Finally, Dave and Val Heider deserve my most heartfelt thanks. On only the strength of a phone call, they welcomed me to their farm and shared many hours of conversation, funny stories, and personal experiences. They reviewed my transcripts for accuracy and put me in contact with people integral to this story.
This book was born through the help of many willing and enthusiastic people. Any errors that may have inadvertently crept in, however, are entirely my own.
CHAPTER ONE: SEEING A SMALL MIRACLE
Dave Heider first saw the calf early in the morning. He and his wife, Val, run a small herd of buffalo, fewer than twenty animals, on their farm in southern Wisconsin. Part of the buffalo pasture is wooded, and during the previous night the herd had settled in among the trees. Approaching the buffalo, Dave saw that one of the cows had given birth, and a newborn calf huddled next to its mother. The calf appeared light in color and at first Dave thought it was an optical illusion, a play of light from the sun filtering through the trees. Then he saw that the baby buffalo was completely white. How unusual, he thought, and on closer inspection he found it more unusual still. The calf (Color Plates 5 and 6), a female, had a brown nose and brown eyes, not the telltale pink nose and eyes of an albino.
News of the white calf spread quickly through the small farming community of Janesville, population 3,198, and a photo appeared in the local paper. The story was picked up by regional newspapers as well. It was a newsworthy event, to be sure, but little did the Heiders know just how much so.
Within twenty-four hours of publication of the photo, the Heiders had their first Indian visitor. He told them that he had just come from a Sun Dance. At these sacred gatherings ritual ceremonies that involve fasting, purification, and dancing as the Indians reaffirm their relationship with the powers of creation the participants often have visions. The Indian standing on the Heiders' front porch had had a vision of a white buffalo calf, and now he had come to see the calf, the one pictured in the newspaper. This was Dave and Val's first clue that their little white calf was more than an oddity of nature.
In the days and weeks that followed, the Heiders would learn of the powerful spiritual significance that the white buffalo holds in American Indian culture. The Indian tribes of the Great Plains revere the spirit of the white buffalo its hide, horns, and skull have sacred uses in Indian medicine and religion. Stories regarding the white buffalo are important in Plains Indians' oral traditions handed down through the centuries. Many Indian stories have long since faded from memory as tribal elders and traditional storytellers passed on. One story that survived is that of the White Buffalo Woman.
Details of the White Buffalo Woman story vary from version to version, but the common theme among all of them is the close relationship between the Indian and the buffalo. The story tells of how the buffalo nation, offering themselves as a source of food and sustenance to their human brothers, assist the Indians with continued survival. The story ends with the promise that the White Buffalo Woman will return to the tribes in times of need. Some Plains Indians consider the return of the White Buffalo Woman as comparable to the second coming of Christ. Could the little white buffalo calf born on an August night in the Heiders' pasture be the fulfillment of this prophecy? It was this possibility that excited the Indian community.
Since the first news report, the interest of the mass media, along with that of both Indian and non-Indian visitors, was overwhelming. Everyone wanted
to see the white calf. Native Americans came to see the animal promised in prophecy. Many non-Indians came to see if something spiritual was taking place. Others just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. The Heiders named the calf "Miracle."
Within two weeks after Miracle's birth, the Heiders were getting hundreds of visitors every day. They had to barricade their driveway and post signs to keep the cars off their own and their neighbors' lawns. Too many people were coming for Val and Dave to accompany everyone up to the buffalo pasture, and they were not about to let total strangers go traipsing around the farm by themselves.
As is typical in mid western farming communities, family and friends pitched in to help. Val's parents and sister volunteered to take people up to the pasture. A nephew took photographs of the calf, and each visitor who signed the registry book could take a copy along with a one-page fact sheet about Miracle. With so many people, and farm work still to be done, Val had little time to cook, and more than once Mrs. Beckman, the Heiders' sixty-nine-year-old neighbor, brought dinner over for the family. Another neighbor mowed their lawn, and still another made signs telling people where to park and warning visitors not to venture into the buffalo pasture. Not everyone understood that buffalo, sacred or not, are still wild animals.
Just as Val Heider had predicted, I had no trouble spotting their farm. Cars were parked along both sides of the road. Val's sister, Vickie, and her mother, Doris, answered my knock on the front door. They were slightly reserved at first, which wasn't surprising considering that hundreds of strangers had been coming to the house. I had spoken to Doris by phone the day before, and when I introduced myself, her greeting warmed considerably. She asked me to sign the guest book and have a seat on a lawn chair. The weather was still hot in mid-September, and Vickie offered me a tall glass of cold water from the farm's artesian well.
We chatted about all the hoopla surrounding the calf and the crowds of people who had come to the farm. Vickie said it probably wasn't a good day to try to interview Val or Dave. The extraordinary attention of the press and the public in the past few weeks had overwhelmed them, and the whole family was stressed because of all the publicity. They were a bit stunned by what was happening.
Vickie offered to take me to see Miracle, and we walked about fifty yards from the house to the fenced-in pasture. No one goes to see the calf without an escort. A half dozen people were already there, along with Val's father, Jerry, who was answering questions. Behind the fence, next to her dark, shaggy mother, stood the small white buffalo.
I don't know what I expected to see when I first saw Miracle. Part of me expected to look into eyes that were knowing and wisemaybe even a sign of recognition that Miracle knew why I was there. Another part of me expected just a normal little calf. Looking quite delicate standing next to her large, dark mother, Miracle was about the size of a sheep and nearly the same color. If Miracle knew she was special, she didn't show it. She looked pretty normal to me.
A healthy, spunky little calf, Miracle weighed about forty-five pounds at birth. Although her coloring obviously set her apart from the rest of the herd, none of the other buffalo paid any special attention to her. Now, after nearly a month of constant scrutiny, both mother and calf appeared wary of people. It was difficult to take Miracle's picture because her mother kept leading her away.
Buffalo are highly intelligent animals, and Miracle's mother seemed to know that the focus of attention was on her calf. During the first month, the dam vocalized almost constantly to Miracle, much more than she had to her first calf, according to the Heiders. And though Miracle's mother was the dominant cow in the herd, she stayed toward the back of the herd and positioned herself between the calf and the growing audience. This protectiveness is common defensive behavior for many animals, particularly large herd animals whose young make vulnerable prey. Distinguishing between dangerous predators and people with cameras would tax the mothering skills of most buffalo cows.