Ancient Artists

Last summer, I really wanted to see the Jeffers Petroglyphs, ancient rock carvings by Native Americans on an outcropping of quartzite running 23 miles over the prairie.

I think the Ireland bug had bitten me. I was missing trudging through endless sheep pastures, bogs and meadows to see ancient sites. And the Jeffers Petroglyphs were even older than what I'd seen in Ireland — before the pyramids or the first stones of Stonehenge were set, there were carvings in this rock.

But nobody would go with me. I couldn't believe it. So I gave up.

Until last week, when a friend asked me if I'd like to take a day trip. "How about to the Jeffers Petroglyphs?" he asked. I yelled "YES!" so loudly I think I scared him.

So we set off through the river valley and across the prairie. There was a soft, Irish-like mist in the air. It was one of the first chilly days we'd had. We braced against the wind and began the walk to the rock.

The last prairie flowers were blooming.

The wind whispered "shhh" through the grasses.

The flat earth stretched on and on and on,
and the rock jutted out like a vein.

It was easy to see why people still find this place holy.

The guide told us it would take patience to see the carvings. After much squinting, pointing, bending over, backing up and almost tripping over the guard rope, there they were:

Atlatls.

Thunderbird.

The hand of an ancient artist.

We stood there in silence, shivering. Then it began to rain in earnest. So we took some photos and hurried back to the car. Wondering at things like time. History. The very human need to make our mark.