In this interview with FACE, Buffy discusses song composition, 1980s technology and Big Bird.

Composing a Dream

I was about three years old when a piano became my toy, and I com-posed my first song around then. Since it was play for me, I just did it until the song was the way I liked it. I’m still the same way.

Music composition is my passion, or my superhobby, so I get right into it and can’t get it out of my head. I experience the song internally, like a 360-degree movie. The emotion, the story, the characters, the instrumentation, the melody and harmonies and effects, and the mood are all of a sudden there in my head. Different songs lead me in different ways. I usually record a song pretty much the way I first hear and see it in my head.

It became easier for me to capture that initial internal movie in a recording once I had my home studio [in the early 1980s]. It used to be frustrating to hear my songs filtered through the tastes of record companies’ A&R people, engineers, producers, other musicians; and I’m much more satisfied using my own ears and my own hands on the recording equipment. Other people meant well but music is so personal, it’s easy for somebody else to inaccurately portray something that’s basically a dream!

Coincidence and Likely Stories was my best album. It was the first one where people could hear the songs the way that I heard them in my head. [In 1992,] it was also the first album to be delivered via the internet, and I just knew that others would do it this way in the future. I felt pretty Star Treky.

I like to record a song idea immediately. I usually play with it alone and I only keep going on the ones that continue to intrigue me. Later, when I feel like going on the road, I work with a co-producer and we re-record, overdub, whip ’em into shape, but I always follow the original idea. My co-producer, Chris Birkett, and I take turns engineering for each other and making lunch. We get along real well.

The composition I completed the quickest was the music for “God Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot.” The lyrics of that song are two pages of text from Leonard Cohen’s book Beautiful Losers. I put the book on the music stand and made up the melody in front of the recording microphone. Many of my songs I find almost complete in my head, then I go record them. But “Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee” took about thirteen years.

Pioneering Digital Technology

I started composing with a Mac computer in 1984. It was very simple compared to the electronic instruments I had been using in the 1960s and 1970s. Utilizing computer software is beneficial in its ability to save multiple versions. As well, it provides the unlimited palette of sounds that I create from my own voice or outside sources, like orchestral, imagined and natural-world sounds and pre-recorded samples like crickets, coyotes and water.

If I hear a heartbreaking solo violin or electric guitar in my head, then I can play a demo digital version of what I’m going for. I’m not good at explaining to other musicians the things I hear in my head but I can come real close by playing them myself in the context of the song. Then I can confidently ask a great player to replace my cheesy attempt with something better in the same ballpark.

[In the 1970s] I committed folk music heresy by travelling around with a SynthAxe, one of the first synth guitars, and I did concerts in Europe, which everybody loved, using the first Roland MIDI guitar, the beautiful silver trapezoid one, which connected to a pedal board and enabled me to bring in strings and other invisible sounds when I was alone onstage. I got a lot of snotty remarks from other musicians who were not yet ready for electronic or digital instruments. Pioneering in digital art and music threatened almost everybody at first. Critics acted as if we smartasses were trying to replace traditional paints and acoustic instruments, but the few of us who were using them were just adding to the menu of available tools. I still love them all!

All-Aboriginal Bandmates

During my solo years, I was mostly a one-man band, doing occasional groups of concerts with hired musicians. I’ve written and recorded so many different kinds of songs that I’ve had several bands, depending on the style of music they could do. It used to be hard to find musicians who weren’t locked in to one style: rock, country, folk, jazz, love songs. There’s sometimes a rigid kind of small-town snobbery from guys who only play one style; and schooled sidemen who can tech-nically play anything can lack real passion and it all sounds like TV.

Record companies and radio stations created narrower genres and playlists, which were sort of divisive and added to the snobbery. The internet has widened the available playlist and now everybody can hear excellence in all styles, which is good for everybody, I think, especially somebody like me.

