When the Bison gather, as nature intended them to meet, they can gather slowly, with their heads seemingly bowed and their backs up high, it is impossible to think of how they must of have been, across this land so long ago.
They were taken with living, taken with loving, their heads actually high, their backs actually straight and lifted, their manners and ways brought upon by centuries and centuries of roaming this plane.
No doubt of this can be rendered, when looking on the high grass, as swales of land were made, by the thousands of their herd, rolling in the dirt so sweet, kicking up the dust as though from a great storm, and clouding the skies for miles of dust and debris.
The total essence of their growth in numbers can be seen through pictures. Through the photos of those who killed and took their skins and hides and sold them for covers and shared the leather of the bison across many vendors who always stood to close and proudly, holding their guns as if war were a significant part, until they almost all were dead.
Four or five will gather, seems like nothing in comparison to the days of hunting, but it is the beginning of the oasis of life, for from these few, the life of hundreds and thousands of head are to be produced, swollen again into numbers so great, amassed again, though lesser acres will be used, though lesser numbers will be realized, at least the tiny wonder of beasts so big, with swollen hearts will make the difference.
Ralph Peck
Photography by Jake Krumwiede
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