Fall 2009 TCJ STUDENT EDITION
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STUDENT EDITION - PAGE 4
Healing Dance By Guy Reiter
Dream Quest By Alrick Wadena
Bro, Where’s My Wallet? By Ross D. Luther
A Silent Journey By Kathryn Aspaas
Addiction By Melanie Howick Erickson
Keep It Simple Stupid By Damien Moore
Kaekoh Wēskiwat By Guy Reiter
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Healing Dance
By Guy Reiter
One of the most important days in my life was dancing at my first powwow in my late uncle’s regalia. I awoke at 8:00 a.m. on Dec. 31, 2006, feeling anxious. I had received the regalia a month earlier and this would be the day that I would dance in it. It was a cold but sunny day, the window frosted, and the snow on the ground like a warm blanket covering Mother Earth. I knew I would have to relive memories of my uncle and his passing on and what he meant to me. I picked out a pair of pants and a shirt, not caring too much about what they looked like. My mind was on other things.
I went downstairs to the kitchen. The house had a morning chill and the floor was cold underneath my bare feet. The early morning sunshine, shining through the forest and into the kitchen window, gave me a sense of pride and a feeling of being loved.
I went to the refrigerator to take an apple out to eat for breakfast. I couldn’t eat too much
because of the task that lay ahead of me. I sat down on the kitchen chair and put on my socks and shoes. I headed back up to my room to grab my coat and my uncle’s regalia. Heading back downstairs, I remembered one of the last things he told me: "Someday you will have to teach your nephews and nieces what I taught you.”
I grabbed my keys from the kitchen table and went outside to warm up my truck. That
first step outside into the cold was startling and immediately woke me up. I looked at the forest and pictured my uncle and me in the woods walking and talking about all the things he taught me about survival.
The truck handle was bitterly cold, and I struggled to open the door. The windows were frosted and the seats were cold and lifeless. I felt proud of my truck when it started on the first try. It seemed that my truck understood the significance of the day. This instilled confidence in me and reaffirmed to me that this day was going to be a special one. I went back into my house to grab a few things and then headed out towards the sobriety powwow in Oneida.
When I pulled out of my driveway and onto the road, my anxiety diminished. I put a Smokeytown CD in and started to jam out. For awhile I forgot the feelings and importance of the day as I headed off the reservation and into Shawano County. I saw the reservation in my rear-view mirror, and thought about how beautiful and strong it looked on this cold winter day. I began to think of my uncle and all he used to say about our reservation, and what it meant to him. I now saw the beauty, and understood what he had seen. The reservation filled up my little mirror and restored pride in me for what my land and the Menominee traditional lifestyle meant to me.
Finally I entered Oneida, and the nervousness came back as I got closer to my destination. When pulling into the Turtle School, where the powwow was taking place, I saw all the cars and people and this added to my already anxious stomach. I parked and got out into the cold day. I grabbed my uncle’s regalia and headed for the warmth inside the school.
Upon walking into the school, I saw a lot of people and I felt proud. There were drums and dancers all ready for the grand entry. I reluctantly walked into the locker room and placed my uncle’s regalia on the bench and sat down beside it. I had a million thoughts going through my mind. I tried to focus, but my sorrow was overwhelming. I tried to think of all the good times my uncle and I had had and all the things he had taught me. I fought the tears from rolling down my face. My shame of crying in front of other men kept my face dry.
When I had the regalia out, I looked at it and thought about the last time I’d seen him in it. I saw all the colors and the intricate bead work and the yarn that looked like grass. I saw some left over foliage still clinging from the last time he’d worn it. All the blues and yellows and reds reminded me of him.
As I put on the regalia, I felt a warm sensation come over my body. I knew it was my uncle’s loving touch, so I began to relax. As I headed to the door, I saw my reflection in a mirror. I looked at myself in my uncle’s regalia and my eyes swelled with tears. I saw him standing there looking at me. This reflection was hard to look at; it reminded me of a lot of painful memories. I started to reflect on where I had been and all the obstacles I had overcome to get to this moment. Staring at myself in my uncle’s regalia about to dance at a sobriety powwow is a memory forever etched into my mind.
