Random stuff
Robert and I had an excellent week, traveling through Grants Pass, Crescent City, San Rafael, Visalia, and back.
In Grants Pass we met with tribal elder David West. He is such a great man, role model, and font of knowledge. David is the one who identified Robert as the one who should be the next veteran responsible for our district’s Eagle staff. Every time we see David he passes on another story or tradition. Some of them are not to be written down, such as performing a funeral. He did tell us, and I think it’s okay to pass on, that if our drum group sings at a funeral we should paint a red line around our ankles and wrists, with a red dot “third eye.” For protection.
Some of his stories, sounding very serious, end with punch lines. Like why Potawatomis lost their butts (not me; I got a big ol’ butt from my Dad’s side of the family).
This week I’m going to follow his tradition of mourning following a death. It’s been over three years since Mike passed, and two years since Mom. So it won’t be traditional in immediately following their death, but perhaps will help me in my own head and heart. This will be something I do alone, at dusk, four nights, and only “process” one person at a time (eight nights). Unfortunately, it’s one of the traditions that cannot be written down so I cannot share it in this blog. But call me...
David made a map for us of an area outside Crescent City to visit in the Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park. And to look for the little people in the trees. When we went, we laid down tobacco in thanks to all the ancient beings.
We went to the Trees of Mystery 20 minutes south of Crescent City. It comes off as a bit tourist-trappy, but it really is a descent tour and a fun “SkyTrail” tram ride. What we didn’t expect is the native museum on site, and it’s free. AND it didn’t cover just California tribes, but had separate rooms for different regions of the nation. Of course our tribe’s area was in the Plateau/Plains room, and I could see it in the floral beading.
In Grants Pass we met with tribal elder David West. He is such a great man, role model, and font of knowledge. David is the one who identified Robert as the one who should be the next veteran responsible for our district’s Eagle staff. Every time we see David he passes on another story or tradition. Some of them are not to be written down, such as performing a funeral. He did tell us, and I think it’s okay to pass on, that if our drum group sings at a funeral we should paint a red line around our ankles and wrists, with a red dot “third eye.” For protection.
Some of his stories, sounding very serious, end with punch lines. Like why Potawatomis lost their butts (not me; I got a big ol’ butt from my Dad’s side of the family).
This week I’m going to follow his tradition of mourning following a death. It’s been over three years since Mike passed, and two years since Mom. So it won’t be traditional in immediately following their death, but perhaps will help me in my own head and heart. This will be something I do alone, at dusk, four nights, and only “process” one person at a time (eight nights). Unfortunately, it’s one of the traditions that cannot be written down so I cannot share it in this blog. But call me...
David made a map for us of an area outside Crescent City to visit in the Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park. And to look for the little people in the trees. When we went, we laid down tobacco in thanks to all the ancient beings.
We went to the Trees of Mystery 20 minutes south of Crescent City. It comes off as a bit tourist-trappy, but it really is a descent tour and a fun “SkyTrail” tram ride. What we didn’t expect is the native museum on site, and it’s free. AND it didn’t cover just California tribes, but had separate rooms for different regions of the nation. Of course our tribe’s area was in the Plateau/Plains room, and I could see it in the floral beading.
Oh, and we saw the little people.
In San Rafael, besides visiting Bill and Terra, we hoped to go to Santa Rosa to see the Indian Museum and Cultural Center. But no, it’s only open Friday-Sunday.
(Not native-related: the four of us went to the French Laundry for dinner!!!)
In Visalia, where Robert’s mother lives, we went the short distance to Kingsburg and visited the gravesites of his father and brother, smudged sage, offered tobacco and sang with a hand drum.
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