Standing in at Standing Rock

One of the difficulties of being at Standing Rock is maintaining balance when dealing with all the misinformation, misinterpretation and missteps encountered while making a place in that very organic, organized chaos of a community of prayer and resistance, natives and non-natives, ages, families, working groups. It was impossible for me personally to be unaffected by almost everything I saw and heard. This microcosm of our world and of the native/non-native intersection was a powerful reminder to me, as an anglo, of what we miss or lack in our culture of exclusivity, consumerism, limited vision and disconnection from Mother Earth. I again felt the pang of envy for the songs I heard from native women or men as they sang to their Mother. Where are our songs for the water, the air, for the next generations? I went to the river and made up my own.

Overview of Oceti Sakowin with police presence on the ridgetop.

I had the privilege of spending five days at the camp between November 21st and 26th , observing, volunteering, assisting my hostess with bringing over water and tending the fire. Time slows down at the camp. The day is measured by the rising sun and the call of the drums and voices to get up and join in the prayers. Then the daily chores of camping out, offering assistance where needed and doing a lot of walking...from campsite to water, from campsite to portapotty, to the kitchen for food, to meet up at the community center or to what is commonly called Facebook hill or media hill, where the press corps hang out and everyone who needs to connect with the outside world heads to post their emails or make phone calls. It's a lot of walking. But feet allow you to connect with the Earth and with the others at camp.
And my meetings with folks here were always surprising and enlightening. One way or another. Lots of young people here and I took advantage of sitting around Sacred Fire with some of them to hear their experiences. There are seven Sacred Fires tended constantly; anyone can add wood to the firepit and be warmed by its heat. I was warmed by conversations as well.
Everyone want to know: "What's it like at Standing Rock? Was it safe? What about the police?"
First, I didn't encounter any direct violence but I did observe the aftermath of traumatic stress with several people who were in the event on Sunday and that gave me pause. Second, as a woman, I felt more respected and safe at Standing Rock than I do in many places. Women are greatly respected among Plains people and the Lakota, Dakota, Nakota. It was very sweet to be addressed as "auntie" or "grandmother" and offered help from the youth. Meals are served in this order: women with children, other women, then elder men and youth.

My journey to North Dakota along the pipeline route  has come to a close. At least the driving part is done. Coming to terms both internally, politically, emotionally will not be easy. Leaving the camp and my companion/sistar/warrior woman, Dell Hambleton, on Saturday morning was very hard. I took time to stand by the Cannonball River, pour out the blessed water I brought from the Oconaluftee River within the Qualla Boundary, Eastern Band of the Cherokee Nation. My spiritual support sisters and I hiked to a point where we could collect the running water in September, add our prayers for peace and reconciliation and awakening that I carried with me across the country.

With the now empty bottle, I scooped up some of the Cannonball River and her energy and prayers to take back with me. But when I arrived, first at the Ft. Yates burial site and then at the monument to Sitting Bull down the road, I was called to take the water with me as I looked out over the Missouri River. I imagined how he himself had plied these rivers, drunk from its waters and gazed upon the flowing grasslands that once teamed with buffalo and elk. I knelt facing the River and poured the Cannonball River water into the soil around his monument. I want to believe his spirit enjoyed the drink. Then it was time to face south east and journey home. Here is a video from his great granddaughter. 

I can't explain Standing Rock to you in a few blog posts. I may never be able to completely explain it to myself. Perhaps the following essay can help.

I have more photos and reflections in preparation. This journey isn't over.  It has simply taken a rest. Please stay connected.

Updated: Day 6 now includes the link to the interview at KHOI. Worth a listen, not just for me but several other voices on the issues surrounding the DAPL.

So you want to help.....go to Iowa!

Yes, Iowa, and several other places.

