Dancing to Remember

by Terra Trevor 

I am gathered with friends and family under a bead blue sky. Powwow weekend. Santa Ynez Chumash Inter-Tribal. My shawl is folded over my arm. I listen to the wind, spilling through the tree leaves. Time merges with timelessness. Memories circle and carry me to a day forty years ago, when I stood on this good land, near the oak tree for the first time, with my young children gathered about. 

The same tree I am standing under today. I lean my back against this oak. This tree, giver of life. She has raised a community with song, dance and prayer. We return to this land, to this tree, in October every year. Laughter, flirting and romance in lives young and old take place all around her. She stands sentry. Her autumn softened leaves, swept up from a cool mountain breeze, fall gently on American Indian fathers holding sleeping babies. Mothers trading stories, their shiny cut beads reflecting light while braiding their children’s hair, with feathers in the colors of the earth, trailing. 

There were difficult times too for this oak tree, when she witnessed wild fires raging, drought years with dust rising against the clear sky. The times when her branches sheltered human arguments and angry outbursts, but mostly she is surrounded by love and caring. 

I stand high upon a flat rock, my eyes roaming, taking in the day, the years. Filling my lungs with sweet fragrances of the damp Mother Earth. Feeling my body grow light, like the feathers of the red tail hawk touching the soft clouds. 

For the record I am not California Indian. I am mixed-blood Cherokee, Lenape, Seneca, and for forty years I have lived near a creek in an area that makes up the traditional Chumash homeland. I’m walking gently, a guest on this good land and I hold the culture, traditions and history of the Chumash people in my heart. For my Chumash friends this is their landscape of time. 

I remember the words of my aunties, my grandmother, about how each person is a link to history and that when it comes to powwows all Native people gathered around the arena are participating as we form a circle around the drums, singers and dancers. And how every Native person gathered is connected, making a statement that American Indian people are still here. This is our celebration of life past, present and future. 

First published in the Spring 2019, vol. 2, issue 3 of News From Native California, a quarterly magazine devoted to California's Indian peoples. This essay also appears in We Who Walk the Seven Ways: A Memoir by Terra Trevor.

Copyright © Terra Trevor. All rights reserved.

Terra Trevor is the author of We Who Walk the Seven Ways (University of Nebraska Press). She is a contributor to fifteen books in Native studies, Native literature, nonfiction and memoir. Her essays have appeared in numerous anthologies and literary journals including, Tending the Fire: Native Voices and Portraits (University of New Mexico Press), Children of the Dragonfly: Native American Voices on Child Custody and Education (The University of Arizona Press), The People Who Stayed: Southeastern Indian Writing After Removal (University of Oklahoma Press), Unpapered: Writers Consider Native American Identity and Cultural Belonging (University of Nebraska Press), Voices Confronting Pediatric Brain Tumors (Johns Hopkins University Press), Take A Stand: Art Against Hate: A Raven Chronicles Anthology, and in numerous other books. Of mixed descent, including Cherokee, Lenape, Seneca and German, her stories are steeped in themes of place and belonging, and are shaped and infused by her identity as a mixed-blood, and her connection to the landscape. She is the founding editor of River, Blood, And Corn Literary Journal. terratrevor.com

Tomol Evening: California's Indigenous People

by Terra Trevor 

 

When I return from Limuw—Santa Cruz Island, at first I only want natural light. It is past ten when I rinse the salt water from my hair. Moonlight falls from the open window, a flood of light from above. 

I am still under the influence of sea tides springing strong. 

I came to spend four days and nights on the island, to let come what may. I want to be helpful to my friend, eighty now and a deeply loved and respected, elder. Sometimes she needs a tiny bit of help fetching things and getting from here to there. I’m learning as she teaches me how to be helpful and grow old in a beautify way. 

Used to be, when you walked on the island of Santa Cruz and looked around, all the land you could see was Chumash Indian land. The island was once home to the largest population of island Chumash with a highly developed complex society and life ways. 

Marine harvest and trade with the mainland. Island Chumash produced shells beads used as currency. Grasses and roots for making baskets and other necessities for living were there for the taking. And so, apparently was the land. 

Historical records show that by 1853 a large herd of sheep was brought to the island. The Civil War significantly increased the demand for wool and by 1864 some 24,000 sheep over grazed the hills and valleys of Santa Cruz Island. Some of the early buildings from sheep ranching still stand. Now, instead of sheep for the next four days the island is again filled with Indians. 

