865 10 9858 https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/2f0aaf016d67a59832325ba720d59983.pdf 564311c1b1138f027ebe57211e3d2197 PDF Text Text MASKS CHADHANSON Ellen put on a tribal mask, made out of wood, before she went to work. On the sidewalk, people stared. Some of them smiled but others seemed confused. Waiting for the subway, her fellow New Yorkers made studied attempts to look away. After an hour in her cubicle, her boss asked her to take the mask off. He said it made him nervous. He told her not to wear it again. On the train into the city the next day, Ellen leaned toward the passenger sitting to her left. She whispered, “I like your mask.” oo oo Sling � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Magazine Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Masks Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2015 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Chad Hanson Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chad Hanson Journal Publications, CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01_ChadHansonPapers_49 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available <em>Rock &amp; Sling</em> is published by Whitworth University https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/6f89a77168eaa4cd995d05584697c1d1.pdf d70192c1eb16dca31202dca3b114cc7f PDF Text Text [100 word story Stories Essays Interviews Photo Stories Book Reviews Martha Sophie left Chicago for Panama City, Florida. She made the trip every year, toward the end of February. In Panama, she ate burgers. She watched game shows. She went to flea markets. This time she found a leather belt. Amid imprints of bison tooled onto the belt, somebody stamped the letters: M-A-R-T-H-A. She wore the belt to the lounge at the inn. A suitor saw her by the bar. He said, "Martha?" She did not correct him. She let him take Martha out to a honky-tonk. Sophie didn't know how to dance to that type of music, but Martha knew. Chad Hanson serves as Chairman of the Department of Sociology & Social Work at Casper College in Casper, Wyoming. Photo credit: Chase Clark � Website A resource comprising of a web page or web pages and all related assets ( such as images, sound and video files, etc. ). Local URL The URL of the local directory containing all assets of the website <a href="https://100wordstory.org/martha/">https://100wordstory.org/martha/</a> Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Martha Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Chad Hanson Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chad Hanson Journal Publications, CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01_ChadHansonPapers_50 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/5d8fbcccfc6f7aa3659f0d43f7a462db.pdf 5c5f2a26bc889990fa2723730b5c2e89 PDF Text Text CHAD HANSON *7 PELICAN SUBTROPICS CHAD HANSON I walk past a pelican on the pier at C^tjcos. I think, “What a shame that they can’t talk.” I convince myself, if they could speak, their voices would sound like Garrison Keillor’s. I figure they would talk slowly. They’d pause and inhale through their noses between every sentence. When they told stories, they would end in a sophisticated punch. Their vocabulary would not include words for either “war” or “pollution.” I thought, if pelicans could talk, they would build new cities on the shores of our waterways. I picture those cities. Perfect. Just like the feathers of a bird. 2 PeUICAN � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Journal Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Pelican Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2015 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Chad Hanson Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chad Hanson Journal Publications, CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01_ChadHansonPapers_51 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available <em>Subtropics</em> is published by the University of Florida https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/b0a4a445da740e587b35f3ff70a8331a.pdf 6a4117805143d639a292eeb4aa764a52 PDF Text Text CHAD HANSON A Wine Rack Full of Ghosts Betty didn’t have too many people left. She lost her sister. Her parents. Cancer took her husband. She plays bridge at the senior center in the afternoon. At home, in the evening, she visits her backyard with a glass of wine. One glass turns into three. Hard edges blur. The part of her brain that keeps her in the moment relaxes. Her husband joins her in the suit he wore whenever he sailed. They laugh. Same as always. The wine will not admit his death. � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Magazine Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource A Wine Rack Full of Ghosts Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2015 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Chad Hanson Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chad Hanson Journal Publications, CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01_ChadHansonPapers_52 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The <em>Broad River Review</em> is published by Gardner-Webb University https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/486668263d89ecee4b5a6d861c5a192d.pdf be1f96a0293a66091ff58dc52db3abf2 PDF Text Text Chad Hanson Wild Horses, America, and Me It is important that wefind animals to Zoue.—thomas mcguane I’ve been missing get-togethers. The day after a neighborhood poker game, I learned that my friend Tim had asked about my absence. “Where is Hanson?” In response, my colleague, Brad, sang a line from a song by Jonathan Richman: I ain’t seen him much .. . since he . . . started with horses. It is true. During the past three years, I’ve spent my spare time on the prairies of Wyoming with a camera pointed at bands of mustangs. Sometimes I go by myself. Other times I travel with my wife, Lynn. Either way, if there’s a blank spot on the calendar, I don’t have to think about how to fill the days. I load the car and drive to places where I’m likely to find horses. Wild mustangs are not my first obsession. I spent two decades fly­ fishing for trout in a fashion that felt essentially out of control. At one point, I also thought I would retrace the canoe routes of the French fur traders and explorers. I paddled a lot of water before I gave up on that ghost. I became a bird watcher. In my late thirties I invested in a pair of binoculars and a bookshelf full of field guides. Over time my home be­ came a warehouse for equipment that I take with me when I leave home. That’s typical. American lives, more so than most, unfold in the form of arrivals and departures. We wander to a degree that can feel nomadic. In the middle 1900s we left the era of agriculture. By the end of the last century, few of us lived on farms. The production of food had become an industrial process along with manufacturing. In the past, we put more into our land when we wanted to get ahead. Today, we move to find new opportunities. Our careers keep us in motion. Then—when we are free of our responsibilities—we go. We take a vacation. Some of us leave in order to escape. I know families that take annual trips to Walt Disney World in Florida. I can’t think of a better way to take 45 �flight from contemporary life. The attraction is the absence of reality. Critics charge the Walt Disney Company and its customers with living in denial. They accuse Disney of providing a distraction from the injustices that we perpetuate as a nation, but the Disney critics miss the point. The purpose of a trip to Disney World is to take a break from wrongdoings and injustice. It’s the “Magic Kingdom.” It is not the “Kingdom Where We Give Thought to the Sober-and-Sometimes-Sad Reality of Life in a Post­ Industrial Society.” The culture that we live in makes us feel like escaping, but we travel for reasons other than to flee. Americans are seekers, too. We search when we travel. Many of us put ourselves in motion as a way to make a “pilgri­ mage,” whether or not we use that word to describe our journeys. As opposed to tourism as a diversion from the day-to-day, the pilgrimage offers a way to add a meaningful chapter to what, eventually, becomes a life story. We set the largest share of our chapters at home. We connect our identities to the places where we live, but travel-as-search allows us to expand the edges of the self. Away from families and jobs, we forget the memories we don’t want to recall. Then we replace them by adding para­ graphs, even whole chapters, to our stories. We don’t come all the way back from a pilgrimage. We return different. Wild horses go wherever they want to. They roam across deserts, through forests, and on top of mountains. You find them in all of these places, but they favor prairies. Horses browse. That means they can eat a range of plants, but they prefer grasses. When I watch them, sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to walk on a landscape that is edible. When they are hungry, horses lower their necks and bite off a piece of food. But horses are also prey. Foals and yearlings fall victim to cougars. That’s another reason they prefer the wide open. Horses can run. Open space gives them room to dash away if they are chased. On the grasslands, their bellies are full and they are free. Horses gravitate to prairies. It took me years to appreciate the plains, however. I’m an elevation chauvinist. I moved to Wyoming for the moun­ tains. They are easy to love. We have been socialized to see beauty in high country—pine forests, snow-covered slopes, and jagged peaks. We’re taught that landscapes are worthy of our attention when they are broken and tilted upward. For instance, you can cross five hundred miles of Wyoming plains without driving by a single designated “scenic” point. When you reach the Tetons, however, you find roadside parking lots every two miles, spread along the whole base of the range. The lots are full of 46 PRAIRIE SCHOONER �cars and the sound of shutters clacking behind the lenses of cameras. Willa Gather is rumored to have said, “Anyone can love the mountains, but it takes a soul to love the prairie.” It took a while before I started to see