Celebrating a Heritage

The day was absolutely gorgeous once the sun decided to appear and the snow glistened as if there were tiny diamonds imbedded in the drifts as I set off for my last few hours of driving to southeast Montana.  The sun warmed the roads up and what snow/ice had accumulated had had a great start in melting by the time I hit the Montana border so there were few worries and definitely no scares like I had had the previous day in Minnesota.  Even so the memories of that event had stuck with me and I was happy to travel at a moderate pace plus once you hit the Montana border you started to see gorgeous vistas appear in front of you each time you crested the next hill that were definitely cause to travel at a more leisure pace.  Though I didn’t take the time to stop I did manage to get a few satisfactory pictures through the front window of the truck which showed some of the vastness and beauty of the countryside like in the picture above.

Not far into Montana as I crested a hill I saw before me a state highway patrol vehicle with lights flashing and in front of it was a school bus.   Not sure what was going on I waited and when the semi tractor trailer in front of me eased around I could see some students getting off and some getting back on the bus as it crawled slowly down the highway.  Of course I grabbed my camera and took a few shots not knowing what I was seeing.  Finally finding a space to ease around the bus I passed and as I topped a hill I saw a van pulled over that had obviously been decorated by kids so I decided to stop. 

The older gentleman driving a van full of high school students seemed pleased that someone would stop and take the time to ask what was going on and with great pride proceeded to tell me about how these young adults (high school age) from the Northern Cheyenne Reservation at Lame Deer, MT had been running through 4 states commemorating the forced march of their ancestors in the 1800s along the route that Highway 212 ran in Montana which, since  2007, has been dually called the Warrior Trail.

 As the bus slowly approached two new runners emerged from the van getting ready to take their places in the relay.  I asked how long a distance they would run and the one young man, with a cocky grin on his face, stated they were the best runners and would run until the van stopped for them and then chuckled to himself.  I am not sure just how many miles each of those young runners accumulated over the days it took them to run through 4 states but I commend each and every one of them for their endeavors and commemoration of their heritage.  If only more of us took notice and celebrated our heritage.

Not wanting to interfere with the exchange I quickly got into my truck and headed out ahead of the group glad that I had stopped and taken a bit of time to ask.  As the miles increased between me and them I came to yet another hill top and knew I was within 15 miles of Broadus as the Nisley Buttes as they are called loomed on the horizon in all their glory.  Years ago my oldest brother had worked for the owner of the Nisley Ranch and I did get to go partway up the backside of one of the buttes but never ventured to the top.  I can only imagine the vistas that can be seen from these but I will probably never know though I did have the good fortune when I was 16 to fly in a two seater Cub airplane over the vast ranges of the ranch which was something like 30,000 acres.  But my first flight in an airplane is another story for another time…for now I was almost to my Montana ‘home.’