It's almost the Aboriginal Achievement Awards

I don’t get out very much but when I do it has to be something down right enticing to pull me off the couch. It’s like catching a Black Maria with a number two Mepp’s Spinner. The Aboriginal Achievement Awards caught my attention and I was ready to bite when my enthusiasm dropped like a stone. Tickets cost three hundred dollars apiece! I know people whose monthly rent is less than that. Ouch. I could buy a decent Sony Trinitron for that much, watch it at home and keep the TV.

I was told by people who attended, it was a wonderful and exciting evening. The Centennial Auditorium was full. Andrea Menard shone like the sun but Michael Greyeyes was wooden and stiff. The Great Plains Dance Troupe made Saskatchewan proud. The award winners glowed.

Four hundred dream catchers purchased from locals at twenty dollars apiece were handed out to quests. Locals, including needy First Nations University of Canada students, were also hired as couriers and casual labour. The ticket sales were donated to an Aboriginal bursary. I grudgingly accept the hefty ticket price did benefit many people.

I never had much use for elitist Indians but I was prepared to rub shoulders with the crème de la crème as they say. I was ready to dab on the Old Spice wear my Value Village suite, VO5 the hair and go for it but alas it was not to be.

I remember back in the early 1970’s when the Saskatoon Indian Metis Friendship Center was located on Twentieth Street above a vacuum cleaner store. In this compact space the Knight brothers band played endless renditions of Neil Young songs at local dances. “Cinnamon Girl“ remains burned in my mind.

From such humble beginnings came Chester Knight and the Wind and from his brother Harvey, daughter Allison aka Eekwol. Eekwol is a rising talent. I think this girl is going to surprise a lot of people. She’s got the singing voice, the intensity and the song writing skills to rip anyone away from their velcroed couch. She’s that good. Eekwol performed at the after show party for the Aboriginal Achievement Awards.

The Knight family were always musical. It’s nice to see this gift carry on to new generations. The late David Knight, patriarch of the family, was Chief of Muskoday First Nation for many years.

Aboriginal performing arts has definitely come some distance from “Tribal Trails” to today’s Aboriginal Achievement Awards and Aboriginal Peoples’ Television Network APTN. This is all fine and good but the only way I’m going to shell out three hundred dollars for the Aboriginal Achievement Awards is if Shania Twain stars and Neil Young sings the real rendition of “Cinnamon girl“. Eekwol would be a nice touch too. For those of you organizing next years awards this is great advice freely given.

I’ve heard of warring families on Dakota Tipi First Nation in Manitoba burning down each other’s homes. Then I spoke with a Chief from our province who had his home burned down too. He tells me things are getting so bad he predicts some Chief is going to be killed within three years. Add into this mix, addiction, broken families, boarding school issues, youth gangs, crime and the growing gap between the few rich and powerful Indians vs. the many poor and powerless and it becomes very apparent we are well into a dangerous time indeed.