grasslands as a destination, as opposed to someplace to race through on my way to mountainsides. The change involved a reeducation. In reading about the river routes of fur trappers, I happened on an account of a conversation between a French explorer and a member of the Cree Nation from the northern part of Saskatchewan. The two had just met, so the trapper took time to explain where he had been. He depicted the forests and peaks of the Canadian Rockies. He did so with enthusiasm. Imagining the landscape the trapper described, the Cree man asked, “Is it as beautiful as the land-with-nosticks?” The line forced me to wonder. No trees? No sticks? Beautiful? On her first visit to Wyoming, a friend from Minnesota mentioned in a somber tone, “It’s treeless.” I replied, “No. It’s tree-free. Look. You can see for miles. There is nothing in your way.” We spend our lives negotiating social boundaries. For example, we live in communities largely made up of rules: don’t turn left until you see the green arrow—don’t wear flip-flop sandals to work—don’t let your boss know what you really think. We build identities that bind our potential: “I’m a nurse, I don’t have time for poetry,” or “I’m a salesperson. I’m not a scientist.” We also carve our world into compartments: this is a bedroom, a living room, office, store, park, restaurant. On large swaths of the prairie there are no such distinctions. No lines to cross. It’s all periphery: you, grass, and the horizon. In the context of our limited lives, we’re offered only a handful of glimpses into boundlessness: the sea, the stars, and the prairie. In one of the lessons passed down by students of the Buddha, a long-suffering man was said to have asked him, “What is paradise?” The Buddha replied, “Emptiness.” I grew up in the 1970s watching the tv show GrizzlyAdams. Once a week, for an hour, I sat down to watch Adams make his way in the West of the 1800s. In his hometown, he was accused of a crime that he did not com­ mit, so to avoid an unjust punishment, Adams escaped to the hills. He lived in a log cabin. He befriended miners. Native Americans, and ani­ mals. In particular, Adams shared his life with a grizzly bear named Ben. Adams rescued the bruin from a perilous fate on the side of a cliff when he was just a cub. From then on, Adams and the grizzly were inseparable. Stories about the relationship between a man and an animal offered viewers a contrast to the suburban sprawl growing in circles around them. Some decades are reflective. In the 1960s and ’70s, many of us started CHAD HANSON 47 �to assess the future offered to us in our culture. We started questioning what we call the “establishment.” Americans were reading books like The Lonely Crowd and The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit. As a group, we started to wonder if we wanted what the US economy had to offer— namely, lives tethered to either a desk or an assembly line. At the time, when we looked at our collective self in the mirror, we saw single-minded, corporate types. When we looked at our surroundings, we saw the ruin caused by those same single-minded corporate types. News reports de­ scribed litter, smog, and pollution. The songwriter Neil Young captured the spirit of the day with a lyric that implored us to Look at Mother Nature.. .on the run .. .in the 1970s. The words resonated. Real estate developers were gobbling up land. We were driving animals to extinction. The surface of a river in Ohio caught on fire. During the 1980s, lust for profit reclaimed its status in the United States, but in the two decades prior, we questioned the corporate agenda —for ourselves and for the world. In contrast to business suits, people aspired to wearing cut-off blue jeans and T-shirts. An entire generation became interested in getting back to nature. Many saw the outdoors as a kind of haven where people could take refuge from self-interest and com­ petition. Grizzly Adams appealed to viewers. He didn’t compete. He coop­ erated with everyone. He didn’t drive anything to extinction. He treated animals with kindness. Creatures walked up toward him without fear. It’s an old story, one that predates the 1970s. For as long as human beings have been the dominant predators on the planet, we have dreamed of a scenario where we could commune, peacefully, with other species. It is Biblical. The lion lies down with the lamb. Horses evolved as prey. Their oldest ancestor lived 55 million years ago. The height and weight of the “dawn pony” matched that of a medium­ sized dog. Over the ages, the animals became larger, faster, and more powerful. At each step horses grew more capable of protecting each other. By the time they walked out of North America, heading west on the Bering land bridge, they were so big the people of Asia started to think about climbing onto their backs. The eyes of the horse had become the largest of the land mammals. They can see on both sides of their bodies. The only blind spots they possess lie right in front of them and directly behind their tails. Apart from those two spots, their field of vision includes 340 degrees of longi­ tude. Horses also developed the ability to remember. Their recollections last for years. From an evolutionary standpoint, the capacity to store 48 PRAIRIE SCHOONER �memories has served horses. Ifthey are threatened in a specific place or by a particular type of animal—they don’t forget. When Lynn and I started making photographs of mustangs, the horses appeared as small colored dots on the landscape. None of the stallions would allow us near their bands. Over the course of a year, however, two of the families near our home grew to accept our presence. We’re careful to wear the same kind of clothes each time we hike out to see horses. For example, I wear a wide-brimmed hat. I even wear it on cloudy days. I want the horses to see me and remember, “That’s the guy with the hat. He’s all right. He never tries to attack anyone.” Over time, the plan started to work. Bands that used to run or walk away now allow us within thirty feet, as opposed to fifty or a hundred yards. Horses are bigger than we are. Standing alongside a wild animal that can weigh in excess of a thousand pounds feels profound. When I hike onto the prairie toward a band of wild horses it feels as if I am traveling back to the beginning of the world. When I spend time in their company I am often overwhelmed by a sense that I stand at a crossroads where the legends of the West meet the blood and bone—reality. I’ve spent my adult life searching, in a variety of places, and by a range of means, for the mythical West. I have fished high country lakes for cutthroat trout. I’ve paddled whitewater rivers. I have climbed to the tops of mountains and I’ve descended into canyons, too. It turns out the West of my imagination is the one with a mustang in the foreground. I grew up with horses, but that did not prepare me for the things I’ve seen on the prairie. There is a difference between domestic animals and those bom free. Domestic horses live in a constant state of having their nature bent and tempered by a master. In contrast, horses born into the wild possess the same tendencies that the species developed over the course of its evolution. One such tendency involves the establishment of a hier­ archy, with regard to the dominant males and females in a family. Wild horses bite and kick, and they collide. In the process, they determine leadership roles and breeding rights. Another of their behaviors includes watching for predators. Horses have been known to increase the size of their herds, even negotiating the joining of separate bands, in areas where they face a threat from cougars. It is this orientation—toward the welfare of the group—that strikes me most. As herbivores, mustangs do not have fangs. They do not possess claws. All they have going for them in a fight is size, their speed, and each other. It is not an accident that they form bands. They draw strength and CHAD HANSON 49 �comfort from their place in a group. During the spring, wild horses battle to establish levels of dominance, but when the roughhousing is over, and families are established, they turn toward their relationships with each other. I’ve been astounded by the bonds of affection that bind horses. They put their long, artfully chiseled faces next to each other. They nuzzle with their noses and lips. They use their teeth to scratch each others’ backs. They know the spots that are hard to reach on an equine body—withers and shoulder blades, for example—so they help each other by nibbling in all the right places. Siblings and parents stand side by side. Then they swat flies from one another’s faces with their tails. Bands of mustangs spend entire afternoons preening and caring for their families. There are few sounds. Horses whinny if they need the attention of the others. They blow out through their noses as a way to sigh and maintain contact, especially when foraging carries them afield. A stallion will some­ times shriek in the presence of a rival. Apart from these examples, and the sound of the wind in the grass, horses live in a quiet world. As prey to carnivores, it behooves horses to maintain stealth. From an evolutionary standpoint, silence suits them. It’s adaptive. They communicate—but they speak the language of the body. Wild horses fasten themselves to the herd. They use their physical presence and their eyes to choreograph their position and movements. We are accustomed to seeing flocks of birds flying in unison. We are familiar with the idea that groups of fish form schools and coordinate their move­ ments through currents and tides, but on this continent, we see few cases of large mammals sprinting together. When you see a band of wild horses run, it forms a striking image. The oldest or most dominant female, the lead mare, usually begins a charge. Other members of the family step into formation. Then the stallion falls in behind. Legs churn. The group floats over the prairie as if they were wrought from one body of metaphysical horseness. Mustangs are other-centered. Out of necessity, they focus their atten­ tion outward, into the workings of the band. We’re social too, but not like