Badlands or Pitifullands

Nakota horses survey the landscape of Charred Wood River Country (Little Missouri River Country), also known as the Badlands, at Theodore Roosevelt National Park.
The Badlands Or The Pitifullands
Place Name Of Little Missouri River Country
By Dakota Wind
Medora, N.D. (TFS) – Theodore Roosevelt National Park has been a part of the National Park Service since 1947. A site or park was in talks to honor the late president since 1921, and two units of the park were set aside to remember Roosevelt, despite a superintendent’s report findings that this park was unjustified.

The western part of the state, along the Little Missouri River is scenic. Some even say it’s majestic and open, inspiring a sense of smallness, wonder, and even isolation. The character of the landscape left a lasting impression on a president, and continues to do the same to millions of visitors today.

Roosevelt split his time between Little Missouri River country and New York from 1884 to 1887. In 1887, after a hard cold winter in which Roosevelt lost half his stock, he sold what remained so that his managers wouldn’t suffer a loss. He did not spend one continuous year in Dakota Territory.

Both units of the Theodore Roosevelt National Park reside in the North Dakota Badlands. The Badlands (one word). 

The Charred Wood River runs through the Pitiful Landscape. 

The Little Missouri River is known to the Lakȟóta as Čhaŋšótka Wakpá, or “Charred Wood.” The Lakȟóta call a landscape by the name of the water or stream that runs through it, so Little Missouri River country is called Čhaŋšótka Wakpá Makȟóčhe, or “Charred Wood River Country.”

The landscape through which the Charred Wood River runs, is known as the Badlands. The Theodore Roosevelt National Park brochure cites the Lakȟóta word Makȟóšiča, which is “Badlands.” Makȟá means “Earth.” Šíča means “Bad.” When these two words are compounded it becomes one word: Makȟóšiča. 

The visitor center proudly displays the name of the country as the Lakota know it, "Mako Shika." 

The visitor center at TRNP differs in word usage from the info it publishes. The museum showcases a panel which instead tells visitors in loud orange words “Mako Shika.” Using the new LLC standard, Mako Shika becomes Makȟóšhika. Makȟóšhika comes from the words Makȟá meaning “Earth,” and Úŋšika meaning “Poor,” or “Pitiful.”

Badlands or Pitifullands? 

Dakota Wind is an enrolled member of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe. He is currently a university student working on a degree in History with a focus on American Indian and Western History. He maintains the history website The First Scout.

Badlands Or Bad Lands

A view of Painted Canyon at the Theodore Roosevelt National Park.

Badlands Or Bad Lands
Little Missouri Country
By Dakota Wind
Great Plains, ND (TFS) – The landscape is beautiful. Beautiful in the sense that the renaissance poet might say it was beautiful because it required a balance of placement, light, color, and time. It’s beautiful in the sense that the Lakȟóta looked at it and saw that it was inherently good, because good is beautiful. Creation is good.

Over at The Prairie Blog, author and moderator, Mr. Jim Fuglie, features a breakdown about the Badlands, or Bad Lands, if you prefer. There are readers, North Dakota citizens, and out-of-state people who are drawn to one way it's written or the other. In his article, Mr. Fuglie draws on the Lakȟóta place name for the Badlands National Park about this kind of landscape:

Why is it called the Badlands?

The Lakota people were the first to call this place “mako sica” or “land bad.” Extreme temperatures, lack of water, and the exposed rugged terrain led to this name. In the early 1900’s, French-Canadian fur trappers called it “les mauvais terres pour traverse,” or “bad lands to travel through.”

“Today, the term badlands has a more geologic definition. Badlands form when soft sedimentary rock is extensively eroded in a dry climate. The park’s typical scenery of sharp spires, gullies, and ridges is a premier example of badlands topography.”

The Lakȟóta word for land, country, or earth, is Makȟá. The Lakȟóta word for bad is ŠíčA. When the word Makȟá is compounded with ŠíčA, it becomes Makȟóšica. It would seem then, that the written proper name if one needs proper, is Badlands. ŠíčA doesn’t mean bad in the sense that the land isn’t productive, the land was/is quite good for hunting deer, elk, bison, and at one time the bighorn sheep, and might serve as a descriptor of how the landscape appeared, but the land itself wasn’t “bad.” There was something there that was malevolent and dark.

A Tyrannosaurus Rex, as featured at Dinopedia. 

The erosion of the landscape in the various badland formations tends to reveal fossilized dinosaur remains. The Lakȟóta refer to the great serpents as Uŋktéǧi, a twisted creation of Uŋčí Makȟá (Grandmother Earth). In the early days, after creation, they say these Uŋktéǧi ate people or caused people to mysteriously disappear. Íŋyaŋ, Stone, created WakÍŋyaŋ, the Flying Ones, to do battle with the Uŋktéǧi. WakÍŋyaŋ fly in from the west, terrible lightning flashes from their eyes, and wind gusts from each stroke of their wings, as they cleanse Makȟóčhe Wašté, the Beautiful Country (Great Plains; North America).

The Lakȟóta also name the regions of Makȟóčhe Wašté by the name of the stream which flows through it. The Little Missouri River is known to the Lakȟóta as Čhaŋšótka Wakpá, or Charred Woods River. The Badlands, by this place name method, is called Čhaŋšótka Wakpá Makȟóčhe, meaning Charred Wood River Country. They might call it this if born in that country. In everyday speech, however, the Lakȟóta would call it Makȟóšica.

Mr. Fuglie knows that it isn’t worth the energy to argue about the semantics of Badlands vs. Bad Lands (he prefers two separate words). The better question to ask, and perhaps argue over, would be, “what does the Badlands mean to you?”

Dakota Wind is an enrolled member of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe. He is currently a university student working on a degree in History with a focus on American Indian and Western History. He maintains the history website The First Scout.

