I’m having a hard time writing lately. I am not sure exactly why except I had one of those experiences that just knocks your ass off and you have nothing to say for a long while.
It happened last November when I asked the Dakota on a commemoratve walk if they would like to stop by for snacks.
Make no mistake about it; 1862 was one of the most terrible times in Minnesota history. Native Americans were fooled and forced into reservations. Food and supplies were witheld. Talk of revenge began.
But in these parts it didn’t begin until two young teenaged braves killed some chickens and a settler family. By this time the whole reservation was in starvation mode.
When I first read the entire story, I thought it was a shame Shakespeare never lived here, for here is a story.
As it happened, the town I live next to is one of the worst in their collective memory.
I offered apples, sunflower seeds mixed with raisins, and beef jerky that day.
The whole story is going to be on Twin Cities Public Television. I will only be in a small part of it. But I encourage you to watch.
It seems sometimes to me that people are more and more isolated. If you look at most violence, it was caused by isolation of some kind.
So let us not isolate others just because they look different or didn’t grow up the same way.