horses. Our capacity to manipulate words gives us an inner life. We live inside our heads as much as we live in a family or culture. Horses use their memories to recall threats or places of danger. We have little to fear, so we use our brains to craft personal narratives. It’s our memories that make us who we are. No matter where you go or who you spend time with, you can find human beings telling and then recounting the story of themselves, inside their minds. We’re so vigilant about maintaining our stories that we 50 PRAIRIE SCHOONER �become preoccupied. We think about ourselves to the exclusion of others. Our evolution was atypical. We’ve turned into the rarest of creatures: self­ centered but, at the same time, bound to live in groups. Standing on the prairie with the last remaining wild horses on the conti­ nent is riveting. The animals capture your attention. It takes all of your senses to absorb the setting: beauty, peace, and motion. You strain your eyes. Your heart beats, notably, inside your chest. You have to remind yourself to exhale. Such moments arrest your attention. They lock you in the present. The past, the future, hopes and recollections—gone. In such a moment, when all of your memories vanish, you disappear, too. You can try to hang onto the stories in your head. I’ve tried that once or twice, but I find it’s better to give in to the spell. I use my time on the prairie as a way to forget myself. I spend summers and a good part of the other seasons standing on the plains in the company of wild horses. During the time I pass on the grasslands, there are other tasks to which I should devote attention, but my obligations have to wait. Still, there are people with whom I ought to spend more of my time. I regret the trade-offs. It is true that my friends have not seen much of me since I started with horses. As a consolation, however, I also see quite a bit less of me. CHAD HANSON 51 � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Magazine Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wild horses, America, and Me Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2017 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Chad Hanson Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chad Hanson Journal Publications, CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01_ChadHansonPapers_53 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available <em>Prairie Schooner</em> is published by the University of Nebraska–Lincoln https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/4b8ec33bfa1f2b78d017c6939a6863b9.pdf d3cff8d8fb9278f6f3ecb39c24155a8e PDF Text Text Feathers by Chad Hanson For a week, after his tenth birthday, a raven sat outside Garret’s bedroom window. The bird clung to the branch of an elm tree. He cried, K-Caw. K-Caw. Garret’s mother wondered out loud if the bird had lost someone. She said, “It sounds like he is calling somebody.” Garret drew a picture of a raven with a black pencil. His mom taped the paper to the bark of the tree. In the morning, they found the image gone. A feather took its place under the tape. He kept it in a box for sixty seven years. Nowit is nighttime in the nursing home. He sleeps with the feather on his bed stand. At sunrise, his aid knocks on the door. She finds the room empty, except for a raven on the sill of an open window. Garret holds his place for a moment. He spreads his wings, for practice. Then he cakes a step and the wind lifts him from the ledge. 40 � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Journal Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Feathers Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2020 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Chad Hanson Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chad Hanson Journal Publications, CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01_ChadHansonPapers_54 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available <em>Stone Gathering: A Reader</em> is published by Danielle Dufy Literary https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/9c435ba66ba5dcac44c2de559770deb4.pdf 0d38a69074bc66252f37d2d8032d7ce2 PDF Text Text CHAD HANSON Theodore Roosevelt, Shaman Teddy "seemed to burn more brightly and live more fully than others, savoring every detail and every challenge." —Christopher Knowlton My wife, Lynn, judges my enthusiasm for a travel destination by taking stock of the time I spend reading its history. Sometimes 1 read about a place before I visit. Other times, if 1 am struck by a location, I read about it afterward. In the case of Theodore Roosevelt National Park, I read about the setting before we left for North Dakota, 1 kept on while we were there, and then 1 continued after we went home. Our original interest in the area arose when we found out that Theodore Roosevelt is the only park in the U.S. that plays host to bands of wild horses. That alone seemed like a good reason to plan a trip. I didn't know until later, the outing would spark a year's worth of thought about wildness, prairies, and the power of one person to change the way that people think about the world. We arrive in the village of Medora after dark. The rooftops of old-time build­ ings form a line, strung out like boxcars on the horizon. We pull into the gas station on the main road. After I fill the tank, 1 join Lynn in the gift shop and convenience store. While she adds milk to a cup of tea I wander through the aisles. Every shelf is full of souvenirs: T-shirts, mugs, shot glasses, and leather belts bejeweled with brightly colored beads. We're "traveling." Everything about the space we're in suggests that we are about to begin an experience—a park. It's a throng of shapes and colors in the gift shop on Main Street in Medora, but I gravitate toward a shelf of books. Histories of North Dakota stand beside biographies of Roosevelt. I also find a guide to the bands of wild horses in the park. The book contains photos, names, and descriptions of well-known mares and stallions. 1 spend a moment reading about a silver horse named Arrowhead. He strikes me as a masterpiece of DNA: thick neck, broad shoul­ ders, strong, elegant legs, and chiseled jaw. It's an engaging book, but it is expensive. We're on a budget, and we discovered, halfway to Medora, that we forgot our coffee cups. I notice that Lynn is waiting in the car, so I choose two Roosevelt mugs from a shelf. With a full tank and a new pair of souvenirs we pass through the guard sta­ tion on the park's southern border. At night, the outlines of ridges and valleys 88 I Chariton Review CHAD HANSON �only offer dark hints about the contour of the land. My imagination fills the shadows with sleeping bands of mustangs, resting nose to nose. It's a soothing image, but the night is black, it's getting late, and we are occupied with the thought of the campsite waiting for us on the Little Missouri. We make our way to the site without stopping to see what the darkness holds. Cottonwood Camp sits at the bottom of a valley in a grove of trees. Our site enjoys the shelter of branches overhead, and it's close to the water too, We're able to listen to waves lapping along the river's edge while we pitch our canvas teepee. Lynn is tired. It has been a long day in the car, so we pour some red wine into our Roosevelt mugs and blow up our mattresses. With our bedding set, I say goodnight. I spent the decades of my twenties and thirties obsessively fly-fishing. I don't fish for trout much anymore, but I still feel an impulse to stand in rivers with the current washing over my knees. I refill my mug and walk to the water. Three weeks prior to the trip, I started to read about Roosevelt. As president, he protected our first monument. Devil's Tower, and the nation's first park, Yellowstone. At a time when we busied ourselves cutting down forests, dam­ ming rivers, and strip mining for coal and copper, Roosevelt waged a policy war of opposition. He fought against what we think of as a simple march toward "progress." His primary weapon in the fight was his personality, cou­ pled with everybody else's understanding of the legend—his life story. Nations across the world and throughout time have given rise to wise and noteworthy people, Every culture finds a way to exalt its formidable characters. We called Roosevelt our twenty-sixth president. If he were alive in another time, or another place, they would have likely called him a shaman. As a tradition, shamanism extends backward through 30,000 years of history. It spanned the globe to include examples on every continent except Antarctica. The techniques of shamanism developed along similar lines, from one end of the Earth to the other, despite the distance separating its practitioners. Apparently, at the right time in their saga, nations need a shaman. Anthropologists have documented the steps most often taken in the pro­ cess of elevating someone to such a status. In nearly every case, a would-be shaman suffers a crisis in the form of an illness or a shock. The woe they feel begins to separate them from others. Then the anguish starts to move them, to the point where they set out from home. In some cultures, the journeys are physical. A budding shaman will travel, typically in solitude, in search of a vision. In other places, the passage is mystical. The voyage involves a trek into the spirit world. In either case, shamans return with a new set of skills. They also wear costumes as a way to indicate that they've been changed. Then they start to console people. They begin to counsel their communities. On the evening of Valentine's Day 1884, on different floors of his New York home, Theodore Roosevelt lost the two most beloved people in his world: his wife and mother. By all accounts, the event left him in something akin to CHAD HANSON Charlton Review | 89 �a trance. One of his associates was known to have said, in the weeks after the tragedy, “He does not know what he does or says." In his journal, Roosevelt confessed, "The light went out of my life." He left for North Dakota, beyond the lands of Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett, to the West, where an American form of wildness endured. Historians agree that the