See also:
The Sheyenne River Or The Cheyenne River

How To Pronounce Oahe

Visit:

The Prairie Blog 

Theodore Roosevelt National Park
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Glossary:

Čhaŋšótka Wakpá (chahn-SHOHT-kah wahk-PAH): Charred Woods River

Íŋyaŋ (EEN-yahn): Stone

Lakȟóta (lah-KHOH-tah): lit. “Affection.” Friend or Ally

Makȟá (mah-KHAH): Earth

Makȟóčhe Wašté (mah-KHOH-chay wash-TAY): The Beautiful Country, Great Plains, North America

Makȟóšica (mah-KHOH-shee-chah): Badlands

ŠíčA (SHEE-chah): Bad

Uŋčí (oon-CHEE): Grandmother

Uŋktéǧi (oonk-TAY-ghee): Serpents, or Dinosaurs

WakÍŋyaŋ (wah-KEEN-yah): Winged Ones, Thunder

Wakpá (wahk-PAH): River

Theodore Roosevelt's Two Wives Of The Badlands

Roosevelt, pictured here in 1884. 

Theodore Roosevelt's Native Wives

Left Behind To Pursue Politics
By Dakota Wind
BADLANDS, N.D. - On November 6, 1934, an Arikara named Sand Hill Crane (a former US Scout too) gave an interview to Colonel Alfred Welch about Theodore Roosevelt and his two native wives. Here's what he said:

“Yes, I know about Roosevelt and the Gros Ventre [Hidatsa] woman he took. He got her. That was the way we did it then. He gave some horses for her. Her name was Brown Head. She was Hidatsa. She’s dead now," said Sand Hill Crane. After Roosevelt left Brown Head, she became the wife of Foolish Woman, a member of the Hidatsa and Sand Hill Crane's cousin, but shortly after their marriage, Brown Head died. 

Then Sand Hill Crane went on to explain, “He got another one. Her name was See The Woman. She was one-half French and one-half Hidatsa. She’s alive yet up at Shell Creek. Yes, I knew him well. He was all right. When he went away he gave the women some horses and things." After Roosevelt's convalescent stay in the Badlands, he returned to the east and entered the political arena. Of Roosevelt's relationship with the two women, Sand Hill Crane shared this, "So he went away. Then he became a big man. We never said anything about these women to anyone. That’s the way the white men did then in the country."

Roosevelt believed that the American Indians had no claim to the land, and had no desire to hold property. It is evident too, that he didn't think his marriages to Brown Head and See The Woman were valid either, as he left them behind when he sufficiently recovered from the loss of his wife, Alice Lee Roosevelt, and his mother, Mittie Roosevelt. 

Battle Of The Buttes: Warfare At Saddle Butte

Photo of Saddle Butte, near present-day Stanley, ND, by bobneugenbauer.
Battle Of The Buttes
Warfare At Saddle Butte
As told to Colonel A.B. Welch, edited by Dakota Wind
BISMARCK, N.D. - In the summer of 1860, a war party of six Dakȟóta warriors advanced into Kȟaŋğí (Crow) country for the purpose of obtaining satisfaction for the death of a relative of the leader of the band. Having been successful in their undertaking and provided with fresh horses, they left the Heȟáka Wakpá (Elk River; Yellowstone River) and cut across to the Makȟóšiča (Bad Lands) of the Heȟáka Tȟa Wakpá (River Of Elk; Little Missouri River) and the intention of striking the head of Ožáte Wakpá (Branching River; Knife River) and following its course to the villages of the Pȟaláni (Arikara), where they expected to trade for some corn from these Indians; then sell their otter skins which they had secured from the Kȟaŋğí, at Fort Berthold trading post at Fish Hook Ford, for powder and lead, and pass into the country of their relatives, the Iháŋktĥuŋwaŋna Dakȟóta (Yanktonai Dakota), on the east banks of the Mní Šošé (Water-Astir; Missouri River). But their plans miscarried and, with the souls of explorers, they had held to the Heȟáka Tȟa Wakpá and, in December, had struck the great Mní Šošé at a point a few miles north of the confluence of these two streams. They had purposely avoided the mouth of the stream for, at that day, it was a favorite camping place of the Miwátani (Mandan).

Map of the region from Fort Berthold to the Grand River Agency, 1873.

Three and a half miles north of the Heȟáka Tȟa Wakpá is a commanding elevation which, by its peculiar shape, has always been known as Pahá Čháŋwak’iŋ (Lit. Saddle Butte/s). A half mile south of that butte is another one which is very steep and difficult to ascend and the summit is a perfectly flat area of perhaps two acres. Across the Mní Šošé from these buttes, and nestling among the brushy trees along the banks of a small stream called Mnitáŋ Wakpá (Lit. Flood Creek/Rising Water Creek; possibly Deep Water Creek), was a temporary winter hunting camp of Miwátani, Ȟewáktokta (Hidatsa) and Pȟaláni, who had come up from their comfortable round dirt lodges at Fish Hook Village, to lay in a stock of meat and skins. A few friendly Hóhe (Assiniboine) were camping with them.

Like A Fishhook Village, as portrayed by Martin Bearsarm.

From the heights of the buttes on the western shore, the Dakȟóta scouts located the horses of their old-time enemies, and the band decided that they needed a few new horses to take home for the gift-giving dances which would take place upon their triumphant arrival at the thiyóšpaye (band) of their people along the Pȟaláni Wakpá (Arikara River; Grand River). Their plan was to cross the thin ice after dark and work the herd easily away, if the herd guards were not present. However, if an alarm were made, they would stampede the horses at once toward the east and keep them pounding straight in that direction until morning, when they would turn south and finally cross the Mní Šošé in the vicinity of the mouth of the Iŋyaŋ Wakağapi Wakpá (Lit. Stone Statue River; Cannonball River).

They reasoned that the villagers, not knowing the Dakȟóta strength, would hesitate to follow them during the night and, before their signs of approach could be made out in the morning, the herd would have such a start that they could not be overtaken. Not being able to cross their own mounts on the ice, it was decided that they would enter the camp and secure horses from among the lodges, where they would be tied or hobbled and held ready for the next day’s hunting.

