Bird Droppings July 27, 2026

Am I always seeking something?

Each day as I sit down, I wonder what will transpire as I begin to think about what I will write about today. There is a seeking, a yearning to find and to answer questions of my own and others. Sometimes, at other times, my ideas get lost in the cyber world as I drift from thought to thought, reading and wondering. Every day, we should all be seeking, looking, and observing around each corner. It has been a few years since I sat and watched with my sons the newest movie version of Orwell’s “The War of the Worlds”; and with my grass two feet high from the rain nearly every day, maybe a giant space alien robot machine will pop up in my yard today and save me from weed eating after school.

It has been a few nights since we debated which movie was best; my youngest son is saying the latest Transformers movie is the greatest movie of all time, and, of course, this is coming from a kid who knows every character, while my oldest son is saying the newest Avengers movie is far superior.

As I sit to think and ponder this morning, I just came in from a cloudy morning with a surprise shot of red and pink thrown in as the sun came up through the clouds. A red fox crossed my path as I sat out on my journey today, and amazingly enough, I saw no deer. I started thinking back quite a few years to my last trip to Oklahoma and a visit to Fort Sill.

“I was born on the prairies where the wind blew free, and there was nothing to break the light of the sun. I was born where there were no enclosures.” Geronimo, Goyathlay (one who yawns)

It was in the late 1880s that Geronimo was finally placed on a reservation, surrendering to General Miles after being one of the most pursued renegades. I have always been amused by his name “one who yawns”. It was not until Mexican soldiers, scrambling in fear, yelling aloud to St. Jerome for mercy when under attack, that somehow the name Geronimo came up, a name which became so feared that even as an older man in 1905 President Teddy Roosevelt still refused him the opportunity to go back to his sacred mountains in New Mexico to die.

It has been a few years since, during one of my trips to Lawton, Oklahoma, I traveled to Fort Sill and drove to the back side of the fort, where, along the river surrounded by cottonwood trees, is the Indian graveyard. Many are simply numbers on small rock markers: 186 or 234; some are more elaborate, cousins of Geronimo, Geronimo’s second cousin. Many do bear the name and dates of the occupant, but only one stands tall, a pyramid of river rocks, all nearly round stones erected into a four-sided pyramid, and atop the stones an eagle spreads its wings.

 Local legend has it the first eagle was gold foil covered and was stolen soon after Geronimo was laid to rest. There is, of course, the legend of his skull, which was stolen as well and later returned by some irresponsible Ivy League students. On a side note, a former president was supposedly involved in that one. I will say, standing in that place alone can be very unnerving. Beyond the cemetery, away from the river, rises a grassy bluff, and literally you can see nothing past the cottonwoods behind you and the bluff ahead. I have always felt at ease when I go to this spot; even the wind whistling and its sounds that give rise to a vivid imagination- it could be the whispers that draw me there.

I am always seeking something as I journey, perhaps an answer to one of my own mysteries of life. Perhaps to see what is beyond the trees or the grassy bluff. On one trip, by chance, I had my children with me, and, not to be imposed on them, I had promised some other, more exciting stops; we stayed only five minutes, saw the grave, and left. I explained the feeling I got every time I came there, and as we headed to leave, a fog rose off the river. I proceeded cautiously back into Fort Sill. The road was barely visible as we headed towards the main area. From the mists covering the road and, in that area, came a group of men on horseback riding two abreast. These men were cavalrymen looking as if they were here to find Geronimo.

My kids sat in awe watching fifty or so cavalrymen ride by.  “Dad, are they real or part of your story?” my youngest asked me. I was in shock as much as my kids, wondering as we watched them, and not a smile or a look from the cavalry as they rode by. I only wished I could claim it as part of my story. I think they knew where we had been, and my kids were in awe. I should have told my kids it was synchronicity and had a great time with a new vocabulary word, but I was a few years from using it myself regularly. Later, at the Plains Museum in Lawton, we were told to see the reenactment at Fort Sill. They were firing old cannons and such. We decided we had seen enough of the old cavalry for one day and went back to the hotel room after looking at the prairie dog town for an hour or so. Please keep all in harm’s way on your mind and in your hearts and always give thanks. Namaste.

My family and friends, I do not say this lightly,

Mitakuye Oyasin

(We are all related)

docbird