We have come to honor the Chumash peoples' annual channel crossing from the mainland to the Channel Islands. A camp village is put up, where basket making, cordage making, song, prayer and storytelling take place. On day one we are about fifty Indians gathered. By Saturday, the day the Tomol arrives, there will be nearly two hundred of us, and the quote “a single bracelet does not jangle alone” describes us. The connectedness we have to each other is so much a part of our lives, it can’t be distinguished from our lives. 

For the record, I am not Chumash. I’m of mixed-blood Cherokee, Lenape, Seneca, German descent. Yet for 40 years I lived in an area that made up the traditional Chumash homeland. I hold the culture, traditions and history of the Chumash people in my heart. For my Chumash friends this is their heritage, their landscape of time. 

There’s real power here. When we leave the campsite village and walk to the rim of the island first there is silence. Raven and Sea Gulls at the waters edge dip and wheel and dive. Under a sky turned pink we go for a sunset swim. With much island and ocean and so few people there is the lazy wag of space. I float in the sea with my head surrounded by gulls and fledglings. 

At dawn we wake to sunrise singers. A high sweet trill of voices, abalone beads swaying, carrying songs from the ancestors. The singers are letting us know it is time to gather for sunrise ceremony. 

Next we wait for the paddlers to arrive. I stand with others on the shore and feel the sun rise from my heart. I’ve known two of the paddlers, a male and a female crewmember, since they were babies, and I’ve watched them grow to strong, beautiful, kind and responsible, young adults. Now I’m a sixty three year old grandmother, moving toward elderhood and I know the world that I will one day leave behind is in good hands. 

If only in my mind I am again back in 1997, back when these two young paddlers where small kids and the Santa Barbara County American Indian Education Project began the series “Tomol Trek.” After much hard work, the project put together an academy with federal (Title V) funding and the year’s final outcome produced a modern-day recreation of a tomol. Our modern-day tomol was built by the children under the guidance of Peter Howorth, in his backyard tomol building workshop. 

There was a perfect balance between master and apprentice as the children sanded pieces of the vessel throughout construction. A dozen hands move slowly across the handle, moving towards the paddle end of an oar. Small hands, young hands, skin so smooth and maroon, peach-colored hands, muted brown, every child with a tribal memory circling her or his heart. 

Remembrance weighs heavy on my mind, as it does for most Native people seeking to affirm cultural identity in a high-tech world. There is a comfort in being with those who understand. Our kids did not have to trade in their Indian values for education; the project carried ancient memory and cultural knowledge into their lives today. 

And now two of those children—now grown, are making the crossing. The paddlers leave the mainland at three a.m. There will be a careful change of crew three times. The moment the paddlers in the Tomol come into view my heart breaks open and I’m ageless and timeless and feel the welcome arms of the ancestors. The Tomol is brought forth from the sea and there is song and prayer. 

Photo by Terra Trevor

Back at camp we prepare dinner, while island fox keep a steady eye trained on us. A near Harvest moon rises. We eat, talk, joke, and tell stories of past crossings to the island, and “the old ways” moving through our evening together like dancers, stirring to the same rhythm. All of the people, the paddlers and those that help make the crossing and camp village possible, are honored. 

The day fades into liquid dusk and moonlight. Time is a continuous loop until our stay on the island comes to a full circle closure. Thankful for what I have been given, yet reluctant to let go, I prepare to leave and make the rounds to say goodbye to everybody who welcomed me. 

On the boat ride to the mainland we are soaking wet, laughing. A Humpback whale is sighted in the ocean navy blue. In the Chumash language my friends sing in the whale, and she surfaces. 

At home in earthen shadows, rinsing off the salt water and sand, I feel the light from the moon, full and wan. I braid a pungent memory and fill my lungs and my heart with it, knowing it will permeate my body and cling to my soul as a reminder of what I can feel when we are all together on the Island. 

© Terra Trevor. All rights reserved. 

Tomol Evening was first published in the Winter 2015-16, Volume 29, Issue 2 of News from Native California a quarterly magazine published by Heyday Books.

This essay also appears in a slightly different form in Terra Trevor's memoir We Who Walk the Seven Ways and in Unpapered published by the University of Nebraska Press.

You might also want to read the backstory Tomol Trek first published in the Winter 1997 issue of News from Native California, reprinted at River, Blood, And Corn.

