Bison Bison: A New Point of View

Last week I had the pleasure of visiting family in Denver. Multiple factors in my life make travel difficult, so this was a rare opportunity. One of the activities my family did together gave me a chance to see the world differently.

My Denver brother and sister-in-law are nature photographers. Over the years I had often heard them speak of photographing at the Rocky Mountain Arsenal Wildlife Refuge, but I had never been there myself. So, when my brother suggested we might like to go there to see some bison in the wild, I jumped at the chance.

As we drove to the arsenal, my brother explained the history of the place, clearing up the obvious disparity the words “arsenal” and “wildlife refuge” elicit. Yes, during World War II and after, the Rocky Mountain Arsenal was an actual arsenal that produced chemical weapons, nerve gas being one of them. A little more than 30 years ago, an act of Congress, which was signed into law by President George H. W. Bush, redesignated the area as a wildlife refuge. Since then, the area has undergone environmental cleanup and has been allowed to grow wild again.

November might not be the most propitious month to view wildlife there. Even so, there were plenty of animals for us to feast our eyes on. We saw a lot of American bison (or buffalo, as they are sometimes, incorrectly, called). Bison bison is their Latin name, my brother explained. We saw prairie dogs, white tailed deer, mule deer, and coyotes.

And, of course, when we were pointed west, we had glorious views of the Rocky Mountains. The visit was breathtaking and inspiring.

Here’s how the visit taught me to see things differently: Enroute, as my brother recounted the history of the refuge, I was imagining the rewilding of the location through the lens of my own experience. I have lived lifelong on the east coast. We have woods here, forests. In fact, I currently live in the most forested state in the nation, if I am to believe something I heard on the radio the other day.

Years ago, when I lived in Massachusetts, my family decided to stop mowing a portion of our yard so that it could grow up wild again. By the time we moved from that house a couple of decades later, that area had been well populated with trees for several years. One would even call it “wooded.” The east coast rewilds by growing forests, generally speaking. So, before we got to the Rocky Mountain Arsenal Wildlife Refuge, I thought I already had a good mental picture of what 30+ years of rewilding had done to the area. I was imagining lots and lots of trees, lots and lots of wooded areas. I expected it to be hard to spot any animals in such a location.

Instead, this is what I found:

Hello, Sylvia? Ever heard of the prairie?

I had to laugh at myself. And, you know what? The whole experience reminded me of something so important: Whatever assumptions I have gained through my lived experience, it’s important for me to remember that my assumptions may not always be accurate. No matter how broadminded, well-read and studied, or objective I try to be, I will always be missing something. It simply is not possible for one human being to know everything. Further, it is impossible for anyone to be completely objective. So instead of adopting foregone conclusions, things go better when I open my eyes and ears and let life unfold.

Today, Thanksgiving Day here in the United States, many are engaging in the exercise of naming the things that inspire gratitude for them. For the many, many people I know, who fear they are living at the precipice of national and international disaster post-U.S.-election, expressing gratitude is particularly hard this year. I understand. I feel challenged myself in the exact same way.

But I can still feel grateful for the various communities that keep me feeling loved and grounded — my family; my friends; my amazing neighborhood, where we all know each other and gather in community in various way; my church, which is both a locus of peace and an inspiration for action.

I am grateful, too, for the pileated woodpecker who visits my yard from time to time — and other beautiful birds as well: gold finches and cardinals among them. I am grateful for my (indoor) cat (who doesn’t eat the aforementioned birds), whose soft fur and low purr never fail to comfort. And, oh, so much more.

Including this: I am grateful for the periodic good dose of comeuppance that reminds me I can never see anything 100% clearly and, thus, there is always more to learn.

Because you never know: You might be expecting a forest someday and find a glorious prairie instead. That kind of surprise is a good thing, a very good thing indeed.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Love,

Sylvia