Experiencing Mount Rushmore
This summer, I agreed to go on a road trip to South Dakota with some friends. Between having to repeat everything two or three times, stopping to use the bathroom and nodding out in the back seat, we saw some beautiful country and visited some standard American tourist spots.
One cold and rainy day, we drove for 2 ½ hours looking for buffalo in Custer State Park. Now, I’m thinking “who named a park in a state full of Indians, the site of the massacre at Wounded Knee, after General George Custer?” This guy graduated last in his class at West Point and went on to try to kill all the Indians in the Black Hills so everyone else could have their gold. Anyway, after we actually saw some black spots “way over on top of that hill,” we decided we had sited buffalo and could go to the next destination, Mount Rushmore.
We drove up to the huge parking lot at the park, walked about ½ mile up the beautiful brick promenade and came to a terrace lookout and saw…nothing! The entire mountain was shrouded in fog. Squinting and peering like we could part the fog with our x-ray eyes, there was not even a trace or outline of the mountain, never mind its famous faces. It was an other-worldly feeling, knowing this huge mountain sculpture, you’ve seen a million times on TV or in magazines, was just on the other side of that wall of fog. It was kind of like faith, believing something is out there, even if you can’t see it with your own eyes.
So, if you ask me if I have ever been to Mt. Rushmore, I would say yes. If you ask me have I seen Mt. Rushmore, I would say, “I believe I have.”