by cheri sabraw
These two girls above are back in Browning, Montana, with their calves born this past spring.
Bison, be they Wood Bison or Plains Bison, look different from individual to individual, just like humans. I find them appealing, not only because of their symbolism of a time in our land when they ran free, shepherded by various Indian tribes who, while using them for meat, respected what they stood for, but because they are symbols of an earlier America, albeit imperfect, but at least full of can-do people.
What did they stand for?
Certainly not Colin Pumpernickel, who needs to fight in a war (other than with his own ego) in order to bring him back down to earth. And let’s add Nike, Inc. and Mr. Phil Knight to that list. Why even the Black Caucus of Ministers asked Nike to get rid of Pumpernickel.
Certainly not the edgy four freshmen women in our House of Representatives. They need to go to Israel where women spend several years in the military, defending a country existing a bad neighborhood. Did I say Israel? Silly me.
Certainly not golfer Brooks Koepka and his girlfriend, who wore a see-through bodice so that her fleshy fake weaponry was on parade at an ESPN function.Would Jack Nicholas and Arnold Palmers’ wives have done this? I don’t think so, as they lived in an era where modesty was an attribute and let’s face it: they felt good about themselves.
Certainly not mopey Tiger Woods? (Sniff sniff) Does he really stand for something that we in this country can be proud of other than “…he endured four-ten back surgeries, was married to a lovely woman, had two nice kids, and a gizillion dollars…” Really Tiger? You need to change your name to Theodore Woods, read about Teddy Roosevelt, and then come back to play golf again without the drama.
The big bison this weekend was Ireland’s Shane Lowry, a joyful golfer (those are hard to come by) who carried his country’s hopes and dreams on his shoulders all the way to the final hole in the British Open. He smiled. He let it all out. He seems to enjoy food and drink and doesn’t look like some of the American male golfers who walk about the golf course like robots on steroids and by the way, their interviews seem the same.
Shane Lowry–just a regular guy (see my previous post). His wife–just a regular gorgeous mom with a raincoat on, not a garish sequined see-through umbrella over mini-shorts and a torn tee-shirt revealing a beaver tattoo, sitting between two enormous rocks.
Oh give me a home,
Where the buffalo roam,
Where the deer and the antelope play,
Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word,
And the sky is not cloudy all day.