Shadow Shot Sunday, May 9, 2010

Shadow Shot Sunday is the creation of Tracy who pens the Hey Harriet blog. She hails from Queensland, Australia. I’ve never been to Australia. I was close when I was in Southeast Asia in the 1960’s. Maybe someday I’ll get there. It will be hard to ride the motorcycle across the water though. If you want to participate, HERE are the guidelines. mI am posting this in the late afternoon on Saturday as many of the readers and participants are in Australia. The time difference will show this post on Sunday there.


Today, I have a shot I took at the end of a commemorative motorcycle ride I have participated in for the past four years. It is called The Crow Creek Longriders Commemorative Motorcycle Ride and will take place this year, 2010, on June 16-19.

The ride remembers the forced exodus of the Dakota and Winnebago people from their homelands in Minnesota to Fort Thompson, South Dakota to the Crow Creek Indian Reservation. It is a sad point in our Nation’s history. We remember to show our respect to the ancestors and bring the event to people so that a tragedy such as this never happens again.

We also have a couple of fundraisers and the Crow Creek Longriders raise money for The Boys and Girls Club at Fort Thompson as well as Project Head Start. Both of these organizations serve the youth of the Crow Creek Community.

The photo is from the overlook on the Missouri River at Crow Creek. We ride in and gather there. Every rider has a chance to speak and say what’s on their mind. Each year, the Spirits grab a hold of me and thank me, by sending me tears, for remembering the people. Of course, click on any photograph to enlarge it.

The sun was nearly over head as the ride takes place in the middle of the day right near the Solstice. Shadows aren’t long and deep, but rather compact, and firmly attached to our sides. Same with the motorcycles standing on their kickstands. I like this photo for many reasons other than the shadows. Maybe I am remembering the shadows of the people who we ride to commemorate. Maybe the flags are the Spirits of those people waving at us as we arrive and talk.



I will not be taking part in the ride this year. I have other plans and I’ll be away. But there will be a ride. This Blog/Website will give you more information. In the meantime, I’ll post the Shadow Shot, and beneath it is a story I did after that first ride in 2006. If you care to, have a read. It was originally a posted article, but is no longer in publication. I have places a few photographs of the previous years rides throughout the story.

Peace to All

What a dream. I was riding my motorcycle through the summertime breeze with a bunch of friends. Some I knew, some were new friends. We were along the river. The vistas were fantastic. Through woods and prairies, corn and beans, the river flowing at our side throughout the journey. Together, as one, we rode for days. Our stops at night for rest and food were at beautiful wooded campsites. It was hot and muggy, cool and rainy, calm and windy.

When we got to a place in South Dakota, there was a car parked on the side of the road. A man was holding a camera, an arm waved from the front seat, little arms, those of children waved from the rear. Then another car, and another, then a bunch all parked near an old cemetery. All with arms waving as we rode by.

We arrived at an overlook. A prometory with a view of a great river. We gathered there and people spoke. We rode again and after a short distance, two riders on horseback came out in front of us and led us into a grassy circle. The circle was full of teepee lodges with a great fire pit in the center. Over the pit was hanging meat from Tatanka, the bison. We were along the river once more. Spirits were all around us. Spirits of long ago and spirits of not so distant past. People were around the circle, standing around, some in their cars, some in lawn chairs in the shade of large cottonwood trees.

The mounted riders led us and we lined up one after another in the circle and got off of our iron horses. The people gathered and formed a line and came by each of us and shook our hands, Some were crying. Some hugged us. Some shook our hands holding ours with both of theirs. The children were there as well in great numbers and their shyness made them choosy about who they offered their little hands to.


The motorcycles arriving at the Pow Wow grounds at Crow Creek

A man played a small hand drum and sang a song in Dakota language. He told us the words to his song. He told us he wrote this song especially for us. The song sang the praises of a group of riders on iron horses that came to give him hope, give hope to all his people.

An old woman, an elder, sat in a lawn chair. She held a feather of an Eagle upright in her hand. The small children were gathered about her like a magnet would gather paperclips. A younger man held an umbrella over her to shield her from the hot South Dakota Summertime sun. She brushed him aside and got up and she sang and old song. An honor song, for us, the iron horse riders.


The children dancing and enjoying the Pow Wow circle

She beckoned, and each of us walked up to her one at a time. She sat there. Her eyes ahead, vacant, holding the feather. We put our hand in hers and she prayed, silently. Tears streamed down our cheeks as they have been since we saw the first car along the side of the road.

The people came by and shook our hands again. The children now less choosy, and more were crying, more people grasped our hands with two of theirs.

This was a dream. A dream I lived. A feeling so incomprehensible. A feeling of pride, honor, struggle, sorrow and peacefulness.


Iron horses lined up as tired riders sleep after four days of riding

The removal occurred during the spring of 1863 and moving over 1,700 Indian people by riverboat and trains accomplished it. This dark chapter in American history is scarcely a footnote in American history textbooks. The reasons for the Dakota Conflict were that the Dakota people were near starvation due to corrupt Indian agents who were swindling and denying the Dakota their food rations and annuity payments as guaranteed by the previous Treaty of 1851 and Treaty of 1858.

The federal government often overlooked this pernicious behavior on the part of its Indian agents and these transgressions were often the primary causes of Indian wars. The media vilified the Dakota for their actions and 303 Dakota men were sentenced to death by hanging by a hastily organized United States Military Tribunal. The largest public mass execution occurred in American history with the simultaneous hanging of 38 Dakota warriors at Mankato, Minnesota on December 26, 1862.

Over 1,700 Dakota men, women and children were forcibly interned at Fort Snelling during the winter of 1863. No accounting of how many Dakota Indian men, women and children perished during the brutal internment has ever been documented. In 1863, Congress enacted a law to forcibly remove all of the Dakota from Minnesota to Crow Creek, South Dakota.


From a small hillside near the site of Old Fort Thompson, a feeling of Peace after the Crow Creek Ride

The first leg of their removal by riverboat ended at Camp McClellan in Davenport, Iowa, prior to proceeding down the Mississippi River to a place near current day Hannibal, MO. Across Missouri by rail cars to St. Joseph, then again by riverboat North on the Missouri River to end at Fort Thompson, South Dakota.

The punishment for their actions during the Dakota Conflict resulted in their removal to Crow Creek, South Dakota by riverboat and trains. The commemorative motorcycle route follows the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers.

After we left the circle we ate a great feast of buffalo and cake, stew, soup, fry bread, lemonade. We talked and made new friends. Some came up again to talk and say thank you. Thank you for remembering us. Thank you for giving us hope.

I told them that I was the one to be thankful. I gave them nothing, they gave me the greatest gift. A smile at the end of my ride. They allowed me to honor them, the survivors, the self determined few.


This was the scene at the end of the Commemorative Motorcycle Ride for the Crow Creek Dakota and the Winnebago people who were transported by river barge down the Mississippi and up the Missouri River in 1863.

They arrived in Fort Thompson on June 24th, 1863 and started their life there. They lived in spite of the horror cast upon them by some of the soldiers. In spite of the rocks and stones thrown at them from the banks of the great rivers. The rape, beatings, the separation and killing of their loved ones.

We rode to remember. We wanted to call attention to this event. We wanted to remember what happened in hopes we would reach an ear of someone, anyone, anywhere, that would say this should never happen again.

The people of Crow Creek were happy, happy with tears that anyone remembered that they were there, remembered their ancestors from the boat rides in 1863. Remembered that they are a proud Nation of poor but forgiving people. People who were happy this day as the riders on the iron horses came to say we know you are here.

More Peace bestowed upon you