birth art

mindfulness in pregnancy & parenting

(from mindfulbirthing.org)

Voices of New Parents: Your Baby, Your Mindfulness Teacher

Over the years, many parents have shared with me specific ways they have continued to use the mindfulness skills they learned during pregnancy after their baby is born. Some of what they have shared is below. You might want to experiment with some of these practices yourself or use these examples to stimulate your own creativity, finding ways to remind yourself to come back to the present moment.

Remember, it takes intention and gentle, ongoing, persistent commitment to be present for ourselves, our baby, our child or children and our partner. However, if you make this commitment to practice as best you can, you may find that over time you have cultivated a way to reduce stress and bring greater connectedness, kindness and harmony into your parenting and family life.

“I really use the practice when the baby cries. In the beginning, when Mia was first born, I would get so anxious and upset every time she cried. And I could see that the more anxious I would get, the more upset Mia would get. But when I could remember to come back to the breath, it was so much better. I could calm myself down and then she would calm down. Now I see that the best thing I can do when she cries is to just be there and take care of myself with the breath while I take care of her. It keeps us both more calm. It’s not easy, but I’m sure it would be a lot harder without mindfulness practice!”

“I find that breastfeeding is a perfect time to practice mindfulness. Rather than stressing about all the things I should be doing, like the dishes or the laundry, I use the time to just be with my baby. I look at how beautiful he is; really see the color of his skin and his long eyelashes and the way his hair curls. Sometimes I just feel overwhelmed by how much I love him. That feels lot better than worrying about the sink full of dishes. And then when he is asleep and I can put him down, I go to the kitchen and wash the sink full of dishes. Mindfully, of course!”

“I try to be present with all the routine tasks of taking care of my baby. Like diaper changing. When I change a diaper, I try to really notice the temperature and softness of her skin as I touch her. I really look at the expressions on her face and make eye contact if she wants. We do “baby cooing” back and forth to each other. I notice how I am feeling about changing the diapers—resentful or grateful that my baby’s body is functioning normally or anything else I’m feeling. Every diaper change can be an inner discovery, if I remember to be present.”

“When the baby wakes up in the middle of the night “for no good reason”…rather than worrying about how tired I’ll be the next day or get frustrated that he isn’t sleeping through the night, I choose to practice my “middle of the night” walking meditation. I swaddle him up in his baby carrier and do my special bouncy-walk around the room, focusing on my breath, his breath and the special moments of being awake in the wee hours with my precious baby. Usually he is asleep within a short time and I can get right back to sleep because I’m not all upset that I had to get up.”

“My husband and I use the practice to deal with some stressful aspects of parenting. Our daughter has gotten many colds and each time she gets another runny nose we can get all stressed out about the future, like how long the cold will last or whether we will have to take time off work. Or we can get worked up and feel guilty that she is in daycare. Usually one of us reminds the other to just be here now. It’s just a runny nose, not the end of the world.”

“Countless times during the day I consciously breathe and remember this moment is here only this once—this carrot, this sand castle, this raucous cuddle with the two kids. And when they are sick, or sad, or need me and I’m exhausted, I also am able to go to the heart of something and be present with it. That’s not to say I don’t get grumpy or feel overwhelmed and resentful sometimes. I do. But it’s just that I am able to recognize it and choose to go to my breath and usually find a calmer place.”

“I find that many times during the day I connect to the state of being truly present with my son and my husband. I see and hear and feel what is happening right now and can often let go of my action plan and do what needs to be done in the present moment. I stop and really listen to Jared and see what it is he is communicating—he actually always has something to share or is needing something. He’s not just fussing or cranky for no reason.”

“Whenever I lie down in bed and am feeling tense, I take a deep breath and, as I release it, I do a quick body scan practice like we learned in class. I just scan my body from head to toe and notice what is going on in my body. I find the tension usually melts away in a matter of seconds and I am able to drift off to sleep.”

“My husband and I find that we use the practice a lot to support each other. When we feel overwhelmed we remind each other to be compassionate to ourselves for not being perfect. Usually it has to do with one of us just being physically exhausted…and then we try and do something about that and figure out how we can help each other take care of our own needs.”

