Once, a city

Drop by on a bright sun-lit morning or maybe late in the afternoon, just make sure not to miss the view from the east windows of the Visitor's Center. Better yet, follow your feet outside and wander down the path east to take in the broad sweep of river land that once was home to thousands, a ghost-town city today we call Blood Run. 

Honestly, when you're standing up on the tall bank of Big Sioux, South Dakota side, and look over the wide spread of open land before you, it's just about impossible to think that once upon a time, right there along the river, entire families were at home, a city was bustling along, all kinds of people, a couple thousand strong and more--a whole city  was operating hundreds of years before any white men or woman stepped anywhere close. Right now, The Good Earth State Park is a delightful surprise, just south of the city, a wonderful place that honors nothing that's even close to visible. It's a thrill just to know that what's not there on the Iowa side of the river, on both sides really once was throbbed with life. Today, there's nothing to see but a rich and broad landscape. 

Once upon a time, when Chicago wasn't even on a map, when Denver didn't exist, and Omaha was the place where the Platte flowed into the Missouri;

--Once upon a time when Sioux Falls was nothing more than the place where the Big Sioux River, come spring rains, cascaded over huge chunks of pink granite like nothing else for hundreds of treeless miles around;

--Once upon a time when New England was little more than a fine place to hunt deer;

--Once 8500 years ago, a city sat right there along the river, a metropolis bigger than almost anything on the continent, four miles long, a city full of many nations. 

Babies were born here; people bought and sold beaver and buffalo hides, traded treasures, blankets and beads, horses. Old men and women breathed their last, thousands were buried, pits and mounds. Somewhere not far away were the bison that made life possible. 

Once upon a time there was a city at Blood Run. The Otoe were here, as were the ancestors of the Omaha, the Ponca, the Ioways, a people some call the Oneota culture. Once upon a time eastern tribes moved in and through, some stayed for 200 years. 

Don't be mistaken; the name, Blood Run, conjures hopelessness, warfare, untold death. What was here was abundant life, a city, a community. "This is a world history. This gorgeous settlement/nettled with bluestem, red grass---Blood Run," says Native poet Allison Coke.

In the midst, a trading place      settlement.

six cultures, bands, tribes   ten thousand People   families entwined.

This was a place where a traveler might rest, take water, elk, meat, catfish,

delight in warm company after weariness.   A  place of peace,   place of Wawan. 

Walk through the Visitor's Center, listen to the video, read a little about the place, then stand and look out at the wide landscape and the river that runs through it. Once there was Plymouth Rock, a rag-tag colony at Jamestown, some wooden shoes on Manhattan Island, and right here, right where you're standing, a city bigger and broader than all of them, Blood Run.

There may be nothing out there when you look east, but that doesn't mean there isn't. The poet says, "Here the land is sanctified, sacrament caressed."

There is still life at Blood Run.