Thursday October 15, 2020

                                                              Sven and Ula Do Nebraska

“Vere?” Ula asked, squinting off into the distance.
“Dere!” said Sven, pointing with his left hand while holding his SuperDuper camera to his eye with his right.
“Vere?” Ula repeated, getting impatient with the vagueness of Sven’s directions.
“Uffdah Ula, are you blind? ‘e’s right dere next to dat little cedar tree--as big as life!’ Sven said as he tried to hold the camera steady against his brow and cheek.
“I can pull ‘im vit’in ‘bout two ‘undred yards vit dis t’ing. Gawd, I love dis camera!”
“I don’t ‘ave a SuperDuper camera, but I’m not too blind to see dat dere’s t’ousands of trees on dat ‘illside and I ‘ave no doggone idea vich vun of dem you’re pointing to Sven Guyson!” Ula spit out, his expression contorted now almost beyond recognition.
“Look vere I’m pointing, you eastern Palmville d-dummy!’ Sven sputtered back, knowing Ula was getting pretty perturbed when he used Sven’s last name with his first name. “It’s by dat vun tree dat’s only ‘bout five feet tall.”
“You’re calling me a dummy? All da trees on da other side of da Niobrara River are dat size! I t’ink you’re joshin’ me now. You’re imagining vun because you vant to see vun so bad! I’m leaving!’ Ula yelled, backing away from the overlook and starting back down the narrow trail. “You’re full of it!”
“Vait! Looky ‘ere! Ula!’ Sven hollered back, turning away from the brink and sending a cascade of small stones down below in his rush. “I took some pictures of ‘im! Ula!”
  Ula stopped long enough for Sven to catch up, turning his back to the near-vertical inclined trail he was about to ascend.
“Look at dis, ‘ Sven said triumphantly as he cupped his hand over the LCD monitor to shield the image from the glare of the sun. “‘ere ‘e is as big as life, a two ‘undred yard image from a half mile avay.”
“Yah Sven, I shouldn’t ‘ave doubted you. Dat’s a fine bison specimen, if I ever saw one,” Ula said cupping both his hands to his eyes to see the monitor.
“Uh, vat you lookin’ at dere Ula? Dat dere’s a buffalo. It’s centered in the picture, eh,” replied Sven with his eyebrows crunched up in concern,
’See it there? The big black and dark-brown animal by the little cedar tree is what I’ve been talking about...”
  Ula, straightening his back from bending low to peer into Sven’s camera. ““Yah shure Sven, I see it. It’s as big as da doggone nose on your face. Dat’s a ‘bison’, not a buffalo.”
  Sven, turning his face toward the ground to keep from laughing right in Ula’s. “Ula, you yokester, dis ‘ere animal is a buffalo. I know it and you know it. It’s not a bison. It’s a buffalo. Plain and simple, simple and plain--make no mstake in dat big brain of yours, dis ‘ere animal is an American buffalo! Not some silly bison t’ing.”
  Ula, knowing where this disagreement was going to go, turned up the trail and away from Sven, calling back, ”It’s a bison.”
  “Oh yeah? Vat’d dey call dat nickle dey made a few years back vit a picture of dis ‘ere animal on it, eh?’ Sven hollered back, turning his camera off and stuffing inside his light jacket, its strap around his neck. “Dey called it a Buffalo nickle! Not a bison nickle!”
“Vat do they call North Dakota State University’s football team, Sven? Da Bisons--not da buffaloes!” Ula retorted from a treetop trail high above Sven, making two horns with his pointer fingers alongside either side of his head and expressing an angry look.
“Only because dey didn’t vant to be confused vit da Bufflo Bills!” Sven wheezed loudly, on an uphill part of the winding trail that had yucca plants growing in profusion on one side and the tops of pine trees descending on the other,
‘And vat do you call dose little spicy chicken wing t’ings ve get at Cafe 89 in Vannaska?? Buffalo vings--not bison vings, you daft Irishman! You are crazy to t’ink dis animal is a bison for crying out loud! ‘oever ‘eard of such a t’ing, somebody from Massachusetts?”
  A softball-sized rock tumbling down the hillside richocheted against a tree trunk and narrowly missed Sven’s head. “Now you’re tryin’ to kill me Ula Josephson! You know I’m right!” Sven yelled skyward, pausing to catch his breath while looking uphill for more projectiles or a possible avalanche. “Vat do dey call da mall in Jamestown, Nort’ Dakota, eh?? Da Buffalo Mall!! Not da Bison Mall!! You fool! Vat’d da immigrants gather on da Plains to use as firewood? Buffalo chips! Not bison chips! No self-respecting immigrant kid vud’ve told an old timer ‘e vas out collectin’ bison chips for da fire,” Sven continued, talking to himself as he continued up the path toward the parking lot.
