Paging Gazhekwe

[gazhekwe]

An old man was sitting in his lodge, by the side of a frozen stream. It was the end of Winter, the air was not so cold, and his fire was nearly out. He was old and alone. His locks were white with age, and he trembled in every joint. Day after day passed, and he heard nothing but the sound of the storm sweeping before it the new-fallen snow.

One day while his fire was dying, a handsome young man entered the lodge. His cheeks were red, his eyes sparkled. He walked with a quick, light step. His forehead was bound with sweet-grass, and he carried a bunch of fragrant flowers in his hand.

"Ah, my Son," said the old man, "I am happy to see you. Come in. Tell me your adventures, and what strange lands you have seen. I will tell you my wonderful deeds, and what I can perform. You shall do the same, and we will amuse each other."


The old man then drew from a bag a curiously wrought pipe. He filled it with mild tobacco, and handed it to his guest. They each smoked from the pipe, and then began their stories.

"I am Peboan, the Spirit of Winter," said the old man. "I blow my breath, and the streams stand still. The water becomes stiff and hard as clear stone."

"I am Seegwun, the Spirit of Spring," answered the youth. "I breathe, and flowers spring up in the meadows and woods."

"I shake my locks," said the old man, "and the snow covers the land. The leaves fall from the trees, and my breath blows them away. The birds fly to the distant land, and the animals hide themselves from the cold."

"I shake my ringlets," said the young man, "and the warm showers of soft rain fall upon the Earth. The flowers lift their heads from the ground, and the grass grows thick and green. My voice recalls the birds, and they come flying joyfully from the South-land. The warmth of my breath unbinds the streams, and they sing the songs of Summer. Music fills the groves wherever I walk, and all Nature rejoices."

And while they were thus talking, a wonderful change took place. The Sun began to rise. A gentle warmth stole over the place. Peboan, the Spirit of Winter, became silent. His head drooped, and the snow outside the lodge melted away. Seegwun, the Spirit of Spring, grew more radiant, and rose joyfully to his feet. The Robin and the Bluebird began to sing on the top of the lodge. The stream murmured past the door, and the fragrance of opening flowers came softly on the breeze.

The lodge faded away, and Peboan sank down and dissolved into tiny streams of water, that vanished under the brown leaves of the forest.
Thus the Spirit of Winter departed, and where he melted away the Indian children gathered the first blossoms, fragrant and delicately pink, the modest Spring Beauty.

This is an Ojibwe legend that I first heard as a youngster one spring as we admired patches of spring beauty nestled in sunny spots in the woods. Here, I am fortunate to have a patch of wild spring beauty that pops up in my front yard, usually late in April. They live on the roots of a great ash tree that unfortunately had to be cut down a couple of years ago. I hope they can continue to survive, though their host tree is gone.

[gazhekwe]

This is from CBC News, cite at the end.

First Nations leaders in Manitoba are expressing outrage about an online classified ad that offered to round up and "extract" aboriginal youth from parts of Winnipeg and transport them like wild animals to reserves or an area of the city where many aboriginal people live.

The ad, titled "Native Extraction Service," was posted on the website

UsedWinnipeg.com, but was taken down by 1:38 p.m. CT on Thursday.
Underneath the title was a picture of three aboriginal males, who look to be in their mid to late teens.

The text of the ad read: "Have you ever had the experience of getting home to find those pesky little buggers hanging outside your home, in the back alley or on the corner???

"Well fear no more, with my service I will simply do a harmless relocation. With one phone call I will arrive and net the pest, load them in the containment unit [[pickup truck) and then relocate them to their habitat.
It doesn't matter if they need to be dropped off on Salter [[Street, in Winnipeg's North End) or the rez, I will go that extra mile." The North End of Winnipeg is where many city dwellers of First Nations descent live.

"My service is free because I want to live in the same city you do, a clean one," the ad said.

On Thursday, First Nations leaders at Manitoba Keewatinowi Okimakanak [[MKO), an organization representing most First Nations communities in northern Manitoba, said they want police to investigate the ad as a hate crime. [Northern Chiefs -- Gaz]

"The way it's worded, 'to relocate them to their habitat.' Here we are trying to teach our kids better. The kids out there are told they're not wanted," said MKO Grand Chief David Harper. "This is unacceptable," he added.

The website where the ad was posted is owned by a Victoria-based company called Black Press, which owns a separate enterprise called UsedEverywhere.com.That business operates 47 online classified sites, including the UsedWinnipeg.com site.

On Thursday, UsedEverywhere.com apologized for the ad, which had been posted at midnight on Wednesday.

General manager Tish Hill said it was pulled after users deemed it offensive. Hill said that although the company conducts active monitoring of ads that get placed, offensive material does slip through on occasion.
While Hill said she would not reveal to CBC News who posted the ad, she said the information would be turned over to police should they choose to investigate.

Read more: http://www.cbc.ca/canada/manitoba/st...#ixzz0haTrUarm

[gazhekwe]

In Ojibwe tradition, this month is the Maple Sugar Moon, iskigamizige-giizis. This time of year, the maple sap begins to flow, as long as the days are warm and the nights are cold. In the past, the Ojibwe people would leave their winter homes and travel to places where their clan or village collected and boiled off the maple sap to make sugar.

