Footprints

Waking early one Saturday morning, my brother and I were anxious to play.  It had rained hard all night long, and the yard was full of puddles.  We hurried through our Saturday chores, and raced outside.  All that wonderful water looked glorious to us, but my mother, she saw mud.  

We had planned on staying in the yard, but my mother, well, she saw mud. Mud, mud, mud…ready and waiting to be tracked in, and was therefore grumpy.  Now, when my mother was grumpy, she was prone to handing out extra chores, especially if one looked like they were idly enjoying life.  So, as not to be called back for anymore chores, we took a walk through the cattle pasture, glorying in the adventure of being the first to make foot prints in the rain dimpled ground. 

We headed to a low spot where water ran, forming a small pond (we called it The Buffalo Wallow)–it would be even better than playing in the large puddles in front of the house.  We pretended we were great explores, the first to ever see the land!  In so doing, we sought out an animal trail to follow…knowing that animals know where to find water, and carefully left our footprints in the soft earth, for history to follow!

As we walked in this fashion, our imaginations roamed to the time when the land was roamed by Indians, and fences were unknown.  We tried to imagine what it would be like to travel the plains, with no trees or land marks, and wondered how the Indians managed not to get lost.  As we walked along, we came upon some foot prints, made by someone not wearing shoes.  The foot prints were slightly bigger than mine, and had apparently been made shortly after it stopped raining.

We followed these bare footprints for a ways, debating whether to go find Dad and show them to him, or try to catch up with the person who made them.  We decided it would be more fun to find the child, than return home and risk:

1. Not being believed. 
2. Being given more chores. 
3. Losing all chance of catching up with this person. 

So we continued on.  After a quarter mile or so, the foot prints stopped, and there was a very neatly drawn picture, in the soft ground.  It depicted a turtle, a moon and a sun, and a camp fire.  Then there was three or four more foot prints, and another picture, depicting a turtle, a moon and a sun, a tee-pee, a campfire, animal tracks and a snake.  Then there was more foot prints.  The pattern continued, until there was five pictures, each one slightly different from the one before.   The last picture depicted a tee-pee with a thunder bird above it, and after it, we found a tiny twig unlike any wood we had seen before.  The twig had evidently been used to draw these pictures.  We took them to be a day by day account of what had gone on in this person’s life.

After the last picture, the foot prints continued to The Buffalo Wallow, where the person had waded around quite a bit, and finally left out the east side of the pond.  There were no prints in the stiff grass. 

* * *

We never were able to show those footprints to anyone.  As we left the pond, knowing that the person was beyond our reach, and headed for home to get Dad, and show him, we were met by Grandpa.  He was out checking the cattle, in his beat up old truck, and had driven over the tracks. 

* * *

At the time, we were sure the prints must have been made by an Indian boy, of the Lakota tribe, ten or eleven years of age, who apparently was traveling alone.  Looking back, I have no idea who might of made the prints.  All I know, is the pictures were typical of what is considered Indian.

 We had no neighbors who were children; and it was early spring, when outsiders rarely came to the area.  In the years that followed, we occasionally came across other foot prints, but never a person.

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