The solo days were wonderful for sharing some of my songs, but solo acoustic concerts are not nearly as much fun as sharing the stage with a band. My new bandmates are all Aboriginal, which gives a special power to the show. I know that every person onstage with me knows what the songs are about, and it gives a passion to the music that you can feel. They’re all professional, a lot of fun, really supportive, and they deserve a lot of credit.

My band and I rehearse a lot before a tour, and during sound checks
we go over anything that any of us want to practise. My theory is that, with professionals, it isn’t how good you are when you’re good; it’s how good you are when you’re bad that counts.

Fellow Musicians

The Gipsy Kings, when they were teenagers and before they were the Gipsy Kings, were my favourite musicians to play with. God, it was fun! Hot! I sang with them and their uncle, the flamenco guitar player Manitas de Plata, in the 1960s in the basement of a theatre in Amsterdam, where we were doing a show for UNICEF. I also liked Chet Atkins, who loved my songs and used to fall asleep playing his guitar.

It’s great to have accomplished singers record my songs. What a com-pliment, to have other singers like my songs enough to take them into their very different lives and give them to their audiences in a brand-new forms. Neko Case. Janis Joplin. Quicksilver Messenger Service. Cam’ron. So many great artists.

The only song I’ve ever written specifically hoping another artist would do it is “To the Ends of the World” from my new CD [Running for the Drum]. The melody had popped into my head years before and I had written it as a brass quartet instrumental; but when I finally “heard” the words, it felt like an Aaron Neville song and I went with that feel. My version of the song on Running for the Drum is like a demo; Aaron would sing it a lot better than I do.

Breast Feeding and Big Bird

Working on Sesame Street was one of the most wonderful things that I’ve ever done, easy as pie and usually hilarious, a real privilege. They appreciated the Native American input I provided—as well as my ideas for the breastfeeding episode. They never tried to stereotype me and taught me a lot, including the valuable discipline of focussed, engaging scripts necessary for short attention spans. I still keep in touch with some of the cast members. My favourite characters are Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch, who are both played by Caroll Spinney.

[At first] they had invited me on to count from one to ten but I turned it down, as I was busy with serious grassroots issues. But before we hung up, I asked whether they had ever done any Native American programming and they said no. They called me back in a few days and said, “Let’s do it.” Most shows were done in New York City, but for my first show we went to Taos Pueblo in New Mexico, and once they all came to my backyard in Hawaii for a multicultural show.

The only thing challenging in the five years that I was involved with Sesame Street was doing two shows a day with a toddler on my hip. I was exhausted all the time.

Two Great Honours

Truthfully, my greatest honour was something outside of showbiz: it was receiving my Cree name, and later my Blackfoot name.

But regarding honours in the big music world: I really loved the Juno Hall of Fame tribute, which CARAS [the Canadian Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences] and Elaine Bomberry of Six Nations created: so many dancers, and traditional singers Stoney Park, and folk singers, and on and on—unforgettable!

Running for the Drum

Running for the Drum is the maturation of the themes and styles that I love the most, but it’s true to the diverse nature of how I see the world through songs.

I really loved working with Chris Birkett for the third time, making Running for the Drum. I had loved those songs and the powwow samples—from the Black Lodge Singers when they were kids on “Cho Cho Fire” and from Whitefish Jrs. on “Working for the Government”—for years before I released the songs on a record, and I just couldn’t wait to get them out to the public.

Running For the Drum was released in July 2009 and won the 2010 Juno for Aboriginal Recording of the Year.

Order Running for the Drum and check out Buffy’s July 2010 Canadian tour dates on her website,

www.creative-native.com

Buffy Sainte-Marie and Martha Fred onstage in Port Alberni, 1974. Buffy is drawing the winning raffle ticket for the Japanese glass fishing float that Martha beaded and raffled off at Buffy’s show.

Photo: Robert Soderlund.

