Posted on April 15, 2008 - by Hubba

Cross-Cultural Differences & a Wagon Train

Every year, I become involved, largely by accident, in some enormous social or political undertaking.  In ‘06 it was the Wasta Centennial Celebration and my brother Al’s wedding dance.  In ‘07, it was the MCARE Committee, which successfuly defeated the school district’s bloated spending plan (I managed to accidentally become the Chairman of that one.)  And this year, in addition to being involved in brother Nick’s bid for state senate, it’s the Ft. Pierre to Deadwood Trailride Committee, which I am becoming more and more excited about.

Most of these projects are actually cast-offs from my overbooked dad.  But I really like the accidental nature of my involvement, because then I can attribute my association to Providence, Divine or otherwise, and don’t have to waste my time wondering what I’m doing in a certain place at a certain time.

So it was that on a particular Thursday about a month ago, I found myself standing in a meadow on the Patterson ranch north of Wall with the Ft. Pierre Trailride Committee which I belong to.  Also standing in the meadow with me were celebrated South Dakotan David Bald Eagle (who I got to meet, big “check” on the list of things to do) and his companion Richard from England.

Of course my interest in fate prompted me to wonder how a man from Jolly Old England should find himself standing on the Patterson ranch on a particular Thursday.  I found his story to be quite touching.  Richard’s late brother had developed an interest in our Mr. Bald Eagle, and had begun doing interviews with him to write his story.  When the brother passed away, Richard had decided to finish the story, and had visited Mr. Bald Eagle several times for that purpose.  The paper was finished now, (I never learned what was to become of it) but Richard had been on a “holiday” skiing in Montana and on the way home, decided to visit his friend Mr. Bald Eagle, who had decided to stand in a meadow on the Patterson ranch.

I really liked Richard a lot.  I thought it took a special kind of guy to make several trips to Eagle Butte, SD from England to finish a job his brother had started.  It was a beautiful day for standing around on the Patterson ranch, so we had a nice discussion about the West, bluegrass music, the presidential election, and the price of gas.  We had fun converting liters to gallons and pounds to dollars, and finally decided that the English were paying around eight dollars a gallon for their “petrol.”

Except that in typical American slap-ya-on-the-back fashion, I promptly forgot that his name was “Richard” and called him “Brian” for an entire afternoon.  I must have pulled the name “Brian” straight out of a cottonwood tree.

When he got ready to go, I shook his hand and said “It was sure nice meeting you Brian.”  He very politely reminded me then that his name was Richard.  When I realized what a ten-gallon-hat wearing, cheeseburger eating doofus I was, I got very embarassed, and began to apologize profusely.

“Thats allright,” he said with a smile.  “I quite like ‘Brian,’ actually.”

Delightful, simply delightful…