There is a story told of one woman, Susan Johnston, Ozhaguscodaywikwe of Sault Ste. Marie, who would go to Sugar Island with her daughters and they would return with up to two tons of sugar. She was the daughter of Waubojiig, a principle chief, the wife of John Johnston, fur trader. [Woman of the Green Glade, White Fisher]

Their daughter, Jane, Obaabaamwaywaygiizhigokwe, married Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, Indian agent. She was the source of the information Henry provided to Longfellow as he wrote the Song of Hiawatha. [The Sound the Stars Make Rushing Through the Sky Woman]

Maple sugar is made by tapping the trees, in such a way that the tree is not permanently injured or starved. The sap flows from the tap into a bucket from which it is collected and poured into large pots on fires constantly tended. The object is to boil off the water and eventually produce sugar.

Though iron pots were not available until Europeans came to trade, it was still possible to boil the sap in bark containers, for as long as the liquid remains above the fire level, the bark will not burn. There is also a way to reduce the liquid by pouring the raw sap into shallow containers to freeze overnight. With the ice removed, there is a much greater concentration of the sweet nectar that will eventually become sugar.

The sap will flow as long as the days are mild and the nights are freezing. Once it slows down, the tap holes are carefully plugged to help the tree heal.

We tapped three trees in our yard and used our wood heating stove to boil the sap to produce sugar. A couple of quarts of sap made about a pint of good syrup in about 12 hours. You have to be careful not to boil it too hot or it will scorch. We never processed it until it turned to sugar, so I don't know how that works. I am very impressed with Ozhaguscodaywikwe and her family making as much as a couple of tons of sugar. It was a valuable commodity and must have brought a good income for her family.

[gazhekwe]

I wish I had kept my taps and buckets! I noticed yesterday that the tree in our front yard is weeping tears of sap onto our driveway. I don't recall this happening before, so I hope the tree is OK. We have four maples we could tap. I don't believe any are actually sugar maples, but we have found any maple will produce a sweet sap that can be boiled into syrup. In fact, birch sap can also be tapped and yields a wintergreen flavored syrup. I have not tried other trees but the idea is intriguing that more kinds of syrup can be tried.

It really isn't practical for us to do it here since we have no continuous economical heat source like a wood stove, and outdoor burning is prohibited.

[gazhekwe]

This is an Ojibwe story. In some parts of our land, this person is called Nanabozho or Nanabush. In others, he is Manabozho.

A very long time ago, when the world was new, Gitchee Manitou made things so that life was very easy for the people. There was plenty of game and the weather was always good and the maple trees were filled with thick sweet syrup. Whenever anyone wanted to get maple syrup from the trees, all they had to do was break off a twig and collect it as it dripped out.

One day, Manabozho went walking around. "I think I'll go see how my friends the Anishinaabe are doing," he said. So, he went to a village of Indian people. But, there was no one around. So, Manbozho looked for the people. They were not fishing in the streams or the lake. They were not working in the fields hoeing their crops. They were not gathering berries. Finally, he found them. They were in the grove of maple trees near the village. They were just lying on their backs with their mouths open, letting maple syrup drip into their mouths.

"This will NOT do!" Manabozho said. "My people are all going to be fat and lazy if they keep on living this way."

So, Manabozho went down to the river. He took with him a big basket he had made of birch bark. With this basket, he brought back many buckets of water. He went to the top of the maple trees and poured water in, so that it thinned out the syrup. Now, thick maple syrup no longer dripped out of the broken twigs. Now what came out was thin and watery and just barely sweet to the taste.

"This is how it will be from now on," Manabozho said. "No longer will syrup drip from the maple trees. Now there will only be this watery sap. When people want to make maple syrup they will have to gather many buckets full of the sap in a birch bark basket like mine. They will have to gather wood and make fires so they can heat stones to drop into the baskets. They will have to boil the water with the heated stones for a long time to make even a little maple syrup. Then my people will no longer grow fat and lazy. Then they will appreciate this maple syrup Gitchee Manitou made available to them. Not only that, this sap will drip only from the trees at a certain time of the year. Then it will not keep people from hunting and fishing and gathering and hoeing in the fields. This is how it is going to be," Manabozho said.

And, that is how it is to this day.

[gazhekwe]

Woksis was going hunting one day early in March. He yanked his tomahawk from the tree where he had hurled it the night before, and went off for the day. The weather turned warm and the gash in the tree, a maple tree, dripped sap into a vessel that happened to stand close to the trunk.

Toward evening Woksis's wife needed water in which to boil their dinner. She saw the trough full of sap and thought that would save her a trip to get water. Besides, she was a careful woman and didn't like to waste anything. So she tasted the maple sap and found it good-a little sweet, but not bad. She used it to cook her venison.

When Woksis came home from hunting, he smelled the unique maple aroma and from far off knew that something especially good was brewing. The water had boiled down to syrup, which sweetened their meal with maple. Woksis found the gravy sweet and delicious.

He spread the good news how the Great Spirit had guided his wife in making the delicious new food, Sinzibuckwud [[drawn from the wood). Soon all the women were sugar-making [[seensibaukwut) and the braves began performing the Sugar Dance.

Thereafter, maple sugar was produced and celebrated each spring after the long, cold winter during the Season of the Melting Snow.

