt at all, it was perfect as-is. Firm. A hint of spice. Crispy where it should have been, and the egg was cooked just right.
The flavors, the quality, all just right.
It was very satisfying, and an enjoyable experience. I realize that Wheeling, WV is a bit out of the way for almost everyone, and it’s hardly a tourist destination. But if you are ever on endless Route 70 headed somewhere, then it’s worth your while to get off of the highway and find Center Market and Later Alligator.
The croque madame is great, and they specialize in unconventional crepes.
I have yet to have anything that was less than great on the menu.
This is kind of an exciting screenshot. I know it doesn’t look like much, but something I’ve put a lot of thought and time into lately has been the launch of my new subscription website; I’ve nearly finished the first book in an unpublished trilogy.
The trilogy, which is tentatively named “The Promised Land,” is meant to be 100% exclusive to my pay site; only the readers who sign on get to see what’s behind the curtain.
This is the first time I publicly release something other than samples; it has been 2017 since the release of my last book.
Oh, as most of you know, I’ve been writing away this whole time. One problem was that I lost my old publisher, I guess those guys made things too easy for me. Expensive, mind you, but easy.
So, here’s the deal.
On the 28th of this month I am going to post a direct link to the site right here. I’ll also do it over on the Book of Face.
Lemme tell you what’s in the site. I’ll be up front about this, I totally emulated another fantastic subscription page for format; click here to check it out. JB’s page is pretty awesome, and it has delivered great content to fans/authors like me.
Here is how it’s set up. There are three tiers on the page.
Everyone who antes up gets the trilogy in serial fashion.
At three bucks (USD), that’s what you get. Steaming hot chapters as they come off the presses, and then Q and A with both me and other readers. This will probably work for most readers, and I’d be honored to have you aboard. Seriously. Something I really look forward to is having reader feedback and interaction, that’s actually one of my favorite parts of JB’s site.
The five dollar (USD) tier is for those who wish to take the interaction to the next level, not only do you get the chapters, but you get my take on them as well. We can sit there and slice and dice the narrative. In Army terms you get to sit in on the AAR, or after action review. Should be a lot of fun.
Finally, there is the ten dollar (USD tier. There are only ten of these slots available; why? Because at ten bucks you get to name a character whatever you choose (within reason). Gift a family member a character name, or put yourself in the book. It’s your choice. And if you PM me with something you’ve written, I’ll see if I can slide it into the books somewhere.
So, there you have it.
My first public release of new stuff in four years.
The website has already been prepped; there are five chapters waiting to start things off, along with analysis.
On the 28th of June, the link will appear here.
Short of an asteroid falling on my head, or a horrible fiery car crash, this is going to happen.
OK, it’s almost never a good idea to punch a wall.
There. I’ve said it. Having once been an adolescent male, though, I will admit to having done so a few times. Seriously stupid; especially when dealing with old-fashioned plaster and lathe or brick. All you are asking for is pain and a serious injury.
So why am I talking about this.
Alright, today we’re going to have a “writer’s journey” discussion. As you all may be aware, I have started in on another trilogy, and the premise is solid. Enjoyable. Somewhat novel. I am deeply into the first book in the planned trilogy, I’m hanging out at Chapter Twenty-Seven.
And there I’ve been sitting for about a week. Usually I don’t stop writing until a book is done, then and only then do I take time off.
Well, that’s not been the case this time around. This book has been challenging to write for a couple of reasons.
First, I am building a universe from scratch. But that’s not such a thing, I’ve done this before.
Second, my outline is insufficient. Yeah, it’s a guide, but I simply can’t follow it as usual.
Finally, I think I’m having trouble maintaining tension in the narrative toward the close of Book One. This is not a good place to be when you are supposed to be experiencing an acceleration both as the author and the reader. Instead, I feel dead in the water.
So therefore the “punching walls” theme of this week’s post. My writing at the moment feels nearly as painful and pointless.
I know it’s an illusion. I know it’s BS. But still.
Not so long ago a friend and mentor gave me the sound advice to simply skip over a point in the narrative that you think is holding you up on project completion. He’s probably right, and here pretty soon I may do just that.
But I look at the work as it stands and I think “I can win this. Don’t be a weenie.”
Boy, is it a good thing that I don’t have a real deadline for all of this, or I’d be in a pickle. Now, don’t get me wrong. There kind of is a deadline; I want to launch my Patreon page in November, and this book is the lead-off to the exclusive material that’ll be featured there.
But know this! It hasn’t come without a struggle. I want to produce stuff that doesn’t SUCK. Work that’s readable. Coherent.