I pulled myself together and headed out the door. I saw all the other dancers and people and thought how beautiful they all were. I tried to focus on what I was about to do. I walked over to where all the other dancers were and got in line. A million thoughts went through my head, mostly happy ones. The MC yelled out for everyone to stand and remove their hats because we were about to begin. I felt like running back into the locker room to hide, but my uncle’s spirit kept me there. He was with me now, we were together again.
The host drum started its song and I realized it was an honor song. This made it hard for me to not bust down and cry my eyes out. The dancers started to move and I felt like I belonged there. We all made our way into the gymnasium where I focused on the ground. My thoughts were heavy, and I tried to keep it together. I really didn’t know the steps and stumbled a little, but I continued to move. When I got into the gym, I felt everyone’s eyes on me and I got nervous again, but something happened to me. I felt my feet get into a rhythm with the song and the other dancers. I knewmy uncle was helping me, showing me. I focused on the song; I felt the song and got in sync with it. The song picked up a bit and I was in rhythm with it; my uncle and I were dancing together.
I felt immense pride. I no longer felt sad. I started to lose myself in the song. I became more confident. I started to pick my head up and look around. I saw all these beautiful colors dancing in sync with one another. My uncle started to leave me and I was dancing by myself. I felt him leave my body.
I was dancing beside all these other people and we shared the same spirit. We all became one, a strong spirit, and moved together. I looked around at the dancers, and I saw my uncle; he was dancing with us. I felt at peace.
As my uncle left, I felt good about it. He had helped me; he’d come back and helped me to heal. For just one song, my uncle and I were together again and he helped me to dance a healing dance. I thank my uncle for everything he has done for me and continues to do for me every day.
Guy Reiter (Menominee), also known as Anahkwat which means "cloudy skies,” lives on the Menominee Reservation. He is studying to become a counselor in the Alcohol and Drug Counselor (AODA) program at College of Menominee Nation (CMN) in Keshena, WI. Reiter says, "I got clean and sober about three years ago and picked up writing in my recovery.” He finds writing therapeutic.
After graduation from CMN, he plans to work at a treatment center on his reservation. He says, "I highly value my Menominee traditions and culture.” He adds, "I try to live a traditional Menominee lifestyle close to Mother Earth as best as I can in this modern world.”
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Dream Quest
By Alrick Wadena
When I go to trap leeches early in the morning, I walk a path cut twelve years ago, after a great storm blew down trees for miles and miles. As I walk down the last big hill, I notice that the clear sky and a light wind indicate a good day for checking leech traps. On a windy day, it takes longer to check all the traps. It’s a job that has to be done two times a day. In the evening, I bait the traps and in the early morning, I check the traps.
I always enjoy these calm, quiet mornings, hearing the sounds of loons, eagles, wolves, geese, and ducks. I talk to the eagles every morning. After I have checked all the traps, I go to a beaver house and dump all my leech bait. Then I paddle off a short distance and watch the eagles come from their nest to get bait to feed the young eagles.
I have done this for about fifteen years. The nest is in a huge white pine tree that managed to stay standing through the storm that blew down millions of cords of wood in just a matter of hours. I think the reason the eagles have chosen this gnarly old pine to nest in is that the original white pine they’d had their nest in was blown down, nest with it.
The gifts I get from feeding the eagles are feathers. I watch them land, eat, and carry food to the nest for their young. The message they leave is how important it is to take care of the young.
I would like to be able to track an eagle across the skies, to see what it sees and feels to be gliding on wind currents and thermals not seen. It would be awesome to spend an entire day just gliding with my friends.
We have been friends for about 20 years. They are so used to me feeding them that sometimes they will land 15 to 20 feet from me. I get great pictures of them landing on the beaver house and eating the bait. I put out my tobacco and give thanks for just being able to do these things with Mother Nature.
Then I’ve got to go home to clean and sort blood suckers. After sorting and cooling down the leeches, I take them to the leech buyer. There I sell them and get more bait for the next day. I get $2 a pound for blood suckers and $11 to $12 a pound for leeches.