I went to Standing Rock as the culmination of my calling to see the pipeline under construction for myself. What I found was this: miles of unfinished or unstarted pipeline especially in Iowa and western Illinois. While Standing Rock and our indigenous neighbors have created one of the greatest and most historical moments of environmental and indigenous rights resistance, there are places in between Patoka, Illinois and Standing Rock that need our energy. Please know that with so many miles of unfinished pipeline, we COULD conceivably create enough civil disobedience to stall this pipeline and use up more resources from DAPL and local agencies and possibly bring more awareness in more places.

If I was to place a bet today on what could turn the tide it would be Iowa. Here's why: several key issues including the unfair use of eminent domain in obtaining land for this pipeline and the very real threat to agriculture (which I witnessed for hundred of miles in Iowa) and the climate fraud perpetrated by Exxon Mobil which knew about the effects of climate change already in the 1970's yet has forged ahead in spite of their own findings.

I know, I know, non-violent civil disobedience in Iowa does not have the same romantic ring as being at Standing Rock. But if you are truly serious about all of the issues surrounding this pipeline, then just hanging out at Standing Rock is not serving the needs of that tribe or of stopping the pipeline. Standing Rock is not Burning Man. You and your friends may want to make it so, but please understand this is a pivotal moment in freedom of speech, freedom to assemble, tribal sovereignty and to also impact whatever shred of decency, morality and civic duty remains in our elected officials (and it's skimpy and getting more threadbare by the moment.)

PLEASE CONSIDER where and how to put your energies. Thousands of people have flooded into Standing Rock in just the past week. What might we have changed by congregating at the Des Moines River outside Ames, Iowa, or at Sandusky, Iowa, where DAPL plans to drill across the Mississippi? What about the good folks also fighting in Nebraska, Oklahoma and Louisiana?

Dec. 15: Stand in Court With Landowners vs. Dakota Access Eminent Domain

YOU CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE!  In just a couple of weeks a very important hearing will take place in Des Moines, Iowa. We can be there and support the many landowners fighting the loss of their land through eminent domain. 

I saw this trailer on my way out of Ames, IA. It's impressive. (Photo courtesy of Bold Iowa.)

Day 7: Finding a tipi in a haystack (of tipis)

I know that most of you have been waiting for this post over all the others but I hope you took the journey with me. While Standing Rock is most often the focus of the world's attention, we have to look at how we got to this point and how the people, the Lakota, are here not only as the guardians of the water but as a possible last line of defense against increasing corporate greed and the trampling of our basic civil rights. They are warriors not only for protection of our precious Earth but for the core values of a humane and civil society.

This was the point where I felt I had entered another world: the bridge over the wide WIDE Missouri after Mobridge, South Dakota, and entering the area of Lake Oahe. The sign is blurred, I apologize, I am driver, navigator, photographer and barista on this solo venture.

It's about 40 miles to Standing Rock and the landscape is quietly undulating grasslands. The music from "Dances With Wolves" kept playing in my head. Yep, I know, trite, but true.

Just across the river and a right turn is the very welcome sign "Entering Standing Rock Reservation." It was at that moment I felt a sigh of relief and a calm sense of safety. With all the stuff packed in my tiny car I wanted to stay away from any possibility of a ticket so I kept the Blue Viber at the exact speed for hundreds of miles. Now I could let her run a little.

Pass the Casino and up 1806 I called my friend Avram Friedman, of The Canary Coalition in western North Carolina, to review the directions for getting into camp. Avram was here last week with supplies, during very cold days. It was good to hear his voice. It reassured me that I would find a particular tipi when I got to camp and unload all the donations and gear at last.

WELL.....well....coming up the rise and down into camp beside the Cannonball River is a vast panorama of yurts, buildings, lean-to's for many purposes and....tipis. Lots of tipis. Well, duh! Like every other campsite was a tipi. Nomadics in Bend, Oregon, has donated many of their tipis to be used by the more permanent campers. Entering the main camp, Oceti Sakowin, I'm met by the folks directing traffic and the people at the guardhouse where I asked directions to the medical tent. It has a similar feeling to getting into the state fair only friendlier. There are people coming and going in cars and on foot with no discernible logic to an outsider. I maneuvered my car past roped off areas, squeezed beside a camper, and made my way to the medical yurts.