Yoga Journal: July/August 2004|

Birth of Mindfulness: Yoga and Meditation Are Helping Mothers-to-Be Prepare for the Ultimate In-the-Moment Experience

Linda Knittel

With eyes closed and paying gentle attention to the breath, eight pregnant women and their partners sit silently in the Oakland, California, living room of certified nurse midwife Nancy Bardacke. For a few moments, they let go of the anticipation of labor, delivery, and their babies to sample the present moment.

These expectant parents are preparing for childbirth, mindfully. Drawing on Jon Kabat-Zinn's Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction technique and her own yoga and meditation experience, Bardacke offers meditation instruction along with birthing biology in her eight-week course (called Mindfulness-Based Childbirth and Parenting Education). Participants practice various pain-coping techniques—meditation, partner massage, saying "ah" or other easy sounds—and breath awareness.

"By staying with my breath and not moving beyond the very moment at hand, I was able to have the most amazing birth experience," says Victoria Tyra, a course graduate. "Now I use the techniques when my kids are screaming or when I'm caught in traffic. It has done great things for my marriage too." Clearly, such results are Bardacke's intent. "The work not only teaches you how to deal with the contractions of labor," she says, "it teaches you how to handle the contractions of life."

Classes based on Kabat-Zinn's mindfulness technique are offered in a variety of formats all over the world. To search for a program in your area, visit http://www.umassmed.edu/cfm/mbsr/.

Linda Knittel is a nutritional anthropologist and freelance writer in Portland. She is the author of Soy Sensation (McGraw Hill, 2001).

The Nurture Center Newsletter: Fall 2001

Pregnancy, Birth and Parenting: Breath by Breath

Nancy Bardacke, CNM, MA

Seventeen people, sitting in a circle with their eyes closed, focus attention on their breath. The group includes seven couples pregnant with their first baby, one couple pregnant with their second baby and me, a nurse-midwife, mother, and instructor for the class. From the outside, we probably look a bit odd, sitting here in silence, appearing as if we are doing nothing. In fact, what we are doing is far from nothing.

In an eight week childbirth preparation program called Mindfulness-Based Childbirth and Parenting Education, we are practicing mindfulness meditation, a powerful tool to help us prepare for the great challenges that lie ahead—labor, delivery and parenting. Adapted from the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction Program at the University of Massachusetts Medical Center developed by Jon Kabat-Zinn, Ph.D., the class is an opportunity to learn a life skill that will serve us not only during this profound life transition, but can continue as a lifelong practice for healthy living and wise parenting.

The essence of the course is systematic, intensive training in mindfulness—moment-to-moment, non-judgmental awareness—and then learning how we can apply this skill to our coming labor, delivery and postpartum experience. Together, we learn many different ways to use the mind to work with the physical pain of labor, as well as learn how to come to terms with any fears we may have about the many unknowns that lie ahead.

While pregnancy is often a happy and exciting time, it is also a time of great change, which can be stressful. The new but normal body sensations many pregnant women experience can cause or be made worse by stress. Those who are at risk for preterm labor, who experience health problems during pregnancy, who have a history of infertility or have had a previous traumatic birth experience may also experience pregnancy as a stressful time. Research has shown that many stress-related health problems such as chronic pain, insomnia, high blood pressure, migraines, asthma, anxiety and depression can be greatly relieved or eliminated through a regular meditation practice.

Stress or anxiety can also be triggered by the many uncertainties about the future that are a normal part of becoming a parent. Parents-to-be wonder: How will I manage the pain of labor? How can I truly support my partner during childbirth? Will the baby be healthy? What kind of parent will I be? How will the baby affect my relationship with my partner? Can we handle this change financially? Will I really be able to love another child? Through mindfulness we cultivate the inner resources to be able to work with whatever arises in each moment, helping us to maintain or restore balance and calm.