Alright, I’ve mapped out the whole trilogy, and I’ve known from the get-go that Book One was going to give me the worst fight. I really hate to be right.
I know that I haven’t adequately explained. I kind of can’t, because the premise is close-hold.
The problem is one of antagonists. In the first book, the enemy is circumstance. In the second book, the enemy is nature of a sort. The third book? Human conflict. The second and third books, I have the antagonists nailed. But in the first book- well, using circumstance as the enemy per se is novel to me. Difficult, challenging. It works, I think, but it involves a bit of thought and care.
So that’s why I’m punching-walls frustrated. Because this has not been easy.
You know what, though?
Tough, I tell my inner wall-puncher. Tough. Deal with it, man-up and grow as an author.
Learn from adversity.
Produce something worthwhile.
That’s one of the few bullet-points of my original plan that has survived contact with the enemy per se.
Make fun, readable stuff.
Way easier said than done. I’ll leave that for you all to judge come November.
Another excerpt from the novel I’m working on for my Patreon fans-only website.
***
The Interview (Sometime in 2090)
“I am sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Johnstone, but XXXX requires a physical interview for authorization.”
Joe’s neck and shoulder ached. He could feel his back stiffen as he sat in the flexor chair, every breath was a chore. He spoke.
“I understand, machine. You need me in this room for a good look over with the Mark One eyeball.”
The expensive intelligence cocked her head. She laughed.
“We haven’t heard that phrase in a while, Mr. Johnstone.”
“It’s been a while since I used it.”
The intelligence smiled. Joe noted that she was very well made, he could barely see through her and there was no trace of a flicker. Nice work, he thought.
She spoke. “Please do call me Angelique. I prefer that, as well as the pronoun “she.””
Joe closed his eyes for a second. He opened them. “Anything you like, Angelique.”
“I see here that you were born on the 5th of July, 1982. Is this correct?”
Joe rubbed his nose. If she were a real woman, he would have picked up on some sort of scent. Something. As it was, the room smelled of rubbing alcohol with a slight tang of ozone. He answered and felt slightly ridiculous to be speaking to what was really a projection and a wall.
“You know it is.”
“We do have to observe the formalities, Mr. Johnstone. Or do you prefer Joseph or Joe?”
“I prefer Joe.”
“May I call you that?”
“Sure. Why not.”
“Just so that I can confirm a few data points, may I ask you a series of questions?”
“That’s why I’m here, right?”
“I do need your permission, Joe.”
“Shoot.”
The machine blinked. Then she smiled.
“Oh, you mean “go ahead.””
“Yeah.”
“Alright. Shall we begin?”
“Yes.” Joe’s back hurt. He shifted. Angelique noticed.
“Shall I ask your granddaughter to bring in your analgesics? We’ll be here for a while.”
“It should be alright.” He didn’t fully trust the drugs, even though he had been medicated for many decades. The machine nodded.
“My first question. When were you married?”
“After I made E-5. 2007.”
“I have your wife’s name and statistics. I am sorry for your loss.”
Joe closed his eyes. No, you’re not, he thought. But why be rude? “Thank you.”
“What color were her eyes?”
Joe’s eyes snapped open. “What?”
“What color were her eyes?”
“Blue. How is this relevant?”
“Everything is relevant.”
“I guess?”
Angelique nodded. “Just so you know, you are covered by our non-disclosure agreement. It went into effect the moment you crossed the threshold into this room. I have the same legal rights and privileges as your counselor at Veteran’s Affairs.”
Joe furrowed his face. “How much do you know about me?”
“Very little. Just official statistics and data. But if we agree to go through with this procedure, I will know everything.”
“Everything.”
“Yes, quite.”
Angelique morphed into Doctor French, his counselor at the VA. She had retired decades ago. He cried out.
“Did I startle you?” Doctor French’s face twisted in just that wry way…
“Please change back, Angelique.”
The machine complied. She spoke.
“When did you first watch a launch of a XXXX ship?”
“I dunno.”
“Our predecessor agency was known as SpaceX.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Sometime in the tens.”
“What did you feel as you watched the ship ascend?”
Joe remembered seeing the red car in space. He answered.
“It was, I dunno, inspiring.”
“Had you written your first book by then?”
“Yeah. 2012. When I retired from the Army.”
“Why did you shoot that man in the back?”
Joe shot forward. His body screamed at him. He answered, his voice flat.
“Fuck you.”
***
All of this, readers, will be available to you when I launch November timeframe. I’ll probably do like John Birmingham’s site with two tiers, two bucks and four bucks. Two for the basic serial, and four for the extra cool-guy stuff. Analysis, etc.
Who knows, maybe I launch a five bucks tier where your name gets put in the series. But I don’t know yet. It’s all still up in the air, except for the writing.
