Several of you found Winniwissa Falls to be a delight, in your responses to my first post.  I did, as well, and in following the trail to the true treasure of Pipestone National Monument, learned of the value of this water, in softening the stone, so that it could be used for the ceremonial pipes that are so valued by Native Americans.

Here are scenes leading to the quarries, and the rock supplies themselves. Let’s start with the rim of Pipestone Canyon.

Atop the rim, lies The Oracle.  Do not ask what it foretold!! 🙂

We proceed from The Oracle to the quarries, some of which had catlinite.

There are four main quarries at Pipestone, each serving a different grouping of tribes.

Quartzite fixed quarry, the northernmost of the four quarries.

Here is a view of the tallgrass prairie, which once covered most of the upper Midwest.

Once one says farewell to Pipestone’s main section,

it’s worthwhile to stop at Three Maidens, also a site sacred to the Sioux and other nations.

This was also a point on the North American Spiritual Arc, as I have styled the points along my journey of late July.

Next: I ended July 22 with an hour or so in the town of Pipestone, a delight in itself.

Coming into the grounds of Pipestone National Monument, MN, I had a sense of the importance of the stone from which ceremonial pipes were being made.  It is instructive to me that the Chippewa, Sac and Fox, Lakota Sioux and Yankton Sioux regularly quarry the stone, from three places on this site.

I toured the visitors center first, though quite frankly, I was not impressed with the staff, other than one of the young women rangers, who seemed genuinely glad I had stopped there.  The others were either perfunctory or rude, to varying degrees.  The natural area was much more satisfying, but then, that is why I came here in the first place.

Here are some scenes from the  trail network, which features a creekside walk, a clifftop view, and Winniwissa Falls.

The place itself is fascinating, as is the concept of fashioning ceremonial pipe from cut quartz and catlinite.  More on the quarries will follow, in Part 2.

No, it’s not THAT kind of diversion.  I don’t take alcohol, and this is not that sort of “tipple”.  Aladdin was a coal-mining community, and a tipple is a system for sending coal down a hillside.   Aladdin Tipple is no longer in use, but it is preserved by Crook County, WY, as an historical place.  Informational signs are placed appropriately, so we may know this aspect of our heritage, whether one likes the idea of burning coal or not.

Here are some views of the equipment that is preserved in the park, 1 mile east of the Aladdin Store.

A short climb up the stairs brings one to the top of the sluice, now being reclaimed by nature.

This was Wyoming’s swan song, for this trip.  I will be back in the Equality State, someday soon.  It has given me more than I can ever repay.  Now, on to South Dakota- the Spiritual Arc leading through the Black Hills, to Black Elk Peak and Crazy Horse Monument.  An iconic diversion will be covered:  Mount Rushmore.   We will consider the brilliant prairie sunsets, Corn Palace and decaying farm structures, as well as the openness and camaraderie found in small wayside cafes.  The human warmth found in a town named for one of  America’s most controversial military commanders also radiates well for the Artesian State.

Thank you, Wyoming, for honing my spirit.

This will be short on photos, mostly because it was largely raining that night, from Gillette to the Devils Tower park campground.

As I came down the mountain from Medicine Wheel, my heart was still very much in prayer.  Aram called at about the halfway point of the descending drive, just shy of Dayton.  It was a good 45-minute break from driving, and we covered all of what was up with him, and with me.  It’s always worth the time, and we come away understanding one another’s positions.  So, he knew how I felt about things, and people, and why.  There’s nothing earth-shaking about it, but I think maintaining clear communication channels obviates messy interpersonal situations later on.

Dayton and Ranchester are lovely, now quiet farm towns.  In the 1890’s, though, the area had its share of the conflict between the U.S. Cavalry and Plains Indians, being not that far from Little Big Horn.

The Battle of Tongue River took place in what is now Ranchester.

Indian Wars always leave me in a dumpy mood.  The whole concept of owning the Earth is rather dicey, though I know we have to have some form of identity.  Still, setting oneself apart from others, by means of ownership, kind of countermands the sense of responsibility that ownership implies.  There are homes of friends, which I cannot visit, because one or more of the owners has/have serious trust issues.  Fortunately, most of these are places I seldom visit, anyway.

The Tongue River, and its commemorative park in Ranchester, provide relative peace and solace for about two dozen people, on any given night between May and October.

After eating a picnic supper here, I headed on through Sheridan, Buffalo, Gillette and Moorcroft, without stopping,  It was raining, hard, all the way to Devils Tower National Monument.  A friend had shown me photos of shimmering lights circumnabulating the Tower’s summit, while cautioning that these might be Photoshopped.    Still, I had hope for the magic to break out of the clouds, and elected to sleep under the stars, when I awoke in my car, at 1:30 A.M., and saw a beautiful, clear sky.  Rolling out my tarp, mattress pad and sleeping bag, I reveled in the silhouette of the Tower, set under the shining canopy.  Sleep came easy, until 5:45, when it was time to hustle over to the Tower Trail.

Next:  Tower of the Spirits