Karl Bodmer painted this scene of Mandan Indians crossing a frozen Missouri River.

The weather turned very cold in the evening and the members of the little party shivered around their small fire behind the butte during the afternoon and waited for the night to come. The fact that they had but a few rounds of ammunition for their heavy Sharps rifles and Springfield carbines, did not cause them much concern, for they did not anticipate fighting unless they were discovered by some late stroller when they were among the lodges after riding horses, in which case they expected to take coup, grab horses and, riding into the herd, stampede them by the waving of blankets and firing. The dark would veil their movements. At any rate, they were brave men and had been against the Kȟaŋğí, who were greater warriors than these village corn-eaters, whom they held in much contempt. They had struck terror to the hearts of the Kȟaŋğí and they would succeed in this small affair against these people who lived in dirt houses and looked to tall pickets for protection rather than fighting.

When the low circling sun had settled below Makȟóšiča, darkness descended quickly and the six Dakȟóta crossed the ice without difficulty and approach the camp. But sharp eyes had noted their every movement as they boldly passed in among the scattered lodges. A woman or two walked among the shelters and sounds of a drum and dance songs came from one of the largest of them where the Miwátani were feasting. Several horses were standing in a group before a large buffalo tipi and towards these, the scouts advanced. But even as the audacious Thítȟuŋwaŋ [1] stopped to loosen the thongs by which the horses were attached to their picket pins, a wild yell and a shot was heard, and the lodges appeared to pour out armed men by the score.

Tȟašúŋke Kȟokípopi [2] (His Horses Cause Fear), who was the leader of the party, at once started firing into the mass of advancing villagers and yelled to his men to get the horses loose. But the knots were secure and, before they had time to slash the tough raw hide open, the crowd was upon them and they were compelled to retire or be overwhelmed. Shooting their way through the circle, they leapt into the tangled brush where pursuit was difficult and retraced their trail of approach where they reached the river bank without the loss of a single man.

Their only safety now lay in getting across the river ice and gaining the western shore, before the pursuit became too close, from which place they could prevent their enemies from crossing after them. A few rifle bullets slashed the ice as they safely made the crossing, but to their great surprise their pursuers made no attempt to follow. This puzzled the Dakȟóta and caused them some uneasiness as they huddled around the embers of their old camp fire. The attempt to steal the enemy’s horses had failed, so they decided to follow the Mní Šošé down to the entrance of the Heȟáka Tȟa Wakpá and then enter Makȟóšiča south of that stream, where game was plentiful and cover in the gorges was easily found and pursuit would be very difficult even if the enemy followed in force.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park in winter by Scott Thomas.

Meanwhile, a body of their enemies, consisting of about thirty Miwátani under the leadership of Red Star, a war chief, moved rapidly toward the south along the shores of the Mní Šošé for several miles and then crossed the ice to the western bank and, turning north, strung out along the banks of the Heȟáka Tȟa Wakpá where they maintained a close watch and waited for the day. Another band, made up of Pȟaláni under Sitting Wolf, also crossed the river and took up a position in the hills to the west of the Dakȟóta, and a strong force of Ȟewáktokta with Lean Bull at their head, and strengthened by a half-blood named Powder Horn (His French name was Packineau), with a mixed body of Hóhe and others from the camp, filtered across the ice during the night and stayed close under the banks until daylight came. The six Dakȟóta were completely surrounded.

Having recovered the horses which they had abandoned on the west shore, the Dakȟóta were led out of their uncomfortable camp before sun up by Tȟašúŋke Kȟokípopi, keeping some distance back from the river in the hills. Sensing danger at the Heȟáka Tȟa Wakpá, Kȟaŋğí Hó Wakȟáŋ [3] (Holy Voice Crow) was sent forward to scout out a safe place for the crossing and, as he cautiously approached, he was met by a flight of arrows from Red Star’s men, who crossed the river at once and started in pursuit of him. Signal yells were answered from all sides and Kȟaŋğí Hó Wakȟáŋ lost no time in rejoining his comrades. It became apparent to the Dakȟóta that they were in the middle of the circle of advancing warriors and that their chances of cutting through in safety to the rough country were small. They decided to make an effort to gain the butte behind which they had spent the night and there make their supreme effort. Owing to the cautious advance of the enemy, they did finally reach the foot of this steep-sided, flat-topped butte without any loss.

Keeping under cover of the piled-up masses of sandstone which had fallen from the outjutting [sic] strata which covered the summit, the Dakȟóta managed to kill several of their pursuers and finally reached a point directly under the projecting sandstone cap. To find a crack up which they night crawl to the summit, before the enemy could reach the top from the other side, became their problem and, in doing this, it became necessary to expose themselves to fire from below.

Another photo of Saddle Butte, near present-day Stanley, ND, by bobneugenbauer.

In so doing, Tȟašúŋke Kȟokípopi was shot dead and his body slid down until it was caught and held by some sprawling mountain cedar. White Horse, the Pȟaláni who had made the kill, sprang up the rocky steep to strike the body and complete the coup and was almost within reach of the dead man, when Wahíŋkpe Uŋ Ópi [4] (Wounded With Arrows) jumped from behind a rock and, with his rifle touching the surprised and dumbfounded Pȟaláni, fired his last remaining shot.

The rush of the Dakȟóta to gain control of the summit had succeeded with the lost of but one man, and they yelled with derision at their enemies and dared them to come and take them. The northern Indians were seen to carry several bodies away during the day, and an effort was made in the afternoon to rush the Dakȟóta from all directions at once. But this was costly. The attackers were only too glad to retire before the heavy Sharps and Springfields of the men on the butte, and a number of me were carried across the ice to the village, but whether dead or wounded, the Dakȟóta could not tell from their position. The affair settled down to a siege; the Dakȟóta were out of rifle ammunition and had nothing left except their clubs and bows and a few arrows, then they began to feel the effects of hunger and thirst and cold. They saw meat brought from the village to the several camp fires of the men on guard and the distressed Dakȟóta were taunted by the tȟóka (enemy/enemies) below with songs of victory and yells of vengeance.

