PIPESTONE, Minn. — Under the tall prairie grass outside this southwestern Minnesota town lies a precious seam of dark red pipestone that, for thousands of years, Native Americans have quarried and carved into pipes essential to prayer and communication with the Creator.
Only a dozen Dakota carvers remain in the mainly agricultural area bordering South Dakota. While tensions flared periodically over how broadly to produce and share the rare artifacts, many Dakota today are focusing on how to pass on to future generations a difficult skillset linked to spiritual practice.
"I'd be very happy to teach anyone … and the Spirit will be with you if you're meant to do that," said Cindy Pederson, who started learning how to carve from her grandparents six decades ago.
Cindy Pederson stands outside the Pipestone National Monument Museum near a pillar made of the unique variety of soft pipestone, called catlinite, on May 3 in Pipestone, Minn.
Enrolled in the Sisseton-Wahpeton Dakota Nation, she holds carving demonstrations at Pipestone National Monument, a small park that encompasses the quarries.
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In the worldview of the Dakota peoples, sometimes referred to as Sioux, "the sacred is woven in" the land where the Creator placed them, said Iyekiyapiwin Darlene St. Clair, a professor at St. Cloud State University in central Minnesota.
Some places have a special relevance because of events that occurred there, a sense of stronger spiritual power or their importance in origin stories, she added.
These quarries of unique red pipestone check all three, starting with a history of enemy tribes laying down arms to allow for quarrying, with several stories warning that if fights broke out over the rare resource, it would make itself unavailable to all.
A deer walks past cliffs of quartzite May 2 in Pipestone National Monument in Pipestone, Minn.
Colorful prayer ties and flags hang from trees along the trails that lead around the pink and red rocks.
"It was always a place to go pray," said Gabrielle Drapeau, a cultural resource specialist and park ranger at the monument.
From her elders in the Yankton Sioux Tribe of South Dakota, Drapeau grew up hearing one of many origin stories for the pipestone: In time immemorial, a great flood killed most people in the area, their blood seeping into the stone and turning it red. The Creator came, pronounced it a place of peace and smoked a pipe, adding this is how people could reach him.
"It's like a tangible representation of how we can connect with Creator," Drapeau said. "All people before you are represented in the stone itself. It's not just willy-nilly stone."
Travis Erickson holds a pipe he carved and crafted from pipestone, which is sold in his shops, on May 3 in Pipestone, Minn.
Indigenous people widely use pipes for prayer and thanksgiving, as well as to mark ceremonies, gatherings and rites of passage such as vision quests.
The pipe itself is thought to become sacred when the pipestone bowl and wooden stem are joined. The smoke, from tobacco or prairie plants, then carries the prayer from a person's heart to the Creator.
Because of that crucial spiritual connection, only people enrolled in federally recognized tribes can obtain permits to quarry at the monument, some traveling from as far as Montana and Nebraska. Within tribes, there's disagreement over whether pipes should be sold, especially to non-Natives, and whether the pipestone should be used to make other art objects.
After extensive consultations with tribal leaders, the park decided to no longer sell pipes at its visitor center.
Travis Erickson stands in his shop where he sells Indigenous native art, including hand-carved pipes made of a unique variety of quarry pipestone called catlinite, on May 3 in Pipestone, Minn. “Sacredness is going to be defined by you — that’s between you and the Creator,” says Erickson, a fourth-generation carver who’s worked pipestone in the area for more than two decades and embraces a less restrictive view. “Everything on this Earth is spiritual.”
"Sacredness is going to be defined by you — that's between you and the Creator," said Travis Erickson, a fourth-generation carver who's worked pipestone in the area for more than two decades and embraces a less restrictive view. "Everything on this Earth is spiritual."
His first job in the quarries, at age 10, was to break and remove the layers of harder-than-steel quartzite covering the pipestone seam — then about 6 feet down. It's now more than 18 feet into the quarry, so the process can take months. Only hand tools can be used, to avoid damaging the pipestone.
Taken out in sheets only about a couple inches thick, it is then carved using flint and files.
"The stone talks to me," said Erickson, who fashioned pipe bowls into different shapes, such as horses. "Most of those pipes showed what they wanted to be."
Mark Pederson "Swift Horse," a Sisseton-Wahpeton Dakota Nation member and fourth generation quarrier, saws through a piece of pipestone while demonstrating his craft May 3 at the Pipestone National Monument Museum in Pipestone, Minn.
Growing up in the 1960s, Erickson recalled making pipes as a family affair where the day often ended with a festive grilling. He taught his children, but laments that few younger people want to take up the arduous job.
So does Pederson, some of whose younger family members have shown interest, including a granddaughter.
They believe the tradition will continue as long as they can share it with Native youth at the monument.
During a recent field trip, Pederson's brother, Mark Pederson, who also holds demonstrations at the visitor center, took several young visitors into the quarries and taught them how to swing sledgehammers — and many asked to return, she said.
Mark Pederson "Swift Horse" shows animals he carved from pipestone at the Pipestone National Monument Museum on May 3 in Pipestone, Minn.
Other park initiatives also are trying to foster awareness for Native youth.
"I remind them they have every right to come here and pray," Drapeau said — a crucial point since many Native spiritual practices were systematically repressed for decades past 1937, when the monument was created to preserve the quarries.
Some areas of the park are open only for ceremonial use; the 75,000 yearly visitors are asked not to interfere with the quarriers.
"The National Park Service is the newcomer here — for 3,000 years, different tribal nations have come to quarry here and developed different protocols to protect the site," park superintendent Lauren Blacik said.
