On a mission at Costco, I made a beeline for the meat section for some bison. I planned to use it to make meatloaf for friends coming for dinner later that week. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, a fire, some good wine, and good friends make for about as good a fall evening as one can get. And, thanks to my mom, I do make a mean meatloaf if I do say so myself. At Costco, bison is tucked in next to the ground beef, distinguishable by the bison logo on the front, and the evident leanness of the meat. About to grab the nearest package I noticed a man standing next to me taking his time deciding which packages among the many in the case that he wanted to select. It was hard to determine his age, but he wasn’t young and he didn’t look old. Silver hair pulled back in a pony tail, a heavy plaid shirt, jeans, and a Native American patterned bandana tied around his forehead.
Not one to be shy, I asked him a question.
(Me) It looks like you have a method for which package to choose. I would love to know about that.
(Him) I do. I look for the ones that are sized and shaped to be cut into several pieces. Do you know tatanka?*
(Me) I do. It’s bison. (Also commonly called buffalo)
(Him) I grew up on the reservation and have been eating it my whole life. I’m 79.
(My thought bubble…Whaaattt???)
(Him) This is the best meat there is. The rest of it (points to the ground beef) is junk. This (points to the packages of bison) is from animals sustainably raised, grazing and roaming freely. Which is good. Then they are slaughtered. Which is sad. (Looks at me.)
(Me) Yes. But we eat it with gratitude.
(Him) Pauses. Cocks his head to the side and then looks me in the eye, puts his hand on my shoulder and says quietly, Yes, we do.
((My thought bubble…I think I might have surprised him. Like maybe this privileged white girl gets it, even if only a little bit.
(Me) Which reservation did you grow up on?
(Him) I’m Lakota
(Me) Our home is on land that belongs to the Yakima.
(Him) I’ve been there. Right now, I’m currently on a band tour for an album I released. Do you like Native American flute music?
(Me) I love it.
(Him) Here’s my card. You can find me on Spotify. Smiles at me.
(Me) I look him in the eye, put my hand on his shoulder, and say quietly, Bless you.
(Him…holds my gaze, smiles, and says, Enjoy that tatanka.*
(Me) Thank you! I will.
And I did. And we did. Gathered around the table in front of the fire with our fiends, we enjoyed every bite of that meatloaf.
It was simply a quick encounter at Costco where a brief conversation turned into a moment of connection which became a tiny thread with which to weave our torn apart world together in one little corner of the world. And it happened one open-hearted question, one kind word, one holding of a gaze, one hand on a shoulder, one sending of a blessing, and yes, one package of tatanka at a time. Perhaps those tiny threads are how we will salvage a world that feels like it is unraveling before our eyes.
(My thought bubble… I hope it’s ok that I didn’t tell hime that the only reason I knew what tȟatȟáŋka meant was because I watched Dances With Wolves.)
*I use the word tatanka with great respect for the Lakota. It symbolizes self sacrifice—giving until there is nothing left— and while it’s not culturally appropriate for me to claim the word, it’s meaning is something our shared world could use more of.
Photo: Enchanted Earth (Pexels)