In addition to learning how to work with pain and the unknown, participants find that the practice of mindfulness helps them to work more effectively with the many stresses of daily life. This is particularly helpful for partners, who also learn a valuable skill for managing stress and their own transition to parenthood. As one participant commented, “I am generally much calmer now, not only in my attitude toward childbirth. I have various tools to use that I wasn’t aware of before.”

Whatever the birth experience, the days and weeks postpartum can be incredibly challenging. Here again mindfulness can hold us, even when a situation seems overwhelming. Just remembering to pay attention to the breath can change a situation dramatically. As one new mother who was having breastfeeding difficulties put it: “I was able to use the mindfulness practice to get me and the baby through some really difficult times. I don’t know what I would have done without knowing how to be in the present moment.”

The practice yields different insights for each participant. A father-to-be felt he “found the emotional tools that would help him be truly present with his new child in a way that his own father was never able to be with him.” One pregnant mother found that the training in being with her breath during meditation helped her develop a deep self-confidence for labor that made the birth of her 9 lb.11oz baby a surprisingly easy, positive experience. Another stated, “In all honesty, I thought childbirth was going to be a lot more painful that it really was. By being able to stay in the moment, breath by breath, I found the entire experience extremely tolerable.” And a pregnant mother of two reported an unexpected benefit: “I never knew how much parenting was about being in the present moment. It’s so simple, but boy, it sure isn’t easy!”

Nancy Bardacke is a Certified Nurse-Midwife who has worked with birthing families since 1971. In addition to her Mindfulness-Based Childbirth and Parenting Education Program, Nancy has taught Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction at El Camino Hospital in Mountain View, CA and Kaiser in Oakland, CA. She has attended professional trainings with Jon Kabat-Zinn, Ph.D. and his colleagues from UMass Medical Center.

Reclaiming a New Archetype

From Mothering Magazine By Peggy O'Mara

We all love the mother. Everyone would agree that she is the seminal being, that everything begins with her literally and metaphorically. And yet we've mixed up this rightful awe of the mother with a modern, denatured view of woman. What we have today is a tired stereotype of the mother, and what we need—what we are reclaiming—is a vibrant archetype.

A stereotype is a standardized mental picture that members of a group hold in common. It represents an oversimplification, a subjective emotional response, or an uncritical judgment. It does not represent a real person.

An archetype, on the other hand, is the original pattern for all things of the same type. It is the prototype, the model. The original model of the mother is the Great Mother, represented in many traditions by Mother Earth. In Greek mythology, for example, the elder giants or Titans were the children of Mother Earth. The name of Abraham's mother is a derivative of Mother Earth. Other representations of the Great Mother are Mary in Christianity; Durga, a mother goddess in the Hindu religion; and Kuan Yin in the Buddhist religion, to name just a few.

We can use this powerful archetype of the Great Mother to infuse our mothering with focus and purpose. The popular stereotype of mother suggests that she is weak, that the same woman who can birth a baby is easily overpowered and victimized by her role as a mother. We know instead that behind this stereotype is a top-rate manager who every day coordinates a myriad of tasks and responsibilities efficiently and effectively. She is not a victim.

This view of mother as victim can undermine our birth aspirations and our parenting ideals. Before and during birth, we may be encouraged to give our decision-making power to others, to view ourselves as unequal to a task that generations of our grandmothers have successfully navigated. Calling on the powerful imagery of the Great Mother can be a source of strength. Like Mother Earth, our strength can be gentle as a breeze or powerful as a hurricane. Both coexist in our nature as well as in hers.

The view of mother as victim does not match the experience of giving birth or that of adopting a baby. A woman is transformed by these experiences. Mothering unlocks in her an instinctual intelligence that generates confidence in her own authority. Inevitably, this increased confidence changes the relationship between her and others. A woman who has given birth is not easily intimidated. A woman who has adopted a baby is fearless. In the archetype of the Great Mother she recognizes her own indomitable spirit.

Not wanting to be dominated by others is a legacy of the new mother, because in becoming a mother, a woman also gives birth to herself. Many of us have experienced the unleashing of deep creative impulses after becoming mothers and have used the early time of motherhood to germinate and cultivate ideas for later creations. We can trust in the seasons of our lives just as Mother Earth trusts in her seasons and does not bemoan winter.