 It was heartening to see all the donations being sorted from clothes to building supplies to medical supplies. I found this everywhere in camp: donations are available for every purpose and if you need something and it's at the donation station, you are welcome to use it. My contact here, Dell Hambleton, had not picked up on my text messages so I was left with asking for help to find her. Not able to connect with Facebook I had to recreate her message from memory and all I remembered was it was very near the medical tent, it was the only tent with a green band at the top with a bear painted on it. I got out of my car and scanned the horizon of tipi poles jutting up above the sea of life and felt lost for the first time on this trip. There is no map at Standing Rock. 

Folks at the medical yurts did not know her. They were busy sorting large piles of donations. I turned to walk into the camp and after a few minutes gave up when I didn't notice any tipis with green bands. As I was walking back to my car, the look of frustration prompted one young man to call out "Hello Auntie, do you need something?" The term 'auntie' or 'grandmother' used here by the native people is a term of respect and it warmed me in this moment of frustration and self-doubt or more importantly the prospect of car camping in really cold temperatures among a car full of bags and boxes. I told him who I was looking for and then he asked the right question: "Which camp is she in?" Then I remembered: Rosebud. There are three camps here and knowing which one is important. The fellow smiled and said it's over the bridge.

 Following his directions out of this ordered chaos, I made my way into Rosebud, parked my car and stopped the first person I saw and asked if they knew the only person whose name I had carried with me. Sean not only knew her, had helped her re-set her tipi and took me directly to her tent. And my heart and spirits pitched up several octaves. I had found the tipi among hundreds. I now claimed the title of Mighty Tipi Hunter as well as Black Snake Tracker.

Dell has made a space not only in her tipi and her life and her heart for me, but in this camp, introducing me everywhere we go, explaining what is where and why (to the best of her ability.) Although she was here in August, things change quickly in these camps. We walked up to Sacred Stone Camp and she noticed what had changed in just a few months. Exciting changes, too. People come for awhile and leave. Teams come to build the yurts or more permanent structures like an indoor kitchen or the school building and cycle out. Medical personnel may fly in or drive in giving up their personnel days to help out. Folks give up large pieces of their lives 'back wherever' to create a sense of unity out of our diversity. What at first appeared as a collection of refugees from Burning Man (and I do believe there are some of those among us) are, for the most part, people awakened by this travesty and the conviction that this is OUR last great opportunity to unite and demand a world not built on draining every ounce of oil from our Earth and destroying our health in the process.

They watch from the hills our every activity.

My introduction to what is commonly called 'DAPL goons' or the local and other forms of "law enforcement" were the vehicles on the hill overlooking the camps and the planes and helicopters that fly over at will--watching us down here, taking pictures.

Close enough that I could wave and snap this pic.

There are infiltrators, I'm sure, because this is a welcoming camp. DAPL wants nothing more than to break the power of this resistance and using covert activities and bright construction lights and flying overhead to intimidate are the least acts of aggression. Even after the near deadly actions by the local law enforcement agency on Sunday night, and the permanent damage caused to one young woman by their violent and illegal actions, the resistance will continue. Some of us will go home and there will be five more to take our place.  People of all races and colors and nations will continue to be here. We have fire tenders now all around the world praying with us here as the Elders are asking. The sacred fires will not go out.

For more information on the events from Sunday night follow Democracy Now! or The Young Turks or as it comes available I will post from reputable news sources from the camp.You all have a lovely Wednesday. And no, I have not seen or heard about Jane Fonda being here tomorrow. More to come....

Day Six: Cruising and I'm over you Iowa

[WARNING: Upsetting photo ahead] To drive this pipeline means a constant adjusting to straddle the line, moving back and forth as much as possible, on the lookout for telltale signs of the construction work and places that are safe to pull over for a photo. Not an easy thing with a cell phone for my map and camera, voice recorder, learning to geotag, fumbling for hot coffee and watching for road signs and slow moving tractors. You can see my current location in South Dakota tonight.