experience of moving to the plains impacted Roo­ sevelt. He spent a year in a shack on the Little Missouri. In his words, with respect to the time that he gave to the prairie, "It is where the romance of my life began." Photos from the era offer a vision of Roosevelt having replaced his tailored three-piece suit with a buckskin leather one, rows of fringe across his shoulders, a bandana on his neck. The new attire served as a sign to observers. A transformation had occuned. Roosevelt later returned to his home state of New York and, of course, he spent a good deal of his days in Washington, D.C. But he maintained a residence in North Dakota, a ranch upstream on the river. He returned to the western plains off and on throughout the rest of his life. He went for the adven­ ture. The prairie served as a muse and a source of inspiration. Roosevelt used the solitude and solemnity of time spent in the out-of-doors to create a space in his mind, free from the ordinary norms and values of business and politics. He walked the path of a shaman. Like his predecessors, down through the ages, he lived on the borderland between two worlds. He used periods of separation from society, and immersion in nature, to expand his perceptions. Like a tribal shaman, Roosevelt used his time apart to build a platform of wisdom, from which he provided a contrast to commonly held, but wrongheaded, beliefs. Historically, shamanism offered little in the way of actual medicine with healing properties. In the past, however, if a person approached a shaman with an illness or hardship, they expected to discover a new way to inter­ pret the symptoms of the ailment. It turns out that stories are good medi­ cine. When it comes to improvements in health, their effectiveness is well established. The line of evidence in support of healing narratives begins with early anthropology and runs through contemporary studies of placebos, con­ ducted in medical schools. Perceptions are powerful. They hold the potential to heal, and to the degree that shamanism changes minds, the practice proves its worth. Even in a case where a death becomes eminent, a shaman can offer someone a new way to think about their fate. All throughout history, individuals turned to shamans for the means to re-story and redefine themselves. Societies have done the same. In the end, shamanism serves a social role. Shamans use the things that set them apart— past suffering, travel, and appearance—to challenge the status quo when the behavior of a group begins to go awry. Their example throws back the curtain of culture that often limits our ability to make sensible choices. Shamans open a place where people can give thought to what is possible. In the time of Theodore Roosevelt, our once-proud frontier nation stood on the brink of becoming an urban and industrial place. The country found 90 I Chariton Review CHAD HANSON �itself in the grip of a culture that hailed the captains of industry, while at the same time forsaking the landscapes that enchanted the country's early colonists and pioneers. This is the age where we began to revel in the accumulation of wealth. We began to think of ourselves primarily as consumers. At the same time, Roosevelt-the-Shaman gave us a new sense of our potential. Apart from his legislative victories, Roosevelt used the example of his life in the outdoors to shift the way we think about our past, and more important, our futures. Shamans offer us new stories, and every decent story is built around a string of expectations, left like bread crumbs, running from the start to the end of a nanative. Stories employ the trick of anticipation. A good story inspires an expectant mood. The stories we told about Roosevelt's adventures in the West led a country hell-bent on covering its topography with railroads and smokestacks to see what we stood to lose if we left our course unchecked. Roo­ sevelt's example helped us to see the potential in wild places. He changed the way we see our habitat. In the words of another nineteenth-century shaman, Henry David Thoreau, "... there is as much beauty in the landscape as we are prepared to appreciate." Thoreau went on to add, "we shall be fortunate ... if we expect great things." Through the force of his biography and character, Roo­ sevelt boosted our expectations. He challenged our culture of commerce and turned our hope to conservation. In the morning, we drink coffee, eat cereal, and then climb in the car. When the U.S. government created the park, its directors paved a road meant to allow travelers to see a wide swath of the area in one circular route. Depend­ ing on the amount of time spent hiking, picnicking, and making photo­ graphs, visitors can plan to spend somewhere between a half day and a full day completing the circle drive. Out on the road. I'm struck by the terrain. When settlers entered the west­ ern half of the Dakotas they needed to name their surroundings. They chose to describe them as "Badlands." Through their eyes—the setting radiated badness. Adjectives that authors included in writings on the place include sparse, barren, and inhospitable. Of course, they judged the West by standards set in the culti­ vated gardens of Europe and the East. In contrast to the disappointment that settlers felt when they cast their eyes onto the valley of the Little Missouri, Roosevelt saw "a sacredness to the Bad­ lands silhouette." He described the region as "so fantastically broken in form and so bizane in color as to seem hardly properly to belong to this Earth." In his mind, the place "exuded a cosmic sense of God's Creation." As with other would-be shamans, Roosevelt needed a mythical place to build a new identi­ ty—a destination that would allow him to leave the confines of his prior self. To those ends, he found the Badlands abiding. I stop at the first scenic lookout that we come upon. We're not alone in the parking lot. We pull in next to a station wagon at the end of a row of cars. CHAD HANSON Chariton Review j 91 �Then we grab our cameras and make our way to a spot near a group of pho­ tographers. When we reach the other travelers-with-cameras, we discover that it's not the rumpled landscape that has drawn their attention. They're point­ ing their lenses at a group of prairie dogs. I've lived in the West for three decades. This is the first full-fledged prairie dog town I have ever seen. When Lewis and Clark led the Corps of Discovery through the northern plains, prairie dogs appeared to them in "infinite" num­ bers. In fact, biologists speculate that the plains of the West were home to more than 5 billion prairie dogs as recently as a hundred years ago. One colony in Texas hosted 400 million residents. By the turn of the century, the number of black tailed prairie dogs in the U.S. had been reduced by 98 percent. The pop­ ulation of the Gunnison's variety shrunk by 97 percent and the white-tailed subspecies vanished from 92 percent of its former range. Prairie dogs have a powerful enemy: agribusiness. Ranchers tell a story about the little animals that threatens their existence. The story has it that live­ stock fall into prairie dog bunows and break their legs. Over the years, that narrative unleashed a multi-generational campaign to shoot, poison, trap, blow up, gas, and drowned the American prairie dog into oblivion. Of course, historically as many as 60 million bixon and 5 billion prairie dogs co-existed on the plains—and buffalo with broken legs did not exactly pile up as a result. Like their wild bovine cousins, livestock also live in harmony with their tiny beige bretheren, when they're allowed. In John Hoogland's classic The Black­ tailed Prairie Dog, he testivies to the effect that there are no published accounts of a single cow or calf ever having broken a leg by falling into a prairie dog butrow. The myth that suggests prairie dogs are "leg breakers" contains no truth, but research and data are not the forces that drove prairie dogs to the edge of extinction. They became ensnared in a cold-blooded mix of falsehood and human self-interest. Lynn and I join the photographers at the far end of the parking lot and we start to observe. I don't know what I find more charming, the yips and barks of the prairie dogs or the oohs and ahs coming from the group gathered to watch. Prairie dogs form clans. They stand near the entrances to burrows and greet each other with hugs. Sometimes they kiss. Researchers note elaborate groom­ ing behaviors, and in the words of the biologist Constantine Slobodchikoff, "They have the most sophisticated animal language decoded so far." We watch them chase each other back and forth across the colony. They stop to wrestle. Then they clean each other's fiir. We press on because we're set on finding the wild horses in the park, but the other photographers remain. Some of their tripods look like they’re set up on a semi-permanent basis. Back on the road, we roll in between hoodoos and down to the bottoms of glades. We watch a group of mule deer through the windows of the car. The pace of traffic slows at the top of a rise, and at first, we can't see why. Then we 92 ! Chariton Review CHAD HANSON �crest the ridge and it is obvious: a bull bison. The solitary beast stands on the summit, looking out into the folds and wrinkles stretching into the distance. A group of people stands at the road's edge holding cameras. We join them, quietly. Lynn and I spend a lot of time in parks. One of the things we like best are the people. National parks tend to bring out our most admirable traits. Inside a park, it seems, we are gracious. We practice humility. In our culture, the act of travel encourages us to pay homage to the places we visit. We go to locations that we value, and when we value a place, it shows in our eyes, our posture, and our actions. Travelers rarely spray-paint or shoot up road signs, for example. Local kids do that, and they do it because they don't appreciate their surroundings. They are missing reverence. They feel unenthused, and the adults in their orbit allow them to take their habitat for granted, to the point where it starts to feel boring, so much so that it becomes an object of scorn, a target for vandals. With regard to the management