First impressions of Sacred Stone

The first things you notice when you enter Spirit Camp, one of several that make up the larger Sacred Stone encampment, are the tipis.

They are everywhere, sprinkled among   the tents, and they are impressive. Most are big enough to house a small family. With a wood stove or campfire in the center, they can be warm enough for inhabitants to comfortably survive North Dakota’s famously bitter winters.

And that is exactly what many “water protectors” here are preparing to do.
Every day, as the fall colors brighten and then fade, people are bustling about the various camps, hauling in firewood and chopping it; erecting large tents to hold donated supplies, clothing, and blankets; fortifying their own camps against the coming cold.

Then you notice the smoke. Wood fires are used for cooking, heating, sweat lodges, and ceremonies. Every campsite has a hand-dug firepit, a few half-burned logs waiting to be lit again

Next come the sounds: drums beating and voices singing and whooping just the way they sounded in old Western movies that often portrayed  Natives as savages. There is nothing savage about those sounds now. (Later, you will hear the drums as you go to bed; you will find them comforting, even relaxing.)

You drive around, looking for a spot to camp. “Anywhere is fine,” the security guard told you. An empty patch of grass near some trees and tents looks good, so you park and start to set up.

Suddenly, you are thrilled by the sight of several horses — a paint, a chestnut, and a roan — ridden bareback through the camp by young warriors in jeans. Your dog barks at the big animals but they ignore her. They are beautiful.

There is a palpable sense of joy in the air. Pride.

Everyone says hello as they pass by. Children tag along with  parents on the way to a porta-potty.

In the middle of the camp, a large, military kitchen tent hums with the work of women preparing another meal in restaurant-sized pots.

Before dinner is served, a prayer circle of twenty people is formed outside the tent. A large man with a long ponytail asks the Creator to bless them, the protesters called water protectors, and the water, which he pours into a glass and passes around the circle for each person to sip.

Then the circle breaks and everyone quietly shakes hands with everyone else around the circle. Greetings are warm and heartfelt. It is a simple and surprisingly moving ceremony.

After that, you join the line for food.

“Children first, then women and elders, then men,” says a white woman with grey hair. “It’s tradition. Hurry!” she tells you, ushering you in front of several men who don’t seem to mind at all. “The men have to wait for you!”

You feel both guilty and charmed by this tradition.

A plane circles overhead, filming the activity below. Fists go up in defiance.

Hundreds of Native tribes have come together here to stand together against the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL), which is slated to go under the Missouri River and the large reservoir that the Standing Rock tribe depends on for water. The wide Missouri that feeds into the Mississippi.

Millions of Americans depend on these watersheds, not just Natives.

But they are standing for all of us.

Will you stand with them?

You don’t have to come in person. Here are some ways you can help from where you are.