Bonesteel part 4 (return trip begins)

Dayspring Coffee Co in downtown Gregory

Day 4, final day and departure
Started day at 6:15am for my first shoot at 8:00, more leisurely morning because the elementary/middle/high school complex is fewer than 3 minutes away. I played a song in the car and reached my destination before the first chorus, to give an impression of how near everything is.

Given I had an extra few minutes, stopped at Dayspring coffee (an old bank converted into a coffee/flower shop), asked for the seasonal latte, which had some cute name but I've forgotten entirely. The barista mixes drinks in the vault of the building, which I assume keeps the coffee beans extra safe. Three other bank buildings in town- one a hairdresser's- which makes me suspect this was a happening place back in the day (and could be again!)

In the passage between Dayspring and another business

Back to the high school for their Gorilla Gathering. Students file into the gymnasium by class, and in about 10 minutes all are assembled, sitting in neat lines on the floor or on the bleachers, seemingly arranged by height. An administrator gave a short speech re: stoicism, "bad things are gonna happen to you through your life," but how you react is up to you. Reasonably good advice, hope it resonates with the kids. The entire population of the school stood and sang the national anthem, facing a flag in the upper corner of the gym wall. I'm taking photos this whole time, most of which will be unusable because no releases have been filled, therefore the likeness of these children are not permissable for publication. I leave that to JMe's discretion when I send these over to her.

I'm told the local newspaper, the Gregory advocate, wants to interview me. This will vindicate my presence as someone who's not just a weirdo taking photos for no reason. Or, to be exact, a weirdo here for a purpose. I arrive (a 2 minute drive later) and am greeted at the door by a Berna-doodle (Bernese mountain dog poodle mix?) named Snickers. My interviewer, currently conducting a separate conversation, is not ready yet, so I head across the street to Sissy's Cafe for breakfast where I jot down some thoughts in an attempt to sound eloquent during the interview. The cafe is where old men discuss the weather, ladies rib each other's cooking, and everybody knows everybody. I get unrelenting stares from the older ladies.

I return to the G. Advocate for my interview (hi Snickers), get a short tour of the establishment, which indeed has been here for generations. The interview is more like a monologue, to my discredit. I speak about the authenticity and earnestness of the local populace, why I visited, etc. I told Patty, recording and prompting my speech, that she could paraphrase as I ramble and often tell stories out of order. At the conclusion of the interview, I poke around the storage rooms of the building. Somebody, somewhere, is in desperate need of the ancient newspaper production machine wrapped up in the corner of their storage room (they still run perfectly well, 100 years later). I told them to put it on Ebay. The building also features a tiny antique shop full of items that, while attractive, would absolutely shatter during transit back to Savannah. On my way out, I was handed a manila envelope full of Bonesteel documentation. At last, my the fruits of my journey! The town was named after a Henry Bonesteel, philanthropist of some note from further East. Only took a cursory glance at it, but all the information I could hope for is included in the dossier (which I promptly misplace and recover later in the day).

Still vaguely inspired to return with some local souvenirs, I stop by a low, log cabin looking antique mall, where the owner and a couple volunteers were boxing up items to be auctioned off. Running the business was too much trouble and the owner was selling, apparently, and walking around the building I could see why. The building needs a tremendous amount of renovation: the floor sagged, a musty odor lingered, and on one wall a tall shelf, filled with glass ornaments, leaned off the wall precipitously. After a quick browse I left the room as soon as possible so that if it collapsed I couldn't be blamed. One incongruous box full of Star Wars toys, most in original packaging, which I suspect will fetch a hefty sum at auction. I dug around and found a few knickknacks with local names printed on them. The trusting owner didn't accept credit cards, but declared that I looked like an "honest fella" and could mail her a check when I returned home. Note to self: don't forget to mail a check and restore her faith in humanity. [Note added 09/23/26: mailed the check]

Drove Eastward out of town to look for lunch, back to Burke I suppose, but distracted along the way by an Amish store. No electricity, so the hazy light from outside lit the interior of the shop. The smell of hay and grain. No credit cards allowed here either, so I inquired of the bearded hatted fellow what I could afford for $4 (2 $2 bills from the bar/gentleman's club last night. Best not to bring that up). Selected a box of home-made chocolate candy bars and asked about the Amish experience in this region. His colony had moved from Michigan/Minnesota and settled here in the past 5 years, seems they're settling in nicely. Why move to SD? Less regulation, people have a more independent frame of mind (ranchers/farmers), and they were grateful to escape the snow that remains standing until June: this is South to them. They told me about the German/French roots of their community and we chatted a little longer than I'd have liked about my travels around the world. 