To show language similarities, in Anishinaabemowin, Sugar is Siisibaakwat [[Fiero spelling). I heard this story as a young girl, but the resourceful woman was called lazy because she didn't want to go to the trouble of hauling water. In that, I feel a certain amount of internalized stereotyping. I like this version which plays up her resourcefulness and thrift.

[gazhekwe]

The snow around here is going, going, GONE! Stories will cease with the waning moon, so only a few more are left for the season. Here is a story as recorded by Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, with the unsung efforts of his wife, Jane [[Obaabaamwaywaygizhegokwe).

“Mon-Daw-Min or the Origin of Indian Corn: An Odjibwa Tale.� Originally published in 1956 by Michigan State University Press. Schoolcraft, H.R. Schoolcraft’s Indian Legends: Algic Researches. East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 1956. pp. 58-61.




In times past, a poor Indian was living with his wife and children in a beautiful part of the country. He was not only poor, but inexpert in procuring food for his family, and his children were all too young to give him assistance. Although poor, he was a man of a kind and contented disposition. He was always thankful to the Great Spirit for everything he received. The same disposition was inherited by his eldest son, who had now arrived at the proper age to undertake the ceremony of the Ke-ig-uish-im-o-win, or fast, to see what kind of a spirit would be his guide and guardian through life. Wunzh, for this was his name, had been an obedient boy from his infancy, and was of a pensive, thoughtful, and mild disposition, so that he was beloved by the whole family.
As soon as the first indications of spring appeared, they built him the customary little lodge, at a retired spot some distance from their own, where he would not be disturbed during this solemn rite. In the meantime he prepared himself, and immediately went into it and commenced his fast. The first few days he amused himself in the mornings by walking in the woods and over the mountains, examining the early plants and flowers, and in this way prepared himself to enjoy his sleep, and, at the same time, stored his mind with pleasant ideas for his dreams. While he rambled through the woods, he felt a strong desire to know how the plants, herbs, and berries grew, without any aid from man, and why it was that some species were good to eat, and others possessed medicinal or poisonous juices.
He recalled these thoughts to mind after he became too languid to walk about, and had confined himself strictly to the lodge; he wished he could dream of something that would prove a benefit to his father and family, and to all others. "True!" he thought, "the Great Spirit made all things, and it is to him that we owe our lives. But could he not make it easier for us to get our food, than by hunting animals and taking fish? I must try to find out this in my visions."
On the third day he became weak and faint, and kept his bed. He fancied, while thus lying, that he saw a handsome young man coming down from the sky and advancing towards him. He was richly and gaily dressed, having on a great many garments of green and yellow colors, but differing in their deeper or lighter shades. He had a plume of waving feathers on his head, and all his motions were graceful.

[gazhekwe]

"I am sent to you, my friend," said the celestial visitor, "by that Great Spirit who made all things in the sky and on the earth. He has seen and knows your motives in fasting. He sees that it is from a kind and benevolent wish to do good to your people, and to procure a benefit for them, and that you do not seek for strength in war or the praise of warriors. I am sent to instruct you, and show you how you can do your kindred good."
He then told the young man to arise, and prepare to wrestle with him, as it was only by this means that he could hope to succeed in his wishes. Wunzh knew he was weak from fasting, but he felt his courage rising in his heart, and immediately got up, determined to die rather than fail. He commenced the trial, and, after a protracted effort, was almost exhausted, when the beautiful stranger said, "My friend, it is enough for once; I will come again to try you;" and, smiling on him, he ascended in the air in the same direction from which he came.
The next day the celestial visitor reappeared at the same hour and renewed the trial. Wunzh felt that his strength was even less than the day before, but the courage of his mind seemed to increase in proportion as his body became weaker.
Seeing this, the stranger again spoke to him in the same words he used before, adding, "Tomorrow will be your last trial. Be strong, my friend, for this is the only way you can overcome me, and obtain the boon you seek."
On the third day he again appeared at the same time and renewed the struggle. The poor youth was very faint in body, but grew stronger in mind at every contest, and was determined to prevail or perish in the attempt. He exerted his utmost powers, and after the contest had been continued the usual time, the stranger ceased his efforts and declared himself conquered. For the first time he entered the lodge, and sitting down beside the youth, he began to deliver his instructions to him, telling him in what manner he should proceed to take advantage of his victory.
"You have won your desires of the Great Spirit," said the stranger. "You have wrestled manfully. Tomorrow will be the seventh day of your fasting. Your father will give you food to strengthen you, and as it is the last day of trial, you will prevail. I know this, and now tell you what you must do to benefit your family and your tribe. Tomorrow," he repeated, "I shall meet you and wrestle with you for the last time; and, as soon as you have prevailed against me, you will strip off my garments and throw me down, clean the earth of roots and weeds, make it soft, and bury me in the spot. When you have done this, leave my body in the earth, and do not disturb it, but come occasionally to visit the place, to see whether I have come to life, and be careful never to let the grass or weeds grow on my grave. Once a month cover me with fresh earth. If you follow my instructions, you will accomplish your object of doing good to your fellow-creatures by teaching them the knowledge I now teach you." He then shook him by the hand and disappeared.
In the morning the youth's father came with some slight refreshments, saying, "My son, you have fasted long enough. If the Great Spirit will favor you, he will do it now. It is seven days since you have tasted food, and you must not sacrifice your life. The Master of Life does not require that."
"My father," replied the youth, "wait till the sun goes down. I have a particular reason for extending my fast to that hour."
"Very well," said the old man, "I shall wait till the hour arrives, and you feel inclined to eat."
At the usual hour of the day the sky-visitor returned, and the trial of strength was renewed. Although the youth had not availed himself of his father's offer of food, he felt that new strength had been given to him, and that exertion had renewed his strength and fortified his courage. He grasped his angelic antagonist with supernatural strength, threw him down, took from him his beautiful garments and plume, and finding him dead, immediately buried him on the spot, taking all the precautions he had been told of, and being very confident, at the same time, that his friend would again come to life. He then returned to his father's lodge, and partook sparingly of the meal that had been prepared for him. But he never for a moment forgot the grave of his friend.
He carefully visited it throughout the spring, and weeded out the grass, and kept the ground in a soft and pliant state. Very soon he saw the tops of the green plumes coming through the ground; and the more careful he was to obey his instructions in keeping the ground in order, the faster they grew. He was, however, careful to conceal the exploit from his father. Days and weeks had passed in this way. The summer was now drawing towards a close, when one day, after a long absence in hunting, Wunzh invited his father to follow him to the quiet and lonesome spot of his former fast. The lodge had been removed, and the weeds kept from growing on the circle where it stood, but in its place stood a tall and graceful plant, with bright-colored silken hair, surmounted with nodding plumes and stately leaves, and golden clusters on each side.
"It is my friend," shouted the lad; "it is the friend of all mankind. It is Mondawmin [[the name for corn). We need no longer rely on hunting alone; for, as long as this gift is cherished and taken care of, the ground itself will give us a living." He then pulled an ear. "See, my father," said he, "this is what I fasted for. The Great Spirit has listened to my voice, and sent us something new, and henceforth our people will not alone depend upon the chase or upon the waters."
He then communicated to his father the instructions given him by the stranger. He told him that the broad husks must be torn away, as he had pulled off the garments in his wrestling; and having done this, directed him how the ear must be held before the fire till the outer skin became brown, while all the milk was retained in the grain. The whole family then united in a feast on the newly-grown ears, expressing gratitude to the Merciful Spirit who gave it. So corn came into the world, and has ever since been preserved.