This view of motherhood as a creative process brings to mind once again the image of Mother Earth—this time in the form of the Greek goddess Demeter, who is said to bring forth all the fruits of the earth. Venus and Athena are also associated with creativity, as is the Celtic goddess Bhrid, among many others. We can replace the stereotype of mother as one who is dominated and victimized with the dynamic and generative archetype of Mother Earth.

While many accept that mothers can be creative and that mothering is in itself a creative endeavor, the dark side of the stereotype suggests that any distraction from the task of motherhood compromises a woman's devotion. We can be ambivalent about whether or not it's OK for mothers to have separate lives as women or other serious pursuits. What this dilemma highlights is the stereotypical idea that being a mother means self-sacrifice to the point of self-destruction or martyrdom.

Having a life of one's own, paid or unpaid, threatens the stereotype that mothers must be willing to be consumed. This old idea suggests that it is virtuous for a mother to run herself into the ground for the love of her child. In this generation, however, we have learned that we mothers must put on our own oxygen masks first. In his successful book The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, Steven Covey identifies one of these traits as "sharpening the saw." He means that if you have an important tool that you use all the time, you have to take care of it. Likewise, we mothers have to take care of ourselves in order to be able to take care of others.

We know that the stereotype of mother as inexhaustible family servant is outmoded and misogynist as well as simply impractical. We see in the representations of the archetype of the Great Mother that Mother Earth builds rest into the rhythms of life. The days and the seasons alternate between activity and rest. And change itself is rejuvenating.

Mother Earth trusts in things as they are, as is evidenced by the return of spring. The modern stereotype of motherhood, on the other hand, is one of fear and scarcity. To be trusting and calm in the face of modern society almost seems antisocial because modern society is so frenetic. And yet Mother Earth is known for her resiliency, for her continual rebirth. Faith in inevitable rebirth is contrary to the one-dimensional stereotype of motherhood as a burden. This stereotype supports the belief that one is victimized and powerless as a mother. In fact, no one is more powerful than a mother. When a mother thinks about her experience in a truthful way, when she is honest with herself, she will see that the act of mothering is not one-sided. In fact, she and her child form a symbiotic dyad, and they mutually benefit one another.

For example, when I was a new mom, we spoke only of how the baby benefits from breastfeeding. No one ever mentioned any advantages for the mother. Now we realize that breastfeeding benefits the mother in numerous ways as well, including child spacing, increased "love" hormones, and even decreased risk of cancer.

Once we appreciate that the mother-child dyad is mutually beneficial, we can change the stereotype of motherhood as burden into the archetype of mothering as transformation. In this alchemy, we can model the continually regenerative archetype of Mother Earth. We take our "burdens" and use them as an opportunity to go deeper, to transform. Burdens imply that we are stuck, that we are powerless. Transformation confirms that we are powerful even when we are challenged.

Simply stated, we can accept the stereotype of mother as burdened, powerless victim or embrace the archetype of mother as powerful, self-sustaining transformer. It seems almost selfish to think of ourselves in this way, but in this regard, selfish is good. Taking care of ourselves must be taken seriously if it is to sustain us. It is a point of view willing to ask, "What about me?" rather than resign oneself to "Oh, I'll be OK," when that is not really sustainable.

When I talk about invoking images of Mother Earth rather than modern stereotypes of motherhood, I'm really talking about sustainability. For the family to be sustainable, the mother must be able to continue into the future. She must meet her present needs without compromising her future needs. The mother who routinely burns herself out is compromising her future and that of her family.

I learned the hard way to save some resources for the future, for the unexpected. As a young mom, I believed that if I just planned correctly, I could avoid the unexpected, and so I went all out without keeping any reserves for the future. I believed that if I just gave and gave, I could make bad things go away. I've learned that we all have limits and that exhausting ourselves in the service of others does not really help them.

