Stories from Standing Rock, a perspective on the #NoDAPL camps pt.2

The first time I met Ladonna I was so nervous that I couldn't muster more than a basic greeting. She had called a camp meeting, and I was the first person to arrive. There were many chairs against the wall, and she was seated in one of them. Feeling awkwardly aware of my body I sat on the floor, and luckily people began to stream in. Ladonna is very friendly and easy to talk to, I would find out later. At this time I was too in awe of her to sit with her and strike up a conversation, looking back I hope she didn't think I was being rude! Soon the structure was filled shoulder to shoulder with the residents of Sacred Stone, and probably some people from Rosebud camp. Before Ladonna began to speak she requested that smudge be passed around. Sage is sacred in many cultures, a medicine that cleans our bodies and opens our eyes ears and heart. The smoke slowly filled the room as a bucket full of burning sage was gingerly passed from person to person. Ladonna began to pray, for the water, for our strength, for the children... Prayer and smudge were cornerstones of Sacred Stone. The meeting began with Ladonna, however anyone who wanted to was given space to speak afterward.

A lot happened in the short time I had been at camp. I learned how to insulate a building, had finally gotten the hang of chopping wood, oh and I had told my boyfriend that I wasn't coming home. We fought, and he told me how pointless it was for me to even be there, so I told him we were over. Looking back, I wasn't fair to him at all- I ran away to North Dakota from his point of view. I didn't want to hear that I had hurt him, because in my mind I was trying way too hard to be called the bad guy. Throughout the three years we had been together I had become increasingly political, and I had allowed it to consume me. Months before I was canvassing for Bernie Sanders with almost all my free time, which turned into some kind of beastly energy after the DNC betrayal. It was the first, and last year that I believed change could come from the government. Now here I was, mashmallow padded in my layers, standing up to the government with everything I had. In my mind it wasn't a choice, this was where I belonged.

The DAPL workers put on a magnificent parade every morning, assembling on their snow mobiles and riding along the perimeter of our camp. They never got more than 30 feet away, but everyday there was a moment of horror where it seemed they would come into camp. Gus found me mooning them on the day she left. As a few FB famous activists who I won't name remarked over their live streams "We are mooning DAPL." to potentially hundreds of people. I was sad to see her go, but there was no doubt in my mind that I was staying. We laughed and hugged, and I wished her a safe journey.

The last week had been really draining. Hanging insulation in negative weather is not so fun, and I'm terrified of heights. I became friends with a man named Ivan, who climbed ladders like he was born climbing. To insulate the roof of the paragon, we had to stand on a ladder on top of a scaffold. I sat this part out, instead passing tools up to them and frantically praying no one fell. I truly admire the people who brought their skills to the camps and worked in all sorts of crazy conditions to get stuff done. Ivan and I became close, and moved into a tent after being invited there by a couple who stayed there with an adorable dog named Mars. The four of us would share tea and stories at night before bed, grateful for the warmth of a propane heater. During our talks at night it was expressed by all three of them that perhaps it was time to move on to another fight. That sabal trail pipeline in Florida was a devolping fight that needed help. I was conflicted, and I was cold. Florida was sounding pretty nice.

After the paragon was completed, I began helping out in the donations area. We had 8 giant army tents, that were filled to the brim with supplies. It was probably one of the more frustrating tasks that we banded together to take on at Sacred Stone. After the mass exodus in November/December many things were left in disarray. Piles of tarped up supplies waited outside of the tents, unable to fit inside. Organization was nearly impossible, but desperately needed. I stayed busy doing my best to condense and sort the items in the tents, once spending an entire day stacking toilet paper to create more space! It is upsetting to admit, but nothing seemed to actually get done in donations. Many of us spent entire days working, with very little if any difference noticeable. Ultimately this too was rooted in a feeling of gratitude, that so many people sent us donations.

The sanitary tent

Sometime in January I left camp with Ivan and six other people, planning to regroup and head to fight Sabal trail. I hadn't been feeling very well, and sleeping in a warm house with friends was wonderful.I began to work on fundraising to help us get to Florida with supplies. However shortly after arriving in Colorado I went from feeling sick to being unable to get out of bed. For three days I slept, pouring sweat and feverish as Ivan and the others tried to convince me to go to the hospital. Eventually the pain became so bad that I agreed. After a few hours in the hospital I was told that I had an incredibly bad kidney infection. I was confused as I had zero symptoms of a UTI, and this had seemingly come on quite suddenly. After a few days on antibiotics I was back online, working to connect us with the funds we needed. This has always been a talent of mine, somehow I just couldn't raise anything though. After two weeks of trying I had raised 100$ and I really missed camp. Two of our group went back home to Arizona. By the last week of January I was pent up, and plotting my trip back to North Dakota. I tried so hard to get there for the January 20th actions, and failed. I watched my paraplegic friend getting pelted with rubber bullets, laughed and cried as he took off his prosthetic leg and waved it at the cops. supposedly "He's got a leg!" could be heard over the police radios in that moment.

I got back to Sacred Stone a few days before February, to find things had changed. The few structures that were on top of the hill before the gate to sacred stone had drastically multiplied. Spray painted on them were things like "Veterans Kitchen only"... weird. I walked into the security shack to familiar faces, and deposited some fruit before heading down the hill into Sacred Stone.