of parks and public land, we often decry "local control," but I would argue that locals are among the last people to whom we ought to grant authority. We become desensitized to grandeur when we spend each day in its presence. Local residents rarely adore their settings in the same manner as those who save vacation days for years to see a place. Theodore Roosevelt hunted bison, but by the late 1800s the animals had become hard to find, and on the occasions when Roosevelt located a herd of buffalo, he found it a moral challenge to shoot them. Like their cousins the prairie dogs, bison were seen as a financial threat to agribusiness people, who have a tendency to treat our public grasslands like their own private pastures. As a nation, then and now, we place the interests of commerce ahead of ecology. We are inclined to believe that "The chief business of the American people is business," in the words of another U.S. president, Calvin Coolidge. Roosevelt's path allowed him to see with a different pair of eyes. He saw through the veil of commerce that blinds us to anything but profit-making. In a biography of Roosevelt entitled Wilderness W/irrior, historian Douglas Brinkley suggested, “It sickened him to see wild ungulates being poisoned and slaugh­ tered because they supposedly ate the same grass as cattle and sheep." Roos­ evelt created Yellowstone National Park in part to preserve the last remaining examples of wild bison left in the United States. We don't approach the bull at the top of the ridge. We're not looking for close­ ups. Lynn and I hold back and make photographs that include the animal as a part of the landscape. That's a difficult proposition, though. We have to time our exposures in concert with a photographer making circles around the bull at a distance that looks too close. Bison are stoic. They are not known for their animate gestures. When they're not eating, they stand around. For travelers CHAD HANSON Chariton Review | 93 �unfamiliar with bison behavior, the statue-like demeanor can mislead. Most of the time in the out-of-doors, each of us is like a Godzilla. All living things scatter when they see us. Not so with a bull bison. They stand there—unwav­ ering. They don't even think to leave. As a result, they seem friendly, but they are not. In Yellowstone, bison injure more visitors than wolves, bears, and mountain lions combined. Because they don't run away, people walk up too close to them. Then, by the time they discover they made a mistake, it is too late. It's the indifference to threat that makes buffalo dangerous. Ironically, that trait also led to their demise. Bison hunters do not have to "hunt' them at all. They just walk up and shoot. We pause after we've made enough photographs. I put my camera down, but I cannot stop looking. 1 am struck by the image of the bull against a backdrop of rippled plains. Bison are relative newcomers to North America. Ani­ mals like horses and coyotes evolved here on this continent over the course of more than fifty million years. In contrast, bison trace their original stock back to the Middle East. They are descendants of the great aurochs—the wild bovines that inhabited North Africa. Like human beings, bison migrated across Asia and into Alaska during the time of the last ice age. Bison did not evolve in North America, but this is their home. No one who sees them here could argue that they don't belong. For our part, we press on and finish the drive. Any time we see a vantage point with uninterrupted views, we stop. Each occasion gives us a reason to step out of the car. We survey the land because the terrain is worth pausing to admire, but we're still on the lookout for mustangs. In the end the search is fruitless, however. We complete the circle and drive to the campground without finding any horses. After dinner, we decide to hike along the banks of the Little Missouri, Early on, we meet a ranger and we stop to talk. We tell her we spent the day looking for horses, with no sign. She asks a handful of questions about the timing of our route. She explains how, over the years, she built a feel for the way horses move through the area, and then she makes a suggestion. She tells us to wake up early and drive to the north. Her advice is to try to reach Jones Creek before sun-up. In the morning, we discover the value in a ranger's knowledge of a park. When we drive over the last crest separating us from Jones Creek, we are greeted by the sight of horses grazing at the bottom of a draw. We find two bands wad­ ing in the grass—not too far from the pavement. Then, as we drive closer, we see a band of six on a bald ridge, each wild horse striking a pose. We're not the first to notice the mustangs. We pull onto the shoulder next to a pickup from Texas and a sedan with license plates from Michigan. The others are already making photos of the two bands enjoying a breakfast of little bluestem at the bottom of the valley. Both families attempt to shield their foals. Mares position themselves between the photographers and their young ones. The stallions stay to the side. They leave space between themselves and 94 1 Chariton Review CHAD HANSON �the others in order to monitor the scene. Human beings and wolves and primates and elephants are the only land mammals that form bonds to the same degree that we find in the equine world. Horses create long-lasting and profound relationships. At a distance, you can often distinguish horses from other ungulates because they stand so close together that they touch. Cattle don't hug each other like that, and neither do elk. Mustangs engage in friendly sparring games on their hind legs, they pull their friend's tails as a way to tease them, and they watch each other play in puddles after rain. They also hold established roles within their families. Mares and stallions posture themselves in relation to one another, their young, and the members of other bands. We know a lot about the social lives of horses, but our understanding of the animals is also limited. Research on mustang behavior has been stunted by the status of the horse in our culture, and by the way we organize knowledge in universities. We tend to study animals in two places on an American campus, colleges of agricul­ ture and departments of biology. Horses often become the subjects of schol­ ars working in agriculture. But those researchers study domestic animals. They focus on husbandry and techniques for training horses as our servants. They overlook the wild ones. In departments where they study fish and game they also tend to ignore the behavior of horses, because we usually define them as property, as opposed to wildlife. Theodore Roosevelt viewed the mustangs of the North Dakota Badlands differently, however. He pointed out, "They are as wild as pronghorn." Mustangs fall between two established, but self-limiting fields. People who conduct research on domestic animals disregard them because they are not domestic, and people who study wildlife discount them because they don't consider them wildlife. As a consequence, the workings of wild horse fami­ lies and much about the mind of equus remains enigmatic. 1 would argue that the disciplines of biology and agriculture have provided an important baseline of knowledge with respect to horses, but neither field is positioned to help advance the cause. New insights will need to come from researchers in anthro­ pology. Jane Goodall and Diane Fossey studied primates under the guidance of the anthropologist Louis Leakey. They used the techniques of social science to break open our understanding of the group life of chimpanzees and gorillas. When it comes to the study of social mammals, ethnography has proven its value as a method. On the side of the road, four of us try to make pictures of a mare grooming a foal. She showers attention on the colt by nipping at his mane. Horses are unlike bison. Technically, they are both prey animals, but bison stand and fight when faced with danger. They swing their skulls and horns to ward off an attack, and thus, tend to stand still in the presence of photographers. On the other hand, a horse's only defense is to run. Unlike the other ungulates CHAD HANSON Chariton Review | 95 �in North America, horses do not possess any cranial ornaments—no horns, antlers, or paddles protruding out of their skulls. When it comes down to fight or flight, horses were made to flee. When you approach a band of mustangs, there's an ever-present question: Will they run away? Anyone who hopes to walk toward a group of wild horses feels the tension. Will they stay? Or will they go? I am contemplating these questions as 1 focus my lens. I'm changing aper­ ture settings and shutter speeds. I am not paying attention to the other photog­ raphers. Making images of horses is a dynamic undertaking, though. Sooner or later, wild mustangs shift off to another patch of grass or to other interests. After a moment, the horses I'm watching decide to move on, and when they do, I look up and turn to the person next to me. It's a woman, and I can tell she's been crying. People are the only animals that cry. Of course, we do so for obvious rea­ sons: joy and sadness. In both cases, we leak from our eyes when we feel over­ whelmed. 'There are more nuanced occasions when people weep, however. I have noticed, when people see free-roaming bands of wild horses for the first time, the sight can often lead to tears. 