Late winter in the Badlands, along the Little Missouri River near Watford City, ND. Photo by Dennis Rosenkranz, USGS.

As the sun went down, the stinging cold of the night chilled the Dakȟóta upon the butte and the air became filled with fine snow, which was flung winds which swept the high place into the faces of the worried men and added much to their discomfort and dismay. A council was held and the five men decided that the only hope of escape was to make an attempt to break through the ring of tȟóka below. While it was true that their enemies could not reach them, the brave Dakȟóta decided to fight them below; they would carry the fight to them; if they should escape they could join their friends and relatives in the Dakȟóta camps; if they died, their people would sing of their bravery and the story of their heroic death would be told by the evening fires.

The men who gathered about the little fires in the middle of the night among the trees and rough lands dozed with their buffalo robes drawn closely about them and their heads upon their knees, but sprung to their feet by the whispered caution of the sentinels. Something strange was taking place upon the butte. An unseen Dakȟóta was singing his death song and as the song of death was carried to their ears by the shifting winds of the storm, it brought to them a sense of mysterious and intangible fear of the super-natural, and of the possible failure of their own “medicine.” But the strange Dakȟóta song was soon forgotten as old Black Bear, the Ȟewáktokta Medicine Man, began some ceremonies and the men danced and sang in honor of the Pȟaláni, Miwátani and Ȟewáktokta warriors who had met death that day.

The long, cold night was nearly ended; the east was turning grey and the neighing of the horses on the opposite shore could be plainly heard as they were being driven down by the young boys of the camp to the holes in the ice for water; many of the waiting tȟóka below the butte had gathered in a body in a place at the foot of the hill. Nothing had been heard of the Dakȟóta for some time and the allies were debating about sending men to scout out the condition of affairs upon the top of the butte, when they were suddenly startled by the yells of the Dakȟóta warriors and by the sight of them hurling themselves over the edge of the high hill.

"Winter Village Of The Minatarres," by Karl Bodmer.

They leapt from the flat top to the icy sides and slid and tumbled to the very center of the amazed tȟóka. So suddenly had this even taken place that those desperate warriors killed many of them before the tȟóka had sufficiently recovered from their consternation to defend themselves. Then they swarmed to the attack and, in a few minutes, Čhaŋȟpí Sápa (Black Tomahawk) and Travelling All Over Warrior [5] were overwhelmed and killed, but a number of tȟóka also lay dead in the trampled snow to show with what fury these two Dakȟóta had fought. Kȟaŋğí Hó Wakȟáŋ and Tȟatȟáŋka Nážiŋ [6] (Standing Bull) were engaged in a terrific hand to hand combat with so many Pȟaláni and Miwátani that the tȟóka dared not use firearms against them for fear of killing their own men. The stone clubs of the Dakȟóta were used with terrible effect, but against such heavy odds they could not hope to win through and Tȟatȟáŋka Nážiŋ soon died from a blow with the butt of a rifle.

As many of the tȟóka crowded to make coup upon the body of the dead Dakȟóta, Kȟaŋğí Hó Wakȟáŋ managed to break through them and sprung for the shelter of the timber. But he soon met other Miwátani coming in from the night fires a short distance away and died in a whirl of blows by clubs and knives, his death song ringing clear and loud upon the crisp, cold morning air.

The villagers subjected the bodies of these brave men to every indignity and, in their rage at losing so many men, cut and slashed the bodies in a frightful manner. The storm, which had lulled during the early morning hours, however, now arose to such fury that they were compelled to straggle across the ice to their camps for protection as well as to attend to their own serious wounds, which were many. The tȟóka were given over to mourning and grief and for once, the scalp dance of the women was not accompanied by the boastful stories of the warriors, and the victory had been purchased at so great a sacrifice in dead and wounded that no one had the audacity to propose a new name for anyone. The wailing of the grief-stricken women, who had cut off their hair and slashed their arms and breasts in token of the loss of their dead men and sons, was heard in their camp for many days. The white traders at Fort Berthold sold every white sheet and blanket they had, and the white-robed figures of those who mourned had not been so numerous since the great battle between the Pȟaláni and Thítȟuŋwaŋ [7], which had caused the Arikara to go to live with their friends, the Miwátani and Ȟewáktokta at Berthold.

A section of the Sitting Rabbit (Mandan) map of the Missouri River. This screen capture is of the map where the Little Missouri River converges with the Missouri River. Saddle Butte appears on this map.

During this short, fierce battle at the foot of the icy slopes of the butte, none of the villages had noticed that only five Dakȟóta were accounted for. It is possible that they thought that one had escaped. But the sixth Dakȟóta had met with a remarkable adventure and one which saved him from the fury of the tȟóka.

When the desperate Dakȟóta had taken the leap from the rim of the butte, Wahíŋkpe Uŋ Ópi, a Húŋkpathi Iháŋktĥuŋwaŋna Dakȟóta (Lower Yanktonai Dakota), had charged with the others. But some snow had drifted across a wide crack and, giving way as his weight struck it, he had fallen into a cave-like recess and struck his head heavily against a stone, for the day was ended and night arrived when he regained sufficient consciousness and strength to enable him to struggle to the surface of the ice field.

From the camp across the river came the sound of victory and celebration, and the wailing of the bereaved women. Wahíŋkpe Uŋ Ópi picked his way to the bottom and searched the bloody, trampled snow for the bodies of his comrades. The signs of a terrible combat were very plain and he counted the bodies of twenty-one tȟóka, scattered in the vicinity, before he succeeded in locating his four friends who had died there. Their bodies were all terribly slashed and unrecognizable from the mutilation they had received, except by the breech clothes they wore around their loins, and their moccasins. The body of Kȟaŋğí Hó Wakȟáŋ was discovered in the edge of the timber, some hundred yards away from the others, and the bodies of seven Miwátani, lying in a close ring around him, the price the enemy paid in their pursuit of him.