Later, I go home to my girlfriend, eat breakfast, kick back and relax in my dream home. It’s my mother’s house. I’ve been living here for five years now. I’ve been doing upkeep on the house and making the house payments. I’m wishing Mom could see the house after I got it fixed from the lightning strike, but she passed away a year and a half ago. I’m paying off the house, and it will get signed over to me. I like to go to my bedroom to watch my hunting shows. It’s a place to relax and enjoy a huge bowl of popcorn.
On hot days, I enjoy going to the lake to cool down, to feel the cool water and the sand around my feet. As I walk out to deeper water and dive under, I feel instantly cooler. After enjoying a little time by the lake, it’s time to get back home to cut up leech bait and get ready to go back to the leech lake.
There is a lake one-quarter of a mile east that has jumbo leeches, but a thick wall of brush between the lakes makes it hard to drag a canoe, bait, and traps through, so I bring my chainsaw along to cut a trail through the brush. I’ve been here before, but it was a long time ago. It’s a pretty little beaver pond with a channel that cuts through a bog to another lake with jumbo leeches also.
There is a large red pine with an eagle’s nest near the top. It’s a long way to the nearest road, so very few people get to see this place. When I was younger, I always had to see what was over the next hill or ridge. I’ve been to many places like this in the woods, but this is by far the place that I love the most. The eagles will be waiting to eat, and I’ll be there to feed them, as I have for years.
Alrick Wadena (Millelacs Ojibwe Band of Minnesota Chippewa) lives on the White Earth Reservation where he is an environmental science major at White Earth Tribal Community College (WETCC) in Mahnomen, MN. He enjoys the outdoors and hopes to work in conservation in the WETCC biology department once he graduates.
Wadena says, "I have lived what I write about. Most of my life, I’ve lived connected to the woods and Mother Nature.” He thanks his father and his uncle for "teaching me the way of the woods, as they learned from their elders.”
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Bro, Where’s My Wallet?
By Ross D. Luther
It is early morning and Lloyd has risen to build the fire to warm up the chilly house. He also starts the coffee. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee soon permeates the air. The silence is broken with Lloyd yelling for Sissy to wake up.
"We have to make this a quick breakfast,” says Lloyd.
Walking into the kitchen still sleepy, Sissy asks, "Why?”
"Because I have to scrape up enough money to pay my fines to get my Per Cap check today. We really need this money to get us out of debt.”
"If this is supposed to be quick, then I don’t have time. I’ll get my breakfast at school,” says Sissy.
"I’ve already had my coffee and a piece of Indian Steak and cold fry bread,” Lloyd says.
They go out the door into the cool morning and get into the old rattlelac, her dad’s pickup. It is old, just like the owner, so it takes awhile to get going. Finally it coughs to life and they head toward the high school.
On the way there Sissy informs Lloyd, "Remember we still have to go after groceries this evening in Albuquerque. So don’t forget to pick me up after work today. Oh yeah, don’t be hanging out with R.O. today. He is just no good. Something always happens when you two get together.”
"Yeah! Yeah!” Lloyd replies.
Sissy kisses Lloyd and makes him promise to behave. Lloyd watches Sissy until she disappears behind a pair of red double doors. He pulls out of the parking lot and makes his way over to the tribal building, thinking of ways to get the money for his fines. Last night at the village meeting he wasn’t sure if the head village officer, Victor, said fifteen or fifty. His right ear has been a source of difficulty ever since he fought Charley outside the Dixie Tavern. Lloyd pulls into the parking lot where he sees people filing into the building already. But the old Ford doesn’t stop right away. He has to pump the brakes furiously to get the rattlelac to stop. People see this and chuckle to themselves.
"Piece of shit truck,” Lloyd mutters to himself as he exits the truck.
Once inside he gets in line with the others, and the smell of breakfast emanating from the snack bar makes him wish that he’s had more than coffee, fry bread and bologna this morning. The sound of children playing and women gossiping add to the noise in the building, making it hard for him to hear.
When he does get to the table where the village officers are sitting, he greets them and asks, "What’s the damage?”
