Taking It Easy

Caves, prairies, and Custer. We “took it easy” today in the only way we know how- by only a few hikes, only one national park, and some town exploring! 

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Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/uWX3Ky5qScuSLjNCA

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May 29th, 2024 - Dakotas Day 6

When you travel as hard as we do, you often require a “vacation day” just to let your body catch up. It sounds silly, doesn’t it? On our trips, we need a vacation from the vacation! 

Our vacation day commenced with a tour of Jewel Cave National Monument. Located just 13 miles from the town of Custer, Jewel Cave could be regarded as the lesser-known cousin of Wind Cave National Park. Despite her lack of prestige, Jewel Cave is a wonder. She is the second-longest cave in the United States and the fifth-longest in the world. Beneath grassy prairies and unassuming roads, crystalline formations line endless tunnels. Steady water drips form the spikes of stalactites and stalagmites while life continues unaware on the surface. Caves are fascinating places to be. I like to think of them as the back of earth’s tapestry. Most people fawn over the embroidery of trees and mountains on earth’s surface. Those who peek behind the tapestry, however, find an equally-intricate web of otherworldly scenery beneath the ground. Tyler and I like to enjoy both sides of the tapestry, so we descended into the cool, damp underground. 

A park ranger led our tour through the cave. As with all park rangers, she was wonderfully informative and personable. We dawdled behind her bobbing straw hat, nearly tripping as our feet discovered the rocks that our wandering eyes failed to notice. The cave walls dripped in liquid-looking rock formations. The ceiling dangled in long, ropy strands that resembled octopus arms. The sides of the tunnels bubbled like foam. Cleverly-placed lights illuminated the delicate sheets of “cave bacon,” translucent sheets of draped mineral. My favorite part of the cave tour, as always, was when the park ranger doused the lights. In the suffocating darkness, my hand crept towards Tyler’s shoulder. The warmth of him was comforting as my head spun. The entirety of full darkness is unsettling to modern eyes. We are unaccustomed to darkness without stars, horizon glow, or smartphones. True darkness is simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. I love it. 

After our tour, we flipped the tapestry over to do some hikes in the prairie. The prairie is a wonderful place to be. Crickets sang beneath the constant shhhh of the wind. The grass rolled like ocean waves, wrapping around the legs of a bull bison as he plodded along. His heavy head swung toward us as we passed on our narrow hiking trail. A wire fence stretched between us, providing only minimal comfort. He could plow through the wire if he wanted to. Fortunately, in the wide open spaces, bison are uninterested in a couple of hikers. They are in their home, their turf. Bison on the prairie are content. 

Our trail led us upwards through a thick jumble of lichen-covered boulders. Pine trees squeezed through gaps to reach trembling needles towards the bright blue sky. A bit of shade was a welcome respite after the brightness of the plain. At the top of a tall ridge, an old fire tower kept watch. We climbed its ladder and clung to the railings as the wind buffeted our bodies from all angles. My hair was whipped into a frenzy, but the view made it worth it. In every direction, pine trees and yellow hills swelled. Wispy clouds painted the sky with cotton. We could even see the Badlands in the distance, a full 40 miles away! It was beautifully endless. 

The remainder of our “vacation day” was spent in befittingly restful activities. We went for a scenic drive in the middle of nowhere, stopping at a cute log cabin schoolhouse that had been built in 1881. It was reminiscent of Little House on the Prairie, one of my favorite shows when I was young. Here I was in the prairie, trailing my fingers along log walls that once housed little girls just like Laura Ingalls. It was the closest I’ll ever be to experiencing her life. Suddenly, I found myself longing for a prairie schooner and a pair of sturdy horses. Nostalgia washed over me. If I turned around quick enough, would they be there? Perhaps Tyler would be sitting on the bench of our wagon, reins grasped in his strong hands. I’d pick up my skirts and run through the grass, swinging myself back up into the seat. A gust of wind would rattle the domed canvas behind us. Inside the cloth walls, our meager belongings would be stowed, awaiting the start of a new life. Tyler would click his tongue and we’d lurch away, into the endless opportunity of the prairie. The daydream was tantalizing, if entirely unreal. If I were really a prairie wife, I’d probably die from dysentery.

Still, it’s fun to imagine!

Not restrained to the plodding pace of a covered wagon, we journeyed twenty miles into Custer for a simple evening together. We enjoyed checking out the shops and scenes of the small town. We especially enjoyed ice cream purchased at the historic First National Bank of the Custer. Built in 1881, the original building was a clapboard structure with a wide boardwalk above the dirt street. In 1905, the bank’s safe was blown up with nitroglycerin and its contents stolen. Over $6,000 was seized, which is equivalent to over $215,000 in today’s currency. Now, the illustrious bank is an ice cream store, much to our enjoyment.

I suppose I’m grateful that we don’t have to travel across the prairie in a covered wagon. In a previous blog post, I once declared that I must have been a prairie woman in a past life. I have an indescribable draw to the wide open spaces of the West, especially in Wyoming. Attraction does not equate to suitability, though. If I were truly forced to live as the pioneers had, I would find it incredibly difficult. I do enjoy a nice hot shower, after all. For this reason, I am all the more grateful that places like Custer exist. I can eat ice cream in a 143-year-old bank after hiking twenty miles away in the prairie. I can text my mom on the supercomputer in my pocket without waiting for the Pony Express. I can explore caves with electric lights instead of stumbling through with a candle. I love history, but I’m thankful to live in the present. Safely in the now, I can admire the grit of those before me. With that, I am content. 

Hiking trails: 

Rankin Ridge Trail