She had been burned over much of her body and most of her hair had been singed off. Her family had been planning to come and see the calf, but just before their trip, their house caught fire and her two young sons were killed. She had taken pictures of the boys a few days earlier, and the film was at the photo shop when the fire broke out. She came to the farm so that she could send the two stuffed animals to the spirit world to be with her sons. The pictures of two smiling young boys were propped next to the stuffed animals.
Even hearing the story again made Val emotional. She knows that people regard Miracle as a spiritual being, but now there was a new twist: People had started bringing pictures and mementos of the dead. There is a color photo of a beautiful young Indian girl dressed in a fancy dance outfit. Shortly after the photo was taken, the girl, only sixteen years old, was killed in a car accident. A woman dying of cancer came with a number of mementos. She brought a picture of her mother, who had been killed during a mugging; her father's police cap; a baby picture of herself; and a family photo. She claimed that she wasn't looking for a miracle to save her life; her visit was a pilgrimage.
The grief of another family ended up as an unexpected blessing for Dave and Val. A local Janesville woman was mourning the death of her daughter when she heard about Miracle and the death of Marvin, Miracle's sire. Without Marvin, the Heiders' small herd was lacking a bull. She felt that while the loss in her own family could never be replaced, she could at least help Dave and Val complete their bison family, so she bought them a bull to replace Marvin. The cost of a bull can range from $3,000 to $6,000, and its value in building a strong and healthy herd is even greater. Dave and Val were both surprised and touched by her generosity.
Miracle has become a symbol of peace and understanding, and at the same time, her home has become a hallowed shrine. As I looked over all the mementos in the cases and attached to the gate, it reminded me of another place: the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. Those black granite walls with more than fifty thousand names engraved in them evoke a similar response. It too is a powerful place that releases deep emotions. Perhaps there are special places in this world, and their importance lies not in where they are located, but in the fact that people were there and left something behind to be remembered, or to commemorate someone. Like placing a small pebble at a roadside shrine, it is an act that is both personal and public private, yet also meant for all future travelers who walk the same path.
Dave moved an old wooden picnic bench into the museum so that visitors could sit and rest or just spend a few moments by themselves to contemplate the offerings and what they might mean. Some people are so overcome with emotion they stay only a brief time, saying that the objects are too powerful and that they can't remain in their presence for long. Other people stand and look from a respectful distance, and still others walk right up for a closer look, wanting to inspect each one, as if looking closely could lead to a better understanding. Behind a quarter inch of glass are a thousand personal, deeply felt stories.
Knowing why people leave such objects would be interesting, but Dave and Val don't ask. This is part of their nature and it is their gift to their guests. They allow anyone who wishes to come to the farm and participate in the occasion, but they don't judge. It isn't that they aren't interested, but they know that seeing Miracle is a very personal experience and they choose to respect people's privacy.
Leaving the gift shop, I noticed some of the other changes that had occurred in the past two years.
Jerry now has a golf cart to drive back and forth to the pasture. In the winter, it has a plastic canopy that offers some shelter. As we stepped into the cart to go see Miracle, Jerry handed me a parka. The weather in Wisconsin was colder than I had expected. The thermometer reading was at just below freezing, and with the windchill it felt more like zero. Jerry said that the last person to borrow the parka was a young woman on the Unsolved Mysteries crew who had flown in from California dressed more for the beach than for a fall day in Wisconsin. It had been warm when I'd left Denver, and I had made the same mistake.
Dave drove by in a front-end loader, and Jerry laughed, calling it "Dave's new toy." He uses it to haul silage and hay up to the bison and to do some of the other heavy work around the farm. New and more efficient equipment has helped the Heiders cope with their additional work and diminished time. There are new electric fences around the three bison pastures, needed as much for the safety of the visitors as for keeping the bison confined. Bison are unpredictable animals and may charge if people get too close.
We arrived at the first pasture, where a young cow and a bull had the place to themselves. Although I knew she was no longer white, I wouldn't have recognized Miracle if Jerry hadn't pointed her out. She was considerably darker, similar in color to the other bison in the herd, but with a cinnamon cast. The long, woolly hair on her hump was slightly golden, almost a blonde color, and she didn't have the dark fringed fur on her legs like the other bison. Jerry and I stood by the fence to look at Miracle and her "bull friend." If nature takes its course, she should calve for the first time in the spring of 1997.
In the next pasture, heifers and young bulls grazed peacefully. One or two raised their heads to look at us, but they were clearly more interested in eating than in people-watching. A number of them are Miracle's half siblings, and it appeared as if some of them also had a light, blondish coloring on their humps. The spring and summer of 1997 will be a very interesting time for returning to the farm to see what colorations are evident in the newborn calves.
Miracle's mother is in the third pasture, along with the other mature cows and the herd bull. She is the dominant cow once again, no longer assuming the lesser role she had when she stayed at the back of the herd, protecting her newborn calf from public scrutiny. Now when she wants to eat, all the other cows move out of her way.
As Jerry and I walked along the fence, I saw more tokens and offerings. People hang them not only on the gate, but all along the fence and even on trees along the edge of the pasture. When we turned the corner to walk along the back side of the field, there were still more. Jerry, sounding like a professional tour guide, told me what the different offerings meant, when they were put there, and who left them. Some Native Americans prefer to find more secluded places to hold their ceremonies and rituals, he said, and they would come back there for privacy.
People sometimes bury things next to the fence as well. Dave and Val are pretty open about letting people worship or contemplate in their own way, as long as it doesn't endanger the animals or other people, and as long as the rituals don't involve illegal substances. The Heiders are strongly opposed to drugs. It doesn't matter if visitors contend that hallucinogens or other drugs are integral to their religious rites; the Heiders are very clear on this issue: They just say no.
I've talked to Dave and Val a number of times since Miracle's birth, and each time I am amazed at how well they have adjusted to the changes in their lives. They are still the same people, hardworking and plainspoken. Dave still works for the county, but Val has given up her day job to attend to the farm and all the visitors. They seem calmer than they were when I first met them, when they were still reeling from the initial shock of attention and publicity. Now they seem to take everything in stride. They talked comfortably about their last conversation with Ted Turner; spending New Year's Eve with rock star Ted Nugent; and having the Dalai Lama, the governor of Wisconsin, and well-known authors and news reporters drop by. Some of the celebrities they like, and others they tolerate.