Almost in unison they tell him fifteen dollars. He proceeds to reach for his wallet, which should be in his left rear pocket. But there is nothing there. His pocket is empty.
"What in the world?” he exclaims. The others in line become impatient and start tapping their toes as if that will make him hurry up.
"I’ll be right back,” he tells the village officers.
Lloyd hurriedly goes outside, coincidentally bumping into his nephew Dalton, who is talking on his cell phone.
"Give me that cell phone, Nephew. I need to call R.O. and ask him if he has my wallet,” Lloyd demands.
"Dang, Uncle, that’s why you shouldn’t get so buzzed all the time, then you wouldn’t lose things,” Dalton says to his uncle.
After a few rings R.O. picks up the phone and says, "Hello?
"Hey, bro, do you have my wallet?” Lloyd asks.
"No, I don’t remember much of last night -- only when you dropped me off at home. Sorry I can’t help you more, but I have to help my mom bake bread,” R.O. replies.
"Dang, I have to find that wallet ASAP. I need to pay my fines before I can get my check today,” Lloyd whines.
"Tell me about it. That’s why I am helping out over here today,” R.O. replies.
"Talk to you later, dude,” says Lloyd. He finally gives the cell phone back to his nephew, who by now is irritated.
"It’s about time,” Dalton says.
Annoyed, Lloyd gets back into the old Ford, hoping it will start without difficulty. "Come on, baby, start for daddy!” Lloyd begs the truck. Just then, as if the sweet talk worked, the old truck’s engine turns over easily. By now it is midmorning and the weather is warming up, hence, the old Ford’s cooperativeness. Lloyd begins to retrace last night’s events before he drives back to his house. "I think I know where it is,” he yells. He stomps on the gas and the tires squeal on the old Ford as he races out of the parking lot. He leaves a cloud of dust behind him.
As he approaches his house, he sees a black dot in the sea of drab tan that is the driveway. "Is that it? Is that my wallet?” Lloyd wonders aloud.
Forgetting to pump the brakes, he thinks this old truck might just go through his front window and into the living room. After a few quick pumps, the aged pickup finally stops. Lloyd jumps out to pick up his wallet but sees he has parked on it. He hops back into the cab and takes it out of gear. It rolls a little and he is able to retrieve the wayward wallet.
"Yes! Yes! What a relief,” Lloyd squeals with delight.
He drives back to the tribal building with the same urgency as when he had left. To his surprise the rattlac seems to be cooperating by starting and stopping on a dime. He jumps out and flies through the doors. Back in line once more and finally in front of the village officers again, Lloyd breathes a sigh of relief.
Victor, the head village officer, tells Lloyd, "Well, did you find your wallet? You need to put a dummy cord on that thing. Oh yeah, Sissy called over here and told me to tell you that she is getting off from work early and to go after her now!”
Lloyd nods his head in acknowledgement. He pays his fines, and when he looks at the Per Cap check, it is for $3,200. "Holy cow!” Lloyd whoops. He runs out the doors, nearly wiping out a grandma on her motorized chair. He gets back into the old Ford and it starts like it isn’t the 40 year old truck it is.
He drives to the trading post to cash his check. While filling up the tank, he recalls the morning’s events. Then he goes back inside to pay for the gas, a bouquet of roses, and a Snickers bar for Sissy. It is around one o’clock in the afternoon, but in the light of the approaching fall it looks much later. Lloyd pulls up in front of the high school where Sissy is standing patiently waiting for him.
As she opens the door and gets in, he has a grin on his face, "Guess what?”
"I don’t have a clue,” Sissy replies.
"My check is for $3, 200,” Lloyd says, smiling.
"Wow!” says Sissy as she smiles widely, too.
"We’re going out to dinner in town tonight.” Lloyd says, as he hugs Sissy.
Ross D. Luther (Laguna and Chippewa) is a Marine Corp veteran of the first Gulf War, and a sophomore at Haskell Indian Nations University (HINU) in Lawrence, KS. Luther moved to the area in 1998 where he is employed in facilities operations at the University of Kansas.