Fort Berthold by De Trobriand.

Hastily filling a quiver with arrows and selecting a bow, he picked up a buffalo robe, then secured several pairs of moccasins from the dead warriors and, entering the timber, started for the south. He passed a still-smoldering fire where some of the tȟóka had passed the night and the day before and which they had vacated so soon after the Dakȟóta made their attempt to escape. He tied up a bundle of meat and, with renewed strength and hope, passed the Heȟáka Tȟa Wakpá and was soon lost to probable discovery and pursuit in the deep gorges and piled-up masses of Makȟóšiča.

The Húŋkpathi was not able to follow a straight direction, but by keeping in the depths of the gorges which led in the general direction, he was able to come out on the watershed about morning. To the north were the dark hills of Makȟóšiča through which he had passed and to the south stretched the easier traveled plains country drained by the Ožáte Wakpá.

The snow was not deep on the uplands and Wahíŋkpe Uŋ Ópi had no great apprehension of meeting any tȟóka there at that time of the year. He was armed and supplied with extra moccasins and plenty of meat and he felt encouraged at the sight of the rolling country which, with the exception of a few gentle and narrow ranges of hills, reached to the country of the Dakȟóta, which he would enter when he crossed the first large river which flowed east after leaving the Ožáte Wakpá, which was not far from him.

A panoramic view of the landscape north of Killdeer Mountain. Photo by Dakota Wind.

His plan was to strike the north branch of the Ožáte Wakpá at a point almost due south of where he was, then cross the short highlands to the south branch, leaving which he would travel up some small tributary, flowing in from the south and east, to its head then, after crossing another narrow watershed, he would follow down the first waterway he found, to Čhaŋté Wakpá (Heart River). This river was the boundary line between the Thítȟuŋwaŋ and the tȟóka from whom he had just escaped. The high point, known as Pahá Kȟoškálaka (Young Man’s Butte), would be his guide and he would look for that landmark to appear far to his right; after he caught sight of that, he knew the country well and, provided that he did not meet with any tȟóka of the trail, he felt that his troubles were almost at an end.

After a long and close inspection of his back trail for party of pursuers, he rested for some time in a jungle of high buck brush and ate some of the cooked meat which he had taken from the fires of the Miwátani. Much refreshed, and after another survey of the slopes and valleys from which he had come, he started once more upon his long journey. He now made his way to a long, gentle slope; threw off his buffalo robe and started to sing. The song was in honor of his comrades and of their bravery and death and, after calling loudly each man by name, he raised his arms to the south and promised Wakȟáŋ Tȟáŋka (Creator; The Great Mystery) that, as he had already taken a public vow to make the Wiwáŋyaŋg Wačhípi (Sun Dance), if he should be fortunate enough to return from the war expedition with honor, in addition he would cut his arms and bleed in one hundred places when the vow was performed, and smoke seven pipes at seven different times. Together with fasting and purification ceremonies, if he were permitted to reach his people alive.

As Wahíŋkpe Uŋ Ópi came up over a gentle hill a short time after his prayer had been made, he was started to see another man coming directly toward him. He also was afoot, but did not appear to be armed; moreover, he was reeling like a sick man or one who was exhausted by starvation.

He rearranged his robe so it might be discarded easily and shifted his arrow pouch to a better position. He was not afraid of any one man; he would not turn aside or hide from one lone tȟóka, and held to his course. The other man had not appeared to fear him, either, and neither did he turn aside and, as they approached each other, both watched the other closely. Wahíŋkpe Uŋ Ópi identified the other man as a Pȟaláni from the manner in which he wore his hair, and could see that he was bloody and had been wounded in a fight. The two men passed within ten paces, and it was only when they had passed that Wahíŋkpe Uŋ Ópi saw a large knife sticking in the naked back of the Pȟaláni. He had a right to kill him or let him live, so he permitted the tȟóka to keep on his way, and he was soon lost to sight among the folds of the prairie hills.

Later that evening the Dakȟóta came to the scantily-timbered south branch of the Ožáte Wakpá and was fortunate enough to kill a small rabbit and a number of prairie chickens in a snow-covered brush pile on the edge of a steep-cut bank. There was the framework of an abandoned summer camp close by and the willow top and sides were covered with snow and afforded some protection, so he entered and decided to spend the night there. But presently he heard voices and, listening intently, he was surprised to hear his own companions talking. “Now. This is the place and here is our brother, Wahíŋkpe Uŋ Ópi. He has beaten us to this old camp. We are all together now. He will be glad to see us. Perhaps he has something to eat. We will send some messages to our relatives. He will tell them how bravely we died. Let us go in at once and feast and rest with him.”

He rushed out of the place and looked around. There was no one in sight. Frightened by these spirit voices, he once more started for the south and, a few days later, staggered into a camp of his own people in Pȟahíŋ Makȟóčhe (Porcupine country), south of Iŋyaŋ Wakáŋğapi Wakpá. He was never able to tell the people anything of his journey after the voices of his dead comrades had come to him. For he could not recall a single incident after that time until he was discovered by a Dakȟóta rider in the Pahá Pȟahíŋ (Porcupine Hills), far to the west of Íŋyaŋ Wosláta (Standing Rock).

True to his word to Wakȟáŋ Tȟáŋka, Wahíŋkpe Uŋ Ópi took a principal part in the next Wiwáŋyaŋg Wačhípi, but his friends gave him many horses for the privilege of taking some of the cuts in his arms for him, so that now he bears but two rows of ten cuts each, upon either arm.

The site of the well-known Indian battle has been marked by the tȟóka. At every place where a dead native lay is a pile of stones. These marking the spot where a Pȟaláni was found are built of white stones; the Miwátani placed stones of a red color upon the graves of their dead warriors, and the Ȟewáktokta use another color for theirs.