During the Olympics, Michal Kozlowski and I searched for Janet Rogers at the Aboriginal Artisan Village and Business Showcase, housed at Vancouver Community College, just across the road from the Aboriginal Pavilion. The hosts and hostesses from the four tribes who partnered for this even were impressive, and wherever First Nations people were involved, I was treated with great respect.

It turned out that Janet Rogers was working as stage manager for a small stage stuck in the midst of many noisy arts and crafts booths. Michal and I were invited to relax in the staff lounge, and then, after a short meeting with Janet, we attended her spoken word performance.

The venue worked against her, as it was far too busy and noisy, but despite all of this, Janet’s performance was magnificent. I became an instant fan of Janet Rogers.

This story is about Janet Rogers’s latest CD, Firewater, but it is also about connections. It’s a small world. Michal once reviewed a poetry book by Shane Koyczan. Janet Rogers wrote a story about Morris Bates, which appears in this issue of FACE.

I recently called up Morris Bates and I had to leave him a voice mail message. To humour him I sang a couple bars of “Blue Suede Shoes.” When he returned my call he asked me, “What did you do with the money?” I asked, “What money?” He responded, “The money for singing lessons!” We both busted up laughing. He said it was the oldest joke in Vegas. I know I don’t have a good singing voice but I believe I have a voice suitable for reciting poetry, and Firewater tempts me to try my hand at producing a spoken word CD.

I am not sure, though, that I can be as creative as Janet Rogers. On Firewater, she shows off her writing abilities as a poet and her talents as a producer. She uses many audio effects that all add to her poems.

“Distraction” almost makes me jump to clean dust off the needle, as it begins with what sounds like a record player needle skipping along over a record. Then it slides into an orchestral organ sound, with her voice leading up to a thought-provoking statement about anthropologists. In the background, she uses a loud whispering voice to say along with herself, “Where are we now?” Then her broad statements about where we are now end with her finding someone on the fringe.

“The God Awful Truth” is really wild. It begins with a hint of rap, and then, using voice synthesis, she delivers her poem.

Every time you listen to Firewater you will gain something else from it. It’s everything an entertaining CD should be—it’s fun, wild, emotional, insightful, sexy and brilliant. My favourite piece is “Something for the Tongue.” Janet uses many different voices on this CD and her voice on this track is sweet as chocolate.

To order Firewater, contact Janet Rogers at www.janetmarierogers.com.

Running for the Drum renewed my love for her music, and my goal now is to collect everything Buffy recorded. She was so prolific that I am going to be a busy man seeking out all of her albums—she recorded fifteen between1964 and 1976 alone.

The CD: “No No Keshagesh” provides a concert feel and a rocking start for Running for the Drum. Buffy likes to educate people and these lyrics are loaded with meaning. My favourite line is, “Ole Columbus he was looking good, / When he got lost in our neighbourhood.”

“Cho Cho Fire” is a mix of driving rock interspersed with the traditional sounds of drumbeats and chanting. There are few performers who can do this mix this well. Buffy takes advantage of her band and backup singers on these first two songs. “Listen to the drumbeat . . . That’s my heartbeat.”

“Working for the Government” is another danceable mix of traditional chanting and beats, but the traditional sounds are more prevalent in this song than in “Cho Cho Fire.” Then the music mellows but the lyrics continue to hit home with “Little Wheel Spin and Spin,” which nearly creates a clash between a sweet singing voice and the hard-hitting words. The guitar triplets on “Too Much is Never Enough” enhance the message in this song. By now I am realizing every song on this album has a strong message.

I can visualize the audience swaying when Buffy and her band are playing “To the Ends of the World.” And then we’re getting downright jazzy and soulful when we get to “When I Had You.” Many musicians claim really slow songs are the most difficult to play, but Buffy and her band display their professionalism with this tune.