Luther was encouraged by Nina April, his girlfriend, and Winona Hansen, his sister, a 1993 HINU graduate, to attend college. He says, "I should have first attended some 20 odd years ago.”
"I wanted to earn a degree in American Indian Studies but since I have received a taste for writing I may lean toward a creative writing degree,” says Luther. He adds, "I got my start in the summer of 2008, when I was exposed to writing poetry and short stories by my wonderful instructor, Trish Reeves.” Luther says, "I am very thankful to her.”
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A Silent Journey
By Kathryn Aspaas
With the morning chill hitting my face and the greeting of the sun to wake me, I run towards the east. For seven consecutive days, I have run every morning at the crack of dawn, every afternoon when the sun was high in the sky, and every evening before the sun drifted below the horizon.
With nothing to offer to the morning but myself, I run. I am not alone; I have followers, young and old. I am leading the way for a good start, a blessing on those who greet the morning with me. This is a time in my life when change is happening – a good change that families honor with ceremony: A coming-of-age for young girls.
"Sweetie, it’s time to get up,” my Mom says. A slight chill in the room makes me want to stay in bed a little longer, but getting up is inevitable. The crack of dawn is my cue, and Mom knows it. Slowly I crawl out of bed and walk to the door. The chill leaves goose bumps on my body as I step outside.
"You kids get up! She’s leaving!” my aunts yell at the little kids sleeping under layers of blankets.
Starting out on my own, the peace and quiet broken by chirping birds, the sunrise in the distance is a memorable sight I will not forget.
Shortly after, and not far behind, I hear the pounding of shoes on Mother Earth and the shallow breathing of the runners behind me. Altogether, it sounds like a thunderous herd of horses. It sounds beautiful.
Up ahead lies the marker, a bright ribbon tied and gently flowing on a bush. I run towards the marker, turn clockwise and head for home. Along the way, I pass my relatives and the little ones trailing. They know to wait as I pass, so they can finish up behind me. I see the house and begin to sprint, knowing that breakfast is cooking. It is my motivation to finish.
Once home, I wait for everyone to finish the run. One by one, they arrive, faces flushed red and out of breath. The adults show signs of exhaustion, relieved to have finished, while the little ones are fully awakened with energy to spare for playtime. As everyone sits to have breakfast, I wait. Mom helps me change outfits. She pulls out a beige blouse with a floral print skirt.
"How was the run?” Mom asks as I change.
"It was longer than yesterday’s runs. Did they move the yellow marker up?” I ask.
"Your uncles moved the marker after your run last night.” She didn’t need to explain why. Every day, the longer you run, the stronger you get, mentally and physically. No one continues on the same path at the same distance.
After I put the finishing touches on my outfit, I sit to have breakfast with my family. They discuss the events to happen that day, a full agenda.
"Did you get the dry corn?” Aunt Elsie asks.
"How about the buckets? Do you have at least five?” asks another.
"Corn husks? Has anybody gotten that?” says someone else.
Question after question, each aimed at Mom, but she answers with confidence while sipping her cup of ‘Joe. I’m not focused on the conversation. Something else catches my attention: the screaming kids playing outside. I sit and watch how their imagination takes shape.
"Let’s pretend we’re playing house, I’m the mom and you’re the dad,” my niece says.
"No! Let’s pretend the ground is hot lava. If you fall or touch the ground, you’re dead,” another one says. Once they had invited me to play; what an adventure that was. It had lasted all day. We didn’t stop for any breaks.
"Kathryn, it’s noon,” Mom yells.
My imagination comes to a halt, but I am unbothered. As I head out once more, the scenery is different but the feeling is the same. A slight breeze hits my face as I run. "No pain, no gain,” I think to myself. I know I’m not the only one to experience this.
This is a female ceremony. The change is for the good; it is a bridge that a young girl crosses to become a young woman. I am halfway along the path.
Kathryn Aspaas (Navajo), 19, is a second-year liberal arts major at Haskell Indian Nations University in Lawrence, KS. She plans to become either a physical therapist or a teacher. She lives in Shiprock, NM which is located in the Navajo Nation and in the Four Corners area.