As our children grow, we worry less about exhaustion and more about expendability. My children are in their 20s and 30s, and now I must contend with the stereotype of the empty nest. It seems as if every area of a mother's life is portrayed as patently tragic. However, if I apply my own thinking to this stereotype, I discover that the archetypal nest is actually never empty for long.

We had birds on our porch at the office this spring. They returned to the nests they had left from the previous year, and they reused them for new eggs throughout the season. I can imagine my nest as a symbol of renewal. My children return to it for sustenance, and their returning sustains me as well.

Mothering is reciprocal. It is not just something we do for our children. It defines us, and it liberates us. When we can mother in a powerful, creative, and transformative way, we can more easily move between our role as mother and our other roles as women, embracing all of our passions, without believing that being a devoted mother compromises us. When being a mother comes from our strengths and our positive opinions of ourselves rather than from an imposed script, we will easily embody a powerful feminine presence.

While this powerful image of mother is not one of victim, neither is it one of dominator. Inspired by multidimensional archetypes, the mother trusts in the inherent goodness of things. Unlike the desperate stereotype of the fearful, controlling mom, the mother of the new archetype is not attached to outcome. She knows how to be in the moment, to pay attention, to take responsibility for her own feelings, and even how to let things go. She's had to learn this. She knows how to care deeply from an objective place. We have inherited a subservient and wounded view of the mother. I suggest that we reject it in favor of an older, more enduring image, one powerfully in tune with our intrinsic nature. We can use images from our own traditions, cultures, and religions as well as the archetype of the Great Mother as embodied by Mother Earth. She provides a model for us as she changes through the seasons of the year. This model is more powerful, creative, and transformative than any stereotype will ever be. It is by rejecting stereotypes that we begin to live our own, original lives.

Earth, I Thank You

Earth, I thank you
for the pleasure of your language
You've had a hard time
bringing it to me
to grunt thru the noun
To all the way
feeling seeing smelling touching
-awareness
I am here!

Poem by Anne Spencer

Children (Thich Nhat Hanh Excerpt)

From "Being Peace" by Thich Nhat Hanh

Suppose you are expecting a child. You need to breathe and smile for the baby. Please don't wait until your baby is born before beginning to take care of him or her. You can take care of your baby right now, or even sooner. If you can't smile, that's very serious. You might think, "I'm too sad. Smiling just isn't the correct thing to do". Maybe crying or shouting would be correct, but your baby will get it--anything you are, anything you do, is for your baby.

Even if you do not have a baby in your womb, the seed is already there. Even if you are not married, even if you are a man, you should be aware that the baby is already there, the seeds of future generations are already there. Please don't wait until the doctors tell you that you are going to have a baby to begin to take care of it. It is already there. Whatever you are, whatever you do, your baby will receive it. Anything you eat, any worries that are on your mind will be for him or her. Can you tell me that you cannot smile? Think of the baby, and smile for him, for her, for the future generations. Please don't tell me that a smile and your sorrow just don't go together. It's your sorrow, but what about your baby? It's not his sorrow, it's not her sorrow.

Children understand very well that in each woman, in each man, in each child, there is a capacity of waking up, of understanding, and of loving. Many children have told me that they cannot show me anyone who does not have this capacity. Some people allow it to develop, and some do not, but everyone has it. This capacity of waking up, of being aware of what is going on in your feelings, in your body, in your perceptions, in the world, is called Buddha nature, the capacity of understanding and loving. Since the baby of that Buddha is in us, we should give him or her a chance. Smiling is very important. If we are not able to smile, then the world will not have peace. It is not by going out for a demonstration against nuclear missiles that we can bring about peace. It is with our capacity of smiling, breathing, and being peace that we can make peace.

Love After Love

The time will come

When, with elation,

You will greet yourself arriving

At your own door, in your own mirror,

And each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

To itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all of your life, whom you ignored

For another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

The photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life.

