One of the Most Powerful Days of My Life

One day this past winter I got a phone call from a professor of Native American Studies at Montana State University.

She asked if I’d be interested in hosting Blackfeet elders for a cultural field-harvest on our ranch and then taking the harvested bison to MSU where Native American high school kids from all over Montana would be gathered for a conference.

I’ve been working on bison conservation for over 17 years, and my interest in Indigenous history grows more and more each year.

The second she paused to hear my answer, I told her I’d be deeply honored to be part of it.

Fast-forward to this past Tuesday.

A lot of planning had gone into this day. I was excited and nervous.

Sarah and I told Otto and Greta they weren’t going to school on Tuesday, and we explained to them that they were going to learn more about Native American history and culture in one day than they would in years of being taught about it in school.

The day started with a traditional pipe ceremony next to the American Indian Hall at MSU.

We were there simply to observe and learn.

The Blackfeet Elder leading the ceremony, Wolf Spear, encouraged everyone in attendance to take photos and videos and share them — he explained that this is how others can learn about their culture.

It was a packed house for the pipe ceremony.

He started the ceremony, and then — to my surprise — he called me forward and told everyone that I’d be the one killing the bison. He then asked Sarah, Otto, and Greta to come forward as well.

He talked about our family and what we do. We were deeply humbled.

He told us to go back to the circle — but then looked at me and told me to sit down next to Healing Person. I did as I was told.

Healing Person talked about his pipe and the ceremony and then he lit the pipe, smoked the tobacco, and then handed the pipe to me.

I paused for a moment, and then I took five puffs — one for Sarah, one for Otto, one for Greta, one for the bison, and one for my dad.

The pipe ceremony lasted 90 minutes. I teared up multiple times.

Wolf Spear talked openly about suicide, and he had everyone chant, “Suicide is not an option.”

The reality of what Wolf Spear was telling these Native American high school kids hit me hard.

I thought about the schools I attended over the years — at no point were my friends and I told to chant, “Suicide is not an option.”

Meredith Hecker, the head of Native American Studies at MSU and a member of the Blackfeet Nation, also spoke.

She explained how when she was a kid a day like Tuesday would have been inconceivable.

She looked around the circle — with tears in her eyes — and told the kids they should have no shame in being Native American — they should have a lot of pride.

That hit me hard as well, and I was glad Otto and Greta were there to hear all of this and see all of this.

After the pipe ceremony, Sarah had to go to the airport to fly to Chicago to help my mom with a medical procedure.

Otto, Greta, and I drove up to the ranch in my truck, and Healing Person rode shotgun with us.

I peppered him with questions about the pipe ceremony, Blackfeet culture, his vision quest, and more. At one point I checked in with him to make sure all of my questions were okay — he smiled and said that’s why he chose to ride in my truck — so I kept the questions coming — for my own interest — and for Otto and Greta.

Back at the ranch Wolf Spear told me to get my rifle and two bullets.

I did as I was told.

A group of about fifteen of us gathered in our living room.

Wolf Spear and Healing Person burned sage and sweetgrass, and Wolf Spear talked and told stories.

He then blessed and painted my rifle and bullets, and he told me to sit down in front of him.

I sat down.

He told me to get closer.

I got closer.

He then painted me with red ochre paint.

He painted my temples, between my eyes, at the sides of my lips, a circle around each wrist, and a line along the ends of my forearms.

He then painted Otto.

Greta chose not to be painted.

All of us then headed out to the bison.

I’ve killed a lot of bison at this point, and I can tell you I’ve never been more nervous for a field-harvest in my life.

A two-year-old bull stood staring at us, I shot him an inch above his eyes, and he dropped immediately.

But after he dropped, instead of rolling over on his side like they normally do, he just stayed there, lying on all fours with his head on the ground.

It was odd, as I’ve never seen a bison die like that before.

Everyone gathered around the bison.

One person put grass in his mouth, and another poured water in his mouth — both to help the bison on his journey to the other side.

Following Healing Person’s lead, several of us put our fingers to his neck and tasted his warm blood.

And then Wolf Spear told the Native American folks there to count coup on the bison.

One by one they walked up to the bison, put their hands on his back, and they screamed.

They screamed loudly. They screamed intensely. They screamed with their whole bodies.

I never asked, but it was clear to me that there were a lot of layers to those screams.

It was powerful, and it was heartbreaking.

We loaded the bison onto the flatbed of my truck, and I drove it to MSU.

A big crowd was waiting for the bison and me.

I drove to the same spot where the pipe ceremony was held, and I slowly lowered the bison off the flatbed.

My dear friends Anna and Jesse then got to work with Healing Person — gutting and skinning the bison.

Someone took the heart into the kitchen of American Indian Hall and cooked it up for everyone to try it.

While the mood during the pipe ceremony was serious, the afternoon was totally different.

Tons of laughter and joy and stories and jokes.

Everyone kept saying how they couldn’t believe there was a dead bison being butchered on the MSU campus, and we were already making plans to do it again next year.

Around 4:00 PM the day was over, and we all started saying our goodbyes.

Wolf Spear’s wife, Leigh Little Mustard, hugged me with tears in her eyes and simply said, “Thank you for taking care of our relationships.”

Wolf Spear said goodbye to me with a mischievous smile — like he had a trick up his sleeve — and then he took off one of his two necklaces and gave it to me.

Stunned and a bit in shock at the gift, I thanked him several times.

I then put Wolf Spear’s necklace on — and I walked around hugging pretty much any human I saw that would hug me back, and then I drove home — totally and completely exhausted — my heart as full as it’s ever been.

—————

So that was Tuesday.

And this is the longest blog post I’ve ever written.

Why so many details?

Because the thing I keep coming back to over and over and over and over again is that Tuesday was never supposed to happen.

That beautiful Blackfeet culture my family and I intimately experienced on Tuesday?

It’s not supposed to be here — it’s supposed to be dead — gone — permanently extinguished from this continent.

That was the goal over a century ago.

Cut their braids off, send them to boarding schools, beat them for speaking Blackfeet — “kill the Indian, save the man” — completely and totally wipe their culture and traditions off the face of the earth.

And yet — they endured — and here they are — and there they were on Tuesday — full of pride, visible, seen — on the MSU campus.

I simply cannot stop thinking about what a lesser world we would be inhabiting if the Blackfeet culture were not here.

Tuesday hit me hard, and it cracked me open.

I am deeply humbled by that day, and I will think about it for the rest of my life.

To my Blackfeet friends — you have strength I’ll never know — you have courage I can only dream about — and you possess a grace I didn’t know existed in the human world.

Thank you for sharing it with my family and me.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

For everything.

— Matt