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It’s Fall on the Great Plains of America, in the late 1800s.
The first thing that hits him is the stench. The overpowering odor of rot and decay.
The buzzing of flies is a loud continuous drone in his ears.
He coughs, gagging, bringing his kerchief to his mouth. 1/
The first thing that hits him is the stench. The overpowering odor of rot and decay.
The buzzing of flies is a loud continuous drone in his ears.
He coughs, gagging, bringing his kerchief to his mouth. 1/
The hunting guide laughs at his reaction.
“You said you wanted to go to the hunting grounds. Hunt the mighty buffalo. Here you are!”
The tourist looks out over the buffalo carcasses littering the fields.
“This isn’t a hunting ground. It’s a graveyard. God have mercy.” 2/
“You said you wanted to go to the hunting grounds. Hunt the mighty buffalo. Here you are!”
The tourist looks out over the buffalo carcasses littering the fields.
“This isn’t a hunting ground. It’s a graveyard. God have mercy.” 2/
It’s 2019.
COVID is a meaningless word, and 160,000 more Americans are alive.
I’m at a dinner party. Not my idea.
I’m kind of antisocial, truth be told.
It’s not that I don’t like people.
I’m just not much of a party person.
I gravitate to the periphery. 3/
COVID is a meaningless word, and 160,000 more Americans are alive.
I’m at a dinner party. Not my idea.
I’m kind of antisocial, truth be told.
It’s not that I don’t like people.
I’m just not much of a party person.
I gravitate to the periphery. 3/
This is a “mixer” for docs in the city to meet each other.
I’m supposed to be networking here, but instead I’m sitting by myself, watching.
Putting faces to names. Observing.
A man and a woman join my table. 4/
I’m supposed to be networking here, but instead I’m sitting by myself, watching.
Putting faces to names. Observing.
A man and a woman join my table. 4/
I nod a greeting. They acknowledge me briefly, then resume their conversation.
He seems brash, and makes broad, sweeping gestures.
She seems amused by his stories.
I assumed they were a couple, but apparently they’re not.
He’s telling her about a book he’s written. 5/
He seems brash, and makes broad, sweeping gestures.
She seems amused by his stories.
I assumed they were a couple, but apparently they’re not.
He’s telling her about a book he’s written. 5/
“It’s epic. It’s about these cowboys fighting Indians and hunting buffalo. Crazy action.”
The woman nods, her interest now clearly waning.
The man looks to me. “Hey, buddy, you would read my book right?”
I blink, answering reflexively, “Sure, sounds great.”
He beams. 6/
The woman nods, her interest now clearly waning.
The man looks to me. “Hey, buddy, you would read my book right?”
I blink, answering reflexively, “Sure, sounds great.”
He beams. 6/
Later that night I’m driving home, thinking about the writer, and his unimpressed date.
I think about his book, the “epic.”
Buffalo. Their story isn’t an epic.
It’s a tragedy.
“Buffalo Bill” Cody killed 4282 buffalo in 18 months.
Millions were slaughtered. 7/
I think about his book, the “epic.”
Buffalo. Their story isn’t an epic.
It’s a tragedy.
“Buffalo Bill” Cody killed 4282 buffalo in 18 months.
Millions were slaughtered. 7/
The military and government in the 1800s saw the destruction of the buffalo as a crucial component of the solution to “the Indian Problem” of the Great Plains.
The market for buffalo hides was red hot.
A confluence of factors led to a massacre, to the verge of extinction. 8/
The market for buffalo hides was red hot.
A confluence of factors led to a massacre, to the verge of extinction. 8/
Legends of “cowboys and Indians” and buffalo hunts and Manifest Destiny are woven into our popular culture.
Stories matter.
Who tells them.
What they have to say.
What they include.
What they leave out.
Who gets to listen to them.
Who is silent. 9/
Stories matter.
Who tells them.
What they have to say.
What they include.
What they leave out.
Who gets to listen to them.
Who is silent. 9/
Stories will be told about COVID. They already have been. Narratives coalescing around agendas.
Some will see tales of conspiracy and subterfuge, or failures and incompetence.
Others will see service, and sacrifice.
The living. The dead.
The empty spaces left behind. 10/
Some will see tales of conspiracy and subterfuge, or failures and incompetence.
Others will see service, and sacrifice.
The living. The dead.
The empty spaces left behind. 10/
It’s August, 2020.
The numbers of critically ill COVID patients are finally subsiding, through recovery or death.
The intensive care unit is empty, all the patients transferred out, so it can be cleaned and take non-COVID patients once again.
There is a stillness here. 11/
The numbers of critically ill COVID patients are finally subsiding, through recovery or death.
The intensive care unit is empty, all the patients transferred out, so it can be cleaned and take non-COVID patients once again.
There is a stillness here. 11/
A large machine is moving between the rooms. Sterilizing each room with UV light.
It is ungainly. Slow.
A lone buffalo making its way from one empty dead space to the next. Breathing light into chilled air.
Each room has memories.
Needless loss.
Ghosts.
I look away. 12/
It is ungainly. Slow.
A lone buffalo making its way from one empty dead space to the next. Breathing light into chilled air.
Each room has memories.
Needless loss.
Ghosts.
I look away. 12/
It’s Fall on the Great Plains of America, late 1800s.
“Just for the hides! Such slaughter! Madness!” The tourist is aghast.
The guide grins, “It is what it is. A damn good sport. Ahead, I see one!”
A lone buffalo wanders through the carnage.
Each breath fogs in the chill air.
“Just for the hides! Such slaughter! Madness!” The tourist is aghast.
The guide grins, “It is what it is. A damn good sport. Ahead, I see one!”
A lone buffalo wanders through the carnage.
Each breath fogs in the chill air.