Derek Walcott, "Love After Love” (1976,74)

Thunder Mountain

On a recent road trip to Colorado, we stopped at Frank Van Zant's (aka Chief Rolling Mountain Thunder) Thunder Mountain Monument on Highway 80, a remarkable work of art in the middle of nowhere. We arrived just before sunset and felt uneasy about whether we should walk in to the empty and eerie, now considered, historical monument. Like a cemetery, Shadow Mountain was deserted yet we did not feel alone. The spirits of Van Zant's numerous sculptures cast a melancholy mood on the property. The golden light of the sun setting enhanced the beauty of his art, and I felt grateful to be in its presence.

The following (from http://thundermountainmonument.com)

tells about the history of Frank Van Zant and Thunder Mountain:

Frank Dean Van Zant was born in Okmulgee, Oklahoma on November 11, 1921.

Okmulgee is Indian country, and although his surname is Dutch, Van Zant considered himself a full-blooded member of the Creek nation. He left home at the age of 14 and enlisted in the Civilian Conservation Corps, where he picked up pocket change and a variety of skills that would prove useful in later years.

After World War II broke out, Frank enlisted in the Army Air Corps, but had to drop out because flying made him sick to his stomach. So he transferred into the Tank Corps, serving with the 7th Armored Division in seven major campaigns in the European theater.

Years later Frank would tell a reporter from the Los Angeles Times that he had been nearly blown apart “by a German bazooka.” Dan Van Zant can't confirm the story; he says his father didn’t much like to talk about the war.

“Like a lot of veterans, you’d try to get him to talk, and he’d shut up pretty quick. But it changed him, it definitely changed him. Because in talking to my grandmother, she says that he came back from the war a totally different man.”

Upon returning to civilian life, Frank studied theology for a year and a half, intending to become a man of the cloth. “He was going to be a Methodist minister, and was actually an assistant pastor for awhile,” Dan recalls. “But then he saw the hypocrisy and didn’t want to have anything to do with it, didn’t want to be part of it.”

Van Zant dropped out of divinity school and traded in his Bible for a badge. Law enforcement suited him, and for two decades he served as a sheriff’s deputy in Sutter County, working out of Yuba City, California. In 1960 he ran for the office of sheriff, but narrowly lost. He embarked on a second career as a private investigator, a vocation he pursued until he retired, remarried for the third time and set out for rural Nevada--where he would become reincarnated as Chief Rolling Thunder Mountain.

Why such a radical change of course in midlife? Printed accounts vary. Frank himself offered a variety of explanations, depending upon who was asking the questions and how much he felt like answering them. In one version, he said he had a dream one night that a “great big eagle” swooped down from the sky and told him “this is where I should build his nest.”

Another account has Frank and his young bride Ahtrum heading west in the fall of 1968, looking to find a place in the sun. 130 miles northeast of Reno, near a onetime railroad station named Imlay, his 1946 Chevy pickup truck broke down. He couldn’t get it running again, and so decided to set up camp in the sagebrush. Presently the owner of the property happened along and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

What inspired Frank to start building his Thunder Mountain Monument? According to Dan, when his father was young he had once seen “a bottle house out in the desert, someplace around Death Valley. And he said he just fell in love with it. He said that he wanted to do that someday.”

Van Zant’s three-story monument started out as a one-room travel trailer, which he gradually rocked over until it came to resemble Barney Rubble’s stone-age bungalow. As materials became available, he added corridors and stairways leading to upstairs bedrooms formed of daub-and-bottle walls and slate ceilings. He turned automobile windshields into picture windows, scrap iron and galvanized pipe into rebar, concrete and chicken wire into ornamental statuary. Virtually every square foot of the monument’s exterior is covered with friezes and bas-relief tableaux depicting historic massacres and/or bureaucratic betrayals visited upon the American Indian. The roof is adorned with still more statues and multiple arches, the tallest of which soars fifty feet into the sky. At the very top is perched a carved wooden eagle, which only recently was restored to perpendicular by a courageous local, Jim Lacey.

Even as the monument was under construction, it was joined by various Krazy Kat outbuildings, including the roundhouse and the hostel house, a 40x60-foot work shed, an underground hut, guest cabins and a quixotic children’s playground straight out of a Tim Burton movie. Soon Thunder Mountain became a popular hangout for hippie artisans and counterculture characters--much on the order of the Meta Tantay commune established in East Carlin by the Cherokee Medicine Man John “Rolling Thunder” Pope. During the late Sixties and early Seventies, interest in living the Indian way ran high, and there were more dropped-out disciples and vision questers roaming about Northern Nevada than just one Chief Thunder could accommodate.