Beautiful country, though

Drove to Burke, found nothing hot to eat- gluten and lactose intolerance make things very difficult here- drove back to Sissy's on Main St and had weather-appropriate chicken dumpling soup and salad, which were worth the trip back into town. Passed by a familiar face walking her dog- the entertainer from the gentleman's club last night- and pulled up to wish her a happy season. Pheasant season starts in earnest in about two weeks, where the local entertainment industry will be in full swing. I understand they make enough in three months to hold them over for the rest of the year.

Made a final stop at a print shop to acquire a T shirt and hoodie featuring their local mascot, having mentioned to JMe that I "need some Gorilla swag." Will be showing those off in due course. Creative initiative is fading with each passing day. Finally got to visit the one remaining restaurant in town, where a Vietnamese family makes excellent fried rice, though I can't imagine where the shrimp come from. With my duffel bag full of clothes and snacks and antiques and books, and after an hour-long nap to buck myself up, I started the long drive to Sioux Falls at around 7:30pm. 

The weather finally cleared up, just as I was leaving town (was I blessing or a curse?), adding an element of cosmic comedy to my trip. Only now would I be able to get the photos JMe requested. The sunset is still muted by clouds and the deep valleys block out any remaining light. By 8pm I'm in total darkness on just another highway, but on the plus side the speed limit is 80 MPH so I feel as though I'm moving at a good clip. 

Distinct images along the way: a tall white dog with muddy feet standing at the end of a dirt driveway, a highly conspicuous lit-up marquee advertising the Savoy Theater in downtown Platte, SD, signs for Corn Palace in Mitchell (I was unable to visit to take in its majesty), an impressively long line of RVs at God's Country Campground along the Missouri River. I'd made the last minute decision to depart immediately after my obligations were completed in Gregory, rather than sleeping until 1am and making the trip then- all this to catch a 6am flight in Sioux Falls. In hindsight, I should have slept first rather than attempting sleep at the brightly-lit, no-TSA-until-3am, no-place-to-lie-down airport. 

I'd completed the trip and found the rental return lot at 11pm, then rationalized that I could probably just sleep in the car, but the car lot was a constant interruption of heavy rolling suitcases over the rough road, car alarms and a frankly uncomfortable vehicle. After an hour of attempts to rearrange my laundry to pad the trunk- I'm bony- I decided I may as well suck it up, return the damn car and try to sleep inside the airport. "Try" being the operative word, for the above reasons. I didn't realize that the airport was effectively shut down, no flights returning and none departing until 5am. Four hours later, here am I, at the airport cafe drinking a latte and not expecting sleep for the foreseeable future. I often wonder at the sort of people who can sit anywhere and nod off in minutes: it's a talent I lack.

The airport slowly fills (it was just me and two other people lying around for the past few hours) with happy-go-lucky locals, chipper despite the early hour and unwelcoming weather. Lots of "you bet" and rounded "o" sounds. I'd hoped to get a few more photos of interesting people in airports to pad out a small collection, but my mood is not yet up to the task. I feel grimy and  a step beyond exhaustion, kicking myself for not bringing a larger suitcase to carry (in addition to everything I'm bringing back) noise canceling headphones and a case for my glasses. At any rate, I'm beyond TSA now so I can find my gate and cocoon myself with luggage in a nearby chair until boarding commences. Tried to write a clever comment about always boarding in the last class, but it would be an unnecessary testament to frugality.

Reveries interrupted by the entirety of gates 4, 5, and 6 standing and singing the national anthem. Led by a contingent of veteran pilots, I believe- all wearing matching T shirts, many with air force mustaches. Some sort of aviation event. One fellow behind me has a voice very much like Seymour Skinner. Very resonant, deep, slightly nasal. Losing steam as far as writing goes. My thoughts are scattered; I think I'll need a couple of weeks to digest everything I've seen, all the people I've met, and to recall everything we'd discussed. I missed a lot of important details but the point of this impressionistic journal was similar to my photos: to prove I was here, to have something to remember later. A few parts were omitted (health issues that persisted throughout the trip, issues with rental car, anxiety about going back to work, dirt roads, no billboards, very few semi-trailers and only one Black person?) but generally I think I covered whatever is worth recording. I'll see about getting a copy of the newspaper when they print my interview/photo, and hope it doesn't pose me in an unflattering light. "Local predator visits town: are your women safe?" 

In truth, I think the trip gave me some valuable experience with simply talking to people, meeting them where they're at. I chatted with farmers, ranchers, Amish, strippers, baristas, city officials, musicians, a priest, and lifelong locals, many of whose names I have regrettably let slip my memory. Upon return to SAV, I'm making the regrettable decision to hit the ground running with a networking event at Tybee (after a shower and nap, please) then editing for the rest of the week. Looking forward to seeing Ruby again. Almost finished with revising Richard's book, which was the point of bringing my laptop to begin with, but in happy happenstance this journal came of it instead. 'Nuff said.