Now we’re back into rocking, with Taj Mahal tickling the piano keys and adding a blues feeling to “I Bet My Heart on You.” “Blue Sunday” is like another clash, with soulful moans and a story about her baby leaving her set against a foot-stomping beat. I love it! Then the album slows down again for “Easy Like the Snow Falls Down.” Buffy has such a unique voice and beautifully sustained notes in this song.

Canadians love Buffy as a Canadian; Americans love Buffy as an American. On this album, the first hint of Buffy as an American is in her Southern twang at the beginning of “America the Beautiful.” I got a sense of Buffy’s strong character when I listened to the lyrics of this song. She was tagged as a potential enemy of the state in the 1960s, but this has never phased her. Canadians share Buffy with America and that’s okay.

Finally, you wanted folk, you got folk with the exiting song, “Still This Love Goes On.”

The DVD: Don’t be fooled—blind guys like me can enjoy DVDs. How? It’s simple: my wife describes them to me.

We both enjoyed Buffy’s DVD, Buffy Sainte-Marie: A Multimedia Life. The documentary reveals Buffy’s thoughts and feelings about her life as a star, educator, philanthropist, mother, farmer and mate. The most memorable remark my wife made was, “Her eyes really sparkle.” To me, this speaks much about Buffy’s state of mind.

I saw Alfred and his band, Shun Dun, perform at the Vancouver Winter Olympics at two venues. The
first was in Surrey, where Alfred performed only one song at a Northern showcase (he now lives in Pelly
Crossing, Yukon). The second was in downtown Vancouver at the Aboriginal Pavilion, where he
performed for a half hour. This was far too short. Man, what a rocking band. Every musician in the band is super accomplished, and together they make music for dancing. Speaking of dancing—a dance troupe consisting of six young dancers performed with Alfred and his band. Look out, Jerry Alfred is back.

This book is a collection of Wagamese’s finest musings and recollections, including wisdom like “When you walk the territory of your being, the truth is everywhere around you.”  Life is inspiring and reminds you that if you can read, you can learn to do just about anything. As well, it was amazing to see how many lifetimes Wagamese has lived in this one: reporter, broadcaster, apprentice bannock maker, professional listener, and now storyteller and acclaimed author.

One Native Life is like a cup of cherished tea. You’ll want to sip it slowly.

One of my favourite Richard Wagamese works is Dream Wheels—a great novel that is also about family and mending. I’d suggest both of these works, to read a fine novel and to read about the man it took to write it.

When so much money is put toward Aboriginal programs, why is there so much poverty in Aboriginal communities? When Aboriginal rights and title have been won in Canadian courts, and are embedded in the Canadian Constitution, why do Aboriginal people have little access to resources? Why, in most communities, is the band government the only business in town? Why is there minimal, if any, accountability and transparency in Aboriginal bureaucracies?

Disrobing the Aboriginal Industry reveals some of the answers to these questions. Chapter 1 opens with an illustration of a dentist who is able to afford a ski vacation because he performed a single root canal. The joke leads to this eye-opening statement:

There is, however, a socially accepted industry that provides a product, the consumption of which actively increases the need for more. It is funded by Canadians through labour exploitation and taxation, and it is highly profitable. The Aboriginal Industry is an amalgamation of lawyers, consultants, anthropologists, linguists, accountants, and other occupations that thrive on aboriginal dependency.

The Aboriginal Industry is huge. Besides outside advisors, negotiators, lawyers, researchers, accountants, engineers, lobbyists, economic-development experts, biologists, anthropologists, archaeologists and consultants, there are educators, many kinds of institutions, Aboriginal departments within government departments, and specialty agencies. Many of these people work within Aboriginal bureaucracies.

Widdowson and Howard are, admittedly, part of the Aboriginal Industry, and they make some bold and blunt statements in this book. Some are admirable, some statements need questioning. Perhaps it is best that non-Aboriginal writers took on this project, as the book is honest to the point where it makes one’s blood boil. And although it is an informative read, the academic tone can frustrate readers. A friend who managed to read the entire book said that she needed to have a dictionary handy to understand it all.