Aspaas says, "I never really expressed an interest in writing until recently. My writing started out as just assignments until I realized that writing can mean something more than that.”
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Addiction
By Melanie Howick Erickson
If you come to a crossroads,
you might see him standing there,
sunlit strands of copper hair pulled back beneath the hat
that shields his eyes.
You won’t see them yet.
He looks fine.
His dandy’s threads say style and wit.
That’s heavy gold on his fingers.
He shifts his stance and knows you’ll linger.
He’s been around a long time,
in no hurry,
always money in his pocket,
and if you can’t pay,
he’ll show you other ways
to keep you at the crossroads.
His torso, long and lean,
knows little rest.
His weathered skin creaks like leather.
Come close enough – you’re guaranteed a smile.
He mingles with the best.
His stories enrapture you,
His words like golden seeds
plant visions you never dreamed of,
but you won’t see them rot as they hit the ground.
He has no need of sleep.
He’ll take your power
to fuel his calling,
catching you up and taking you over in one giant leap.
He’s a good looking fellow.
Now you’re close enough to feel the burn of his breath,
feel the heat of his skin.
You won’t notice
the tarnish on the gold,
the skin that is old,
just feel his mood of mellow.
He reaches out and pulls you down beside him.
He’ll always make room for friends old and new.
He needs a lover like you.
You know he’ll always be faithful.
So close now,
he lifts his head.
His eyes are every color but none that you have seen before,
your own reflection revealing what you never knew,
on the lonely highway by the crossroads.
Melanie Howick Erickson grew up in England and has twin daughters. She loves working with the Boys and Girls Club youth in the Leech Lake area. Erickson takes classes at Leech Lake Tribal College which she says "has a wonderful supportive staff.” She gives a special thank you to Elaine Fleming, her tribal college instructor, "for her help and encouragement.”
Erickson says, "My main interests are history, writing, and art. My poetry is inspired by the natural world, people, and events that touch me on my life’s journey. My poems are an expression of my inner spirit.”
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Keep It Simple Stupid
By Damien Moore
The song started to play. The crowd cheered and some cried. Thousands cheered on Les Claypool. I sat on the back of the stage with some young boy I didn’t know. I figured he must have just been some Make-A-Wish kid that had cancer. You know, the kids that get one wish before they die.
We sat side by side. His eyes were a thousand miles away from reality. I could see his mom off to the side of the stage, her hand over her mouth as she cried and screamed.
I wondered if she replayed her son’s life over and over in her head, from the time she and her husband were young and full of hope and life, their faces sore from laughter. Maybe her husband would tell her lame jokes like, "How is a wife like a hurricane?” And he would tell her, "They come in wet and wild, and when they leave, they take your home.” Her husband would litter the room with roses and light candles and line the room with tumbleweeds and cover the ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stars. When the candles died, the stars would remain, and they would make love and drink ice cold Glacier water until they got brain freezes. Maybe that is what her son was made of.
You’d think that she was Les Claypool’s greatest fan, but she cried and wept for her son. She was living a whole lifetime of dreams and hopes in a short period of time. I call it "the thousand yards of pain.” Native American sun dancers and Indians and Marine Corps grunts know the meaning of these words all too well, because "you ain’t a sun dancer, an Indian or a Marine Corps grunt until you don’t want to do it anymore.”
Les Claypool started to play his bass. Every note that he played held a legacy of pain, heartbreak, happiness, loss, hopelessness, loneliness, wisdom, disaster, catastrophic nightmares, fearlessness, strength and laughter. His face was intense and smooth. His notes reverberated within the soul of everyone there. A deaf man could have heard him.
The mother ran to her son to give him a piece of cantaloupe and returned to her seat.
"Infinity – 1. Having no boundaries or limit. 2. Immeasurably great or large.” I could never fathom what infinity meant until I met a girl who made me understand. Side by side, we lived, and her loveliness was without end. It was there before I got there, and it will be there when I’m small and fade away into my small hole. She killed herself with morphine. I guess she thought I’d move on and not be waiting around for her to show herself again. At least she went out with a smile and that will always make me happy. She was infinity – that’s the word that came to mind while Les Claypool played. The way king cobra is to a flutist. They dance together, alone, dangerous.
