Dry grass and sharp rocks scrape our boot bottoms as we tackle the mountain. One foot in front of the other, my companion and I make slow but steady progress towards the top. In mid-age, there’s pride in managing such physical feat, but a breathlessness that wasn’t there a decade ago. About three-fourths of the distance, we stop to photograph hen-and-chicks, yucca and prickly pear, but mostly to catch a second wind. Photos taken and pulse tolerable, we race the last bit to the top. Laughing and once again breathless, we plant our feet at the summit, proud as Chiefs at our command of the land.
In awe, we absorb this view of Oklahoma from the hub of an encircling horizon. Distant mountains similar to our own seem planted in no particular pattern. Rainy Mountain Creek meanders its way below, nearly the only place in sight with trees or shrub. But it is what we see immediately in front of our feet that captures our attention---a circle fashioned of rocks, possibly two feet in diameter. A flat-topped rock is situated in the center to support a small offering, a shiny new quarter. This prayer circle represents a sign of reverence, and nearby, a past visitor has constructed a similar cairn. We stare, our thoughts traveling from surprise to reverential respect for the work of another’s hand and heart. We step around the circles and walk to the far side of the mountaintop.
We are at Rainy Mountain with a purpose in mind. Having read N. Scott Momaday’s, Way to Rainy Mountain, we want to see the site where Kiowa ended their move from Montana into Kansas, and eventually Oklahoma. We have a curiosity about the boarding school built at Rainy Mountain (Tseityaedlta), the ruins of which lie below, visible from our mountain perch. The Kiowa children were brought here, to this campus of 2500 acres, to hurry their adaptation to a new place and to Christian customs, and to help them forget their Kiowa ways. Their braids were clipped, their clothes replaced, their language stifled.
In modern geographical terms, the Kiowa school is at North 34 degrees, 59.837 minutes and West 98 degrees, 50.945 minutes; in range and township terms, it is found just off an east-west stretch of East 1380 where it runs into East 1390, a few miles east of Gotebo. In Kiowa kid description the rez school is in the middle of everywhere, at the end of a dusty dirt road. From brick- and rock-structured dorms, the children could look out windows to see a solid blue sky with not one single cloud to mark the path of the wind. Teachers and headmaster were mistaken to think this barren location would make a child forget to be Kiowa.
From atop Rainy Mountain the wind spreads our hair into horizontal wings; our imaginations fly across the miles and back. From this vantage, we can imagine the Kiowa thirteen-year-old, arms crossed over his bare chest, surveying his earthly domain. Feet planted firmly on flint, his heart and mind could traverse this land to a horizon two days walk away. From Rainy Mountain, his Kiowa reverence for sun could be renewed daily. And in the silence of his reprieve, he could ponder the mysteries of his universe and who he is within this grand circle.
Our view falls upon the ruins of Rainy Mountain School. Closed in 1920, toppled bricks and rock foundations are all that remain. But this place, this perch on top of the mountain, still sits at the hub of the horizon, and the prayer circle tells us that the Kiowa boy remained Kiowa.
In awe, we absorb this view of Oklahoma from the hub of an encircling horizon. Distant mountains similar to our own seem planted in no particular pattern. Rainy Mountain Creek meanders its way below, nearly the only place in sight with trees or shrub. But it is what we see immediately in front of our feet that captures our attention---a circle fashioned of rocks, possibly two feet in diameter. A flat-topped rock is situated in the center to support a small offering, a shiny new quarter. This prayer circle represents a sign of reverence, and nearby, a past visitor has constructed a similar cairn. We stare, our thoughts traveling from surprise to reverential respect for the work of another’s hand and heart. We step around the circles and walk to the far side of the mountaintop.
We are at Rainy Mountain with a purpose in mind. Having read N. Scott Momaday’s, Way to Rainy Mountain, we want to see the site where Kiowa ended their move from Montana into Kansas, and eventually Oklahoma. We have a curiosity about the boarding school built at Rainy Mountain (Tseityaedlta), the ruins of which lie below, visible from our mountain perch. The Kiowa children were brought here, to this campus of 2500 acres, to hurry their adaptation to a new place and to Christian customs, and to help them forget their Kiowa ways. Their braids were clipped, their clothes replaced, their language stifled.
In modern geographical terms, the Kiowa school is at North 34 degrees, 59.837 minutes and West 98 degrees, 50.945 minutes; in range and township terms, it is found just off an east-west stretch of East 1380 where it runs into East 1390, a few miles east of Gotebo. In Kiowa kid description the rez school is in the middle of everywhere, at the end of a dusty dirt road. From brick- and rock-structured dorms, the children could look out windows to see a solid blue sky with not one single cloud to mark the path of the wind. Teachers and headmaster were mistaken to think this barren location would make a child forget to be Kiowa.
From atop Rainy Mountain the wind spreads our hair into horizontal wings; our imaginations fly across the miles and back. From this vantage, we can imagine the Kiowa thirteen-year-old, arms crossed over his bare chest, surveying his earthly domain. Feet planted firmly on flint, his heart and mind could traverse this land to a horizon two days walk away. From Rainy Mountain, his Kiowa reverence for sun could be renewed daily. And in the silence of his reprieve, he could ponder the mysteries of his universe and who he is within this grand circle.
Our view falls upon the ruins of Rainy Mountain School. Closed in 1920, toppled bricks and rock foundations are all that remain. But this place, this perch on top of the mountain, still sits at the hub of the horizon, and the prayer circle tells us that the Kiowa boy remained Kiowa.
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