Is there value in reading this book? Yes! The analysis of the Aboriginal Industry hits the nail on the head of this massive, endemic problem, and Canadian taxpayers and Aboriginal people must come to terms with the Aboriginal Industry before any positive change can occur. Now we need a book that outlines a reasonable means to rectify the horrible mess of the Aboriginal Industry.

Is there hope? The sheer number of people involved in the Aboriginal Industry makes hope seem impossible. Although nothing is impossible, the greatest barrier to improvement is that many First Nations leaders have bought in to the Aboriginal Industry. Therefore, the first step for rectification is a no-brainer: dismantle Indian and Northern Affairs Canada. The second step is to dismantle all Aboriginal bureaucracies except the band governments. Until these steps are taken, any mutterings about self-government are meaningless.

Meetings form the nucleus of activity in the Aboriginal Industry. There are zillions of meetings all across Canada for all kinds of purposes. There are one-on-one meetings, staff meetings, management meetings, strategic meetings, community meetings, backroom meetings, band meetings, treaty meetings, resource meetings, and many kinds of negotiations with many groups and many agencies. Honoraria recipients are referred to as head nodders in the endless cycle of meetings. Often meetings are attended without anyone reporting back to membership about what the meetings were about.

The oligarchy form of government forced on Aboriginal people does not work. Small governing groups do not allow for power to balance through opposition parties. Democracy ends on reservations when the election ballots are cast.

How can tribes spend more money than they received from non-Aboriginal governments? Deficits are commonplace. Some wage levels in band and tribal council offices are enviable. Why do tribes and tribal councils need such large staffs with such large salaries? It’s a by-product of maintaining the Aboriginal Industry.

The Aboriginal Industry is powerful. Many participants do not realize they are part of the industry. Well-meaning individuals are elected with the intention of doing good for their people. Many are altruistic, with honest hearts, but the lure of the Aboriginal Industry can alter their ideals and negate positive change. These people need an income and they have families to support. It is sad to watch a person’s character degrade under this influence. I have heard of many “sunset clauses,” where non-Aboriginal people are supposed to work themselves out of a job, but this rarely happens. I have heard of non-Aboriginal bureaucrats puffing out their chests because they feel their Aboriginal clientele cannot survive without them. I even heard of one manager who went as far as to claim that his Aboriginal constituents are “lucky” to have him. Of course there are effective non-Aboriginal people working for bands and tribal councils, but they make up a minority of the Aboriginal Industry.

Everyone can point out one or two positive improvements throughout the country as a result of the Aboriginal Industry, but there is no excuse for poverty in any Aboriginal community. The Aboriginal Industry avoids reasonable means of measuring success— otherwise there would be a large turnover of staff and advisors in Aboriginal bureaucracies. In most cases, budgets come from taxpayers. Thus, leaders are not accountable to their members; they are accountable to the agencies that write their cheques and that have their own political goals for shaping band organization. This structure appears in the largest national organization and continues down to the smallest tribe. Individual local programs have little leeway for development. Funds must be spent according to funding criteria, and funding programs and rules continuously change. Do these complications exist to create the need for non- Aboriginal advisors and experts?

Disrobing the Aboriginal Industry makes it evident that the Aboriginal Industry is complex. And although Widdowson and Howard themselves are part of a dominate colonizing group (they speak about a “civilized” culture, do not understand the complexities of any First Nation culture and convey their cultural ideals as superior), don’t let this stop you from reading, even if it makes you angry. For positive change to occur in Aboriginal communities, the Aboriginal Industry must be understood.

Read this book. Get your blood boiling—it’s a great cardiac exercise. Then let FACE know your thoughts.

The Canadian Taxpayers Federation launched a website that outlines how Band Members can learn Council salaries and obtain audit documents. www.reservetransparency.ca.

