Post by Paul Sylvain on Apr 3, 2010 16:25:23 GMT -5
The discussion about Custer at the Greasy Grass (LBH) and the references of his dawn attack on Black Kettle's winter camp on the Washita in present day Oklahoma brought me back to my visit to the Washita two years ago this May.
People who know me, know that I'm not someone given to flights of fantasy or to make something up. What I'm about to relate is going to sound incredible, but it did happen and was not imagined. In the end, it connected me even closer to my distant First People roots.
Before moving to Dallas last year, I was detailed to Dallas for five months starting in May 2008. A few weeks after arriving in Texas, I drove to Oklahoma City and stopped at the 45th Division Museum. My dad was a member of the 645th Tank Destroyers in WWII, so I had an interest in visiting the museum. While there, I saw something about the Washita campaign. Until then I didn't realize it was in Oklahoma. The following weekend -- early June -- I drove up to Cheyenne, Oklahoma and visited the site.
After visiting the park station, watching a film and looking at the exhibits, I drove the half-mile or so to the overlook and the trails leading down to the creek and battle site. There was only a narrow, mowed trail leading down to the encampment, and I had been warned to stay on the path and watch for rattlers.
I was the only soul there. From below the overlook, I looked up and saw my car was the only car there. I had the place to myself and my thoughts. I brought my camera along as well, to snap a few pictures. It never gave me any problems before and had fresh batteries in it. Checked it that morning and it was fine.
It was a sunny, cloudless morning, with an endless blue sky. I saw a few small lizards, grasshoppers and birds. Maybe a butterfly or two. Otherwise it was silent, except for a light breeze rustling through the waist-high grass.
At the point where I was looking across where the lodges were, and where the attack began, I suddenly heard a loud, deafening roar of a buzzing -- like thousands or hundreds of thousands of bees -- swirling around my head. It went from stone silence to a chainsaw in the snap of a finger. I literally ducked and covered my head with my arms, thinking it was a swarm of killer bees, but when I looked up, there was nothing. Not even a single bee. The buzzing sound faded away to silence about half a minute later. My heart was pounding, because of the startle. I looked around and back up to the overlook, and confirmed I was the only person there.
I went a short distance to the creek's edge, near where Black Kettle and his wife were killed. That's when I tried taking a couple of photos (actually towards the fields where most of the killing took place) , but the camera would not work. I kept getting strange error messages, and it acted like it was froze up. Try as I might, it would not take a photo, so I gave up trying at that point.
The rest of the walk was uneventful, but the buzzing still weighed in my thoughts. I knew I hadn't imagined it, but couldn't explain it.
Here's where it gets interesting. I got back to Dallas, took out the camera and guess what? It worked perfectly. No issues. No error messages, nothing. Snap! Snap! WTF?
That evening I called my Lakota friend, Longbow, and explained the events of the day to him. He was especially interested about the buzzing. He told me to search and I would find the answer. He said it in a way that suggested he knew something about it, but wanted me to find it on my own first.
As to the camera, he reminded me that the spirits, or "shadows," of Black Kettle and the others who died there, still walked the site. It was hallowed ground, he said, and clearly they did not want me to steal their shadows by taking photos of where they dwell.
A couple days later, I related my experience to a drummer friend of mine who shares my part-Abenaki heritage in New Hampshire. Soon after, he emailed a description of the battle from one of the survivors. The key passage in what he sent me is the following:
"Bullets whizzed past them and survivors of the massacre described the sound as bees buzzing and hail hitting the lodge skins.”
When I visited the Washita, I had no knowledge about this description. I only knew a few facts about the event, but nothing about what it sounded like. There was nothing to influence my mind in thinking I was hearing it. What I heard was real.
When I spoke to Longbow again, he told me he knew this. "You had a vision," he told me, "but of sound not sight. The spirits chose that time to reveal something to you. and only to you. It's a gift that you will carry with you until you make the journey." He was convinced that it was no coincidence that there was no one else there that morning except me.