The boy stood up and walked to the guitarist and stared into his eyes as he ate his cantaloupe. Les Claypool realized the boy was standing by him so he stopped playing, but the crowd started to boo and throw trash on stage.
Les Claypool jumped to his feet, mad, and pointed to me and told me to get off the stage. I had a backstage pass, so I complained to his manager. She told me that he was on a diet and that was why he was so grumpy.
A year later I was sleeping in my bed. I’d fallen asleep with the TV on. I started to dream and think of the word infinity. I was dreaming of the girl I’d known. I dreamed she did not care for me anymore and had forgotten about me. I was dreaming that I was watching a Les Claypool video and that he sang in the sweetest voice I have ever heard. The sweetest things come from the saddest things. He sang, "I want to go with you.”
In my dream, I laid my head in the lap of the girl I knew and we both watched the video. It was the greatest song I had ever heard. I cried and I couldn’t stop, and the girl gave me a kiss, while Les Claypool kept singing for the boy who had died of cancer.
Damien Moore (Navajo) is enrolled in the pre-engineering program at Southwestern Indian Polytechnic Institute (SIPI) in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Moore is also an active member in the American Indian Science and Engineering Society. He grew up in Flagstaff, Arizona.
Moore says, "I have worked various jobs. I drove trucks for Coca-Cola and unloaded trucks at UPS. Driving a truck for Coca-Cola mobile was a bit lonely. I had a lot of time to think. The truck had no air conditioning and only went 55 mph down the interstate in the middle of the summer. I stayed with that job for several months and avoided getting hemorrhoids. At the UPS hub, unloading trucks, I’d drink about a gallon and half of water a day to keep hydrated.”
About his studies at SIPI, he adds, "I am making a lot of positive progress.”
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Kaekoh Wēskiwat
By Guy Reiter
It all began on a fall day in September of 2006. I got up feeling refreshed. It was my 56th day of sobriety. And I decided to dedicate my life to living for my people of the Menominee Nation. I would try to live a traditional Native American lifestyle. So I felt really good that day as the toxins in my body were diminishing. I put my shoes and a sweatshirt on and grabbed my tobacco and headed out the door to greet Grandfather Sun.
The early morning air filling my lungs felt pure. Grandfather Sun was just waking up himself. I reflected on life for a little while but then started to focus on the prayer I was about to say. Because of all the poisons that I had put into my body, my mind was having a hard time focusing. It was running all over the place and I had to discipline it as if it were a little child at play. I focused it and started my prayer. I was outside for a while struggling to get my prayer out because of my wandering mind. I finally got it out and looked around at my surroundings for awhile.
The strong and noble pine trees standing in the early morning sun made my eyes fill up with tears. It seemed to me that morning was made just for my eyes to see. I thanked the Creator and headed back into the house.
After showering, I got dressed for the day. I had a few errands to run before I headed to the tribal offices to vote for our new legislators. Upon arriving, I started to think about who I was going to vote for. After I got inside, I was a little nervous because I felt like I was on a secret mission. After I finished, as I started towards my truck, I saw my cousin walking towards me.
He made a joking comment that cut me to the bone. His comment made me feel like someone grabbed my heart and started to squeeze. I held in my tears as I jumped into my truck. As I started to pull away, I knew I had to go pray to the Creator some more.
I thought about where I wanted to go. I needed a place that would get me closer to the Creator. My first thought was Keshena Falls so I started towards there. As I got closer to my destination, my thoughts changed and I felt that Spirit Rock on Hwy 55 would be a better place. I
kept going north on Hwy 55 when I felt that my spirit was being directed yet somewhere else. My spirit was being pulled to a place out in the woods by the river.
I pulled in, knowing that this was the place I was supposed to be. I got out among the trees and walked a short distance towards the river. Grandfather Sun was sitting in mid-sky and was shining with all his wisdom. I sat by a big pine directly in the sunlight and grabbed the tobacco pouch out of my pocket. I put some tobacco in my hand and proceeded to talk to the Creator about what was troubling me. I told him what had happened, and with my heart and eyes full of pain, I explained to him that if this was the life I was to lead then I would need a sign. I told him everything that I needed to say and placed my tobacco by a tree. I then lay down to wait for my sign.