http://www.learningtogive.org/materi.../MonDawMin.asp

[gazhekwe]

Long ago, as it still is today, it was the custom for a boy who reached a certain age to go into the forest and wait for a dream. He would build a small lodge and go without food for many days in the hope he would be visited by some animal or spirit of the forest that would take pity on him and give guidance and power.

There was a boy named Opichi who reached that age. Opichi's father was very respected in the village and he was determined that his son would be given a dream of such power that no one else could compare with him. So eager was the father for his son to get power that he insisted the boy go on his dream fast before the last snow left the ground, even though most boys would wait until the time when the ground was warm and the leaves returned to the trees.

"My son is strong," said the father. "He will go now. He will gain greater strength from the cold."

Opichi was a boy who always wished to please his parents and so he did as his father said. They went together into the forest and the father selected a spot on top of a small hill. There Opichi made a small lean-to of saplings, covering it with hemlock boughs. He sat beneath it on the bare ground with a thin piece of deerskin wrapped about his shoulders.

"I will return each day at dawn," the father said. "You will tell me then what you have seen."

That night the north wind, the icy breath of the Great Bear, blew cold. Opichi's mother was concerned, but the father did not worry. "My son is strong," he said. "This cold wind will make his vision a better one."

When the morning came, he went to the lean-to and shook the poles. "My son," he said, "tell me what you have seen."

Opichi crawled out and looked up at his father. "Father," the boy said, "a deer came to the lodge and spoke to me."

"That is good." said the father. "But you must continue to fast. Surely a greater vision will come to you."

"I will continue to watch and wait," Opichi said.

Opichi's father left his son and went back to his lodge. That night a light snow fell. "I'm worried about our son," said Opichi's mother.

"Do not worry," said the father. "The snow will only make whatever dream comes to him more powerful."

When morning came, the father went into the forest again, climbed the hill and shook the poles, calling his son out.

"Father," Opichi said as he emerged, shaking from the cold, "last night a beaver came to me. It taught me a song."

"That is good," said the father. "You are doing well. You will gain even more power if you stay longer."

"I will watch and wait," said the boy.

So it went for four more days. Each morning his father asked Opichi what he had seen. Each time the boy told of his experiences from the night before. Now hawk and wolf, bear and eagle had visited the boy. Each day Opichi looked thinner and weaker, but he agreed to stay and wait for an ever-greater vision to please his father.

At last, on the morning of the seventh day, Opichi's mother spoke to her husband. "Our son has waited long enough in the forest. I will go with you this morning and we will bring him home."

Opichi's mother and father went together into the forest. The gentle breath of the Fawn, the warm south wind of spring, had blown during the night and all the snow had melted away. As they climbed the hill, they heard a birdsong coming from above them. It was a song they had never heard before. It sounded almost like the name of their son. Opi chi chi. Opi chi chi.

When they reached the lodge, Opichi's father shook the poles. "My son," he said, "it is time to end your fast. It is time to come home."