“BISON chips??’ da old timer vud mimic den guffaw loudly, ‘is boot heels in da air, and almost falling off ‘is ‘orse; da ‘orses pullin’ da covered vagons stoppin’ in mid-stride; the birds above froze in mid-air.
Sven thought, “Ula is off ‘is rocker dis time. And vat about dem black Union soldiers stationed at Fort Robinson in the 1870s? Vat’d dey call dem? Buffalo soldiers!!--not bison soldiers...”
  Stumbling into the parking lot with the thought of a Guinness Extra Stout in a big frosty mug in his head, Sven spied Ula sitting in his car on the passenger seat checking out his GPS routing. Brochures about Fort Niobrara, the falls and the refuge laid on the seat beside him; he even had time for a nap before Sven had caught up to him,
“You made it, I see,” Ula said casually, never casting a look at the sweaty Sven who had inhaled a good dose of Albuterol upon his arrival. The Guinness would have to wait until later.
“Yah and vit no ‘elp from you. You missed me vit all your boulders you kicked toward me, “ Sven exhaled, standing outside the open driver’s door of the car, and looking back at the trailhead he just came up.
“I didn’t kick any boulders down on you, Sven!’ Ula said, getting out of the car. “‘Maybe dere vas a bison on our side of da river you didn’t see. Dey can’t be da most graceful of critters.”
“BISON??” shreiked Sven, looking down into the car thinking Ula was there, but he wasn’t. “DEY ARE CALLED BUFFALO, NOT BISON YOU DOPE! QUIT BEING SO T’ICK-’EADED!”
  Ula, who had had some time to think about his answer by then, took a deep breath of cool Nebraska air and said with one semi-closed eye, his lefthand pointer finger poised vertically beside his freckled cheek as if to make his point clear, cleared his voice and began. “Sven, my friend, my dearest friend in dis whole parkin’ lot ‘ere at Fort Niobrara, I vant you to t’ink back to 1976.”
“Vat in da samhell does dat ‘ave to do vit da buffalo/bison question, Ula? Don’t be t’inkin’ you can ‘oodvink me dat dese aren’t buffalo because I know fool vell dey are buffalo and ‘ave been buffalo all my life--and yours--and even before dat! Yust ask da people of Buffalo, Nort’ Dakota oose town originated in 1880--and seventy-nine years before dat vas Buffalo, New York! Dey sure in ‘ell didn’t call dem bison den!”
“Vell, you’re vont to change my subject, but if you vant to argue some more, Guyson vat about da two towns in Sout’ Dakota named Bison, plus da vun in Oklahoma and da vun in Kansas! Da vun in Kansas originated in 1886!” Ula countered soundly, obviously fresh from the internet connection on his cellphone.
“You can’t believe all dem people in Kansas, Ula. It vas probably really 1986,” Sven said confidently, assured in the fact because he has family there.
“Vich it probably vas, after da national name change of towns vit populations under 1000, and all manner of t’ings called ‘buffalo’ prior to 1976. Dis fact brings me back to vat I vas tryin’ to explain to you, Sven, before you go off and make a bigger fool of yourself dan you ‘ave already,” Ula sighed, continuing from back inside the car again. “Back in 1976, as you will recall . . .”
“I don’t vant to recall 1976, Ula, it vasn’t a very good year for me for reasons I von’t explain,” Sven lamented, his voice trailing off.
“Vell, anyway t’ink beyond da personal and recall da national referendum dat decided vunce and for all dat ve Americans of all stripes, colors and political affirmities vud call da animal formerly-called buffalo, ‘bison’,” Ula said, in even monotone as though he was explaining healthcare regulations to a bunch of senior citizens.
“NO VAY!’ shouted Sven, out of the car and in it, jumping back and forth until he was as winded as when he climbed the trail from the river’s edge.
“DERE’S NO VAY DEY VUD’VE CHANGED CALLIN’ DEM BUFFALO!’”
“Calm down, Sven, you yust forgot. We’ve discussed dis all before. You remember. I know you do,” Ula continued, confident now he had Sven’s attention.
“You ‘aven’t forgotten ‘bout da Nation’s ‘bisontennial’ celebration ‘ave you?”

“You ‘aven’t forgotten ‘bout da Nation’s ‘bison-tennial’ celebration ‘ave you?”