At the places where the five Dakȟóta fell are mounds of stones of all colors, and thus do the tȟóka honor the bravery of the small band of Dakȟóta who attacked an entire village in the winter; the old men often sit together when in the vicinity and talk in low, subdued voices of this party who died in battle, far from their own lodges, with songs in their hearts and bravery shining in their eyes.

Vocabulary:
Dakȟóta: (Lit. Affection) Friend, Ally

Kȟaŋğí: Crow

Heȟáka Wakpá: Elk River, Yellowstone River

Makȟóšiča: Badlands

Heȟáka Tȟa Wakpá: River of Elk, Little Missouri River

Ožáte Wakpá: Branching River, Knife River

Pȟaláni: Arikara

Iháŋktĥuŋwaŋna: (Lit. Little End Village) Yanktonai

Mní Šošé: Water-Astir, Missouri River

Miwátani: Mandan

Pahá Čháŋwak’iŋ: Saddle Butte/s

Mnitáŋ Wakpá: Flood Creek,

Ȟewáktokta: Hidatsa

Hóhe: Assiniboine

Thiyóšpaye: Band

Pȟaláni Wakpá: Arikara River, Grand River

Iŋyaŋ Wakaŋğapi Wakpá: Stone Statue River, Cannonball River

Thítȟuŋwaŋ: Dwellers On The Plains, Teton

Lakȟóta: Friend, Ally

Húŋkpathi Iháŋktĥuŋwaŋna Dakȟóta: Lower Yanktonai Dakota

Čhaŋté Wakpá: Heart River

Pahá Kȟoškálaka: Young Man’s Butte

Wakȟáŋ Tȟáŋka: Great Mystery, Creator

Wiwáŋyaŋg Wačhípi: Sundance

Pȟahíŋ Makȟóčhe: Porcupine Country

Pahá Pȟahíŋ: Porcupine Hills

Íŋyaŋ Wosláta: Standing Rock

End Notes:
[1] Lit. Plains-Dwellers; Teton whose language is Lakȟóta, but in this case is in reference to the plains dwelling Dakȟóta; original text was “Teton.”

[2] Not to be confused with Tȟašúŋke Kȟokípȟapi, or Young Man Afraid Of His Horses, the Oglála. He was the son of the famous Iháŋktĥuŋwaŋna Dakȟóta Chief Matȟó Núŋpa (Two Bear).

[3] One of the six Dakȟóta in this horse-stealing party.

[4] He was the brother of Wakíŋyaŋ Máza (Iron Thunder) and a member of the band of Matȟó Núŋpa.

[5] Note: no available Dakȟóta text on this name.

[6] Not to be confused with another Santee Dakȟóta of the same name.

[7] A reference to the 1823 conflict near present-day Mobridge, SD between a combination of Colonel Leavenworth’s command of soldiers and Thítȟuŋwaŋ against the Pȟaláni.

The Wind Is The Spirit Of The Great Plains

Tȟaté’káoškokpa (Canyon Made-By-Wind), or Wind Canyon, along the Heȟáka Tȟa Wakpá (River Of Elk; Little Missouri River) in Makȟóšíća (Badlands, N.D.; Theodore Roosevelt National Park).

The Wind Is The Spirit Of The Great Plains

The Sky In Word, Pictograph, And Sign

By Dakota Wind

THE GREAT PLAINS - The wind has been a constant presence on the open prairie since creation, and has shaped the landscape with its caress. It races across the open sky with the summer and winter storms, and flows about the landscape playfully, fitfully, and angrily. It is the very essence of the Great Plains.

The Lakȟóta have several words for the wind and its attributes such as tȟaté (air in motion), uyá (to blow leeward of the wind), kaȟwókA (to be carried along with the wind), ikápȟaŋyaŋ (to be beaten down by the wind, as with grass) or itáglaȟweya (with the wind). OkáluzA, or ičáluzA, refers to a breeze.

When a strong wind is present, or suddenly appears, during prayer or at a gathering, the wind might even be referred to as takú wakȟáŋ škaŋškáŋ (something with great energy is moving). A whirlwind is called tȟatéiyumni, which some regard as a sign that a spirit is present.

There is only one word to describe a windless day, ablákela (calm or quiet).

When the wind blows cold, such as it does in the winter months, the Lakȟóta refer to it as tȟatóšni. The cold winter wind had a story of its own, and in the days of legend, before steamboats and trains, before soldiers and missionaries, when the camps moved across the prairie steppe in the fall to establish winter camps, they told the story of Wazíya, that which some call a giant, or the Power Of The North. Wazíya blew his cold breath across the world. 

The blizzard is known to the Lakȟóta as Iwóblu. 

But even the wind has an origin. There are various stories about the wind, but the basics are that after creation, Tȟaté (Wind) took the daughter of Old Man and Old Woman, Ité (Face) as his wife. They had four sons, the Four Winds. Iŋktómi, the Lakȟóta trickster, persuaded Ité to begin an affair with Wí (the Sun) to gain status. 

The affair backfired, and Takú Wakȟáŋ Škaŋškáŋ gave Haŋwí (the Moon) her own domain, and sent Old Man and Old Woman to earth along with Ité. Ité was ever after parted from her husband, Tȟaté, and their four sons. Ité, however, had a fifth son, Tȟatéiyumni (Whirlwind). Woȟpá (Falling Star Woman), daughter of Wí and Haŋwí, was sent to earth. Woȟpá became the wife of Okáǧa (the South Wind) and they raised Tȟatéiyumni as their son.

They say as the summer wanes and turns to autumn, the wind changes with the weather. That change in the wind is the breath of North. The cold was and is deadly, never to be feared, but respected. The North spreads his robe across the sleeping land. The North makes hunting game easier to track. In fact, the Lakȟóta used to dance in snowshoes in the blanket of the first snowfall. They rejoiced in the weather and embraced the deep cold. 

