There is a conference center near Martin, SD, on the Pine Ridge Reservation called Wingsprings. Craig Howe, PhD is in charge of it. He is a citizen of the Oglala Nation and a past researcher for the Smithsonian Museum. He founded and runs CAIRNS, the Center for American Indian Research and Native Studies. He returned to his family cattle ranch after teaching at various universities with the dream of building a center and educating South Dakotans and others about the history of our first residents.
Wingsprings is a rather magical place. There are no overhead wires so it appear like the prairie did hundreds of years ago. It is some distance from a highway so the sound of traffic is scarce.
The center is laid out in a circular fashion with stunning architecture in the round home where Craig lives and teaches.
He started a program for educators to come to the center for a 5 day stay to learn about Lakota Culture so they can pass on what they learn to their students. The Cultural Activity Coordinator at the prison and I applied to be part of this program and were accepted. There were about 8 of us.
The words “conference center” may bring to mind something like a motel with a conference room. That would not describe Wingsprings. Our accommodations were tipis and wall tents in a valley below the house where Craig lives and teaches. To get to the bathrooms from the valley, you had to climb up the grass covered hill. The tipis and tents were arranged in a circle with a fire pit in the center of the circle. Everyone was assigned to a tipi or tent and halfway through we each rotated to whatever we hadn’t slept in yet. There were wooden floors and cots inside. Craig told us if nature called during the night we could answer the call behind the tents and tipis if we didn’t want to climb up the hill in the dark with just a flashlight to reach the bathrooms.
The day we arrived, the thermometer at the conference center showed 104 F outside. In the distance a small tornado was touching down. We were very grateful that the round home where we would be studying and eating was air conditioned.
About half of each day was spent as a classroom with Craig teaching us about the Lakota language, history, and spirituality. The other half of the day involved getting into vans and going on field trips to places of interest on the reservation like Wounded Knee and Porcupine, where we had the opportunity to take part in an inipi (sweat lodge) ceremony if we wished followed by a delicious meal.
On our last night there, a storm was brewing. Craig told us we could sleep in the center that night if we wished since heavy rain was expected. He left it up to us. We all decided we wanted to sleep in the tipis and tents to experience how it felt to be in one in a thunderstorm like the people did in earlier times.
The storm raged that night with lightning and heavy rain. I felt the call of nature about 3 AM and decided to avail myself of the prairie when the rain let up a bit. I didn’t want to climb the hill on the wet grass to reach a bathroom. As I was arising from squatting behind my tent, I lost my balance and fell sideways injuring my little toe. I didn’t say anything about this to anyone as we gathered for our final breakfast the next morning. I had heavy boots on and tried my best not to limp.
On the drive home, I finally mentioned to the Cultural Activity Coordinator (my supervisor) what had happened since my little toe hurt like heck. She broke out in gales of laughter since she had never heard of anyone breaking a toe like that. I joined in the laughter and thought this would be the end of the incident. It wasn’t.
When we got back to Sioux Falls, she called Craig and told him what happened. He immediately conferred the name “Broken Toe” on me. After all that is how things were done in the past. Native people were given names based on things they did or that were done to them.
My misfortune was mentioned at the weekly chaplains’ meeting, which was sort of like a support group for the chaplains besides being informative. The Catholic chaplain helpfully suggested the site of my misfortune should be marked. He suggested a large wooden stake with the letter “P” inscribed on the top of it. I made a stake and a few months later when I was near Martin, I made a detour to Wingsprings to plant the stake at the appropriate location. I think it stood there for several years until the forces of nature took it down. It became a legend for future campers.
The Native inmates were impressed that I now had a Native name so they started calling me Broken Toe for the next few months. I have to admit that I am a bit of a klutz so the inmates weren’t surprised that I had injured myself.
To this day, whenever I hear from Craig, he addresses me as Broken Toe and I sign correspondence to him that way. My week at Wingsprings was very educational and well worth my time and discomfort.
Mary Montoya