Where People Feast received well-deserved accolades and publicity. Dolly and her daughter, Annie, were gracious about the praise for their cookbook, but they were accustomed to such honours. They successfully operated Liliget Feast House, on Davie Street in Vancouver, and Dolly won an Iron Chef competition in 2004. Yes, she can cook.

Dolly also operated a catering company called Just Like Grandma’s Bannock, and bannock is one of the delectable highlights of her cookbook. It was famous at her restaurant. Dolly once told me that she and Annie quit counting the portions of bannock they had served when they hit about 700,000. That’s a lot of bannock. Served with a wild berry jam, it’s to die for! The Liliget Feast House is now closed so, unfortunately, we can no longer enjoy Dolly and Annie’s cuisine served in the elegant atmosphere designed by Arthur Erickson, the world-famous architect. But the recipes in Where People Feast are much like the food served at the restaurant.

FACE promotes food security, and this includes the 100-Mile Diet. Dolly and Annie make it clear that Native people of this continent practised this diet for centuries. The recipes are nutritious without needing to go into the details of vitamins, minerals, cholesterol, fat, protein and all those other scientific contents. Aboriginal people of this land were healthy because their food was healthy and bountiful. Not only that, the food was delicious.

Just the names of the recipes in this book will whet your appetite and convince you to check your cupboards for ingredients so you can get right down to preparing one or two of them: venison roast with juniper berry rub, huckleberry glazed duck, and clam chowder. And you might think smoked salmon mousse, Indian tacos, blackberry-glazed beets and wild rice pancakes sound unusual, but they are guaranteed to treat your taste buds.

Wild Blueberry Cobbler

The wild berries in this recipe have a sweet, slightly tart flavor. Serve warm with vanilla
ice cream and caramel sauce.
¾ cup buttermilk
1 large egg, beaten
2¼ cups all-purpose flour
3 tbsp white sugar
1 tbsp baking powder
½ tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
¼ cup butter
¾ cup white sugar
½ tsp ground nutmeg
½ tsp cinnamon
2 envelopes unflavored gelatin (¼ oz/7 g each)
¼ cup boiling water
5 cups wild blueberries
Preheat oven to 375°F (190°C). In a bowl, combine buttermilk, egg, flour, 3 tbsp sugar,
baking powder, baking soda, and salt, and mix well. Cut in butter and set aside. In
another bowl, combine ¾ cup sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, and gelatin, and mix, then set
aside. In a saucepan on high heat, combine water and 2½ cups of the blueberries and
bring to a boil. Add gelatin mixture, then reduce heat to low and simmer for 7 minutes,
stirring continually. Remove from heat, then add remainder of berries. Spread mixture
into an 8x8x2-in (20x20x5-cm) baking dish. Spoon dough evenly on top of berries.
Bake for 25 minutes uncovered, or until golden brown, then cover with a lid or tinfoil
and bake for an additional 10 minutes. Remove from oven and let cool completely,
then refrigerate for 3 hours to allow berries to set.

Makes 10 servings.

To purchase a copy of Dolly and Annie’s cookbook, and to read more about Where People Feast and the restaurant, visit their website, www.wherepeoplefeast.com.

"Shaman and Many Fish" and "Man Changes to Thunderbird, Panel 13"

Norval Morrisseau was born in 1931 in Fort William, known today as part of Thunder Bay, Ontario, and as was customary, his maternal grandparents raised him. His grandfather Potan taught him Anishinabe traditions and legends, and seeded a passionate desire within Morrisseau to preserve these traditions of his people. At age seven Morrisseau entered into a government-mandated residential school program, where he experienced physical, mental and sexual abuses. At age thirteen he did not return to school, and instead, he became a student of his grandfather’s traditional teachings. Around this time Morrisseau first exhibited the alcoholic tendencies that burdened him later in life.