I tried to listen to the river to hear if she had anything to say to me, but it just kept going about its business. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. I had some powerful thoughts. I lay there for awhile, my patience growing slim. I was getting restless and thought that nothing was going to happen when all of a sudden I heard a scream directly behind me. I paid it no mind and kept on waiting for my sign. I heard the sound again and this time it was directly to the left of me, which was east. I thought that this was it. This was my sign, whatever animal was making this soundwanted me to see it. My heart filled with excitement that my prayer was being answered.
I got up and headed toward where the sound came from. I started to get excited as I got closer, and it took all I had not to run. I got to the place where I thought I had heard the sound from but nothing was there. I then heard the sound again, and it sounded like it was over by my truck. I walked there and waited for the sound again. As I looked around my truck, something caught the corner of my eye. At the base of a tree I saw something that looked like a calf.
I got scared for a second but my fear diminished as I started to realize what it was. Upon further inspection I noticed four little puppies. My heart exploded with joy. Everything in my body told me that this was my sign. I could barely contain my excitement. My immediate
thought was to take all four puppies, but a memory from the past came into my head. It was something my elders used to tell me. They said, "Never take more than you need.” I knew I had to take one, but I didn’t know which one.
I tried to call the puppies, but none responded. I knelt down and patted my leg as if to say, "I am your friend. Don’t be afraid.” There was an all-white puppy that looked very noble, and I thought, that’s the one, but it got up and went to the south side of the tree opposite of where I was standing. There was an all-black one that sat at the east side of the tree. A reddish-brown one sat on the west side of the tree. That left a yellowish-white pup sitting directly in front of me, on the north side of the tree. I still didn’t know which one to take.
At that moment I heard an eagle over my head. I didn’t look up to confirm this; I just knew what it was. I was still thinking about my decision when a crow came and sat in the top of the tree right next to me. The crow started cawing loudly at me. A chipmunk ran up the other tree next to me and faced its body downward and made eye contact with me. That chipmunk also started chirping at me. It was as if they were telling me to take the puppy that was right in front of me.
Just then the other puppies huddled together and moved away from the tree, leaving the yellowish-white pup behind. The crow and chipmunk were really getting after me, and so I decided to take their advice and take the pup. I grabbed some tobacco out of my pouch, and upon picking up the puppy I placed my tobacco in its place. The crow stopped cawing and flew away. The chipmunk also quit chirping, climbed down the tree, and went back into the forest. I was so overjoyed about what had just happened. I put the pup in my truck and headed for home.
I couldn’t believe it but when we traveled a ways down the road, the puppy let out that sound I had heard when I was sitting waiting for my sign. It confirmed to me just how special the dog was and that there was a higher power that cared about me. I knew that this dog was my sign, my gift from the Creator. I couldn’t do anything but just cry because of the relationship that the Creator and I were starting. He showed me by that episode that he loved me and he would be there for me.
This little dog has touched me on so many different levels. Sometimes when I think about it I still can’t believe it. I decided to call him "Kaekoh Weskiwat,” which in Menominee means "Something Good.” Most people just call him Weski and that’s OK, but to me he’s something good. It’s a real joy in my life to see him every day. He is much more than a dog to me. I treat him as if he is my little brother because I know he is. He is my gift.
Guy Reiter (Menominee), also known as Anahkwat which means "cloudy skies,” lives on the Menominee Reservation. He is studying to become a counselor in the Alcohol and Drug Counselor (AODA) program at College of Menominee Nation (CMN) in Keshena, WI. Reiter says, "I got clean and sober about three years ago and picked up writing in my recovery.” He finds writing therapeutic.
After graduation from CMN, he plans to work at a treatment center on his reservation. He says, "I highly value my Menominee traditions and culture.” Reiter says, "I try to live a traditional Menominee lifestyle close to Mother Earth as best as I can in this modern world.”