There was no answer. Opichi's mother and father bent down to look into the small lean-to of hemlock boughs and saplings. As they did so, a bird came flying out. It was gray and black with a red chest. "Opi chi chi. Opi chi chi."

So it sang as it perched on a branch above them. Then it spoke.

"My parents," said the bird, "you see me as I am now. The one who was your son is gone. You sent him out too early and asked him to wait for power too long. Now I will return each spring when the gentle breath of the Fawn comes to our land. My song will let people know it is the time for a boy to go on his dream fast. But your words must help to remind his parents not to make their son stay out too long."

Then, singing that song which was the name of their son, the robin flew off into the forest.

[gazhekwe]

This is the version I heard. I suspect it was specially arranged for kids, as no one dies and there are lessons for kids about responsibility.

Long long ago, the People had fire, but they did not have a way to start fire, so they had to keep it going day and night. They would carry live coals with them when traveling so they could start fires for their night camps.

It was the custom for the eldest boy in the family to take his turn for keeping the fire going at night once he reached a good age for doing so. In this one village, there was a very influential man who always liked to be first with things, so the other people would continue to respect him. His son was just a little boy, but he kept telling him about the keeping of the fire,and how important it was, and what a fine young man he would be once he could keep the fire all night.

The little boy was eager to try it, but his mother worried that he was still too young and would not be able to stay awake long enough. The father grudgingly agreed. Month after month, the impatient boy and father and the cautious mother sparred. Finally, the boy prevailed and the parents gave their blessing for him to try. The mother resolved to stay awake herself just in case the young boy fell asleep and the fire started to go out.

The night wore on, and the boy sat up by the fire, singing to himself and sometimes getting up and walking about to sort the firewood. Satisfied that he was getting along all right, the mother lay down to be comfortable and she soon drifted off to sleep. In her dreams the boy began to nod off and she desperately wanted to help him, but she could not move.

Meantime, a little brown bird was sleeping on a branch near the warm fire. As the fire began to cool, the bird awoke and saw the boy was sleeping soundly.

Oh, no! This will never do! thought the bird, Opichi by name. If the fire goes out, the boy will be in big trouble, and the people will be cold and not be able to cook their food!

Down she flew to the fireside. She tried in vain to wake the boy, but the fire was almost out. Quick as thought, she leaped to the very edge of the coals and began fanning them with her wings. As a little flame flared, she quickly fed it a twig, then another, then another, until the fire was going just a bit. She quickly gathered more sticks and took up her post by the fire.

When the sun came up, Opichi was still there, fanning the tiny fire as the little boy slept on. The father, coming to see how his son was doing, was astonished at the little bird, whose breast had been scorched red by the heat of the fire. Her head was blackened by the ashes she had scratched up to get the twigs into the fire.

The father woke up his son and showed him the bird. He told his son they had both learned a lesson that night. The father had learned not to rush things so much, and he was very grateful that his son would not have to bear the burden of his impatience. The little boy had been spared the shame of letting the fire go out. The father and son both spoke to the bird.

"Little Opichi! Thank you so much for your kindness and bravery in keeping the fire going for our people. We will always be grateful to you, and happy to hear your joyful song. We will always remember what a friend you are to us. None of us shall hurt you. You will always wear these colors as a badge of your courage and loyalty."

[gazhekwe]

One day near the end of summer, Mkwa [[Bear) decided to give a feast to celebrate all the good food and to gather everyone for a good time in the good weather. He gathered food for some time and when he was almost ready he sent his friends Bineshiisak [[Birds) to invite everyone to the feast.

Bineshiisak flew here, there and everywhere and invited all they met to the Bear's feast. All they spoke to eagerly agreed to attend the feast, Mooshkaas [[Crane), Amik [[Beaver), Wawaashkesh [[Deer), Maingan [[Wolf), Mkina [[Turtle), Wagosh [[Fox), and more.

As the day of the feast arrived, the sun shone beautifully. Mkwa carefully laid out the feast, with everything just so. Wiiaas [[Meat), Netawging [[Vegetables), Manomin [[WIld Rice), all laid out in order. At the very end of the table he placed his little boxes of Siisibaakwaat [[Sugar).

Soon, everyone was arriving and circling the table, exclaiming about the bounty before them. There was much talking and laughing among the guests as they waited for the feast to begin. At last Mkwa stood before them and gave his opening greeting, talking about the wonderful generosity of Gzhemnido and Gushnaan Aki, then inviting everyone to step up and help themselves.

Soon, though, there was an outcry! "There is no Mide [[Grease). Mkwa has forgotten the Mide."

"Oh, that will never do," said Mkwa. I must take care of that right away."

He had built a hot fire to make tea for later, and he took a bark bowl to the fire and set it down. He then began to dance around the fire, holding his paws over the coals. Soon his paws became very hot, and he wrung them over the bowl. Good clear grease ran down into the bowl. Mkwa kept doing that until the bowl was full, then he set it on the table after the meat.

The feast then went on and everyone ate till they were beyond full and enjoyed themselves very much. Afterward, they sat around the fire with cups of hot Labrador tea, and told stories about hunting and great things they had caught or harvested. Mooshkaas [[Crane) had more fun than anyone, as his loud voice was busy laughing and talking all evening with stories of things he had seen. Late into the evening, everyone ate some more, then everyone curled up to sleep til morning.

