COMING FULL CIRCLE

BOOK ONE

Strong Bow Becomes a Mighty Chief

Young Strong Bow’s fingers quivered as he aimed his arrow at the heart

of the mule deer doe, placidly nursing her twin fawns in the woodland

clearing. He drew back his bowstring, took a deep breath, sighed, and

then — released the tension in his bow without firing his arrow. He just

couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill this beautiful, docile woodland creature

— especially one that was so placidly nurturing her offspring.

The Year was 1767. Strong Bow was the only son of Chief True

Arrow, the leader of the mighty Oglala Nation located in the heart of

what is now the State of South Dakota. Like most tribes of Native

Americans, the Oglala viewed the species around them as brothers and

sisters; to be cherished and respected accordingly. But they were also

completely dependent on the wild creatures of the land to provide their

families with food, clothing, tools, and many other essentials.

After his failed hunt, Strong Bow sat down with his father in one of

the tribe’s traditional sweat lodge sessions. These sessions were intended

as a time of purification and unity.

“Son, tell me what is bothering you,” said Chief True Arrow.

Strong Bow looked at his father, surprised. How had he known?

“How can I ever become a tribal leader if I can’t kill a deer?”

lamented the young boy.

True Arrow looked at his son, his usually stern brown eyes softening.

“My son, that feeling of hesitation you have is natural. The deep

veneration and respect we have for Nature can lie in sharp contrast to the

feeling you get when you are about to take the life of one of our animal

brethren.”

“You must understand that we are part of an important cycle for the

deer,” continued the chief. “We kill mercifully, quickly, and with

reverence. If we do not, the deer population will grow to be too many.

They will die of starvation when their numbers overwhelm the plants that

nourish them. Their death will be drawn out — beginning with the

youngest, weakest members of the population. When we hunt them, we

help keep their system in balance.”

Enheartened by the glistening spark of understanding he could now

clearly see in Strong Bow’s eyes, True Arrow pressed on, “Your heart

told you not to kill a nursing mother. This was the right instinct. You

knew that if you took that mother, her fawns would also die. While it may

have felt cowardly to you, it is that spirit of compassion, that innate

knowledge of when it is right to kill and right to let live, that sustains us

within nature’s great circle of life.”

Strong Bow pondered these words for a moment. Finally, he said,

“But Father, I don’t think it was just because it was a doe with fawns that

I couldn’t shoot. I was afraid of the animal’s pain.”

Chief True Arrow nodded. “You will overcome this — my son —

when the time is right.”

As Strong Bow’s adolescent growth gave him the strength of a bison,

the speed of a puma, and the craftiness of a wolf, his place within the

tribal hierarchy became bolder and bolder. He watched the ways that his

elders planned their hunt — considering the many intricacies of the web

of life in which they were but a tiny thread.

When Strong Bow swiftly and successfully shot his first buck — an

older animal that had sired many offspring and was losing his speed —

he now understood that the animal’s pain was part of lessening the pain

for the species as a whole. But — as he began to recognize his father’s

failing health — Strong Bow also knew there was much more to learn

than just when it was imperative to hunt and when it was time to lower

his bow. With this in mind, he sat down with his father as often as

possible. During these intimate talks, he learned — and finally

understood — much about his father’s life and the tribal traditions he had

so rigorously followed.

Starting as a young boy, True Arrow began earning his leadership

role by honoring and splendidly succeeding at hunting and all the other

traditions and rituals expected of an Oglala brave. He used his finelyhoned

hunting skills to feed not only his own family but also many other

sick, infirm, and otherwise incapacitated tribal members.

Young True Arrow also instinctively knew how to use the

wonderfully diverse native flora of the American wilderness to ward off

and treat all sorts of different ailments and maladies — from the common

cold to whooping cough and what we now know as tuberculosis, malaria,

and pneumonia. True Arrow held great belief in the all-encompassing and

pervasively effective medicinal healing qualities found in the plant

world.

Like most Native American tribes, the Oglala believed that the

natural landscape — Mother Earth — was sacred ground. True Arrow’s

elders taught him that they were just one strand in the delicate tapestry

of creatures that worked in synchronicity to keep nature’s system in

balance. They viewed the creatures of the natural world as their equals

— worldly connections to the Great Spirit that ruled the heavens above.

Because of this, the Oglala meticulously used every scrap from

every animal they killed. The flesh was used for food; the skin for

clothing, shelter, and warmth; the hooves for tools; and the bones for

tooth and skin treatments. Young braves were taught at an early age that

— along with the right to hunt — came a solemn duty to properly field

dress, transport, and process each animal they killed. To do any less was

considered the ultimate heresy — to both oneself and to the tribe — that

would keep the offender away from entering the afterlife of the Great

Spirit.

True Arrow learned his lessons well. He never failed to show his

respect for all the wild creatures he saw and hunted. Plus, he had a fire

in his heart and a light in his eyes that were unquenchable and beyond

reproach. His every action was guided by the forces of nature — a wild

wind blowing down the crests of the mountains, a sudden shaft of

sunlight searing out from an overcast sky, the increased energy in a

bubbling brook swollen by an unseen cloudburst several miles away. It

was these intangible skills — these things that can’t be taught — that

soon made young True Arrow a natural leader of men.

