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The sheer eloquence of these plains women - their poetry and tales - tells much of the strength of the human spirit. I wept with them as they tell of the rigors of drought and the Depression; laughed with them as they tell of childish pranks; and prayed with them as they lived through weather we can only imagine today, snugged, cocooned, and protected as we are from the elements.
I would wish every high school American history teacher would include this in their curriculum. To have history not only educate, but entertain, is a rare treat. It is our roots that make us strong - just as the wheat that grows upon these same high plains.
The format is outstanding for its message: short essays and poems. One can chew off just as much as is right at any one time, without feeling that the tale has been interrupted. The eloquence of these prairie women, the beauty of their imagery, was a constant delight - even when their eloquence was manifested purely by sheer simplicity.
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Sybil Downing, award winning author of Ladies of the Goldfield Stock Exchange
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Unself-conscious in form and style, vivid in natural, daily detail, it is a series of testaments to a deeply felt faith in the land and creatures, human and non-human, who people the land set in Wyoming on the visionary back doorstep of the Black Hills near Sundance Mountain, Lambert draws upon numerous rich traditional literary sources, including Black Elk Speaks by John Niehardt, Buffalo Woman Comes Singing, by Brooke Medicine Eagle, and Lame Deer: Seeker of Visions by John Lame Deer and Richard Erdoes, to name a few. She weaves a rich blanket of hope, addressed to the land itself. In the epilogue,'Song of Songs Which is Wyoming's,' she writes of her aging horse, Romie: "Memories cloak and comfort. Time has, for each of us, a different measure. Your decline in many ways frees me to become a new woman whose past is just beginning to catch up with the future.
Actually, it is you , Wyoming, and not Redy, who has taken over Romie's role in my life. Our affair began despite my grudging nature, despite my loyalty to Colorado - land of my youth. At first, these gentle black hills hid their power from me. I compared your eastern edges to the Rockies of my childhood and thought them not worthy of my devotion.
I recoiled from your red-slashed buttes, scoffed at those who called them mountains; these mere places where your face wrinkled with age. I was, at first, deaf to the ancient whispers of those who had found shelter within your arms. I trod the ancient paths but saw only my own footsteps(pp.239-240)."
She goes on to describe the land as an ancestor, even a jealous lover.
"It was not fair of you to tease me with your elusive antelope, to flaunt your whitetail deer before my modern human eyes. You seduced me with the perfume of your summer sage, kindled memories of other women, dark-skinned and light.
But then, when I dreamt of home, of innocent days unburdened by painful truths, of running like the wind upon Romie's back in pursuit of the mythical buffalo, you pulled tight your sovereign rein and let loose the fury of your winter. You taught me that the true mythology of the buffalo, like the words of the Bible, must not be taken lightly. 'Ask the beasts,' it is written in Job. 'Speak to the earth, and let it teach you.'
Your storm raged around me, the vibration of your anger reaching deep chords. When I dared to open my eyes, you offered me a crystalline world, frosted brilliance glittering from every branch, a chance to start anew.
Like a reprimanded child, I pushed thoughts of former places from my consciousness and let you stake your claim on my no-longer-innocent soul.
It would have been easier had I not sifted your red earth through my fingers - had I not breathed in the musky odor of your mountain asters. I should have turned away from your hideless tipi rings, from your bouquets of dried weeds turned to silver sage, and from the shadows of your buffalo bones before it was too late. But I did not.
And now you will not let me go. You demand an enlightened future - whose very hope lies in the lessons of the past - a past that all our ancestors bequeath to all of us (.pp.240-41)."
It is a rare privilege to read such writing. In Search Of Kinship is to be kept, treasured, and returned to, for the glints and patina reflected in it are soul-enlightening.
Nancy Lorraine, Reviewer