Joseph M. Marshall III’s The Lakota Way: Stories and Lessons for Living

Joseph M. Marshall III’s The Lakota Way: Book Review 

By Armando Ortiz

The author of The Lakota Way: Stories and Lessons for Living is a Sicangu Lakota elder from South Dakota who was born and raised in the Rosebud Indian Reservation. He teaches and writes about Lakota culture and way of life which existed even pre-Columbian times. In his book, Joseph M. Marshall III highlights the lives of Lakota people of great merit, but unlike the merit that we might attach to people today like, sport stars or billionaires. The lives of Crazy Horse, his grandparents and many others serve as allegories on how to live life, and gives you a glimpse into the Lakota way of seeing the world.

Earth, our home, plays an important role in the book, because just as mother earth has been very generous to us, that generosity should be practiced and be extended to all. In the Lakota worldview all includes everything on earth, from tiny fire ants to migrating families of whales. What I came to understand from Marshall’s writings is that we all make up tribes and groups that are interdependent on one another, like mycelium is an integral part of the root systems of trees, and like our original mother intended us to understand our existence. Earth is our home and we continually interact with her environment. We are the human people with tribes all across the planet, one of many groups that call this place home.

The stories and fables shared by Marshall were passed down to him by his grandparents and community elders who taught him. Now he teaches readers how to be with each other and how the land contains parables to share. It allows us to enter the Lakota way of life and learn from their adaptations to their land in the last 300 years. These stories originate from the land and are intended to instill in us a desire to have courage, to seek wisdom, to persevere under trials, to be kind and to be grateful. It’s a message for anyone and everyone. We all have ancestors and we honor them, hopefully, by following their words and emulating their positive actions. Everything has an end, but with it comes a beginning, and all we might leave behind are lessons learned to be shared with others.

Reading the book encourages you towards a more reflective and thoughtful way of living where we hopefully see the interconnectedness. Although we might see ourselves as different and unique individuals from others, Lakota ways of honor, morals and humility can be practiced. He also shows us the capacity that we have to endure, as families, tribes, nations and as a people of earth. Enduring to show the next generation that life doesn’t stop and must be confronted one way or another. Yet along with endurance the importance of relationships that we build with our families, our friends, neighbors, coworkers, and earth is an integral part that makes interconnectedness work.

The Lakota Way is a humble, yet powerful way to see one’s life. Long ago our ancestors had stories and allegories to go with them, but still the spirit of adaptation, and an ability to flex and bend with the wind when necessary is there. These tales also change and fit our realities but the message remains the same. Who we are doesn't necessarily mean who or what we think we are but the message and lessons that our own actions tell to the next generation. Ultimately it's a book about being better people to each other and better humans to everything around us.

Hiking in the Redwood Forest: Miner's Ridge Trail

Hiking in the Redwood Forest: Miner’s Ridge Trail

By Armando Ortiz

We started our hike in the midst of beauty, walking through a magical place, the redwood forest. The white mist was still floating around. The morning sun would quickly make the fog burn off. We hiked, mostly in silence, entering the dark forest right when the sun was midway through the horizon and not yet over the mountains. I was in awe of the deep greenery, and it seemed like things from the past and present kept emerging. This brief description of our hike might only reflect a tenth of what one sees there. So hopefully after reading this brief passage you are encouraged to visit this one of a kind trail.

We walked on Miner’s ridge which has hundreds of rooted coastal redwoods. The middle sections of these trees were on our sights, their trunks emerging from the slope several feet below. At times, stopping to see where the trunks started, and slowly moving our heads up to see the tops of their crowns. Our cameras would be unable to take the fullness of the trees and foliage. 

Some trees looked like they had been burned and others appeared to be battling attacks from varying directions: fungi on the side of the trunks, tiny insects like mountaineers climbing the Himalayas one right behind the other. At times a Daibutsu would suddenly appear meditating in the midst of the woods, an incinerated trunk that looked like a Gargoyle would be protruding from the barks appearing frozen in time, revealing itself through the dark ashes and contours of what was once a full tree. 

We were walking down an ancient trail, entering a city center that was walled up by ancient pillars, to the left and right were these giant organic arms holding a green ceiling upright. It was quiet at times and suddenly the whispering of birds could be heard within the canopy, emitting their sounds from somewhere in the foliage. Then silence resumed. 

We kept walking, sometimes stopping to catch a breath, but mostly to drink water. We’d open a bag of snacks, check the time of day. Silence was interrupted by some comment, an observation, she would point to something on the bark or branch of a tree or stop to take a picture of a custard colored banana slug. I’d stop and admire the tiny redwood sorrels at the base of a tree, small green umbrellas whose undersides are rusty red. Exchanging a bag of snacks, we’d ask about our conditions, we were doing good with the hike. The light that passed through the cover of trees allowed us to appreciate the different depths of green amongst the trees. In awe we continued, at times saying, “Wow, look at that!” Miniature moss terraces adorning the edge of roots. 

Ferns were magically nestled on branches the size of oak trunks, flourishing against all human understanding, living five stories above ground. Fallen redwoods looked like Egyptian mummies decaying. New saplings reaching the sky, like a baby’s arms reaching for a hand. Suddenly the sound of a hooting owl from somewhere was heard. Who can it be? Where is that coming from? Hidden above, in the layers of greens and light.

After a few hours of hiking the fauna began to change as we began to descend down a canyon that ends opening up to the coast. Signs from scientists conducting years long research are posted along this short section of the trail. The trees change to coastal douglas fir, spruce, sycamore and oaks with their chlorophyll being a lighter green with tinges of yellows. Nearing the road we began to hear the sounds of a creek at a distance though you can’t see the actual stream and the occasional rumbling or ruble being picked up by tires. We then reached Beach Road and followed it to the Fern Canyon area. Once there we walked towards the beach and relaxed to the sounds of the waves crashing, the coast seemed much mightier white noise to relax.