In the spring or autumn mornings, in the early morning just as the sun rises, there appears a mist. The Lakȟóta call this Aŋptȟáŋiya. Regular fog is P'ó. 

Sometimes the winter seems like it will never end, even for people who’ve lived here for thousands of years. Gray skies smother the light for days on end. Everywhere the land is monochrome. Months without color took its toll on the people. These days it’s called Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD).

For the Lakȟóta people, even the winter holds the promise of light and hope.

On cold days one might see what they call a sundog, but its not every cold day that features a sundog. The ancient Greeks called it a “mock sun.” The Romans called it a “double sun.” The English in the early 1400s said the sundog was a representation of the Holy Trinity.

This Campfire-Of-The-Sun is seen here above the Mníšoše (Water-Astir; Missouri River) and Iŋyáŋ Wosláta Oyáŋke (Where Standing Rock Dwells), the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation

The Lakȟóta call the sundog Wíačhéič’ithi which means The Sun Makes A Campfire For Itself. The story of this beautiful name for this awesome phenomenon comes to me from Cedric Good House: A long time ago the people experienced several days of bleak grayness. People began experiencing bad dreams and others became depressed. It was the bad dreams that haunted the grandchildren that moved a grandfather to leave his village to pray for an end to the grayness. When he returned he called everyone in to the center of the village and selected two groups of young men to go the east of the camp and build two campfires. They did as they were told and returned to the camp where the people prayed. A lightening of the grayness indicated that morning had arrived. The clouds broke and the sun burst through the grayness. As the sun rose above the horizon, the campfires ascended into the sky with it. The people rejoiced and sang.

Just as there are several words for wind, the Lakȟóta have some words for clouds, which are of the sky. Maȟpíya in itself is a reference to the sky, or heavens. Maȟpíya tȟó, is the blue sky. Maȟpíya šápe is dark clouds. Maȟpíya akáȟpA is a cloudy overcast. Maȟpíya naȟléčA literally “the sky tears,” is a reference to a cloud burst of rain. Maȟpíya okáksaksa is partly cloudly. Maȟpíyaya is cloudy. Čhumaȟpiya means “dew clouds” or “vapor clouds.” Op’ó is a cloud of dust or steam. OkpúkpA is cloudy, hazy, or unclear. Makȟóp’oya is a cloud of dust.

When the Christian missionaries arrived they needed to articulate the Kingdom of Heaven, and coined the term Maȟpíya Wókičhuŋze, which literally means “Kingdom of the Sky.”

The northern lights above North Dakota. Unknown photographer.

The northern lights mean something very special to the Lakȟóta. Maȟpíya Tȟaŋíŋ is the northern lights, but is literally, “Buffalo-hair Sky.” Wanáği Tȟawáčhipi, a reference for the northern lights meaning “Dance Of The Spirits,” and there’s a story, or experience, about out there but it won't be shared here. Haŋwákȟaŋ, another word for the northern lights, literally means “Night With-Energy.” It was a tradition of some Lakȟóta to burn incense, sweet-grass or cedar, when the northern lights appeared.

Sometimes, just as there is no wind, there are no clouds in the sky. There are a few ways of describing a day without clouds: Maȟpíya waníče, there are no clouds. Waŋžíla Tȟo, blue oneness or complete blueness, or tȟowáŋžiča, the sky is blue.

In the spring or summer, storms or rainfall strikes in daylight. The Lakȟóta have the tradition that the Wakíŋya, Thunder-Beings, bring the storms, but not just to bring rain. Lightning flashes from their eyes, claws, and wings. With lightning and rain the Wakíŋya cleansed the earth and destroyed or perhaps chased out the negative entities which settled into the lands. At the end of daylight storms the plains are treated to rainbows stretching from horizon to horizon, a grand arch reaching to heaven.

In the blistering summer months mirages appear on the horizons. The Lakȟóta call this shimmer of air at the edge of the earth Mašténaptapta. 

A double rainbow in Theodore Roosevelt National Park, by Travel Garden Eat.

The Lakȟóta refer to rainbows as Wígmuŋke, A Snare. It is said that the wígmuŋke, causes the storm to end by trapping it, so that no more rain can fall. No one points at wígmuŋke with their fingers, but use their lips or elbows if they gesture to it.

In the spring, the wind signals another change. The Lakȟóta call this wind Niyá Awičhableze, The Enlightening Breath. This is the first spring wind upon which the meadowlarks return. It’s the time of year in which the Lakȟóta carefully watch for the ice to break on the Mníšoše, the Water-Astir (Missouri River), the geese return, and when the bison bear their calves.

One of the names that the Lakȟóta people have for the courting flute is Wayážo, which means To Play A Flute. It is the essence of the wind. Flutes are traditionally made from red cedar. The heart of the wood, the soft red center, is removed with the intention of that space becoming filled with the flute-maker’s own heart. Breath flows through the flute and the wind carries its haunting song.

Tȟokéya Inažiŋ (The First To Arise; Kevin Locke) here with his great-grandfather's flute, shares the flute tradition with youth on the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation.

In a discussion with Deacon Terry Star, enrolled member of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, about the wind and the flute, Deacon Star shared that he heard the four winds were brothers who represented the four cardinal directions. The West Wind, according to how Deacon Star heard it, didn’t just bring the thunderstorms, but also played the flute.

The wind, clouds, northern lights, and rainbow are expressed in the non-speaking languages of the Great Plains too.

In pictography, the wind is represented by a series of straight lines ending in a curly-cue or wave, and more lines indicate the strength of the wind. A whirlwind is represented by a swirl of four lines spiraling outward from the center of a circle. Clouds are represented sometimes by a simple line drawing of a cloud, but generally clouds are almost always depicted with rain and lightning. An arch above a straight line is a representation of the sky above the earth.

A pictograph for northern lights may be represented by night (a darkened circle with a line running through it top to bottom; or other variant) and fire (above the image depicting night). A rainbow is depicted by a series of arches over a straight line.

