A Grudge Against a Peacock

I opened my eyes blearily. The white curtains billowed away from the open window. I eyed the window with sleepy annoyance. Last night, a peacock had screamed through that open window for hours. I had never wanted to strangle a bird so much in my whole life! Now the early dawn light was pricking me awake too. I was not amused.

Thankfully, the rest of the day was much better than those waking moments!

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Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/TctYqSp68RQ2zxdk6

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May 31st, 2024 - Dakotas Day 8

Our peacock-tainted night had taken place at the Circle View Ranch, a bed and breakfast located in South Dakota. It wasn’t just a ranch by name. Circle View was a full-time working ranch, and it was awesome. Having never spoken to true ranchers, Tyler and I spent a long while chatting with the friendly couple who owned the ranch. The husband, Philip, had grown up on the ranch. As a young adult, he had pooled his funds to build a guest house for the ranch. The guest house soon grew in success and popularity. When he later married his wife, Amy, she jumped right in to the bed and breakfast business with him.

The heart of their operation, however, is the ranch itself. Preserving the heritage of the land, Philip and Amy farm the land just as their ancestors had before. In the summer, they grow hay and oats to feed their livestock and family. Their herd of angus cattle graze in a summer pasture seven miles away, where they spend the sunny days nurturing calves and getting plump. In the fall, the cattle get herded back to the ranch. There, they join the free range chickens, peacocks, and burros that wander the clay hills around the ranch. The scenery of the ranch stood out to me the most. They practically had their own miniature Badlands! On our arrival, we drove through the same orange hills we had been hiking in the park. A cluster of burros pricked up their big ears as we passed. We rounded a bend to discover a sculpture of a metal mustang erected on the top of a hill. We would later learn that this was the favorite spot of Philip’s father, the previous owner of the ranch. When Philip’s father passed, they placed the statue there in memory of his legacy. Past the rearing metal horse lay the houses. They each perched on their own clay hill. The ranch house overlooked the valley of hay pastures behind the house. The bunkhouse, where we slept, faced the rolling, burro-dotted hills. It was a remarkable place to stay. It was wild, remote,  and stunning. Underneath its majesty was a vein of farmer’s pride. Every farmer takes immense pride in their land because it is a reflection of their own hard work. This was especially evident at Circle View, where Philip’s own hands had built our bunkhouse, and his family’s hard work kept the ranch running. As a visitor, it was wonderfully humbling. 

The peacocks were everywhere when we first arrived. A brilliant white one flapped up to the roof of the bunkhouse, where he tipped his crested head and surveyed the unloading of our luggage. We would later learn that his name was Pearl. Pearl was an aristocratic bird who had no problem letting you know that he owned the ranch. Pearl peeped in the living room windows. He waited outside the door at all hours. He especially liked to sit on the roof, just above guests’ heads. He strutted the grounds like a plump king, striking curiosity and mild alarm in the bunkhouse guests. 

And, of course, the night we were there, he squawked all night. A peacock’s call is an otherworldly thng. It carries the same loneliness as a loon’s cry, but with a note of fear that resembles a human’s voice. When Pearl let loose his first call, I woke from a dead sleep with a pounding heart. I thought someone had screamed. After a few repetitions from the kingly bird’s throat, I finally identified it. Just to make sure I didn’t forget it, Pearl kept it up for hours. It was a restless night. 

I couldn’t hold on to my annoyance the next morning, however. Once we stepped out of the bunkhouse to that marvelous ranch, I forgot my sleepiness. It truly was a wonderful place. We joined a gaggle of other guests in the main ranch house, where Amy had cooked a huge breakfast for everyone. Fluffy eggs steamed in a bowl, fresh from the chickens outside. Bacon and pancakes sizzled on Amy’s stove. I sprinkled homemade granola on my yogurt just as Amy was telling us how she’d made the granola from their own oats. The smell of a new pot of coffee swirled around us. Frank Sinatra crooned from the radio. The guests sat together at two long tables, strangers united by the wonderful ranch. 

Our tablemates were an older couple from Alabama. They were an intriguing pair. The wife didn’t talk much, instead surveying everything and everyone with a shrewd eye. The husband, on the other hand, talked too much. He first informed Philip and Amy that his wife really enjoyed their stay, which he claimed was high praise. Apparently she had a history of being very particular. His implication was that she was difficult to manage.

The wife didn’t respond to this, but I thought I saw a smile at the corners of her tight lips. After the husband had finished discussing his wife (who he clearly doted on), he turned the subject to politics. I squirmed in my seat a little. Did we really have to ruin such a nice morning by talking about politics? The Alabama man was determined, though. His light blue eyes snapped as his glasses slid down a rather small, thin nose. He punctuated his statements with a shove on the glasses. I found myself fixating on his facial features instead of engaging in the conversations. He looked like Alfalfa from The Little Rascals, if Alfalfa had an Alabaman accent and strong political views! 

To their credit, Philip and Amy were gracious hosts. They navigated the political topic with ease, and then patiently answered all of our questions about ranch life. I came up with some weird questions for them (I blame the lack of sleep). One such question was, “How on earth do you ranchers keep up on the shots for all of these cows?” (Answer: they herd them up and vaccinate them all at once). I also asked them how far they had to drive for groceries, given the remoteness of their ranch. (Answer: At least an hour, which is the same distance they had to drive for dentist appointments, hardware needs, and anything else. What a life!)

After we reluctantly left the Circle View Ranch, we commenced a steady journey from South to North. Like all Dakota tourists, we made sure to stop at the Wall Drug Store on our way through. The drugstore had originally been just that, a drugstore. Struggling for business in 1931, co-owner Dorothy Hustead came up with a brilliant marketing strategy to combat it. They would offer free ice water to travellers. This seems like a silly thing in 2025, but recall the travelling conditions in 1931. Many vehicles were Tin Lizzies with no air conditioning, open windows, and hardly enough speed to generate a wisp of breeze. If I were travelling like that, I sure would appreciate a drink of cold water and an ice cream cone at a friendly drugstore! Dorothy’s idea was a hit. 

In 2025, the Wall Drug Store is a behemoth of Americana. It spans an entire block of Wall, storefronts brimming with Western paraphernalia and tourists eager to spend money. Of course, the store still offers free water as well. 

When we first walked in, we overheard a man exclaim, “We have SIX dollars!!”

His daughter sarcastically responded, “Well, that’s gonna buy a lot.”

Turns out the daughter was right. Six dollars won’t buy much at the Wall Drug Store, but, for free, you can sure see a lot! We spent hours wandering the store. Every corner turned was something new and interesting. When we finally emerged from the store, we had our fill of ice water and a shared ice cream. From the store across the street, Tyler also bought me a turquoise ring as an anniversary gift. Sufficient to say, Wall was a thrilling experience!

The rest of our afternoon traveled through prairies. The towns stretched farther and farther apart, the gaps filled by cattle and occasional windmills. I suppose some might describe the Dakotas as desolate, but I disagree. The prairies brimmed with life. Leggy calves danced around their stocky mothers. Pronghorn drifted across the horizon. Pheasants skittered across the roads. As Blake Shelton sings, it was God’s country.

Circle View Guest Ranch: https://www.circleviewranch.com/ 

The history of the Wall Drug Store: https://www.walldrug.com/about-us#history