[eriedearie]

Gaz, our grandson is coming to stay with us for a few days during March break. I've enjoyed these stories so much, I'm going to print them and read them to him. He will be 9 years old in May and I think he will enjoy these as much as I have.

Thank you for relaying them here.

[gazhekwe]

Nine is a perfect age for these stories. I remember hearing them from a very young age, but they really started to take hold for me around 8 or 9.

The dark of the moon will be tomorrow and the snow is all gone. It's maple syrup time, and time for the regular stories to be sent home until next winter. I will finish up the last story, The Bear's Feast, Part II, tonight. From time to time a story might pop up as circumstances arise during the spring and summer. If we get a substantial bit of snow to keep us quiet this month, there can be a few more stories.

Over this past winter, some of my favorites have been the story of Shingebiss, the cheery little winter duck, Opichi, The Man Who Loved Ravens. Does anyone else have favorites?

[gazhekwe]

Mooshkaas [[Crane) had such a great time at Mkwa's feast, and so did everyone else. They talked about it for many days. Mooshkaas decided he would like to have a feast too. He wanted to make his feast as good as Mkwa's or better, so everyone would have a great time and talk about how great it was.

Mooshkaas did just like Mkwa, he gathered food for some time and when he was almost ready he sent Bineshiisak [[Birds) to invite everyone to the feast.

Bineshiisak flew here, there and everywhere and invited all they met to the Bear's feast. All they spoke to eagerly agreed to attend the feast, Mkwa [[Bear), Amik [[Beaver), Wawaashkesh [[Deer), Maingan [[Wolf), Mkina [[Turtle), Wagosh [[Fox), and more

As the day of the feast arrived, the sun shone beautifully. Mooshkaas worked very hard to lay out the feast, with everything just so, just like Mkwa had done. Wiiaas [[Meat), Giigoonh [[Fish), Netawging [[Vegetables), Manomin [[WIld Rice), all laid out in order. At the very end of the table he placed little boxes of Siisibaakwaat [[Sugar). He was satisfied that everything was just like Mkwa's Feast.

Soon, everyone was arriving and circling the table, exclaiming about the bounty before them. There was much talking and laughing among the guests as they waited for the feast to begin. At last Mooshkaas stood before them and gave his opening greeting, talking about the wonderful generosity of Gzhemnido and Gushnaan Aki and his friends, then inviting everyone to step up and help themselves.

Soon, though, there was an outcry! "There is no Mide [[Grease). Mooshkaas has forgotten the Mide." In so carefully copying Mkwa, Mooshkaas had made the same mistake!

"Gaa injida," he cried, "I didn't mean it! I will see what I can do."

Mooshkaas remembered how Mkwa had gotten Mide, and he decided to try it himself. He built a hot fire and he took a bark bowl to the fire and set it down. He then began to dance around the fire, holding his feet one after the other over the coals. Poor Mooshkaas didn't have big fat paws like Mkwa, and he soon burned his feet and legs and ran crying to the river to soak them. That is why Mooshkaas' legs are so bare even today.

The feast then went on without the Mide, and still everyone ate their fill and had a good time. Whenever they talked about the feast though, everyone talked about how Mooshkaas burned his feet. Mooshkaas had to be satisfied with that as he nursed his poor sore feet back to health.

[gazhekwe]

This is Harvey Dreaver doing his thing at the Oji-Cree Hand Drum and Round Dance Contest last week. The man rocks that drum, and can he sing!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QSnFzguL7JA

The words to the song:

Take my hand walk with me together you and I. Always remember this sweetheart, I will always be here for you

[gazhekwe]

Man, these little guys should win it all, they rock my world.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eX6q1usX9b4

[gazhekwe]

I can't wait to get up home this spring. This video is all about Bay Mills. It never shows the town of Brimley.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iVKCXT3hFLg

And here is a better view of a sacred place, the view of Spectacle Lake from the top of Mission Hill.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nN6n6JPHsHs&NR=1

Beyond, you can see where Whitefish Bay empties into the St. Marys River. At Gros Cap on the Canadian side is the Prince Wind Farm, Canada's leading power generator.

Behind, in the woods, is the cemetery where our people/s remains have been buried for the past hundred fifty years.

[gazhekwe]

This article discusses many aspects of smudging while noting the need for correct attention to details relating to purification and reducing non-spiritual distraction. NOTE: Use of the term Shaman and discussion of exorcism do not come from native tradition. There is a danger of mixing New Age into ancient traditions. For community or healing ceremonies, a native spiritual leader should conduct the ceremony so as to keep the ceremony on traditional ground. Of course, if you want to purify your house for springtime, which I am going to do on Saturday afternoon, you can do your own ceremony. This will give you pretty good directions for doing that. I will use sage or sweetgrass for the house. If we are going to try and appease Michepichu, we need a spiritual leader and maybe cedar and tobacco.

Smudge Sticks: Not Just Blowing Smoke

By Chris Capps 10/20/09

From the Ojibwe tribes to the south and the Cree to the north along the Upper Peninsula and parts of Canada, smudging has been a long standing tradition that has been integrated into the New Age community with open arms. The ritual has long been revered as a symbol of purification, and is traditionally used in conjunction with a sweat lodge [[such as during the Inipi ceremony performed by the Lakota people) to purify the soul. Modern smudging is often used in the interest of purifying houses of evil spirits and negative energy.