In search of the ultimate sweat lodge stone

"We're prairie people!", the wife exclaims as she
grabs on to my arm tighter than when we were first
married. We're in Lillooet country where there is a
whole lot more up and down than sideways. Below is the
Frazer River down a precipitous mountainside and above
more mountain made all the more dizzy by passing
cloud.
       A long days drive culminates on a winding mountain
road leading into Lillooet. The British Columbia
interior has baked in a heat wave for over a week. On
this day the temperature tickled forty degrees.
Cultural shock, high sugar levels induced by too much
restaurant food, the heat and my fear of heights all
combine to make things quite surreal.
       We arrive at the Friendship Centre and even this late
the heat hits hard. Cheryl Patrick and her mom welcome
us . Our ambassador Vernon Linklater wastes no time
explaining our presence. We've come to gather lava
rock for the sweat lodge providers back home. We being
a delegation  representing a partnership of service
providers from the City of Saskatoon.
       Lava rock is the ultimate sweat lodge stone. Made in
fire it excels in fire. Many kilometres below the
earth, rock flows as a thick super heated liquid. When
it reaches the surface it does so in spectacular
fashion creating a chain of volcanoes that spews lava
into thick beds of cooling stone. Lava beds can be
found exposed in certain areas of south western
British Columbia and the interior. Our Google search
turned up lava rock near Lillooet.
       Water rocks like shale, limestone and sandstone can
be quite dangerous when heated. They have been known
to explode. Some rocks even give off a sulphur stench
when heated. Among our local field stone, fine grained
granite and basalt work the best. I've heard of mud
stone from South Dakota baked hard and pottery like
that works quite well over many uses. It is lavas
ability to endure many uses and provide an intense
even heat that sets it apart from other stone. Lava
will not explode and even a small supply will carry
most people through the winter. This is a real plus
when the harsh reality of gathering stone in winter is
considered.
       The conversation drifts into the subject of  the
local venomous Black Widow spiders and even nastier
Brown Recluse spiders. In an effort to disassociate
myself  I grab the local paper. There is a photo of a
giant twelve foot sturgeon hauled out of the Frazier
River last week. Then there's the photo of a railroad
locomotive that lost its brakes and tumbled down a
mountainside in flames killing two aboard. Think I
won't read the paper anymore. Vernon and son are
searching the centre for the raggedy webs of black
widows. It's all too weird.
       Base camp is tenting beside the Frazier River. A sign
in the washroom warns  bears coming down from the
mountains to eat fish at the river may pass through
camp. No need for sleeping bags. The heat is
unrelenting but a mountain wind makes it somewhat
tolerable.
       In the morning we meet with Matilda Fenton, a local
Lillooet Elder, who will take us up into the mountains
to harvest the lava stone. She notices I'm quite
nervous about driving in the mountains. "Have some
faith", she says. Suitably chastised I say a short
prayer to myself and off we go. We climb half way up a
mountain over fifty kilometres along a logging road.
The lava beds are spectacular. We load up till the two
ton truck is resting on the overload springs. We've
done what we've come to do the rest is Millar time.
       We share a sweat with Darrel Bob a local Elder. The
Lillooet people are quite concerned about the sockeye
salmon run. The river is low and the heat waves have
pushed the waters temperature from a normal seventeen
degrees to twenty degrees This is very hard on the
salmon who are very affected by water temperature. The
local people have fished salmon on the Frazier for
thousands of years. The area was the centre of trade
among the interior people for centuries. Some sixty
pit houses near Kelty Creek supported between five
hundred and two thousand Salish people. Interesting.
The mountain behind his home is an ancient vision
quest site known to the locals as "medicine men's
mountain". History is endlessly fascinating.
       The local people welcomed us into their homes and
without their help we would not have gathered the
stone we came so long for. We extended our welcome to
visit us.
       We need to go high up in the mountains to find the
best cedar. The heat has browned the lower cedar a
rusty brown along the tips. We bring back two enormous
sacks to share with the people. We left fifty braids
of sweet grass, tobacco and gifts in Lillooet. Sweet
grass is highly prized among the BC people.
       Our dawdling has cost us so we drive late into the
night. Constable Salsi is already well on his way home
with the truck and its precious load. At one in the
morning we stop in Golden BC for the night. It's too
late to camp so we hunt around to find a motel with
vacancy. We finally find a place. I grab key 107 and
Vernon and Preston grab 106. In the morning Vernon
tells me to come inside their room. "Look what I had
to put up with all night.", he says. There on the wall
are two pictures of owls. Owls can be seen as
messengers of death. Some people get the creeps around
them. I'd be more worried about Brown Recluse spiders.
I only have a psychedelic Japanese drawing on my wall.
       We go for breakfast at the local Smitty's Restaurant
and find another owl photograph near our stall. Vernon
says he was warned not to come on this trip. One of
his relatives dreamed of three owls. Dire consequences
awaited us even death she said. This omen was oddly
and harmlessly fulfilled by the pictures. I had dreamt
of carrying a spare tire up a steep hillside where I
found a salmon swimming among the branches of a tree.
We did have a flat on the mountain road and the salmon
may very well represent salmon berries. The wife
dreamt of three sisters before our trip and saw them
when the three Fenton sisters came to sit at the meal
following the sweat. Our unseen companions traveling
with us had a good sense of humour.
       The wife and I were sponsored by the Saskatoon Health
region. I am an Aboriginal Support Worker at Calder
Center and she is also an Aboriginal Support Worker at
Larson House Social and Brief Detox. We acted in a
ceremonial capacity. Vernon Linklater, our unofficial
ambassador, organized most of the trip in concert with
Constables Keith Salsi and Preston Parenteau of the
Saskatoon City Police Service. The trip was sponsored
by and paid for by the Saskatoon Police Service
Peacekeepers program. Both Constable Parenteau and
Salsi are members of the Saskatoon City Police
Aboriginal Unit. Special thanks to the City of
Saskatoon for providing us with a brand new two ton
truck. We couldn't haul stone without a good truck.

