Tracy Hauff

Tracy Hauff was born in the southwestern corner of South Dakota on land belonging to the Lakota Sioux. Raised in the East River city of Sioux Falls, her family returned to the Black Hills area right after her sixteenth birthday. Once finished with high school, she embarked upon a nomadic lifestyle that led her first to the Rocky Mountains in Colorado and then on to the temperate rainforest of the Pacific Northwest. Her next stop was Texas where she resided briefly (and unhappily) in the desolate tumbleweed-strewn terrain of the panhandle.  Further south, the Alamo City and shoreline of the Gulf of Mexico proved to be a more suitable habitat, but she moved on to the sultry Mississippi River region where Memphis became her temporary home. A visit to her sister in Wyoming turned into a six-year residency divided between the Big Horn Mountains and the Snowy Range, but when her tolerance for wind and frigid air had reached its limit, she moved south once again, this time to the arid Sonora Desert. From there, she went back to the place she calls home base—The Black Hills of South Dakota. Today, you will find her back in the Colorado Rockies. In seven states, she has resided in seventeen cities and "somewhere between seventy-five and eighty-five" houses.

While the ebb and flow of life has certainly manipulated her travels, she also credits the wanderlust to Oglala Lakota DNA. Oglala means "to scatter one's own" and she has undoubtedly accomplished that.

Throughout her journey, Tracy has experienced love and loss; established valuable friendships while gladly escaping roguish acquaintances; acknowledged praise and accepted criticism; lived both a flamboyant and a modest lifestyle; grinned with pride at accomplishments and lost sleep over misdeeds. Her encounters and escapades fuel her passion for writing.

Her novel, Chokecherry: The Wild Story of a Bitter Young Woman, recounts the confusion and struggles of Tallie, a child/woman who leaves home at age seventeen when she can no longer reconcile life's entanglements and disappointments. Tallie's young world is turned upside down; good sinks to the bottom while evil floats to the top like a grimy layer of toxic oil; slowly suffocating the organisms trapped below.

“With age, we should develop the desire to move forward with an unencumbered conscience. It is never too late to correct human error or begin anew. A pleasant surprise in my life has been the discovery, and freedom, of forgiveness; the ability to forgive myself, as well as others. Blame and reproach are crippling. Chokecherry is a story of anguish and redemption that should be read by everyone who may have felt the stinging prick of shame, stab of guilt, or aching throb of despair—all painful states of the human mind that should never be allowed to take root.

Our world is a massive ball of energy. How can your intake not be influenced by your output? If your focus on life is skewed toward the negative and you are surrounded by pessimists and cynics, their fatalistic energy will consume you and rob you of happiness. Look for kindness in others and you will find yourself amidst good people. Beauty is abundant in our world and presented to us every day—all we need to do is open our door and step out. The morning sunrise is a wondrous welcome, spectacular glowing sunsets signal the end of our day, and luminous stars twinkling overhead guide us in the dark.

Believe that good will prevail and believe in you. Embrace the joy of life."

~Tracy~



Family, friends, and colleagues have often asked me what prompted my fascination with the rainforest. When I was a young girl, we received a copy of National Geographic each month in the mail. I looked at every issue cover-to-cover, mesmerized by the vivid photography and fascinating stories that portrayed the people and wildlife inhabiting our planet. As I explored the magazine's geographical diversity, my heart was captured by the rainforest. I could smell the orchids, feel the sticky humidity clinging to my skin, hear the thrumming of a million insects, and I never tired of the photos of the bright green canopy that towered majestically over it all.

My wish to visit the rainforest became a reality in 2009 when I traveled to Lamanai, Belize. On the boat ride up New River into the jungle, my hair kinked up in miniscule curls and bushed out to the size of a lion's mane. On day one, I wore a full face of makeup. Day two, only eyeliner and mascara. Day three, eyeliner. Days four, five, and six—nada. My skin was drenched with natural moisture that could make me a millionaire in the cosmetic industry if it could be bottled and sold.

Howler monkeys performed like clockwork each morning and late afternoon, their throaty growls echoing for miles in the pristine air. The flowers were as vibrant as I had imagined although their sweet fragrance was something a photographer could never capture. I attempted spear fishing by moonlight while balancing in a canoe, coaxed a tarantula out of her den, and watched a Laughing Falcon hungrily devour a lizard. I held a baby crocodile (abruptly snatched from the lagoon) so the guide could determine his sex, length, and weight, and place a microchip in his tail. I climbed to the top of the High Temple in the Mayan ruins and gazed upon the lush tropical forest that surrounded me. In the shadowy depths of the jungle, I gripped a thick woody vine to swing with the monkeys—it's much more difficult than it looks. Day and night, I observed a busy brigade of thousands of leafcutter ants as they marched down a tree trunk onto their two-foot-wide personal highway, vanishing into the jungle with their precious cargo perched high upon their backs. At my request, a guide took me to their nest—an enormous mound that measured thirty-feet wide by five-foot high.

My daily meals consisted of freshly caught fish, accompanied by fruits that had been plucked that morning. I ate the Snook, Snapper, Grouper, mangoes, pineapples, papayas, melons and bananas in an open-air cantina constructed of sturdy mahogany and massive palm leaves. Fresh eggs were served for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, compliments of the colorful hens that roamed freely in the nearby village. One morning, while walking the path that lead to the village, I encountered a twelve-year-old boy who was willing to chat for a few minutes. I warily observed his body language as he nonchalantly swung a huge machete from side-to-side, its broad blade glimmering in the sun's rays. He informed me he was too old to go to school and was on his way to gather bananas. He declined to have his picture taken, but before we parted, he proudly pointed out the village library—a small structure no larger than my bedroom.

The rainforest is an explosion of life. Unfettered by signs, barricades, or fences, it displays its exotic beauty with a wildly alluring abandonment. The air is pure, the flora incomparable, the sky a brilliant lapis blue, and the climate always an unvarying tropical temperature. The natives are still unspoiled by materialism and technology; they know it exists, but it is not important in their uncomplicated lives. As the lungs, heart and soul of our planet, the rainforest is an innocent child that should be loved and must be protected. I cannot wait to return.