The traditional view of smudging was that it disrupted negative spirits in the environment, allowing for them to be cleaned in a ritual sweat lodge. The modern interpretation of smudging is that during a ritual, such as the spiritual house cleansing ritual [[similar in some respects to a catholic exorcism) the smudge stick is carried through the house and its smoke wafts up and attaches to everything it touches. It then draws out the negative energy in these locations and transports it elsewhere, where it is replaced by positive energy.

Contrary to popular belief, shamans and medicine men object to using the breath to blow smoke, as the human breath is considered disrespectful and imperfect. They suggest using a feather or large leaf to fan the embers. Other tips are to use a large seashell to hold the smudge stick in, turn off electric distractions while smudging, meditate, and cleanse your own mind prior to engaging in this [[or any) ritual. Though it is commonly used as a ritual cleansing of negative energies and spirits, some shamans also suggest you use smudge sticks when you meditate on important future events, when you are depressed, when you are inexplicably feeling a negative "vibe" about your surroundings, and after you have spent time with someone who is sick.

Common sage [[salvia officinalis), a member of the mint family, is often used in smudging rituals, and has been documented as a mild antibiotic as well as an astringent, estrogent, antifungal, anhidrotic, and antispasmoid. Other commonly used plants are white cedar [[a tradition in Ojibwe tribal rituals), Pine [[known to alleviate hunger), Lavender [[used since pre-Roman days as a cleansing agent), Sweet Grass [[also known as hierochloe odorata meaning literally 'sweet holy smelling grass), mugwort [[to be used with caution as it contains a toxin known as thujone which in large amounts can be harmful), and finally Copal.

In exorcising ghosts, smudging has often been reported with great success at first, but persistent ghosts often find their way back to a house that was cleansed only once using smudge sticks. This could be largely because smudging is primarily used as a cleansing ritual, and ghosts [[as we understand them) are not merely entities that can be cleansed from a location through chemical means. There is also, however, magic in intent, which should be more effective in guiding spiritual entities to their final destination. This has been seen as a more effective means of "cleansing" for haunted houses, as it gives all occupants involved a sense of closure.

A smudging ritual typically involves binding the smudge stick, lighting it in a vessel of some sort [[such as a large seashell), moving to every room in the house, and using a fan to billow the smoke out into the room. Some obvious precautions should be implemented, however, when using smudge sticks. Obviously ensure every room is well ventilated. Smoke inhalation is bad news for everyone, and tar is produced with the burning of any leaves, even spiritually cleansing ones. Pregnant women should not be around burning mugwort as the thujone previously mentioned is particularly dangerous to them when implemented in large amounts.

Smudging, if done properly is a powerful cleansing ritual that can help maintain a positive environment, but it is not the spiritual cure-all that some advertisements would have you believe. If used in conjunction with powerful spiritually positive choices, meditation, and a spiritual attitude, it can be an effective symbol to help bring peace and prosperity to its users.

http://www.unexplainable.net/artman/...le_14080.shtml

[gazhekwe]

Well, I couldn't do my spring purification ceremony yesterday. I couldn't get into the right frame of mind. Hopefully today will be better. I'm having a hard time getting clear of distraction and clutter.

Some of the preparation steps:

1. Clear your mind of distractions and be ready to concentrate on the ceremony. The smoke carries your thoughts to the spirits. What do you want to say?

2. Clear the area of electronic interference. Shut off radio, tv, cell phones, landline phones, computers, including any peripheral devices like DVD or CD players.

3. Create a clear space free of clutter to begin the ceremony.

4. Gather your sage and the earthenware bowl or abalone shell to hold it.

5. Now, put the unlit sage into the bowl. Clear your mind of negative thoughts and distractions. If others are present they must do so as well. It might help to close your eyes and breathe deeply. Get into a peaceful, centered state of mind.
6. See your space filled with peace and light, protected from darkness and distraction. Think about what you want to accomplish with the ceremony, purification of yourself and your space, cleansing from the winter attitudes.

[canuck]

Thanks for the advice Gazhekwe!

It speaks volumes about Michigan. It is a lot more than cities and politics and industry and money. It is about people who were living there for thousands of years and a spirit of community on the one hand and meditation on a personal side too. Thanks for your stories. I recognize the algonkian vocabulary which stretches out to the east of Québec here.

[gazhekwe]

Aanii, Canuck! I'm glad you are enjoying this thread. There are lots of different kinds of info in here. Our language started on the eastern seaboard, around the mouth of the St. Lawrence. On the way to our new homeland around the Lakes, a lot of people stopped here and there, and so the language lives on in different ways in those places.

My mother's people were from Quebec, around Rimouski.

[gazhekwe]

Well, I am trying to do a smudge before I start a project tomorrow. I might have to wait til just before, things are very complicated around here and I am trying to listen to the health care debate/vote also. Just in case anyone else has a clearer head, I will put the rest of the recommended steps down now.

7. Once you have your mind clear and can envision your spirit and your place as you wish it to be, calm, peaceful and light, you can go ahead and light your sage. NOTE that I have not given any steps for preparing the sage. Just make sure it is pure and not the kind from the spice aisle at the grocery. Put it in your shell or earthenware bowl to keep things safe and light it. This is a good time to take off your glasses so as not to block the smoke.