I wasn't able to stay on the backroads and county roads all the time. I had to make decisions based on making a certain distance, finding a place to sleep, and seeking out key locations that needed to be observed. While I'm very tired and my pony (The Great Blue Viber) is showing me she's ready for some rest by flashing the check engine light at me, I am fully aware of the gift this has been. I have learned so much about the way a pipeline is built, seen this impressive region up close, been welcomed by strangers, and am ready to arrive tomorrow at the Standing Rock Reservation.

I am grateful for these seven days of intense connection with this Earth, which was not easy to understand many times and was not all beautiful or uplifting. Such was the case this Sunday morning. I began to notice that the hog confinements/factory farms kept getting bigger and bigger. Nearly everything has become a commodity, something to bring in money without regard to its beauty and value as a form of life that shares this planet with us.

Cruising a back road, I caught something laid out on the small dock of one confinement operation. I turned the car around to check if what I thought I saw was real. It was a sow put onto the concrete dock possibly the day or night before. I stopped to say a prayer for this pig and all those inside whose only crime was being born into a situation which they did not choose. And when she was no longer 'productive' she was laid outside like trash. It may have been the only time she had experienced sunlight in her entire life. I don't know. Was it a dishonor to take this photo of a pig's death? (No, I didn't trespass; I took this from the road.)

I took that photo to remind me that animals aren't merely resources, they should be honored for the gift of their life and no animal should be drug outside to hang over the edge of a loading dock like a piece of carpet. There is much more to heal in the heartland beyond pipelines.

For every harsh reality and confrontation, there are always gifts. My gifts along the way have been the fortuitous meetings, connections that seem so random yet mean so much, the ability to slow down and sense the Earth more fully.

This journey would not have happened in this way if not for this guy, Nitin Gadia. His life in Ames, Iowa, is not always recognized for the contributions he makes. His skills at adapting complicated statistics and data into map is nothing short of extraordinary. We only had a little time together and I hope that others will contact him and learn from him about the important work of mapmaking. Maps are power. Maps are keys to our world. Nitin is more than a mapmaker, he is a storyteller. And that is what makes his work so powerful. Thank you, Nitin.

Nitin introduced me to KHOI Community Radio in Ames and the station manager, Ursula Ruedenberg, who took me into a studio and began a conversation/interview that opened up a lot of emotion I was carrying about this trip. She also took me home, fed me and gave me a home for the night.  Thank you Ursula and the great folks at KHOI.
Here is the link to the interview plus several more include the amazing Nitin.

And to all the cashiers at gas stations, the coffee vendors, the waitresses at restaurants, the person who fed my meter in Ames, the bald eagle that graced my vision in Illinois, the rivers that seemed to laugh with me when I wanted to cry for what we do, for Joseph who keeps me grounded with talk of home and makes me laugh every day and all the people who read this blog or see my post on Facebook and comment about what I'm doing and where I'm going, well, thank you.
 Yeah, western Iowa gave me some harsh lessons but it also provided time with family, cousins and an aunt, I haven't seen in several years. I guess there is grace in every situation.

And so it's good night from South Dakota....tomorrow, Standing Rock.

"Nature is not a place to visit. It is home." - Gary Snyder

The rest of the story: Robert Kennedy, Jr., and why the DAPL is illegal

As my journey continues across Iowa and I witness the hodgepodge of the destruction of farmland,  I can understand why they are working to push through in sections. If the pipeline never flows with oil, the farmland has suffered horrendous damage from the earthmoving equipment, compaction and the destruction of the subsoil, the uprooting of the grasslands and trees along the rivers and creeks, the gravel and rock left behind not to mention a large pipe that is now buried in the earth. Sometimes I have no words for what I see. My heart aches for the farmers who try to battle this project while simultaneously forced to watch their farms destroyed. The relentless pursuit of money by those in power, especially political power, is nearly impossible to comprehend. Jobs? Let Robert Kennedy, Jr. expose that lie. Energy dependence for the US? Again, a lie. The oil is going to China. These workers follow the pipeline work and, yes, it's good pay. But do they understand the damage they leave behind? Or the suffering to the farmers and to all of us when something goes wrong and it will go wrong. It has and does almost on a daily basis. This land and the watersheds that nurture it now, will all suffer along with the flora and fauna that depend on it and we'll look back and say, "Well why didn't someone try to stop it?"

