Photograph by Alan J. Bartels

Ted and I placed Dennis’ 3-inch square box into a 4-inch square Rubbermaid dish and belted him securely into the backseat of our Subaru Outback. We pulled out of our west-central Iowa driveway and headed west – to Northwest Nebraska.

Dennis had lived with us on Ted’s desk for 12 years. Dennis wanted his ashes divided into five parts: One for his wife; one each for other hunting buddies in Michigan, Wyoming and Illinois; and one for Ted to take to Chadron. Dennis wished for his ashes to be spread over the places where he found such happiness, had a tremendous time, and where he enjoyed the beauty in nature.

After medical issues with family members and the death of parents, one year bled into the next. We realized that Dennis had been living with us for 12 years on Ted’s desk.

I made the comment to Ted, “You do realize Dennis has lived with us for a dozen years now and has not paid any rent?”

Ted responded with, “Yeah, well, he never complains, has been a quiet house guest and doesn’t eat anything.”

I replied, “I think it’s time Dennis goes to where he wanted to be.”


Photograph by Alan J. Bartels

 

We wanted Dennis’ trip through Nebraska to be a scenic one, so we drove on the state highways instead of the interstate. We meandered through small towns we hadn’t seen in a while. When we got to Humphrey, we unstrapped Dennis and had lunch at Mugs & Jugs. From there, our destination for the first evening was Burwell, known for Nebraska’s Big Rodeo.

After we checked into the historic 1908 hotel, Sandhills Suites, that has since been remodeled into a very nice boutique hotel, we headed over to show Dennis the Villagers of Taylor. The Villagers are life-sized people cut out of plywood, painted in black and white to look like people who would have lived, worked and played in the town between 1890 and 1920 when Taylor was at its peak.  

It was now time for dinner, so we headed back to Burwell and ate at Lowe’ded Bar & Grill – of course, Dennis joined us for dinner and drinks. We walked back to the hotel, had a nightcap with Dennis and settled into bed.

After eating a filling breakfast at The Spot in Burwell, we loaded up the suitcases, strapped Dennis into the backseat and headed north up Highway 183 to Bassett where we jumped on Highway 20 west to Valentine.

As you travel out of Bassett, you begin to realize that Nebraska has a vast openness. You begin to see the beautiful rolling hills – and suddenly, in the middle of all these rolling hills, you fall upon Long Pine, which looks like a true oasis of tall, beautiful pines.

The trees are there – and then they are gone. The rolling hills begin to turn into larger sand hills.

As I gazed out of the car window, watching the beautiful landscape speeding by me at 70 mph, I realized Nebraska isn’t just Omaha or Lincoln, it was this: This area. This beauty that so many people don’t even know exists. The harsh winters, the hot summers, the long drives from one small town to the next. Ted told me that he and Dennis would joke and say, “The Nebraska Sandhills are where men are men, and so are the women, because, to live in this area takes a special mindset to be tough, strong and determined.”

Just east of Valentine, you pass over the Niobrara River and when you look to the north, you see an amazing old railroad bridge that has been converted to a biking/hiking bridge on the Cowboy Trail. The vista is breathtaking, and I found myself saying out loud, “This is God’s country. No wonder Dennis wanted to have his ashes spread here. It is heaven on Earth.”  

When we arrived in Valentine, we made sure to stop at Young’s Western Wear one last time. This store is where Dennis bought his first and only cowboy hat. For a native Chicagoan, that was a big deal.

And, of course, we had to stop at his favorite place to eat in Valentine, which is the Bunkhouse Restaurant and Saloon. Once again, we strapped Dennis into the backseat for the final two-hour drive to Chadron.

We arrived at the city limit sign of Chadron. I brought Dennis up to the front and placed him – with honor – on the dashboard so he could see he was almost at his destination. As we drove through Chadron, Ted was amazed at the new growth in the past 13 years. The west end of town has added many new businesses.   

We arrived at the Holiday Inn Express & Suites, and the front desk manager, Craig, got us all checked in. As he handed us our key cards, he asked what brought us to Chadron. Ted and I looked at each other, smiled and proceeded to tell Craig about our adventure with Ted’s hunting buddy, Dennis, and that we were going to find Dennis’ secret hunting spot and spread his ashes there. Craig was emotionally moved by our mission and said he thought what we were doing for our friend was a wonderful story.

We toted our luggage into our room, headed back down to our car and placed Dennis, front and center, on the dashboard. This would be his last drive south down Highway 385.

As we neared the turnoff and headed down the dirt road, we saw the front entrance to his spot was now blocked off, so we drove further down the highway to come at it from the back way. As we drove down the rutted, dirt path and up and down the hills for what seemed like miles. Ted said we were getting closer to the spot.

It had been 13 years since he had last been there, and things looked different. The damage from the Pine Ridge fire of 2012 gave the landscape a completely different look. Many of Ted’s visual clues were no longer available. Ted said, “Over this hill, the path should curve to the left.” And it did. We were getting close.

As we made our way deeper into the forest, the path became steeper, causing us to go much slower. We had not seen signs of any type of animal while on this path, but as we came down this hill, on the west side of the path stood a doe, facing us, staring at us, as if she was waiting for our arrival.

She ran slightly up the hill and turned to face the other direction as if pointing the way for us. And, sure enough, as we rounded the turn in the road, Ted said, “Here it is. Here is where Dennis entered his hunting spot.”

We got out of the car, grabbed the bottle of Polish Potato Vodka (Dennis was Polish and he loved vodka) and three Dixie cups. We cut three slices of poppyseed bread, which was Dennis’ favorite.

Ted picked up Dennis from the dashboard, brought him out to the spot and Ted told him we were here. Ted opened the 4-inch Rubbermaid container, removed the box, and he took out his pocketknife to cut the tape from the 3-inch square box.

Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was a small, well-sealed 2-inch square tin. Goodness, for a moment, poor Dennis had become a Russian nesting doll set: a 2-inch tin inside a 3-inch cardboard box inside a 4-inch Rubbermaid dish. It’s all very comical. Dennis would have loved it.

Ted said a few thoughtful and meaningful words. He proceeded to scatter Dennis’ ashes to the ground with an ever so light breeze that carried Dennis away.

Ted took his shot of vodka; I took mine; and Ted poured Dennis’ shot over the ground. Dennis was finally where he wanted to be.

We each ate a piece of poppyseed bread and laid Dennis’ piece on the ground next to the amethyst stone I placed as Dennis’ marker. This gift he gave me so many years ago, I was now giving it back for all eternity.

We got back into the car and headed out the same way we came in. Ted was sharing the story with me about how he and Dennis loved to go grouse hunting in the Merritt Reservoir/Samuel R. McKelvie National Forest area when no more had Ted finished his story that we saw something flying from west to east in front of our car.

It was a single grouse in flight, as if Dennis was saying, “Thanks. I’m happy.”

The rest of the way out of the national forest, we did not see another deer or another grouse or any other animal. This is when I know there is a God – a Higher Spirit – that watches over us. We truly believe this was a sign from Dennis telling us, “All is well.” Dennis’ journey was now over, and Ted’s duty was now complete.