America’s First National Monument

If I had to pick my absolute favorite national monument, it would have to be America’s first National Monument, Devil’s Tower.

As an adult, I plan all my road trips (or any trip in the States for that matter) around how many national parks and monuments I can cram in. When my mom and I visited Arizona in 2014, we hit 7 in just a few days including the Grand Canyon. When my brother moved to Lincoln, Nebraska to get his PhD in 2010, I planned our trip to include places like Little Big Horn, Scott’s Bluff, Mount Rushmore and Dinosaur National Park. But in all the time I have been collecting stamps in my National Park passport, this geological, historical and spiritual wonder is the one I will always name when someone asks me which one is my favorite.

Sure, it probably started after watching Close Encounters of Third Kind with Richard Dreyfus and his large frantically built pile of mashed potatoes.

However, nothing I thought I knew about this Wyoming monolith prepared me for what it felt like to walk beneath it in person. We, first, spent some time in the visitor’s center learning about the rich history of the geological formation, what it meant to the native people who lived in its shadow and how Teddy Roosevelt named it the first national monument in 1906 with the beginning of the Antiquities Act. I love the names given to the feature over time, like “Bear’s Tipi” by the Arapaho and how each tribe has its own unique oral history.

But that was not the most meaningful part. As soon as we stepped foot on the path that surrounds the tower, it was like walking through the hallowed doors of an ancient church. The air even seemed to be charged and I found myself breathing deeper and feeling a tangible connection with the nature around me. Every step gave me a different view of the tower and I imagined I was walking with the spirits of those who had inhabited the land long before there was even a thought of something called, “America”.

There was even a sacred tree that affiliated tribes like the Lakota, Cheyenne and Crow still leave prayer offerings on and I could see small children’s socks and scraps of clothing tied to it in remembrance of loved ones. How powerful to have a place as part of one’s history that goes back centuries.

It was hard to leave after we had made our way back around to the parking lot but I knew it would not be my last time visiting this national treasure. I, also, knew that what I felt was just a tiny fraction of what the Devil’s Tower holds in cultural and spiritual connection to the Northern Plains Tribes. It is places that this that need to be preserved if not for my own future generations, but for those who have called this home for generations long before me.