Sanity

Indian hunour is good medicene for life's ups and downs

Another Eagle Feather News Column I wrote. Readers seem to remember the humour pieces more than most other genre. Who can blame them. Life was never kind to Natives. The United Nations quality of life index places Canada sixth over all in the world. Canadian First Nations people, however, are in sixteenth place. The good news is we are ahead of Suriname whatever or where ever that is. I'm slowly sinking into bitterness so I will pull back and let this piece speak for itself.

A while back some one told me they wished they could be an Indian. I replied half jokingly why would they want to be poor and depressed all the time. I find humour very sustaining. One of my favorite examples is when Chief Piapot was confronted with a miserly Indian agent of which there were many. He lightened his load by making fun of the agents character. He said, "The government has provided my people with an Indian agent who is so miserly he carries a piece of cloth with him everywhere he goes so that when he blows his nose he will lose nothing of value to him."
The following are among my favorite examples of Indian humor. Special thanks to Daryl Greyeyes, Bill Wilson and the late Ben Sand.
The story goes some Cree scouts were searching for Buffalo when by remarkable coincidence they came upon the tracks of a circus wagon train traveling from Fort Garry to Calgary. They wondered who would be traveling so far out on the prairie and being curious they followed the tracks.
The circus included wagons full of exotic animals such as leopards, rhinos, elephants, giraffes and such. One wagon was full of monkeys. There was one monkey among them who was very sick and skinny. He was so skinny he bounced through the bars and fell on the ground. The wagon train continued on and left the poor monkey behind.The Crees eventually came upon the more dead than alive monkey and they became very interested in the strange creature. They talked excitedly among one other and having never seen such an animal before no one could say what it was. They then agreed to consult their people and they returned to camp carrying the monkey with them.
Word spread far and wide that a mysterious creature had been found upon the prairie. People came from all over but no one could say what it was. Finally the oldest and wisest among them was summoned. When he arrived he was taken immediately to the Chief's lodge in the center of the camp. When he entered he found to his amazement the now recovered monkey feasting on chokecherries, gaily swinging on tipi poles, chattering excitedly and pestering everybody. The old man watched carefully and then with a quick motion grabbed the monkey and held him fast. He inspected its ears, stretched its tail, examined its hands and face and scratched its hide. He th! en released the animal and solemnly spoke. "I now know what it is." he said, "It has the hide of a cow and the tail of a cow. It has the hands of a boy and the face of a boy. My friends it is a cowboy. "
Then there is the story of the poor old Indian couple who had nothing to eat. The old man took down his 22 rifle and put the last of his rusted 22 shells in his pocket. He told his wife to put a pot of water on to boil as he was going to hunt anything he could find. He went out but could find nothing not even a gopher or a magpie to shoot. Reluctantly he turned back and headed home. On his return he came upon a turtle. "It will have to do" he spoke and gathered it up. When he came home he gave his wife the turtle and sadly said, "This is all I could find." "It will have to do", she sighed as she dropped the turtle into the boiling water with a bit of salt. By and by they set the table, made their tea and placed the steaming turtle on a plate. When they sat down to eat they heard Indian singing. The song stopped and another began. They then realized to their surprise the singing was coming from the turtle shell. The song ended the turtle poked his head out and said. "Wah!wah! that was a good round. Oscapeos bring four more rocks."
Finally there was this poor old Indian who used to ride his bicycle from Kawacatoose First Nation to Raymore every week to pick up his groceries. He used to keep his supplies in a wire basket on his handlebars. One day he was riding to town when he noticed a cloud of dust fast approaching. A Pontiac Trans Am full of teenagers pulled up and the driver spoke. "Grandfather there is no need for you to work so hard in this hot sun we'll help you." With that and before the old man could speak they had pulled out a rope and tied it to his basket. "No need to worry we'll go nice and slow you'll see."the driver spoke. With that they idled slowly on their way. Grandfather despite his concerns rather liked this. No hard work and the cooling breeze was refreshing though their loud Credence Clearwater Revival tape rumbling from their eight track did drown out the meadowlarks. Everything went well until another cloud of fast approaching dust appeared. It too was a fast car full of teen! agers from a neighboring reserve. They pulled onto highway six and with squealing tires the cars accelerated fast. Poor grandfather was terrified. The kids had forgot about him. His bike began weaving wildly, his braids flapped furiously and he held on for dear life. Down the road, Constable Jones was parked at the Raymore campground. He saw the vehicles approaching caught them on radar and called into his detachment. "I have clocked a Pontiac Trans Am traveling at one hundred sixty kilometers an hour followed by a Chevrolet Camaro traveling at one hundred fifty eight kilometers an hour and Sergeant Willis you are not going to believe this but there's some old Indian on a bicycle trying to pass."