Now, just a few years into his adolescence, Strong Bow was ready

to accept the mantle of tribal leadership. The morning after his father

passed on, Strong Bow vowed to continue emphasizing his father’s belief

that all living things were important. Since so many of the Mother Earth’s

creatures provided his tribal family with sustenance and security, it was

his solemn duty to care for them as equals and protect the intricate web

of life on which they depended.

Thaddeus Adams Proves His Survival

Skills

Early one icy cold early spring morning in 1820, Thaddeus Adams was

awakened from a sound sleep by the snapping of frozen branches. He had

just grabbed the icy barrel of his loaded musket when he heard the spinetingling

snuffling and snorting of the wilderness creature he feared most.

Yep, there was no doubt about it — a fierce mountain grizzly, most likely

having just awakened from its winter slumber, was foraging for food

right there in the middle of his campsite.

Thaddeus’ first thoughts were about the safety of his trusty

packhorse, Castor. He knew that if the grizzly injured or killed Castor, he

would be stranded here high in the mountains, for several days —

possibly even more than a week — from home. He would be forced to

leave his load of beaver pelts and slog his way back down the mountains

with only the supplies he could carry on his back. Fortunately — or

unfortunately — depending how he looked at it, the grizzly seemed to be

totally focused on the tent where Thaddeus was now lying, in anguished

silence.

Afraid that any sudden movement — like getting out from under his

sleeping blankets — would cause the great bear to charge, Thaddeus ever

so gently raised his musket and tried to determine where the grizzly was

in relation to his tent. He knew if he could figure this out, he would at

least have a chance of taking a shot through the tent. Then — if he was

really lucky — a hit, or a close miss, would scare the bear enough to

make it flee his campsite and let him live.

But — having spent much of his young adulthood in the seeminglyendless

wilderness of western Virginia — Thaddeus realized what would

happen if he just wounded this feared monarch of the mountains. After

all, the grizzly wasn’t named Ursus horribilis because of its docile

nature. There would most likely be hell to pay and he would be the one

facing the vicious, grasping claws of the devil.

Quickly rethinking his hasty plan for a blind shot, Thaddeus knew

what he had to do. It was a very risky idea — some might even say

outrageously so — but he knew it was the only chance he had to save

both the bear and himself.

While Thaddeus had little formal schooling, his life in the wild had

taught him about the importance of the grizzly bear in the overall circle

of life. He knew that without grizzlies, wolves, and mountain lions to

keep them in check, large prey species — like deer and elk — could

quickly overpopulate the land’s ability to support them. So, he really did

not want to kill this grizzly bear unless it was his last resort. Besides, he

didn’t much care for bear meat — it was way too dark and greasy for his

taste and he was taught to always eat whatever he killed.

In one swift motion, Thaddeus ripped open the flaps of his tent and

— with all his might — hurled his almost empty, metal canteen into the

rocky outcrop behind his campsite. The canteen landed with a loud clatter

— followed by rapid huffing, shuffling sounds as the bear loped over to

investigate.

This was just the reaction Thaddeus had hoped for. He bolted from

his tent in the opposite direction of the canteen and the bear, and — in

five mighty leaps — was hugging the trunk of a huge pine tree.

Disregarding all manner of cuts and scrapes as he went, Thaddeus

shinnied up the pine’s thick trunk until he was a good fifty feet off the

ground. Fortunately, another thing his wilderness days had taught him

was how to tell a grizzly bear from a black bear. If you climb a tree, a

black bear will climb up after you and pull you down. But grizzly bears

will sit at the base of the tree and just wait until you come down or fall

out from fatigue. (In actuality, he understood that grizzly bears can’t

climb trees because their claws are too long and bulky to grip the bark.)

Sure enough, as soon as Thaddeus knew he was high enough to

avoid the grizzly’s grasping, frightful claws, he looked down to see the

bear furiously scratching, biting, and snarling — but thankfully not

climbing — around the base of the tree. Now he knew he just had to hold

on tight and wait long enough for the bear to get bored and leave.

In the meantime, Thaddeus prayed for God to keep him awake. He

knew that one careless moment of dozing off would mean his head would

end up in the gnashing jaws of this mighty omnivore. And because no

one in the whole world really knew where he was, his grizzly-gnawed

bones wouldn’t be found for years — if ever! He also knew that by

staying awake, he could continually yell at the bear. This was keeping

the beast’s attention focused on him and away from his horse, Castor —

tethered to trees one hundred feet away.

Thaddeus’s naked fingers and toes were half-frozen now and starting

to ache from the tension of holding tight onto the mighty tree’s trunk and

branches. He considered climbing higher into the tree’s upper boughs,

just to get some circulation going again in his feet and hands. But he

thought better of it since — in the dark — he wouldn’t be able to tell for

sure which branches would support his weight. He decided the best plan

was to just sit tight where he was, concentrate on ignoring the creeping

pain of the frigid mountain air, and wait until the bear moved on — which

he knew it would do, sooner or later. Right now, he just wished with all

his might that it would be sooner!

