Crossing the Corpus Calossum

South Dakota has a split personality. The state is divided vertically down the middle by the Missouri River. Take whatever bridge you want across the river or back—you’re really crossing a geographical corpus calossum. That’s the strip of white matter down the middle of the mammalian brain, which regulates activity & communication between the two halves. Exactly like the I-90 bridge at Chamberlain, SD. Exactly.

We all know the general left brain/right brain stuff—left is analytical, practical, linear, and best symbolized by an expensive pinstriped Italian suit; right is creative, visual, circular, and best symbolized by a pull-on broomstick skirt, gauzy peasant blouse, and LOTS of patchouli.

Think of East River as the right brain. These inventive prairie folks have 101 uses for spring clothespins: locking in the freshness of family-sized bags of potato chips, hanging re-used Ziploc bags upside-down to dry, repairing pesky wardrobe malfunctions. I once saw a mailman drive his pickup backwards around a quarter-section to avoid a small drift and help a crazy old lady stuck in her car, so he could push her off the big drift she drove around a quarter-section, forward, to plow into. Circular thinking all around. East River folks forestall the winter “seasonal straightjacket” with exceptional creativity: crafting hostess aprons out of potato chip bags and peacock feathers; planning spring pasture labyrinths with cardboard & duct tape scale models in the dining room; conducting unofficial trials of linoleum cleaners. East River folks grow crops. They’re all vegetarians.

West River (left brain) folks have the “no pussy-footin’ around” pragmatism of the Old West. They live in rangeland, badlands, or the Black Hills. They go about their business in either of their two seasons, pre-winter or winter, with total disregard for up to 200 inches of snow. They put chains across roads that disappear for the winter, then they snowmobile in. They’re carnivores. They graze cattle or run them in the forest. They clank their four-wheelers over cattle grates. Their freezers are stocked with cow, deer, elk, antelope. West River folks swim in stock ponds. They stock stock ponds with fish then eat those, too. And in their infinite practicality, they open truffle shops in mining & gambling towns, because they know that when West River folks make it to town, you’d better have damn fine chocolate and a decent espresso.

So Ray and I are in Spearfish, SD right now, visiting friends Deirdra and Buster, trying not to stick out as the touchy-feely, patchouli-soaked flatlanders that we are. The roads were perfect on the drive out, then Spearfish got 10” of new snow over the next 24 hours. But we’re trying to exercise our West River brains while we’re here, so Tuesday, we scoffed (nervously) at the snow and headed into Spearfish Canyon. Amazing. Awesome. It makes me wonder if West River bravado is a ruse to keep the kibosh on the breathtaking finery of the Hills in winter white and keep curious East River pansies out.

Yesterday, we continued our east/west research by braving the icy trails to Deadwood to visit our friends Spencer, Rita, and Harvey. And to test my machisma, my West River metal, I forced myself to sample the Chubby Chipmunk’s crème brule truffle. I tell ya, it’s a rough & rugged life out west…