Early Winter 2007

My first sled winter 1958

How Day Star First Nation came to be

This is an historical piece I wrote for my monthly column in Eagle Feather News. I used to be a sessional at First Nations University of Canada. I taught Cree history and culture. It was fun but I have too much on the go to keep teaching besides I prefer research. Day Star is my wife's direct anscestor. He had seven daughters and no sons and so the Day Star family name
is no longer found on the reserve that bears his name. Strangely enough my wife and I were blessed with daughters but no sons.

On the north end of Daystar First Nation there is a high hill which is the highest point of land between Riding Mountain National Park and the Cypress Hills. It is an old landmark that can be seen for many miles from the plains to the west and across the Quill Lakes to the north. The area is a part of the Touchwood Hills, an old wintering ground of the buffalo and the people who hunted them. The high hill remains to this day an isolated and mystical place.
The story centers around Chief Daystar who in 1874 signed Treaty Number Four and took his reserve on the land shown to him in a vision, a dream or both. Chief Daystar began as a councillor in the camp of Chief Piapot. His people traveled far out onto the western plains unto the border of Blackfoot country and as far south as the Upper Missouri River in what is now central Montana.
In his younger days Daystar was attacked by a buffalo which hooked his belt upon its horn and tossed him violently about. His people killed the enraged buffalo sparing Daystar’s life. A badly shaken Daystar noticed much to his surprise and to those with him that he was not hurt in the least.
Two men from his Band were crossing the flat plains to the west of what is now Moose Jaw Saskatchewan. They were returning from the Bear Paw Mountains to their people camped on the South Saskatchewan River. The wind picked up and they witnessed a thunderstorm moving toward them from the west. They didn’t have time to escape so they lay down in a buffalo wallow and prepared to wait out the approaching storm. The storm came with a the crashing of thunder and the shaking of the earth. The rain fell in torrents. Through the curtain of rain the men witnessed a strange sight. They saw the outline of an enormous bird lifting a giant wriggling snake in its talons. The great thunderbird struggled to lift the snake. Higher up into rain they went until they vanished in the storm.
In the winter of 1869/ 1870 a grieving Cree warrior went from winter camp to winter camp crying for war against their enemies to the west, the powerful Blackfoot Confederacy. He collected eleven pipe stems belonging to the war Chiefs of eleven Bands. Among these bands, committed to a collective raid upon their enemies, was Chief Piapot. They gathered at the elbow of the South Saskatchewan River and moved west into the no man’s land north of the Cypress Hills. It was at this time Chief Piapot was given a prophetic dream. He saw them fighting an enraged buffalo bull and no matter how many bullets they shot into it they could not stop it from tearing them to pieces. He shared this dream with the people and told them he interpreted the dream to mean only disaster lay ahead and so he was turning back. The one who had cried for war called Chief Piapot a coward and a child afraid of his dreams. This man could only see revenge for he had lost his brother in the fighting a year before. His way of grieving was to lose himself on the path of rage.
Among those who turned back with Piapot was Daystar. In the Spring of 1870 over three hundred Cree and Assiniboine died in the Battle of the Iron Buffalo. Among the dead was he who cried for war. Seven survived, all were wounded. Among them was Little Pine’s War Chief Masatimwas my paternal great grandfather. It is said the Old Man River ran red with Cree blood that day. The battle site is below the University of Lethbridge in southern Alberta.
Daystar was also given a prophetic dream. He left his body and traveled in the sky to the highest hill in the Touchwoods. He was shown the land that was to become Daystar First Nation. He landed upon the hill and a voice said. “Daystar this where you will raise your grandchildren.” He was a Chief in his own right when camped at the elbow of the south Saskatchewan River he received word it was time to make Treaty Number Four at Fort Qu’Appelle. Daystar followed his dream and selected his land as the spirit had told him. Piapot, a true Plains Indian laughed at Daystar for choosing to raise his children in the trees.
This is how Daystar First Nation came to be. Even to this day the reserve begins where the trees begin. The northern half is rolling hills with birch and poplar stands, meadows and small lakes. This corner remains much as Daystar would have remembered it and so his people keep it.