In 1998 I was again doing research on the Lakota, This time my adventures took me into southern Canada by way of North Dakota. The purpose of my trip was to learn what had become of Sitting Bull and the Hunkpapa, and what had led them to surrender to the United States four years later.

This time I was heading west with my Mother, Jackie and her friend Marlene. The adventures themselves could fill the pages of a novel. Though the trip had begun with a few minor setbacks, I have never laughed so long and so hard as I had on those three weeks of travel.

With my Mother and I both having an interest in the Native American Cultures, one of our first stops was the Knife River Indian Villages in North Dakota, home to the Mandan and Hidatsa who arrived in the area around 1300A.D.  In light of recent Archaeological research, over 100,000 pottery shards have been found, as well as over 8,000 stone tools and artifacts from some 50 sites. There is a really nice museum with a Mandan Earthlodge.

Our next stop took us to Fort Clark State Historical Site. It was here, that in 1830 an epidemic of small pox and cholera took the lives of most of the inhabitants of a Mandan Village shortly after a Fur Company built Fort Clark Trading Post with the hopes of embarking on a productive trading venture with the Indians. An Arikara village was to befall the same fate soon after.

After we crossed the border into Canada, I stopped to take some video, only to discover that I had left the Video Camera, as well as my 35 MM camera and several rolls of film leaning against a tree at Fort Clark. We called the park service, but it was never recovered. Fortunately, my Mother had brought along her cameras and allowed me to share them.

As we headed west toward the Grasslands, the drive took a lot longer than we had anticipated. Though the major highway was no more than a gravel road, the beauty of it all was breathtaking. As I stood atop a little knoll, turning to face each direction, I could see the distinct curvature of the Earth. In the foreground lay endless fields of Sunflowers. Blankets of patchwork, rich shades of greens, golds, browns and tans. 

As we drove to the nearest town about fifty miles away, it was hard to imagine who was farming these thousands of acres of land when only a few farms dotted the countryside. Farms whose homes were surrounded by stockade fences and huge pines to protect them from the blustery winds of winter. Occasionally we would find a sign on the side of the road...  whispering of a thriving town that had once stood in its place.