Right now I’m at Chapter 25 of the first novel, so I definitely hope to have the rough draft of the trilogy done by launch date- and you, my readers, can help me shape the final. Can interact, can read along.
It’s going to be fun, and I’m really looking forward to it!
This is an excerpt from another unpublished sci-fi trilogy; this is the one I’m looking to publish on my snazzy new Patreon page.
Give it a look and see what you think!
***
In what he suspected was his final interrupted nap, the storyteller dreamed. It wasn’t peaceful. The cloud in his room absorbed every detail for posterity; zeros and ones marched in long columns through his electric sleep. A medical intelligence choreographed his every thought and breath.
***
“Lay down some fucking lead, Johnstone.” Joe couldn’t see any kind of target. Nothing. There was a dusty village and some shitty olive green trees. Plink! The sound of bullets hitting his truck sounded like little rocks hitting tin cans. He wanted to shoot. He needed to shoot. But there was no target. Joe heard Sergeant Cox’s voice through the intercom. “Hey, asshole, shoot!” “I’ve got no PID!” “I don’t give a fuck. Suppressive fire!” The young soldier’s mouth was dry, his hands were numb. He pressed the button by the trigger well that read “S.” The plunger safety popped out on the other side, now it read “F.” He had to fire. But for fuck’s sake, at what? Plink. Joe put his right cheek on the comb of the stock, his index finger rested on the trigger guard. With his left hand he pushed the turret control joystick to the right, his mounted weapon rotated about ten degrees. His vision blurred as he tried to focus on some trees; the 240B was pointed at the sky. His hand shot to the T&E assembly; in a flash he adjusted his elevation knob downwards. The tree appeared over his sights. He squeezed the trigger, his weapon barely pulsed in its mount. Die motherfucker die, he thought, just as he had been trained. He released the trigger, hot brass and links danced around his desert boots. Sergeant Cox’s voice came through the intercom. “Fuckin’ get some! Another burst!” Joe complied; he killed the pistachio tree. His cherry popped.
Plink.
***
Joe’s neck hurt. It was a constant keening discomfort, an itch that could not be scratched. His twenty-eight pound machine gun hung about his neck like an albatross, he wanted to collapse, even though his load was a couple of hundred rounds lighter. The fucking lieutenant was doing something, he didn’t know what. His eyes cast about, the rising sun banished the blue shadows. Red smoke drifted about, the harsh buzz of a Blackhawk grew louder. It almost drowned out the screaming man. He was about ten feet away from Joe, someone was guarding him. Joe pulled out an L&M cigarette and lit up. A fucking bad guy. Who gave a shit about him? The man writhed. The medics were busy with others. Joe pulled in a lungful of smoke. He wanted to sleep. The sky darkened. What the fuck, he thought, it rarely rained here this time of year. Someone was talking. He strained to hear. But the words didn’t make any sense.
***
“We’re so sorry, ma’am, but this is one of the hallmarks of his generation…” My generation, Joe thought, as the synapses in his natural-born mind fizzled. They had been born in peace, then they were sent off to war. Some, at least. But long not all went.
***
Of course the formatting is all messed up for some reason, but you get the general idea.
I’m pretty excited about this series, and I’m at the mid point right now in the first book. It’s taking me a little longer than usual, but I want to get this one just right…
The man pictured above, Private Merton R. Johnson, KIA Korea, 1952, was part of the diaspora caused by the 1862 Dakota War. He was one of the lost sons of the Mendota Mdewakanton Dakota, a remarkable community based since historical times in Mendota, Minnesota.
So I’ve gotten a lot of feedback about the post a few days ago; many of you seem to think I should write a book based upon the red thread that winds through this ancient town, M’dote.
Ancient, some of my European readers may say. Yes, truly ancient in any sense of the word. M’dote was used since time out of mind by the Sioux nation as a meeting area, where the seven council fires of the Lakota and Dakota peoples would meet.
It was an easy to find and agreeable location, the spot where the Minnesota and Mississippi Rivers ran together. In historical times the game was abundant, the fishing was good. It was an excellent spot to meet.
The trouble started in the late seventeen hundreds. Now, the Dakota could not be described as a peaceful people; they had a long warrior tradition. When the white man first came to M’dote, they were engaged in fighting with the Obijwe people. The Obijwe, or Chippewa, were trying to move west in response to whites moving onto their lands. It was understandable, but the Dakota weren’t cool with it.
In fact, the sub-tribe that lived in M’dote, the Mdewakanton, were known as the “keepers of the Eastern Gate,” so warfare with the Obijwe was inevitable.