We did. And money 'trumped' wisdom.

Why is Iowa so vital to this conversation? Eminent domain. Here are their stories.

(Interactive map used in this project courtesy of www.bakkenpipelinemap.com)

If it's Thursday this must still be Illinois

I had no idea how long, how difficult or easy, how complicated this journey would be but I knew it was what I was called to do. Each day brings me new insights not only about myself but about this very strange almost alien culture we live in. My little blue car and I have seen some beautiful farmland edged with forests of oak and sycamore and we've seen beaver dams and sea gulls (yep, right there over the Carlyle Reservoir,) bald eagles, snakes, coyotes and more.

I've passed through many gray and somber small towns hugging the edges of the bluffs near the Illinois River and searched for the meeting tree in Vandalia where native tribes would meet each year to discuss their problems and settle grievances and feast. The other side of the road I drive is what is not seen, what is out of sight yet critical to this issue of whether we work together to surpass the need for fossil fuels or continue to bury our heads and butts in the sand and hope that disaster doesn't bite us before we can die naturally and leave this mess to those who come after. That's not very neighborly.
Here's the thing: from what I've been able to observe across Illinois, this pipeline (which is really a collective of various pipeline companies) is not finished.

Near Jacksonville, IL

There is still earth moving equipment at various locations, stacks of pipe and trucks hauling equipment and pipe. And you don't put up cardboard road signs to show trucks where to unload. I know that the citizens of Iowa are fighting the good fight as best they can and we need to support them (more about that tomorrow) so, Illinois, what's with you? Where are the protests? Where are the voices of dissension? I haven't seen them for sure. Why hasn't a BOLD Illinois Group formed to join the four other states seeking to halt yet another pipeline hauling oil through our heartland to the Gulf for export? I. Don't. Know. If you do, please educate me. All I see is complacence, acceptance, and like the lady at The Approach in Meredosia told me today: "Yeah, the pipeline, the cable, the new bridge, it's all good now and when it's done, there goes our business."

Outside Bluffs, IL

She gets that this is a short-term endeavor. So are fossil fuels with long-term ecological damage when something goes wrong as happened yesterday in Canton, Illinois. It gave me pause to realize that just today I passed less than 70 miles from Canton, I know it well, I lived for several years near there, got my degree in Macomb also close by. One person is dead and several injured. What does it take to wake us up?

In Bluffs, IL. Note the cardboard signs.

Till tomorrow, enjoy a couple of my rest stops today. I've crossed the Mississippi and resting my weary head in Keokuk, IA tonight.

Day Two the Head of the Snake

After a night in Carlyle, Illinois, I spent the day in search of the elusive pipeline and the massive tank collection area vividly outlined on Google earth. With the aid of my trusty map I found the confluence of the pipelines outside this tiny village of Patoka in south central Illinois.

In just a few hours of driving down dusty roads, I realize that my journey is not just for hunting the elusive 'black snake' pipeline. It is also about coming home, to my roots, in the heartland. I grew up north of here among the cornfields and soybean fields. It is painful to know that beneath this rich soil--the breadbasket of the world-- are miles of pipes forcing gas and oil from the north to the Gulf. I happened upon a wetland restoration area and stopped to gaze at the beaver dams and water fowl only a few miles from the 'tank farm' where the fuels are stored before heading down to the Gulf. A bald eagle greeted me at the entrance to one of the lakes. I took that as a good omen that I'm on the right path that although I I don't pretend to be an accomplished documentary film maker or journalist, I am making a small contribution to the story of Standing Rock.  This trip is also contributing to a deeper appreciation to the place where I grew up, the midwest.