Believe it, or don't. I can only relate what I experienced. To me, it was -- and still is -- real.
Paul
People who know me, know that I'm not someone given to flights of fantasy or to make something up. What I'm about to relate is going to sound incredible, but it did happen and was not imagined. In the end, it connected me even closer to my distant First People roots.
Before moving to Dallas last year, I was detailed to Dallas for five months starting in May 2008. A few weeks after arriving in Texas, I drove to Oklahoma City and stopped at the 45th Division Museum. My dad was a member of the 645th Tank Destroyers in WWII, so I had an interest in visiting the museum. While there, I saw something about the Washita campaign. Until then I didn't realize it was in Oklahoma. The following weekend -- early June -- I drove up to Cheyenne, Oklahoma and visited the site.
After visiting the park station, watching a film and looking at the exhibits, I drove the half-mile or so to the overlook and the trails leading down to the creek and battle site. There was only a narrow, mowed trail leading down to the encampment, and I had been warned to stay on the path and watch for rattlers.
I was the only soul there. From below the overlook, I looked up and saw my car was the only car there. I had the place to myself and my thoughts. I brought my camera along as well, to snap a few pictures. It never gave me any problems before and had fresh batteries in it. Checked it that morning and it was fine.
It was a sunny, cloudless morning, with an endless blue sky. I saw a few small lizards, grasshoppers and birds. Maybe a butterfly or two. Otherwise it was silent, except for a light breeze rustling through the waist-high grass.
At the point where I was looking across where the lodges were, and where the attack began, I suddenly heard a loud, deafening roar of a buzzing -- like thousands or hundreds of thousands of bees -- swirling around my head. It went from stone silence to a chainsaw in the snap of a finger. I literally ducked and covered my head with my arms, thinking it was a swarm of killer bees, but when I looked up, there was nothing. Not even a single bee. The buzzing sound faded away to silence about half a minute later. My heart was pounding, because of the startle. I looked around and back up to the overlook, and confirmed I was the only person there.
I went a short distance to the creek's edge, near where Black Kettle and his wife were killed. That's when I tried taking a couple of photos (actually towards the fields where most of the killing took place) , but the camera would not work. I kept getting strange error messages, and it acted like it was froze up. Try as I might, it would not take a photo, so I gave up trying at that point.
The rest of the walk was uneventful, but the buzzing still weighed in my thoughts. I knew I hadn't imagined it, but couldn't explain it.
Here's where it gets interesting. I got back to Dallas, took out the camera and guess what? It worked perfectly. No issues. No error messages, nothing. Snap! Snap! WTF?
That evening I called my Lakota friend, Longbow, and explained the events of the day to him. He was especially interested about the buzzing. He told me to search and I would find the answer. He said it in a way that suggested he knew something about it, but wanted me to find it on my own first.
As to the camera, he reminded me that the spirits, or "shadows," of Black Kettle and the others who died there, still walked the site. It was hallowed ground, he said, and clearly they did not want me to steal their shadows by taking photos of where they dwell.
A couple days later, I related my experience to a drummer friend of mine who shares my part-Abenaki heritage in New Hampshire. Soon after, he emailed a description of the battle from one of the survivors. The key passage in what he sent me is the following:
"Bullets whizzed past them and survivors of the massacre described the sound as bees buzzing and hail hitting the lodge skins.”
When I visited the Washita, I had no knowledge about this description. I only knew a few facts about the event, but nothing about what it sounded like. There was nothing to influence my mind in thinking I was hearing it. What I heard was real.
When I spoke to Longbow again, he told me he knew this. "You had a vision," he told me, "but of sound not sight. The spirits chose that time to reveal something to you. and only to you. It's a gift that you will carry with you until you make the journey." He was convinced that it was no coincidence that there was no one else there that morning except me.
Believe it, or don't. I can only relate what I experienced. To me, it was -- and still is -- real.
Paul