Prairie State Park, MO 6.23.07

Today the Smith family visited Prairie State Park. To be honest, I wasn't expecting much, having been sorely disappointed in my search for a descent outdoor experience in the Midwest, but this proved to be a pleasant surprise. I mean, there not much there in terms of camping/hiking/visitor center/etc., but not many parks will put you face to face with a Bison without a fence between you.

I wanted to go somewhere the kids could keep up with, and the Gay Feather Trail seemed like just the thing. Its short, flat, and loaded with ticks, but long enough to challenge their little legs without burning them out. On our way in we stopped at the visitor center, which has a nice collection of stuffed prairie fauna, and were informed that the Bison had been seen hanging out on the Gay Feather Trail of late, so be careful. That was exciting! Anyway, we drove to the trail head and started out. The Gay Feather trail in mid-June is loaded with wildflowers, and there was Bison sign EVERYWHERE. There was fur laying on the ground at the trail head, hoof prints all over the place, beds alongside the trail, and offal about every ten feet on the trail itself. It looked like we were hiking a buffalo highway more than a state part service trail.

It took me about five minutes to spot our first Bison. He was a huge bull alone on a hillside about half a mile away. Of course the trail was so flat that we never once lost sight of him, and it turned out that he was the only Bison on our trail, which isn't a bad thing. (When you have three small children with you, you aren't really happy with the idea of walking them through herds of dangerous animals with nothing more than a stick to protect them.) The only problem was that he was resting only about thirty feet from the trail itself on the back side of the loop we were on. Needless to say we cut the corner to get around him, being careful to stay downwind.

Then, when we were at what I considered a safe distance, I snuck back and got a nice picture of him. I had to throw dirt clods and shout for him to get up for the picture, which seemed like a great idea until he was actually on his feet and looking at me with that, "Hmm, maybe I should gore him..." look on his face. As soon as I had the shot I backed away slowly, then quickly, and we all finished out the hike together. It only took us about an hour to do the whole thing.

Back at the car we checked for ticks, drove back to the visitor center, hung out for a few minutes then headed to the picnic area for lunch. It was nice and shady at the picnic area, and the campground was empty, which was a real selling point for me. I've been to too many Midwest parks (state or national) that were too crowded to enjoy, and here we were on a Saturday in June and we had the entire place to ourselves. Beautiful!

"There was a hunter who went into the bush to kill a monkey. He had looked for only a few minutes when he saw a monkey sitting comfortably in the branch of a low tree. The monkey didn't pay him any attention, not even when his footsteps on the dried leaves rose and fell as he neared. When he was close enough and behind a tree where he could clearly see the monkey, he raised his rifle and aimed. Just when he was about to pull the trigger, the monkey spoke: 'If you shoot me, your mother will die, and if you don't, your father will die.' The monkey resumed its position, chewed its food, and every so often scratched its head or the side of its belly."

I excerpted this story, a traditional story of the Mende tribe of West Africa, from the autobiography of a child soldier. Ishmael Beah was recruited by force into the Sierra Leonean army as a child after having seen and heard more death than any American can really understand. His childhood experience includes forced abduction, killing, fear, the loss of his entire family, running for his life as a pre-teen through dense African jungle, forced drug addiction, and the list goes on. Reading it I was saddened by the amazing array of violence that he had to endure both physically and emotionally. He heard this story in his village before the war tore it apart. And although it seems incomplete, it isn't. After telling the story thus far, it is up to the hearer to finish it. What would you do? Beah says in his book that the answer he held in his heart was to kill the monkey. At least then it wouldn't trap another hunter this way.

His response blew me away at first, but why should it? Forced to choose between evil and evil, he chose the way that would save someone else. How noble. How Christ-like. Beah isn't a Christian, but he writes like one. He understands sacrifice at a level most of us can't. Not don't, but c-a-n-n-o-t, understand. Thanks to his unfortunate past, he understands evil and pain and violence and personal loss in ways that we are simply incapable of ever truly processing. "What a horrible story!" we are tempted to say. But the question remains, what would you do? And all too often in real life, we are forced to answer.