'The first time Lynn and I visited the Black Hills Wild Horse Sanctuary in South Dakota, we took a tour with a guide. We rode in a truck across the prop­ erty, to a place where mustangs often meet. The drive took half an hour, but we found horses in the spot where we hoped to find them. When we climbed from the truck, 1 noticed that Lynn was dabbing her eyes with the cloth we use to clean our cameras. I asked our guide, "Is that common? Do people cry when they come upon a group of mustangs?" He said, "Absolutely. Yeah. It happens all the time." I have seen a good deal of evidence, in the past several years, to suggest that he is right. Lynn and I often drive people out to see wild horses. Misty eyes and tears are typical. It's joy. At least, that's a part of the explanation. My sense is that it's more than happiness. Maybe it's something different. When people cry in the presence of mustangs, it's like the outpouring of emotion that we feel in a gallery when we come upon a work of art that touches something in our scaffolding of memories. It's comparable to times when unexpected songs come on the radio, and we find ourselves moved by the feelings that flow from the lyrics or melody. It's happiness, of course. It's sadness too. When people see wild mustangs for the first time, they are often struck by the affection the horses display toward each other. In the West, mustangs have hundreds of thousands of acres they can roam as individuals, but they stand with their faces together, squinting into one another's eyes. Of course, they're larger and more physically impressive than us, but they're also better at maintaining families. I think, for many people, when they see a band of wild horses for the first time—it feels like a vision of how mammals ought to relate to each other. My family is spread out across the continent. We're all "successful" to some degree. But we've made careers, and real estate, SUVs, and high technology the focus of our lives. In fact, the more that we succeed, the further we fling 96 I Chariton Review CHAD HANSON �ourselves into directions we're supposed to value in society: beach resorts and second homes and ski vacations, in the case of just three examples. The sight of wild horses lazily caring for each other in the sun shocks many of us as an image of what our lives ought to look like. It's a bit like peering into Eden. Calm. Affectionate. In contrast, most of our days are defined by a lack of seren­ ity and the absence of touch. I think people cry in the presence of wild horses because we are so similar. But we're so different. When we watch bands of mustangs, it's like looking into a mirror—with one exception—we do not see a reflection of ourselves. Instead, we see what our society has done to us. I nod at the woman standing next to me with water in her eyes. I give her a knowing glance. Then I smile with the intent to convey "I know. Me too." It's our last day in the park, so we drive slowly through the rest of the circle tour. We stop to look at another colony of prairie dogs. A stand of cotton­ woods suggests itself as a spot for a picnic so we hike into the grove. While we are nestled in the trees a group of pronghorn wanders by at a distance shorter than usual. We eat sandwiches, drink sparkling water, and talk about the horses that we saw. After a meal in the shade, we decide to finish the drive and head to camp. On the last stretch of the tour I notice a silver horse, standing by himself near the top of a ridge. When I flipped through the guidebook to the wild horses in the park, the stallion named Anowhead captured my attention. The horse ahead of us on the road has a coat that matches the silver tone of the animal that struck me in the gift shop. I nudge Lynn and tell her, "Look. It's Arrowhead." She catches a glimpse of the animal, but she only sees his hind­ quarters. As we approach, he slips over the horizon. When we arrive at the top of the hill, we pull off the pavement to see if we can find him. We look along the length of the ridge, but he is gone. I notice a trail made by hooves leading down around a bend, so we start to follow the path. Eventually, the trail shifts to the north and leads us to another view. When we make it past the turn, we find the horse, along with a faraway look out onto the landscape. He appears thinner than the beast that struck me in the guidebook to the park. If this is Arrowhead—the band stallion—it is an older and more solitary version. He looks over his shoulder to examine us. He doesn't leave. At least, not immediately. The animal takes a moment to think about who we are and what we represent. Then he turns and continues down the path in the unhur­ ried way of old people who reach a phase where they become unflappable. Lynn and I exchange a glance, confirming that we shouldn't follow him. We just stand and watch him go. With the mustang out of sight, we turn our thoughts to the land. The view from the horse path is better than the one on the circle tour. From our vantage point, we see farther than we could see from the road. The view is stunning, but it is maned by the sight of oil derricks and machinery. In the first decade of the 2000s, the state of North Dakota underwent a boom in energy development. CHAD HANSON Chariton Review | 97 �The rigs are not in the park, but they were put in place along its boundary. Rapid drilling gave the region a temporary economic boost, but it's easy to imagine how Theodore Roosevelt would have fought the placement of indus­ trial equipment on the border of the park that bears his name. As a native of New York, Roosevelt came of age in the city. His family earned a fortune operating factories. He understood the value of commercial endeavors. Roosevelt even made attempts to profit from a western ranch, but he also understood the thoughtless nature of our lust for capital. His time in the Badlands turned him into a prophet... or a shaman ... or a seer ... or a sage. His journeys on the borderland between our culture and the wild places left in America gave him insights that most of us never take the time to cultivate. He looked past his own self-interest, and he saw through the mist of immediate personal wishes that too often block our ability to make reflective judgments. He looked into the future and saw our broader needs. In his words, "Our duty to the whole ... bids us to restrain an unprincipled present-day minority from wasting the heritage of unborn generations." Roosevelt forged his character in the otherworldly landscapes of the West. Of course, one could argue that his character was more than his alone. Some might suggest, as a people, we cut the shape of the American character out on the edges—in the frontier—where wildness and civilization buff each other to a shine. Roosevelt believed that our spirits are best renewed in nature. In his mind, that made wild places and wildlife worthy of protection. At times, we've taken up conservation with zeal, but the fervor behind our efforts has been waning. We've begun a practice of shrinking the monuments that we established to guard the scenic wonders of the continent. We refuse to protect threatened species on the outside chance that doing so might limit the activi­ ties of multinational corporations. Our own government agents remove wild horses from public land, and then they wink when private parties ship them to slaughter in Mexico. The historian Lynn White once said, "What people do about ecology depends on what they believe about who they are.” Who are we, in the end? 'There were times when, as a nation, we could have considered ourselves the heirs of Theodore Roosevelt. Today, a claim like that would feel strained or maybe even false. We let our culture back us into a corner—with careers on our minds, phones in our hands, and a range of obligations spread out before us. When we came to think of ourselves primarily as workers we grew intent on consumption. After that, it became hard to hold any space open for adventure or time spent in contemplation. When you're embedded in a way of life, it becomes hard to imagine another type of existence. Even so, 1 am not telling any secrets by suggesting there's a growing sense that, when it comes to the character of our daily lives, and perhaps the course of the nation, something is going wrong. But questions dog us at this juncture. What will we do? Throughout the previous 30,000 years of human history we would have likely turned to a shaman in times like these—a person with wisdom and an ability to stand outside the norms and values that govern the actions of the group. We don't turn to shamans anymore. Even if we did, I'm not sure where we'd look. Still, as I watch the campfire on our last night in the park, it 98 I Chariton Review CHAD HANSON �occurs to me that Theodore Roosevelt's example may have little to do with the importance of sages or shamans or critics or leaders. With my eyes stuck to the flames twirling upward along the bank of the Little Missouri, 1 am reminded that Roosevelt turned to no one for assistance. He looked to wild country at watershed moments in his biography. Time and solitude were the tools he used to re-story his life. He took to the wilderness as a way to refashion him­ self as a new kind of person. It is quiet by the fireside. Lynn and I are both reflecting on the day. When it's time to start thinking about going to bed, she stands and makes her way toward the teepee. From inside, I hear her ask, "Do you think that silver horse was Arrow­ head?" I don't even have to think. I say, "Yeah. He's just a little older now." At least, that's the memory I am taking with me from the trip, When it comes to memories and the life stories that they stack up to form, we write and curate them ourselves. On our last night in the park, that thought gives me a measure of comfort. I take one last sip of wine from my Roosevelt souvenir coffee mug. Then I toss the little bit that's left onto the campfire. The flame shudders, but then it begins coming back. 'The fire continues to burn. CHAD HANSON Chariton Review | 99 � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Magazine Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Theodore Roosevelt, Shaman Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2020 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Chad Hanson Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chad Hanson Journal Publications, CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01_ChadHansonPapers_55 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available <em>Chariton Review</em> is published by Truman State University https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/9bfdb29489273098e80f2911b2e809b6.pdf 6fdafb54dcbb3768e590bd032649c05b PDF Text Text Triage by Chad Hanson Two years ago, the library staff noticed that patrons were not checking out any books. It started feeling like they just came to the library to talk, lhey stood and talked and put their hands on top of the hands of the librarians—right there at the circulation desk—where they used to scan old volumes of Virginia Woolf. At the same time, the staff learned that some patrons were going as many as three weeks without the feel of someone else’s skin touching their own. They changed their protocol up at the desk. Charlie listens to a librarian address people at the head of the line. “What’ll it be? Pat on the back? A grip on the shoulder?” He hears a woman ask, “Can I get a handshake with an extra heartfelt grab on my forearm?” The librarian whispers, “Okay, Honey.” Then the woman asks, “Could you include a knowing look?” She offers the patron a soothing glance, and then she finds a soft way to say: “Yes. Of course.” 