Dr. Jesse Johnson (Cheyenne River Lakota), center,  in front of a thípi.

In the sign and gesture language of the American Indians, there is a sign for wind as well. In a communiqué from Dr. Jesse Johnson, Blú Wakpá (Powder River), enrolled member of the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe, the sign for wind takes a few forms, but its most basic execution involves holding the hands up, backs up at about shoulder height, fingers spread, and moving hands in a wavy tremulous motion in the direction of the wind.

Like pictography, the Plains Indian sign for cloud or clouds is inseparable from rain or lightning. The sign for rain consists of holding one’s hands up at shoulder height and drawing one’s hands down slowly two to three times. Kevin Locke, enrolled member of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, draws his hands down, backs up, and does “piano fingers” to sign rain. Lightning is signed by miming a jagged lightning pattern in mid air with either hand.

According to Dr. Johnson’s research into the Plains Indian sign language, the northern lights are depicted as “both hands, backs down, half closed, thumb and finger tips together, raised very high and spread with a sweep to indicate flashes. It should be done facing north.” Johnson adds that the sign is helped if the hands are swung apart in an arc at the highest point in executing the sign.

Wáǧačhaŋ (Cottonwood) on the floodplain of the Heȟáka Tȟa Wakpá.

The constant wind blowing across the open prairie steppe and through a vast open sky is a part of the Lakȟóta culture, or perhaps it is that the Lakȟóta are a part of the wind. They say that patterns on one’s fingertips indicate the direction the wind was blowing on the day of one’s birth. 

The Lakȟóta have the saying Takú šičá owás’iŋla kaȟwóg iyáyiŋ kte ló, which means, "All the bad things will blow away." 

On the vast open plains, grasses bow down and sway in motion as if in dance. Great cottonwood trees catch the winds and rattle their leaves in a deafening roar, like the crash of waves in the distant oceans. These ancient trees catch the smallest breeze and their leaves shush the world. 

Le tȟaté na maȟpíya tȟa makȟóčhe hečha lo. This is the land of sky and wind. 

Terry Star is an enrolled member of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe. His traditional Dakȟóta name is Ȟé Ská, White Mountain, after Mount Rainier of which the top of the mountain bears snow year round. He is a deacon in the Episcopal Church and is currently a candidate for the Master of Divinity at Nashotah House Theological Seminary in Wisconsin. Star was raised by his late grandmother, Lillian Ironbull Martinez in the traditions of the church and the Dakota. For several years he has served as a youth pastor on Standing Rock and has frequently called on the stories he received from Lillian and her friends to relate biblical ones to the youth.

Jesse Johnson is an enrolled member of the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe. His traditional Lakȟóta name is Blú Wakpá, Powder River, after Čhaȟlí Wakpá, which means Charcoal River and is the proper place name of Powder River. Johnson graduated with his Ph.D. in American Indian Studies. In his spare time Johnson teaches martial arts.

GLOSSARY:
Ablákela: Quiet, or windless, calm

Aŋptȟáŋiya: Vapor, mist that arises in the early morning

Čhumaȟpiya: Dew Clouds, Vapor Clouds

Haŋwákȟaŋ: Night-With-Energy, Northern Lights

Haŋwí: Moon

Heȟáka Tȟa Wakpá: River Of Elk, Little Missouri River

IčáluzA: Breeze

Ikápȟaŋyaŋ:To-Be-Beaten-Down-By-The-Wind

Iŋktómi: Trickster

Iŋyáŋ Wosláta Oyáŋke: Standing Rock Agency

Itáglaȟweya: With-The-Wind

Ité: Face

Iwóblu: Blizzard

KaȟwókA: To-Be-Carried-Along-With-The-Wind

Maȟpíya: Cloud, Sky, Heaven

Maȟpíya AkáȟpA: Clouds Overcasted

Maȟpíya NaȟléčA: The Sky Tears, a cloud burst of rain

Maȟpíya Okáksaksa: Partly Cloudy

Maȟpíya Šápe: Dark Clouds

Maȟpíya Tȟaŋíŋ: Buffalo-Hair Sky, Northern Lights

Maȟpíya Tȟó: Blue Sky

Maȟpíya Waníče: No-Clouds, Cloudless

Maȟpíya Wókičhuŋze: "Kingdom of Heaven"

Maȟpíyaya: Cloudy

Makȟóp’oya: A cloud of dust

Makȟóšíća: Badlands

Mašténaptapta: Sunlight-Waving, shimmer on the horizon on a hot day, mirage

Mníšoše: Water-Astir, Missouri River

Niyá Awičhableze: Enlightening Breath, spring wind

Okáǧa: South Wind

OkáluzA: Breeze

Op’ó: A cloud of dust or steam

OkpúkpA: Haze

P'ó: Fog

Takú Wakȟáŋ Škaŋškáŋ: Somthing With-Energy Moves/Moving; often contracted to Takú Škaŋškáŋ (Something Moving), or when talking about creation, simply Škaŋ.

Tȟaté: Air-In-Motion, Wind

Tȟatéiyumni: Whirlwind

Tȟaté’káoškokpa: Canyon Made-By-Wind, Wind Canyon

Tȟatóšni: Cold Wind

Tȟowáŋžiča: Completely Blue, Blue Oneness, a completely blue sky

Uyá: To-Blow-Leeward-Of-The-Wind

Wáǧačhaŋ: Cottonwood 

Wakíŋya: Thunder

Wanáği Tȟawáčhipi: Dance of The Spirits, Northern Lights

Waŋžíla Tȟo: Complete Blueness, Blue Oneness, a completely blue sky

Wayážo: To-Play-The-Flute, Flute

Wazíya: Lit. Pine, Power-Of-The-North, also a name of the North Wind

Wí: Sun

Wíačhéič’ithi: The Sun Makes A Campfire For Itself, Sundog

Wígmuŋke: Snare, Rainbow

Woȟpá: Meteor, Falling Star