When we built our house fifteen years ago, we chose the location because it is out in the country and surrounded by nature. Beautiful sunrises and sunsets, a view that allows you to see forty miles to the north, and animals everywhere.
A few miles to the east is the Crow Indian Reservation and forty miles further is Little Bighorn Battlefield. The moment I set foot on the property I felt a presence. I envisioned a young Indian brave sitting on the edge of the ridge keeping watch over the valley, perhaps patiently waiting for another tribe, a group of warriors or a wagon train to come into view and move slowly westward along the Yellowstone River.
Although the house has central air conditioning I enjoy the clean fresh air. I quickly discovered that if I opened the bathroom window in the southern part of the house and the dining room window in the northern part of the house it creates a wonderful breeze throughout. I also found that just before sunset my young brave would come to visit and begin his song. Now, you may think that it was just the wind blowing through the house at a certain time and speed, and I was able to believe that MOST of the time.
These visitations went on for several seasons. Sometimes I enjoyed his music but sometimes it bordered on scaring me. One evening when I was alone and the haunting melody became more than I could bear, I decided to have a heart to heart with the young brave, "Please understand, I know that this was your land before I arrived. Your people walked upon this land for centuries before we came. We will not disturb the land further. I love it just as much as you and promise to care for it as you did. Now leave in peace."
His lonesome chant has not been heard again.
Wow, that's kind of spooky.
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