55 � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Journal Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Triage Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2021 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Chad Hanson Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chad Hanson Journal Publications, CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01_ChadHansonPapers_56 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available <em>Stone Gathering: A Reader</em> is published by Danielle Dufy Literary https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/3c2c58ac41ca116a69c1cb546d00992d.pdf c7557b58c68c2c7930d023f0148ddc77 PDF Text Text Flyway: Journal of Writing and Environment �The terms “migration route” and “flyway” have in the past been used more or less indiscriminately but ... it seems desirable to designate as migration routes the individual lanes of avian travel from breeding grounds to winter quarters, and as flyways those broader areas into which certain migration routes blend or come together.... —F.H. Kortright, The Ducks, Geese and Swans ofNorth America Flyway: Journal of Writing and Environment Vol. 14.1 �An Imaginary Fish C o V5 a nonfiction • flyway I eat breakfast in diners, lhere are a number to choose from in Casper, Wyoming, and they’re all similar. 'They’re full of vinyl chairs and old men using salt and grease to hasten their way into graveyards. Every ramshackle breakfast spot in town has at least one waitress named Shirley, and even if their names are really Megan or Janet, they could still pass for Shirleys. My favorite egg and bacon hole stands next to a truck stop on the interstate running beside the Bozeman Trail. In its prime, the Tumbleweed Cafe served steak from six to eleven, but the owners haven’t hosted a dinner in fifteen years. 'They have all they can do to lure a counter full of white males in for coffee before nine o’clock. I’m there at quarter after eight. When I moved to Wyoming, it became clear that I was going to share meals with geologists if I was going to frequent old diners. 'The regional economy has drawn earth scientists to town for a century. In the early 1900s, a handful of drillers found oil in quantities large enough to catch the eye of petroleum giants Sinclair and Conoco. People called Casper the “Oil City.” They projected it would grow to become the hub of the Rockies—bigger than Denver. It didn’t work out like that, but the fossils are still in the ground, so we’re home to a high number of geoscientists. I took geology as a freshman in college. I couldn’t resist. Earth science did not relate to my major, but I didn’t care. As a kid I spent entire afternoons walking gravel roads, searching for agates. My parents gave me a rock polishing kit in 1977. Every two months I loaded the tumbler and added a cup of mysterious powder. When the machine shut off, I opened the lid and found a container of gem stones. 'The stripes and colors convinced me that there is enchantment in the world beneath our feet. I took that sense of awe with me to my geology course, and I found a teacher whose sense of wonder actually exceeded mine. Professor Ted Abrahams talked about tectonic plates in a tone that I associate with religion. I still use the terms and concepts that I learned—especially when I’m on a road trip. 'The problem is that my wife gets nervous when I point to the difference between igneous and �64 flyway • nonfiction Hanson sedimentary rock through the window of the car at sixty miles an hour. When I began eavesdropping on the conversations of geologists over breakfast, I noticed that the tone was less than reverent. That took me by surprise. Mostly, the Earth was referred to as a “son-of-a-bitch.” In truth, any person or thing that came between these men and deposits of oil were referred to this way: layers of bedrock, bureaucrats, incompetent crews of employees. Come to think of it, most people and things were referred to as sons-of-bitches. I don’t mind that kind of talk. I use the terms myself. I use them more than I should, but I like the old guys at the diner. I’m looking forward to becoming one of them someday. I curse as a way of practicing for life as a codger with nobody to force me to behave myself. Son-of-a-bitch! Today the conversation isn’t about drilling rigs, soil composition, or the petroleum market. The subject this morning is fly fishing. Jimmy drove over from Glenrock. He dropped his wife off at the shopping mall. Fred asks him what he's been up to and he explains that he fished the Laramie River yesterday. I chime in that I’ve heard good reports from the south fork of the stream. Jimmy says, “Yeah. We did alright. My grandson caught a half a dozen brook trout. We ate them on shore. That kid is gonna be a fisherman.” I go back to reading my copy of Desert Solitaire. Fred asks Jim, “Have you fished Porter Creek?” He replies, “No. I think that’s private land. I haven’t asked permission to fish, but I heard there are bull trout over there.” Fred and Jim continue to talk about the area. I continue to pretend that I’m reading, but I can’t read because I’m busy listening to them. Jim explains that you can access the water on pubhc land if you drive south to Wheatland and then go west on a dirt road. The stream carves a canyon into the east slope of the Laramie Mountains. A rancher by the name of Hemstead owns the property along the foothills of the range, but the creek starts in the high country on land within the Medicine Bow National Forest. �Jim tells Fred about a rumor that Hemstead’s grandfather used to bring buckets of bull trout back from Montana. He says, “Ihe ospreys and pelicans ate most of them, but the wise ones hunkered down, became adults, and now they reproduce.” Fred says, “I’ve heard about bull trout. Ihey’re like brookies, but they’re big and aggressive.” Jimmy says, “Brook-trout-a-go-go.” An Imaginary Fish Two days later. I’m headed to Porter Creek. I’ve read about bull trout. They’re endangered. Their standards for clean water are high, and the number of western streams pure enough for them shrunk in the twentieth century. Today, the fish are protected. James Prosek painted a picture of a bull in his masterful book of illustrations titled. Trout. The mixture of uncommonness and beauty prompted me to drive down past Wheatland and then west to the Medicine Bow. While I’m loading my backpack in the car, my wife steps into the garage with the helmet I use for skateboarding. She says, “Take this with you.” She worries when I travel by myself, especially when I set out for a new canyon. I don’t try hard enough to ease her fears. I actually raise her level of concern with stories of rattlesnakes and brushes with death on the edges of cliffs. What can I say? It’s nice to have someone who worries about you. The stories are easy to exaggerate. Canyons can beat you up. I come home with scrapes on my elbows and knees. Once, I came home with a case of poison ivy that ran from my toes up to a spot where you would not want a skin rash. Another time, I had to climb home with a gash on my ankle so deep it revealed the bone. I’m not about to start wearing a helmet when I fish, but I promise Lynn I’ll come back safe. There is no trail to Porter Creek. Still, I find a spot where people park their cars. I am not the first one to make the descent. It looks simple enough. The gorge is four hundred feet deep, and I manage without having to climb. There is just one place where I have to hang by my hands and drop over a ledge. Once I’m on shore, I fit the pieces of my fly rod together. I slip out of my boots and into a pair of sandals. 65 �66 flyway • nonfiction Hanson I tie a Goddard’s caddis fly to the end of my line, and then take a seat on a downed tree. Beside a creek, I usually get so excited I charge into the water, flailing like an idiot. This time I take stock of what lies before me, above me, and to the sides. Fifteen minutes pass. It’s easy to spend time watching a stream: stripes on a canyon wall, the shapes of cottonwoods along the bank, pillows of water bubbling up behind boulders. In contrast, no one takes time to stare at a football field. Baseball diamonds don’t inspire, and I’ve never heard of anybody getting lost in the majesty of a hockey arena. I am reluctant to compare fishing to other sports. I don’t think of angling as a sport. I don’t really know what to call it, except “something I have to do, despite several good reasons not too.” 'This isn’t my first staring contest with a creek. I am thankful for my sunglasses. A harsh light beats on Wyoming. Low elevation states have a mile’s worth of atmosphere to take the edge off of the rays. In the West, we’re right up on the sun. 'The light can burn in ways that we don’t even understand. My wife and I met in Tucson. We rented our first apartment from an artist by the name ofJohn Botrell. The walls of his studio were lined with eight by ten foot desert scenes. At first, I assumed the pictures were photographs. While he sifted through a stack of paper, searching for the proper lease to sign, I took a close look at the images. 