Was transcendental medication part of the Imlay scene? Dan Van Zant insists that his father was opposed to mind-altering drugs and wouldn’t permit their use on the grounds. Instead, the chief architect of Thunder Mountain appeared to be fueled by tobacco and caffeine, and driven by forces even his closest of kin couldn’t fathom.

“Oh, yeah, I thought the old man had slipped a cog,” says Dan Van Zant. “That’s why I questioned what he was doing, why he was doing this--wanting to start all over with raising a family and building a monument in the middle of nowhere. But that was what he wanted to do. And he didn’t want to live alone. He wasn’t the type of personality that could not be around people. I think he enjoyed being around people; he could never be a hermit.”

As the 1970's drew to a close and the political pendulum began to swing to the right, Thunder Mountain fell into disrepair. In 1983 the three-story hostel house burned to the ground; then the underground hut caved in. By and by the last of the hippie artisans drifted back to suburbia. Finally Frank’s wife left him, taking with her the couple’s three young children. The Thunder family patriarch found himself alone, with no one for company save concrete likenesses of Quetzalcoatl, Standing Bear, Sarah Winnemucca, and his beloved son Sid, who had died at the age of 19. His health failing--the result of a lifelong addiction to cigarettes--Van Zant became increasingly depressed. On January 5th, 1989, after penning a farewell note to his son Dan, the chief lay down on a sofa in the roundhouse and put a bullet through his brain.

Thunder Mountain became deserted, although curious visitors continued to trickle in off the freeway--as did more than a few vandals. Nocturnal thrill seekers would belay themselves down the chimney into the monument’s main chamber, where they would drink beer and tell ghost stories. Water was also invading the structure, thanks to a porous roof. Piece by piece, Frank Van Zant’s monument to the American Indian was going the way of the buffalo and the carrier pigeon.

Although his father had willed him the property in his suicide note, it took awhile for Dan Van Zant to gain legal custody. His next goal was to somehow preserve and protect the place--but how?

“My first thoughts were that I would just donate it to the state of Nevada,” he says. “They could make it a state park. And a person who was director of the state parks division actually came out, met with me, and he walked the property. He basically was pretty candid; he just said, ‘This place is a mess.’”

Dan Van Zant and his wife Margie have since hauled away a couple hundred pickup loads of trash--what his father would have called building material.

“That was what he used to build with," says Dan. "He had it scattered around so he could see what he had.”

Today the bone yard is confined to just a 400-square foot area against the west wall of the burned-down hostel house, and Dan estimates there’s enough used lumber in the pile to build a visitor’s center. He’d also like to install an underground irrigation system so he can keep the shade trees alive and green up the grounds. “Green it up, put in some park benches, picnic tables, and make it a little more appealing to the general public.”

All of which will take time, not to mention money. For that, the propreitor of Thunder Mountain relies solely on the kindness of strangers--one of whom, after taking a tour of the grounds, mailed Dan a check for $20,000. A large chunk of the cash went toward replacing the leaky roof; a smaller chunk toward casting a bronze plaque honoring the munificent benefactor.

Dan regards the twenty thousand dollar contribution as nothing short of a miracle--one of many said to have have occurred upon the patch of land his father held sacred. Once, back when the monument was fully occupied by improvident hippie artisans, there arose a food shortage. The story goes that the chief did an Indian dance and offered up a prayer. Later that same day, a semi-trailer truck loaded with frozen food crashed on the highway. The driver, grateful to be alive, told the group to help themselves to the spilled groceries.

Frank Van Zant never planned too far ahead, preferring to rely on divine providence. His son Dan, confident that the Great Spirit still abides at Thunder Mountain, is determined to see that his father’s life's work will not soon fade away.

(story by Richard Menzies)

Chief Rolling Mountain Thunder

1921-1989