As a young adult with a natural talent for art, Morrisseau depicted the traditions and legends of his people within his paintings and drawings. His art was initially controversial, as many people in his family and community felt it was taboo to share their traditions with non-Natives. Yet Morrisseau felt it was necessary to preserve his culture.

Family

When Morrisseau believed he had been poisoned by the mother of a woman he had spurned, he visited a traditional medicine woman who cared for him and gave him his spirit name, Ozaawaabiko-binesi, which translates as Copper Thunderbird. He signed his work using Cree syllabics that his former wife, Harriet, had taught him.

In the early 1960s Morrisseau met Selwyn Dewdney, an anthropologist studying petroglyphs, and Morrisseau became a source of information for him. Dewdney, also an artist, became a mentor and friend to Morrisseau. Dewdney assisted Morrisseau with his career and edited his book Legends of My People. In August 1962 Morrisseau met an art dealer named Jack Pollock, and Pollock was so impressed by the young man’s work that he arranged a solo exhibition for him in Toronto. Morrisseau sold out his first exhibition at the Pollock Gallery.

Looking Through Portals

Norval Morrisseau (1931–2007). Photo: Bryant Ross, Coghlan Art.

Although he experienced periods of sobriety, Morrisseau struggled with alcoholism for much of his career while he continued to paint and garner accolades, including the Order of Canada in 1978. After he became homeless in 1987, Morrisseau met a young man named Gabor Vadas in the East Hastings district of Vancouver. Morrisseau adopted Vadas as his son within the Ojibway tradition, and

Vadas eventually became the artist’s business manager. Over time, Vadas and Morrisseau created a family together, and some believe that their relationship saved both of their lives and resulted in the greatest output of Morrisseau’s work over the span of his career.

In the mid-1990s Morrisseau’s health began to decline, and he was eventually diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. In 2005 and 2006 he became the first Canadian Aboriginal artist to have a solo exhibition at the National Gallery of Canada. In 2007 Norval Morrisseau passed away from complications arising from his Parkinson’s disease.

As the daylight softens, I sit cross-legged in a soft, overstuffed chair of memories, listening to Blackfoot stories told by my grandma and mother. Encircled by an audience of cats, who understand my grandma’s language and heart. Black cats; orange cats; yellow cats; striped, spotted tabby cats wearing unwashed fur faces. I hold one kitten tightly, awkwardly, as it purrs. Grandma Fanny talks of the Buffalo Days, stories of hard times, and long-lost memories of ancient people.

She tells of animal-skin teepees pitched along river bottoms—for shelter from cold, frozen winters— where raiding and hunting parties of warriors abounded. Herds of horses were strapped to travoispole harnesses, ready to carry camp equipment, Elders and small children wherever game was to be found. The people used brightly painted parfleche suitcases to carry food of dried pemmican, animal fat, saskatoon berries, chokecherry cakes, dried mint leaves, roots, herbs and old trader tea.

Grandma Fanny talks on and on, in tongue clicks, whispered pauses and gestures of sign language. History comes to life in her newborn grey eyes that once glistened young and brown. My grandma is old and blessed for having lived a long life. Today, she is young in heart and laughter.

My grandma sits, poised in her long, dark blue flowered dress and corn yellow apron. Her long, thin, white braids hang loosely tied to each other at the ends (this is what tradition calls for), a sign of her place as a holy, respected Elder.

Her tan-colored skin is beautifully aged for her eighty-six years. Blue-green glass bead earrings and elk-tooth necklace bespeak her femininity. Skeletonboned hands with rounded, collapsed beauty; spindly knotted knuckles tell of her strength as a child survivor of people who came to Earth long ago.

I motion to my grandma with my hand. “This kitten can’t stop crying.”

“Bring him to me.” She holds him, studying his face and eyes. She uses the black eyedropper top of a small, brown glass bottle to give him medicine. “He’s sick. His head hurts. His mother got killed on the road. A car ran her over.” She wets a soft cloth with water from a cup on the table beside her bed and washes his face.