'They were paintings—perfect reproductions of the local scenery. When I asked about his process, he explained that he mixes a dollop of white paint into every color on his palette. In the end, the shades and tones match our squint-eyed view of the landscape. The precision of the work struck me, but I am a fan of more impressionistic art. I like it when painters take some creative license. When it comes to reahsm, I say, “Get a camera if you want to make a photograph.” On our way home, I asked Lynn, “Isn’t he just another realist, trying to recreate the desert with tiny camelhair brushes?” She replied, “No.” �Then after a moment of silence^ she said, “He is a cactus.” An imaginary Fish My line falls onto the water. Then it drifts toward me on the creek. I pick up the fly and toss it over and over. I watch the course of the fake bug on the current every time. I fish dry flies. Ihat means I fish sporadically. Mostly, I take to the water when bugs hatch off of the surface. I’ve never felt the need to keep a strict angling schedule. I have friends that take pride in fishing across the calendar, including December and January. Others spend a hundred days on the water every year. Such efforts are very American. When we enjoy something, we tend to take that thing to an extreme. For example, I have a colleague I cannot picture without a pipe full of tobacco jutting from between his teeth. Of course, there is nothing wrong with enjoying the smoke from a bowl of burning tobacco. I bring a pipe with me when I pack into the Big Horn Range. Once or twice a year, around sunset, I like to commemorate a moment spent alone at the base of a granite cirque. But a dozen times a day? Every single day that you’re alive? White people learned about tobacco from Native Americans. Ihe plant does not grow in Europe. For a thousand years, native people coaxed smoke from the leaves of the plant they called “kinnikinnick.” They used it for ceremonial purposes. Tobacco played a role in attempts at diplomacy. A chief would inhale smoke from a pipe, raise it in the direction of the four winds, and then pass it on. The ritual formed and then helped to maintain relationships. The smoldering leaves made the men’s breath and the air around them visible—it symbolized their common bond to the Earth and its atmosphere. White people turned the act into a meaningless habit. I continue to cast, and my attention shifts to the geologists at the diner. Fred and Jim spent their careers drilling, dredging, stripping, and otherwise ruining the land, but when they talked about the possibility of bull trout up on Porter Creek, their eyes shone. They liked the thought that someone gave the rare fish a new habitat. 67 �Hanson Westerners have an odd relationship with the environment. For generations, newcomers took what they wanted. At various times, waves of settlers flocked to the region to fulfill their ambitions: miners, loggers, trappers, homesteaders, buffalo hunters, and today, a combination of roughnecks and corporate executives. Museums are full of sepia-toned photos of men with waxed moustaches posed in front of sawmills, mines, drill towers, and mountains of bison skulls. We spent two hundred years acting like voracious adolescents. flyway • nonfiction Not long ago, our culture and history met up with a population of bull trout struggling to hold their place in the Jarbidge Wilderness of Nevada. Jarbidge, Nevada isn’t on the way to anything. It’s a tiny berg at the end of a gravel road. Its population is made up of ranchers, prospectors, and an assortment of people who dropped out of society. It’s a prickly bunch. They’re isolated and committed to a way of life that began four branches up their family trees. In 1998, a storm washed out a road that ran alongside the Jarbidge River. The road led to the wilderness area north of town. When the Forest Service heard about the damage, they decided to close the road as opposed to having it repaired. They based their choice on a concern for the bull trout in the river. They assumed that road building in Jarbidge Canyon would increase the amount of silt running downstream, and bull trout cannot tolerate any dirt in the water. Their gills evolved in clear creeks. Anything less than pure can snuff them out. The people ofJarbidge did not like the decision. The thought that they would have to alter their driving habits for a fish sent them into an angry funk. They protested the ruling that prevented them from using public land for their private purposes. At first, the protest took the form of letters and telephone conversations, but those efforts did not succeed. In the face of having to bend their interests to those of a threatened trout, the people ofJarbidge began to organize a full-scale public tantrum. They started laying plans for a “shovel brigade.” On July 4th, 2000, a hundred people gathered to rebuild the road that had been closed to save the bull trout in the river. The event seized the attention of the media. �Interviewees vented their frustration. They trumpeted their right to do what they pleased on the land their ancestors stole from Native Americans. Actually, they left out the part about living on stolen land and borrowed time. Nobody even mentioned trout—the sole reason the Forest Service decided not to fix the road. An imaginary Fish People like using public land as they see fit. Throughout our history we encouraged that tendency—for example, we used the Hard Rock Mining Act of 1872 to help settle the Rockies. We said, “There’s gold in them thar hills!” and we told people to go out and get some. Although, at the time, that meant gray haired old guys with teams of mules were lighting out for the territory. It was quaint and romantic. I grew up watching Grizzly Adams in prime time. I know the story. You do too. So do the people ofJarbidge, Nevada. They know the tale perhaps too well. The story says, “Big, wild men should do what they want in this big, wild world.” The story made sense in the 1800s. The problem is that it’s not the 1800s anymore. The twenty-first century world isn’t big or wild. It’s indefatigably small, and some of its pieces are shrinking and threatening to vanish forever. The America where everybody takes what they want, without a thought toward the consequence is gone. The Hard Rock Mining Act of 1872 is still the law of the land, but lately gray haired men with teams of mules are not the ones taking advantage of its provisions. Today, corporate giants based in places like England, Denmark, and Canada use the law to extract oil and minerals from the American West. The quaint, romantic story about striking out on your own and making it big as a freedom-loving individual turned into the story of how corporations use lawyers and lobbyists to take what they want from states hke Wyoming, New Mexico, and Montana. I decide to hike upstream on shore. Porter Creek’s streambed is pocked with boulders, each one a potential hiding place for trout. Twenty yards along I fling a fly onto the water upstream from a rock. The bug drifts along the near side of the stone and vanishes—gulped by a fish. The trout runs for a deep stretch and I follow him through the current. I make it to the edge of the pool, but o 5’ o' o 69 �Hanson I’m up to my waist, so I cannot wade any further. I let the bend and flex of the rod wear the fish out to the point where I can pull him toward me. It’s a brook trout—just a common fish. He is spectacular. I don’t hold him for too long. I release the hook from his jaw and then ease him back into the creek. The stream fishes well through the morning and into the afternoon. I catch seven brook trout within a mile of my vehicle. The rock cliffs on both sides of the creek close in and grow taller as I make my way upstream. When I stop, the gap between the walls creates a narrow band of sky up at the canyon’s rim. Through the slot I watch two prairie falcons soar in circles, sliding into and out of view. 70 flyway • nonfiction On the bank, beside the water, I develop a theory. Bull trout never swam the pools of Porter Creek. I’m afraid the geologists at the Tumbleweed Cafe are mildly delusional, but I forgive them. They are old. They spent forty years working to help corporations extract profits from the public land in Wyoming. When they were young, I’m sure that seemed like a sound choice. The business gave them stature, built six- and seven-bedroom homes, put Cadillacs and pickup trucks in three car garages. Even so, at some point, people grow tired of seeing their plains and forests bought up and ravaged by multinational companies. At some point you start to root for the underdog, even when the dog is an imaginary fish. � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Journal Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource An Imaginary Fish Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Chad Hanson Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chad Hanson Journal Publications, CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01_ChadHansonPapers_57 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available <em>Flyway: Journal of Writing &amp; Environment&nbsp;</em>is published by Iowa State University https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/e724e8257da7e5fe520a3c444cb18f5c.pdf 7f1544f97026f5533ac30032a37f23b8 PDF Text Text EMERGENCY CONTACT CHAD HANSON poetry The phone rings in the middle of the night. She’s hesitant, but she answers. It’s the hospital. They have a patient, just transferred out of intensive care. Morris Baxter. “He listed you as his emergency contact.” She says, “Excuse me?” The voice on the phone tells her, “Baxter,” and she hangs up. She assumes it is a prank. But then she starts to wonder. Do I know a Morris? Have I ever met a Morris? She takes a cab to the hospital. They show her to his room. She doesn’t know the man. The next day, Morris opens his eyes. He rolls over and he stands up. When they discharge him, he finds her waiting outside in a taxi. SANTA CLARA REVIEW | 39 � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Magazine Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Emergency Contact Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2015 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Chad Hanson Language A language of the resource English Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chad Hanson Journal Publications, CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01_ChadHansonPapers_58 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The <em>Santa Clara Review</em> is published by Santa Clara University