After what seemed more like days — rather than just a few hours —

Thaddeus finally saw the faint glow of morning brightening the tops of

the mountains on the eastern horizon. Looking down, he could still see

the grizzly’s hulk nestled against the base of the tree. The bear was no

longer moving or making noise, so Thaddeus figured it must be asleep.

Reaching up above his head, he grabbed a rock-hard pinecone and

suddenly another crazy idea came into his mind. The frozen pine cones

were just like big musket balls. If he chucked a few down and hit the

sleeping grizzly square in the head, the furry behemoth might just wake

up and move off in anger. In an instant, he yanked several cones off their

branches and threw them with all of his might straight down at the head

of the sleeping grizzly.

Thaddeus’ latest brainstorm worked like a charm — at least the part

about waking the grizzly up. Letting out a ferocious sound that was a

cross between a high-pitched yowl and a guttural roar, the great bear

lunged to his feet and looked straight up to find the source of his

annoyance. Summoning every ounce of strength left in his body,

Thaddeus kept yanking and throwing pinecones down at the now fully awake

bear. Each cone that hit its mark elicited another fearsome roar

from the extremely annoyed grizzly.

Past experience had taught Thaddeus that the most vulnerable and

sensitive part of just about every large mammal is the soft-as-calves’-

skin tissue of the nose. He knew that if he could just get a direct hit on

the grizzly’s muzzle, it might just hurt enough to persuade the bear to

finally leave. Grabbing another cone, Thaddeus took careful aim at the

flared, glistening nostrils perched above the gnashing teeth below his

feet. He reached way back behind his ear and threw the cone as hard as

he possibly could.

Thaddeus’s aim was true and this final cone hit the bear square

between the nostrils. With an otherworldly yowling scream, the massive

bear spun around in a circle and grabbed its nose in its front paws. It then

turned and ran back into the forest, letting loose with a painful stream of

bleats and bellows as it went.

After waiting ten or so minutes to make sure the bear was gone for

good, Thaddeus slid back down the tree to the ground. Mother Earth

never felt so good — he thought to himself — as he jumped up and down

and waved his arms to restore the feeling and circulation in his aching

body.

Thaddeus felt both relieved and strangely satisfied that he had

figured out how to handle this potentially deadly situation without

hurting either one of the two most efficient meat-eaters in his wilderness

home — the great grizzly bear and himself. Or at least, not hurting the

bear — whose tender nose should regain its sensitivity within a few hours

— too much.

Dead tired — but fortunately still alive — after his grizzly encounter,

Thaddeus Adams crawled back into his tent and pulled his sleeping

blankets tightly over his head just as the shafts of early morning sunlight

started to filter through the needles of the oak-pine forest surrounding his

campsite.

He wasn’t sure how long he had slept when he awoke later that day,

but he knew one thing for certain — spring was settling into the

landscape of the Virginia Mountains in a hurry. It was so warm in his tent

that his whole body was covered in sweat. He threw off his sleeping

blankets with one arm and swished open the flaps to his tent with the

other. The cool rush of early spring air turned the sweat beads all over

his body into instant goose bumps, and he never felt so refreshed in his

young life.

Thaddeus sprang out of his tent and gazed around the tranquil forest.

The tops of the massive oak and pine trees rocked and creaked back and

forth in a gentle warm breeze. Insects buzzed all around him and the first

birds to arrive on their northward migration sang in a lively chorus.

It was as if winter had left along with the grizzly last night. The last

vestiges of the snowpack — that still clung to the forest floor when he

set up camp three days earlier — had disappeared completely. And, as if

by magic, patches of wildflowers — tiny bluets and delicate spring

beauties — were now blooming where the snow had been.

In that instant, Thaddeus believed that this was how he would live

the rest of his life. 

But — as is the case with many human plans — such

was not to be the case.

The Circle Begins Closing

While Oglala Chief Strong Bow and Trapper Thaddeus Adams lived

more than five decades apart, they shared a strong common bond that

was deeply rooted in their mutual love and respect for the natural world.

Chief Strong Bow always felt most spiritually alive while sitting on

his horse on the top of a mountain — gazing at the vast wilderness

beneath his feet. Similarly, Thaddeus Adams felt his ultimate

contentment when the solar wind blew across his face as the first golden

rays of the rising sun illuminated the steep valley walls surrounding his

campsite.

Unfortunately, this natural kinship between Chief Strong Bow — a

Native American leader — and Thaddeus Adams — a Colonial American

white man — was an anomaly in what the legions of immigrating

Europeans optimistically deemed their New World.

Imbued with dogmatic strictures, the first white settlers to arrive on

the shorelines of colonial America immediately assumed their professed

‘royal duties’. They preached the word of God — teaching the ‘native

infidels’ and ‘pagan peoples’ about the way of Our Lord — indoctrinating

them with ‘true Christian faith and beliefs’. And the most harmful of

these beliefs — which directly contradicted how Native Americans

traditionally lived their lives — was that man was mandated by God to

have ‘dominion over nature’.

And so, it was with the beginning… now, for the rest of the story.