Our five-night stay in the Black Hills of South Dakota has been nothing short of amazing. This region belongs on everyone’s travel list at some point in life. Sure, many of us have seen mountains, dramatic rock formations, quirky little towns, and read about prairie life—maybe in a Laura Ingalls Wilder book from nearby De Smet or in a sweeping movie like Dances With Wolves, filmed right here. But to experience it in person is something else entirely—a gift for the senses and the soul.
We spent a full day exploring Badlands National Park, a massive stretch of 240,000 acres filled with rugged canyons, layered cliffs, prairie grasses, big horn sheep, prairie dogs, and bison. This year, the grass seemed greener thanks to recent rains, and the warm wind that whipped across the land reminded us just how wild and untamed this place really is. Standing there, with endless prairie to the east, craggy mountains to the west, and a sky that never ends, Gary and I exchanged a look and said the same thing: we are not in charge of this Earth. We are just visitors here. These lands, this sky, this wind—they were here long before us, and they’ll remain long after we’re gone.
Driving through the Black Hills National Forest was like stepping into a landscape painting. Dark pine-covered ridges gave way to rolling meadows and narrow dirt roads that led us to waterfalls and creeks. For two hours, we drove remote backroads in our Jeep, scanning the horizon for wildlife. And then—out of nowhere—a single bison ambled across our path. He stood just ten feet away, massive and majestic, his bearded face and matted fur giving him a grizzled, wise appearance. He looked old, maybe tired, but peaceful. He settled into the grass and munched away, seemingly unbothered by our presence.
Later that day, we found his herd—dozens of bison, possibly a hundred, with big bulls, females, and even orange-colored calves born in the spring. Watching them move together across the prairie was like watching a scene out of time—quiet, powerful, and unforgettable.
Our visit to Mount Rushmore was shorter than expected, but no less impactful. The 40-minute drive there wound through quaint towns, scenic campgrounds, and roadside diners. Then, as you emerge from the trees, you catch your first glimpse of the massive stone faces carved high into the granite cliff. It’s both startling and majestic.
Parking is $10, and though construction currently limits access, we still found a great viewing spot. The plaza was buzzing with tourists—families posing, snapping photos, grabbing snacks. Amid the chatter and crowds, there was a palpable sense of pride and shared awe. Standing there among Americans and visitors from around the world, there was a momentary feeling that the world was, for now, a little more united.
Gutzon Borglum, the sculptor, captured something more than just the likeness of four presidents—he captured their resolve, their leadership, and their vision for the country. Looking up at the mountain, the words stoic, determined, and honorable came to mind. Thinking of Borglum, his son, and the hundreds of workers who carved this monument, the words talented and grateful seemed most fitting. Their dedication gave us not just a landmark—but a legacy.