From the Shenandoah to South Dakota

Back at Bob Bear Killer's house, painting. The sun was out today and the wind less dominant, making the cold feel more-or-less like a disgruntled uncle - you can't stand it when he's around, but are strangely comforted by his presence.

My first discovery was that what I had mistakenly considered a pile of junk two days prior was actually Bob's current home. He lived in there. Bundled up tight in my down jacket, fighting against the wind, I had just glossed over the tiny trailer in my repeat trips to and from the Re-Member van. If someone hadn't pointed it out to me, I may never have even known it was there. (Note: scroll back to my earlier blog post, No Orphans on the Rez. Did you notice the trailer when you first saw it?)

I was embarrassed. Here I was, another interloper coming to help "the poor people." I had made this man, an elder of the community, invisible - just as the rest of America has been doing to him his entire life. And the junk car sitting beside the trailer? The one I assumed was sitting inoperable in the mud and commented on - loudly - two days ago? That was his transportation. Upon our arrival, he quietly got in it and drove to the neighboring house at the top of the hill. Avoiding our presence out of shame or discomfort, I don't know, but neither do I blame him.


New house under construction vs. current trailer


So-called "junk" car - photo by Bryan Banville

The floor and the walls of the house had been completed the day before by another group. Our accomplishment today was to paint the walls and ceiling while Jerry, Re-Member's long-winded electrician from Nebraska, worked on the wiring. He sang us showtunes and told us how he met his newlywed wife on e-Harmony. I forgot my earlier faux pas and found a soft spot instead for Jerry, for deli lunches lightly coated in sawdust, and for this wicked cold Hell called South Dakota.

I can see now how my individual actions here this week are actually part of a larger, nebulous system. One group leaves and another takes their place, forming a continuous entity that moves with force like a timeless assembly line. You lay the floors today, I'll paint them tomorrow, and by next month, we will have built a house. We will have changed lives. It's comforting to think about the volunteers set to come after me, caring after these projects when I'm back home.