8. Once it is burning, gently fan the flames out so you just have glowing embers, you don't want a bonfire. Some people recommend using a natural fan of feathers, or cedar maybe, not your hands. For a personal ceremony, though, I think your hands are fine. As the smoke rises, you can use your hands or the fan to waft the smoke toward you and around you, over your head, down your body. Don't inhale it though.

9. Slowly carry the smudge through the house room by room. In each room, make sure the smoke goes into every corner. Trace around the edges of the walls and around the windows and doorframes. Crisscross the thresholds.

10. While you are smudging, keep your thoughts positive and remember what it is you want to accomplish.

11. When complete, take the smudge out and extinguish the fire. You can keep the remainder of a smudge stick for another time. If there is only a little bit left, you can burn it in your fireplace, or scatter it respectfully in a good place outside.

[canuck]

Thanks Gazhekwe!

There is also the Mingan archipelago National park which happens to be on the north shore of the gulf of St Lawrence right across from Rimouski at the start of Gaspé Peninsula. I read about your mom's family being from Quebec. I am trying to find some info on the Ancestry.ca site about my grandmother's birthplace. Her grandfather was living in Ishpeming Michigan when her parents were married in 1890 in StVenant Qc on the border of Vermont and New Hampshire. Her brother was born in London, Michigan and later moved to Ottawa Ont. It is usually possible to find birth records for catholics born in Quebec fairly easily online because everything has been photographed. I cant find her birth records in US or Canadian databases. But I am looking into it.

I just came across this article about a cree filmmaker whose film "Reel Injun" just came out. It is about depictions of Indians in Hollywood films. I once worked on a series for the film company
that produced his work: Rezolution Pictures. I was working as a scenic painter in different locations in Kahnawake reservation which you mentioned before. That's a place with a lot of history! There is a people much maligned and admired at the same time for their steadfastness before so much adversity over a long period. I went to the Pow wow a couple of years ago with my kids and was really impressed by the strength and the humor of the people.

http://www.hour.ca/film/film.aspx?iIDArticle=19478

[gazhekwe]

That's very interesting, thanks for posting it. There have been several books written on the subject. It really points out the power of movie characters as role models, particularly for young people who don't live in Indian communities. It is funny how he says, as he sits astride a horse on the plains of Minnesota, that he finally feels like a real Indian. I would love to see the movie.

Here is a trailer for it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HqVmqK5Nbuk

[gazhekwe]

Sherman Alexie wins 2010 Pen/Faulkner fiction prize for 'War Dances'
By Jacqueline Trescott
Wednesday, March 24, 2010; C02

"War Dances" by novelist Sherman Alexie has won the 2010 PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction, the organizers announced Tuesday.
The prestigious annual award, presented by the Washington-based PEN/Faulkner Foundation, was given to Alexie because of his book's breadth of topics and innovative style, judges said. "War Dances" consists of short stories interspersed with poems.


"That book was the one we all liked immediately," said Kyoko Mori, one of the three judges. "There was something special about the range of characters. It was like watching a dance. I liked how some of the characters were unlikable but compelling."


Alexie was still absorbing the news Tuesday. "It's so cool. You just look at the list of people who've won and it is legendary," he said. "Just having that status was incredible."


He acknowledged that the book's format is unusual. After publishing the young adult novel "The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian" in 2007, "I wanted to write a book that was a reverse of that," Alexie said. "I wanted to do a weird book and reestablish my independent, small-press roots."


Alexie, 43, likened his writing process to "mixing an old-school music cassette."


"When you construct a mix tape, the first song you come out with has to be a barnburner," he said. "You come out with Marvin Gaye."


Mori, a Washington-based writer, thought the juxtaposition of forms in "War Dances" made it rise above the other entries -- about 350 novels and short story collections this year. "I usually don't like books that combine prose and poetry," she said. "But here the poetry was like listening to an interlude and got you ready for the next story."


Al Young, another judge and the former poet laureate of California, praised the gumbo of story lines. " 'War Dances' taps every vein and nerve, every tissue, every issue that quickens the current blood-pulse: parenthood, divorce, broken links, sex, gender and racial conflict, substance abuse, medical neglect, 9/11, Office Narrative vs. What Really Happened," Young said in a statement.


Alexie, who lives in Seattle, won a National Book Award for Young People's Literature in 2007 and this week, the Lifetime Achievement Award of the Native Writers' Circle of the Americas. He is a Spokane/Coeur d'Alene Indian who grew up on a reservation 50 miles northwest of Spokane. Severely ill as a child, he overcame his conditions and set out for a life of reading and writing. In high school he was the only Native American and became a scholar-athlete, later writing about those experiences in "True Diary."


Many of Alexie's works have been honored, including a story collection, "The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven," which was a PEN/Hemingway Award winner for best first book of fiction. The attention led to a film, "Smoke Signals," which won two awards at the 1998 Sundance Film Festival.


Alexie, who receives $15,000 for the PEN/Faulkner honor, will be saluted May 8 on the 30th anniversary of the program.


The other finalists -- Barbara Kingsolver, Lorraine M. Lopez, Lorrie Moore and Colson Whitehead -- will also be recognized.