Black Hills Gold

A pioneering spirit rests in all who dare to stake their claim in the Midwest. Pierre, South Dakota, positioned in the middle of the state, has a population of about 14,000 people. It is cowboy country, farm country. Corn doesn’t come from the freezer section of the grocery store. It “grows” on for miles, out in the Midwest, in rows of sweet, crunchy goodness that must be planted, harvested, and preserved for the consumer to purchase- then it arrives in the freezer section of the local grocery store.

I love to hear mom tell the story of coming over the hill and looking down upon Pierre in the Missouri river valley. She says, “We knew this was home when we topped the hill. It just felt like our roots were here.” They moved away about twenty years ago, yet they still refer to Pierre as home. A family friend now in Heaven always told them, “Home is where you raise your kids.”

Although raised in South Dakota, I grew up in a Southern home. That means sweet tea and “Yes, Ma’am” were both mandatory.

I wanted something that reminded me of the endless prairie and its captivating sunsets. It came wrapped in a tiny box at Christmas a few years back. I unwrapped it thoughtfully, wondering what the contents held. With each tear in the Christmas paper, I was closer to discovery. I slowly opened the box, and there it was- Black Hills Gold. It was the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. It was just a nice piece of jewelry to anyone else, but to me, so many childhood wonders and beautifully preserved memories came to life again as I slipped it on my finger.

With each gaze, I was reminded of the qualities instilled in me from South Dakota. The stiff wind that blows across the prairie taught me to tuck my head and walk on anyway. Branding cattle showed me I was stronger than I thought. Taking a scenic bicycle ride through town to the local ice cream shop always mesmerized me. One sidewalk after the next connected the streets and neighborhoods as if it were a giant puzzle of quiet contentment- a constant that never changed. But of all the wonders, the gravel roads always took me home.

Not too long ago, my folks went back to South Dakota for a visit. They decided to ride out to our old place on Dry Run Road. Staring at the house, mom and dad said it seemed like they were laying the foundation yesterday and framing the house all over again. Mom says she can still remember the paint colors Brittney and I chose for our rooms and the smell of the new carpet being laid in the house.

My grandparents had come up from Tennessee that summer to build the house. Grandpa was the head construction engineer, and Grandma helped mom with meals and side jobs on the construction site.

After meeting the new owners of the house on Dry Run Road, mom and dad were surprised to find out they had two young girls and spent many afternoons riding horses. I smiled as they relayed the information to me; how fitting for the old place. Dad seeing the horses out in the pasture, walked towards the barn he had built many years ago. As he walked through the barn, he saw the tack area and stalls he had constructed. Everything seemed to be just as he had left it. Strolling past the stalls, something caught his eye. He went closer to the door of the third stall, and there it was; twenty-two years felt like only a day. The word “Topper” was carved into the stall door.

Topper was a yearling that my sister received on her 10th birthday. Dad broke all horses with Brittney at his side. Except for this time, Brittney would take the reins that dad thought manageable. Topper would be an old horse by now, but the desire for the same kind of life is carved on our hearts.

In Joshua 14:10-14, Caleb is an older man, but his dream of owning his mountain still burns within him. Caleb tells the Lord, “Here I am with my eighty-five years. Now give me my mountain!” We are the sum total of the years we have lived. What we do with them is up to us.

What was raised in South Dakota was sought for in the South- a place with small-town commitment, connections, and conversation that took little to no effort. A place where my kids could get away with nothing and Sundays meant all the somethings.

South Dakota will always be in my soul, but the hills of Tennessee, its endless creeks, and the town square charm have stolen my heart. The Southern drawl that lingers and the weather that clings has become like a harvest moon peeking over the plains. It sets in my soul like Black Hills Gold.

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