Pictograph of a thunderbird on stone.
Thunderbirds & Dragons on Northern Plains
Spring Returns And With It Comes Legends
By Dakota Wind
GREAT PLAINS - The
sun set in a dark cloudy sky. There was very little color. No pinks, reds,
oranges, or purples. No fanfare for the setting sun but for a dark blue and
black sky. The clouds seemed to absorb whatever colors the setting sun usually
paints on the evening sky. The stars flickered fitfully through the haze of
those thin gauzy clouds that like to hang in the far upper atmosphere. A cool
breeze blew across fields of brown grass, what was left of last year’s growth
of native prairie grasses. The breeze itself carried a hint of frost that
nipped at the inside of my nose when I inhaled deeply, as if one can truly
smell cold but its really no different than one can smell rain, only this was
colder.
The
family had long since gone to bed. The boys usually bid their mother an
innocent “goodnight,” and she usually goes in to tuck them in. There’s no “goodnight”
for me. Instead, I like to bid them a “Sleep well and wake,” as though there’s
no other way for me to say a simple goodnight, and I like it like that.
The
rain began to fall as I was preparing for bed. I say “prepare” as though I’m
getting ready for a journey of some kind, but preparing myself consists of
raking a comb through my silky fine hair, brushing my teeth with that new
foaming toothpaste which I rather prefer to the regular paste, and splashing some
water on my face, all before I slip under the covers and wrestle with my
pillow. My pillow looks like a regular pillow, but it somehow gains a life of
its own as I lay my head down as though it decides to get too fluffy and too
hot or my head sinks too far into it. But the damn pillow looks just fine
sitting there on the blankets.
I’ll slaughter a goat and offer it to the God of Thunder like the heathens of ancient Europe...
The
rain fell in large heavy drops. I thought it was hailing at first, but the news
person said that pea-size hail was on its way yet. Well, I’ll tell you weather
man, I’ll slaughter a goat and offer it to the God of Thunder like the heathens
of ancient Europe, but it won’t change the
fact that hail is here and it’s falling with the rain on my car.
While
the heavy rain and pea-size hail that the weather man said was going to arrive
later fell on the house and my car, and maybe its why I personify my car as
though its alive that gives me dreams that my car is a version of Bumblebee
from Transformers, that gentle breeze carrying that taste of winter decides to
change into a roaring beast that’s whipping the neighbor’s garbage cans and
shit through our front yard and down the street.
As
I’m listening to the wind and rain, personifying my car and wrestling my pillow,
I stop for a moment and imagine what it was like for the ancestors to go through
a spring thunder storm. I remember reading something on the internet about long
ago giant birds called “Teratorns.” Apparently there are as many teratorn
sightings as there are bigfoot sightings, these giant winged terrors.
The
teratorn is said to have flown before the storms looking for thermals to carry
it above the storm it flew before. It is said to have been capable of carrying
off people and even bison.
...their wings were the clouds and lighting flashed from their eyes...
Did
the ancestors see giant birds? I think so. We have stories of the Wankiya, the
Thunderbeings, or as some call them, the Thunderbirds. Thunderbirds rode in on
the clouds. No, their wings were the clouds and lighting flashed from their
eyes, lighting bolts flew from their claws when they opened their taloned
grips.
The
Wankiya were a force of nature, that is they weren’t necessarily good but nor
were they evil. They flung to the earth their lightning in an ages-old duel
with other forces of nature. No, they cleansed the earth, purified the earth
with pure rain and electric wrath. Sometimes these Thunderbirds would stretch
out a claw and grapple with Unkcegila. Think dragon or serpent. When the Thunderbird
and the serpent fought, the fury of the wind was unleashed and the serpent was
carried up into the sky and destroyed. The world was cleaned and the day could
begin anew, at peace.
I
imagine a world, a mystical world, the world before the horse and gun. When the
mysteries of creation were respected, honored, and cherished. When the
Thunderbirds were real and they really would snap up the unwary traveler or a
bison for a meal. I imagine the ancient world of the Great Plains and the
dragon or dragons slithering up and down the Missouri River,
filling the flood plains, and charming human and animal alike to enter and
drown in the crushing depths of the corners of the river.
...I imagine I’m a warrior in another time and place looking at the front right hoof of my pony...
I
wonder that such things are real. Did my ancestors personify the wind and rain
and river as I personify my pillow and car? I don’t know. They saw things,
Teratorns and Loc Ness creatures, things they couldn’t explain and shared
hushed stories around the lodge fire. I’m certainly not sitting around the tv
and night telling my boys how my pillow makes me snore or how my car drags its
ass when I drive it – I finally got under my car and saw that it was a piece of
plastic. And then I imagine I’m a warrior in another time and place looking at
the front right hoof of my pony only to find a burr or rock.
As
I wrestled my pillow and hit it into a comfortable mass, our youngest calls out
to his mother. I experience the impulse to go in there and tell him about how
the Thunderbirds would snatch children but I decide to wait until he’s older. I
don’t think my wife would appreciate my interjection of culture at the moment,
but just the thought of it makes me smile. I cleared my throat and said to her,
“Your son is calling you.”
I
fell asleep comforted by the memory of my grandparents telling me about the
traditional Lakota view of the spring thunderstorms. The wind and rain doesn’t bother me and I
slept soundly, and I dreamt of my car as Bumblebee.