The first whites to arrive were the French; they assimilated into the tribe and intermarried.
The Americans were different. They set up a fort in the early eighteen hundreds and sought to make peace between The Dakota and Obijwe. They were mostly successful, but they didn’t arrange the peace out of the goodness of their own hearts. No, they wanted the land.
As the years passed, there were a series of treaties signed, each was broken in turn.
The settlers from the east, first hundreds, then thousands, built homes and fences upon the land of the Dakota. The sacred bison was hunted out, along with the other large game. The natives were pressed into an ever-dwindling space, and eventually they ran out of food.
The promised annuities, payment for their lost lands, were withheld by unscrupulous US Government officials. The Dakota were out of options. No food, no money, and now no land.
They fought. Many were killed, innocent and guilty.
It was the United States’ version of Bosnia-Herzegovina, internecine brutal warfare that pitted brother against brother and whites versus the natives.
Placed against the vicious bloodbath of the US Civil War, casualties were relatively light compared to fights such as Antietam back east.
However, the trauma of the burning, the raids and reprisals, the executions and bounties, and finally the concentration camps, lasted nearly one hundred years.
The Dakota were crushed by the US Army. The Mendota Mdewakanton fought on both sides; as with any civil war feelings ran high and people were forced by circumstance to make fateful choices. Whether the decisions were right or wrong I will not say; having served in combat, I can imagine that many later regretted the choices they made during that terrible August of 1862.
The war ended. Those of Native blood were herded into camps, hundreds died of neglect, exposure and disease.
The execution of 38 Dakota fighters on a specially made gallows capped off the whole miserable exercise.
Most Dakota were expelled from Minnesota, except a couple of hundred who were allowed to stay. These few were perceived to have helped the whites, or they had stayed neutral.
They had to keep their heads down, though, and they couldn’t stray outside of their little community in Mendota or they were liable to be scalped.
Scalped. In other words, legally killed, and a chunk of their head with hair attached turned in for a bounty paid in gold. Gold paid by the government of Minnesota, officially.
No dignity was afforded the losers of the war; the hatred was extended to those who served with the whites. All were guilty by reason of blood. For decades, the poisonous apartheid, the treatment of the Mendota as second or third class citizens held.
Some returned from further West, after the final defeat of the Sioux at the bloody and shameful Wounded Knee. The locals intermarried with their old enemy, the Obijwe. Their customs and language were forbidden by law. Their children were shipped off to special schools for Natives; a saying went that “you had to kill the Indian to save the man.”
Many fled to other parts of the country. Places so far removed from Minnesota that they could start anew. They could hide their heritage, forget the past. These descendants grew up in a world where in a game of “Cowboys and Indians” the Indian was always assumed to be the bad guy; where it was better to lie about your heritage than to admit the truth.
But even these forgotten descendants of that fierce warrior folk, the Dakota, held to their tradition.
They did not shy from a fight. Where the United States fought- they waged war with distinction and valor.
But the diaspora never really forgot their Minnesota roots. Their warrior tradition.
The Mendota who stayed toughed out the bad decades, the prejudice, the official and unofficial racism. They stayed cohesive; they did their best to maintain the old ways.
In 1934, the US Government finally allowed the Natives to speak their own language and follow their own customs.
Nice of them, really.
As the years went on, the old hate died along with the generation that fought the Indian Wars. Finally, no one remembered. The skull of Little Crow, the war chief of the Dakota during the 1862 War, was finally returned to his family.
It had been displayed as a grisly public trophy for over one hundred years.
One hundred years.
In the nineteen nineties, the Mendota came together and decided to formalize their long tradition- they were a tribe, it was past time to reorganize and commemorate the old family and tribal bonds. The survivors in Mendota formed the Mendota Mdewakanton Dakota Tribal Community, and they opened membership to those who were descended from the tribe, wherever life might find them.
Fast forward to the present day. The Mendota look forward to holding the annual wacipi, or “pow-wow” after the dreadful 2020, and they continue to celebrate life and the turning of the great wheel.
I found this community by fate, I suppose, and I have uncovered their amazing story over the past several months.
These scrappy and courageous people want nothing other than to honor their ancestors and keep their traditions alive. I think that they are a worthy cause and put my money where my mouth is.
It would be an honor to write a book based upon their story.
But not yet. First I have a mountain of other stuff to do. Also, to write the story I have to visit distant Minnesota, I need to walk the banks of the Mississippi. I need to see where the battles were fought, I need to visit with the tribe. In short, the human touch is vital in this most human of stories.
I plan on visiting Mendota for my first ever wacipi this September.
The Mendota. A remarkable people; a fantastic and true story.
The Interstellar Valley 