Essays
Moseying: History of the Southern Llano Estacado
Ice age woman at Lubbock Lake
April 6, 2005
Llana cowered under the ledge, water lapping over her feet. Not more than twenty feet away, a short-faced bear (six feet tall when on all fours and ten feet long from nose to tail) dug in tall bulrushes, mud flying, water splashing. Deep growls gave voice to his frustration. The bear could hear a muskrat family chattering in fear, but the thick network of bulrush roots slowed his pursuit of his morning meal.
A tiny water shrew swam to Llana’s hiding place and skittered over her legs. Across the arm of the lake Llana could see scattered oaks in groves scattered across the tall-grass prairie. Among the oaks scattered horses and camels watched the bear. A huge armadillo awkwardly paddled out of the reeds, frightened by the bear. Four and a half feet high and nine feet long, the semi-aquatic armadillo could easily fall prey to the bear.
Llana was alone, for the first time in her life. She had left camp yesterday to be alone. She had been told by another elder that she was somebody with the heart of a healer and that she had a duty to become one. Now that her kids were grown and her husband dead, crushed by a mastodont in a hunt, it was socially acceptable for a woman to become a healer.
To become a healer one had to venture alone for a time, examining one’s self and thinking long on matters of the spirit. Alone, a person becomes vulnerable, and emotional and spiritual connections are formed with places and creatures of the landscape. With the new perspectives gained from such an excursion, a person becomes more intuitive in seeking cures for physical and psychic ailments.
The night before, Llana had sought shelter of a ledge near the lake, as continuous lightening, eardrum-bursting thunder, and buffeting winds had set the stage for her quest for understanding. It was as if the world was telling her that the way would be hard. The storm had lasted most of the night, and when it had ended, crickets and frogs began whispering their relief. They fell silent again when a deep bellowing roar resounded, the echoes lasting for too long of a time. She had shivered, dreading that the saber-tooth would find her.
In the first light of morning she watched the saber-tooth make a kill. A sloth, after a night in a bramble of roses had begun to rake rose leaves and its sweet blooms to its mouth. From the other side of the bramble bounded the great cat to ride the sloth to the ground, sinking its long teeth deep into its neck. The saber-tooth finished what he could of the sloth and buried it under broken grass and meandered off for a drink. It then bounded up the slope of the draw, as if purposefully headed elsewhere.
She began walking, but had startled the short-faced bear as she came around the marshy bulrush-filled shallows of the inlet. The bear had stood on its hind legs and peered at her, and then dropped to the ground, charging her. She dropped to the ground and crawled rapidly through the tall grass to the edge of the water. She slipped into the water and quietly swam, headed for the ledge at lake’s edge. When the bear caught a muskrat, she quickly and quietly slipped out of its awareness.
She climbed up to the eastern edge of the draw of the lake, then headed downstream to the confluence with another draw coming from the north. She walked from one clump of oaks to another, pausing for several minutes at each, to carefully survey what was ahead. Just past the confluence was the headwaters spring of a sizable creek that led far to the southeast. The draw eventually became a canyon. In that canyon her people wintered, safe from wind and snow, but now in the spring, they came up on the prairie above the lake and spring to hunt.
As she walked, she saw prairie dogs, badgers, skunks, a weasel, a coyote, and a fox. None of the giant buffalo the men were hoping would return were present. Her son had left with three other men a few days before, heading south to watch for their return. When they spotted the returning buffalo, they would return and plan out the spring kill – in which they would set fire to the grass at just the right time to drive the buffalo into a marshy section of the lake. Mired down in deep mud, then they could spear the buffalo without danger.
A herd of tiny Pronghorn antelope, the size of dogs, galloped ahead of her. One gave a snort and stotted, hopping up to see better. The others tensed, then relaxed as the first quit its nervous behavior. Another stotted and Llana spotted a dire wolf half-hidden in a chokecherry thicket. The wolf made a headlong rush at the tiny antelope, but was unsuccessful. As the herd dashed up and over the edge of the draw, it returned to its thicket. She swung out onto the prairie, to stay out of its sight. Her knuckles were white on her spear. If it became aware of her, her journey would end badly.
She could hear the snort of peccaries – peccaries the size of deer, with long noses, rubbery with inquisitiveness. They emerged from another oak grove, headed for the draw. The wolf might have breakfast, after all. She relaxed, a little, confident that its attention would focus on the peccaries. Far to the east, she spotted a lone mastodont. As she watched, its form disappeared as if slowly sinking out of view. She was nearing the confluence of the draws. The mastodont was going down into the other draw. Did Llana survive? For how long?