Living on the Little Missouri River

Chad asked me what I wanted for my birthday.

All I wanted was sunshine and warm weather.

He took me here.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park, in the Northern Great Plains.

We pitched the teepee on the banks of the Little Missouri River where the Buffalo roam.

Where wild horses are protected.

Where all you hear upon waking is the sound of a million birds, tall grasses in the breeze, and buffalo breath.

It's true. I woke up early, poked my head out the canvas flap to see a handful of bison outside our tent. Puffs of fog blew from their nostrils as they mowed their way around the teepee.

The bison were particularly drawn to our teepee tent. It was like they remembered the dwelling, from long ago.

We would leave for the day to go exploring and as soon as we came back to camp in the evening, random campers would come greet us to tell of the buffalo that grazed, slept and rummaged around our site. "They licked your coffee cups!" one man from Ontario, exclaimed.

I loved being there.

The place is full of life.

I've tucked the fond memory of it all securely in my heart.