I'm also seeing this pipeline through different eyes, the eyes of those who live, work, grow up around it. Moving up Route 51 and across 185, I saw the cuts through farmland laid with rock but chained off from the curious like me.

Taking a detour to Vandalia, the location of the first state capitol of Illinois, I discovered a small museum on the street behind the courthouse and spoke with a woman who at 84 has lived all her life in the same house she was born into only a few miles from the pipeline. As the docent and guardian of this former church building, she was a wealth of information about the area and the pipeline.   She assured me she had no fears about it yet sincerely empathized with the 'protestors in North Dakota who are concerned about their water.'

Marilyn was well-versed on how the pipeline acquired land, their responsibilities and also informed me about the other pipelines that meet up in Patoka. She felt a pipeline to be much safer than rail cars or trucks. 'That's why the oil coming down here from Canada wanted this pipeline so it would be much safer for their towns after that horrible explosion they had.'
For that reason and others, I want nothing more to see an end to our use of fossil fuels. For folks like Marilyn, the question is what would we use for transportation? Her concern is genuine. We have the technology to enable us to live very different lives that don't carry the potential to poison the land and the water. When more folks (like my delightful new friend) grasp and hold that belief and information that we already are capable of making that change, they won't fear the loss of their lifestyle.
After a last photo of Marilyn and her guy, I headed out. The afternoon was waning and I was tired of juggling the map, the camera and phone, the steering wheel and got onto the main road toward Hillsboro and Litchfield. As I drove up 185 I passed two correctional facilities. And then it hit me: when our economy fails to support small farmers, small towns with local businesses, our local schools, what do we offer the working people? Prisons. Or pipelines. We can do better.
Tonight I rest in the home of my good friends in Springfield. Tomorrow, we head to the Mississippi.
PS: When in Vandalia be sure to stop at the Fayette County Museum and say hello to this neat lady!

Journey westward

It's Day Zero: On the road again this time to take some supplies to the camps on the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation in North Dakota to support the Water Protectors in their peaceful resistance to the Dakota Access Pipeline. Packing a small trailer's worth of donations and gear into the hatchback of a Pontiac Vibe is quite fun, no really, considering these materials have to survive nearly 2000 miles plus provide some shelter for me for a few days. There are so many of us heading out from different locations across the globe now that I hope my time can be of service.

Day One: Leaving the Tuck
Early morning on the Tuckasegee River near our home in North Carolina, I say goodbye to the mountains and begin the trek west. Morning fog or smoke? Can't tell today. Smoke is our constant companion these past weeks. Purification? Could be yet as part of my pilgrimage to Sacred Stone Camp, I am bringing blessed water from our sacred rivers to the elders at Standing Rock. I hope the rituals and the intentions poured into them will help to soothe the pain and fear and disconnections between all the people out there as well as in the hearts and minds of those who continue to support extracting the innards of Gaia for profit without regard for future generations. May those prayers then join the Missouri and move down the heartland of this continent to return to the Mother Ocean in the Gulf where much healing is still needed. May these prayers be for rain to soothe our tortured forests and woodlands and allow all sentient beings to be safe.

My other reason for this trip is to see for myself the "Black Snake" as the indigenous people call the pipeline and to document its mark upon the land. For that I needed a map that allowed me to see exactly where the pipeline was relative to the landscape and the roads I have to travel. Nitin Gadia and his team made that possible with this interactive map from the oil fields to the discharge location in central Illinois. I'm inside the blue circle somewhere resting tonight. This is my guide for the next week. If you are along the route, give me a holler and we can meet up. Wherever we are on this map, we are already connected. Now we need to share our stories so we each can understand one another and support one another.

Tomorrow: Patoka.