Terra Trevor is the author of We Who Walk the Seven Ways (University of Nebraska Press). She is a contributor to fifteen books in Native studies, Native literature, nonfiction and memoir. Her essays have appeared in numerous anthologies and literary journals including, Tending the Fire: Native Voices and Portraits (University of New Mexico Press), Children of the Dragonfly: Native American Voices on Child Custody and Education (The University of Arizona Press), The People Who Stayed: Southeastern Indian Writing After Removal (University of Oklahoma Press), (Johns Hopkins University Press), and in numerous other books. Of mixed descent, including Cherokee, Lenape, Seneca and German, her stories are steeped in themes of place and belonging, and are shaped and infused by her identity as a mixed-blood, and her connection to the landscape. She is the founding editor of River, Blood, And Corn. terratrevor.com

DEAR SIERRA: AN OPEN LETTER TO CALIFORNIA FOURTH GRADERS

Read more... DEAR SIERRA: AN OPEN LETTER TO CALIFORNIA FOURTH GRADERS
by Professor Deborah A. Miranda (Ohlone/Costanoan Esselen Nation)

Bear, Coyote, Raven and Some Sweet, Sweet Berries: A Chumash Story Told By Alan Salazar

Long, long ago when the animals were people, Bear did not like to share the black berries that grew down by the creek. He would chase off anyone that tried to eat even just one of those sweet, sweet berries.

Now one summer morning coyote went down to the creek to get a drink of water. He drank some of the cold, cold water and noticed that the berry bushes were loaded with thousands of sweet, sweet berries.  He looked to his left, then his right and he did not see Bear. Coyote knew that Bear would chase off anyone that tried to eat even just one of those sweet, sweet berries.

Not seeing bear any where, Coyote thought it would be really, really cool to get a few of those sweet, sweet berries. Coyote slowly crawled over to the berry bushes. Just as he was about to take a berry,  Bear who was on the other side of the berry bushes stood-up on his big old hind legs. He was 7 feet tall and weighed 500 pounds, super duper heavyweight size. He roared so loud that it scared Coyote so much that he jumped 5 feet straight up. He hit the ground running faster that he had ever run before.  Bear thought that was really, really funny and he laughed as Coyote ran away. Then he went back to eating those sweet, sweet berries.

Coyote ran all the way to the top of a near by hill. He was out of breath, so he laid down under a big old oak tree to rest for awhile. As he was resting  and catching his breath, he heard caw, caw, it was Coyote’s friend Raven.

Raven asked Coyote why he was breathing so hard. Coyote told him how Bear had chased him away from the berries down by the creek. And that all he wanted was just a few of those sweet, sweet berries.

Raven said, “Ya dude, Bear hoards all the sweet, sweet berries for himself. I tried to get just a few of those sweet, sweet berries and he swatted at me with his big old paw. That’s not nice at all dude. He should share them with everyone, dude. You know Coyote, we should teach that dude a lesson.

(It was Raven who started the dude thing)

Coyote agreed and the two friends began to plan their revenge. As they planned how to trick Bear and hopefully teach him a lesson, they could see him down by the creek. They could see him eating and eating those sweet, sweet berries all day.  Coyote napped several times resting up for his big adventure later that day.  Coyotes nap a lot.

Bear would only stop eating those sweet, sweet berries to get a drink of that cold, cold water from the creek.  Raven and Coyote  had watched Bear eat not a hundred berries, but thousands of those sweet, sweet berries.  His big old belly was so big that it almost touched the ground as he walked to the creek.

Just before the sun was about to set Coyote trotted down to the creek.  Raven flew down, circling high above Bear and Coyote.  When Coyote got down to the creek he boldly walked up to the berry bushes.  He quickly grabbed a few of those sweet, sweet berries, popped them in his mouth, swallowed them, then howled as loud as he could.  It scared Bear for a second, but just a second.

Then Bear charged through the berry bushes and started chasing Coyote around the bushes. Coyote ran as fast as he could. They must of went around the berry bushes ten times.  Bear was breathing very heavily because he had ate so many of  those sweet, sweet berries.  But, he was really, really close to Coyote, so close Coyote could smell Bear’s berry, berry breath. Bear thought he was going teach Coyote a lesson. But, just as Bear swatted at Coyote with his big old paw Coyote jumped straight up.  Raven flew down and grabbed Coyote, lifting him up even higher. As Bear fell flat on his big old belly, Raven dropped Coyote.  He landed right on Bear’s back. He wrapped his front paws around Bear’s big old neck and his back paws around Bear’s big old belly. Well, half way around that big old belly.

Bear took off running and bucking trying to get Coyote off his back. Coyote held on with all his might.  Bear was pawing and clawing at Coyote.  He was bucking and pawing, bucking and clawing at Coyote. Raven flew down and pecked Bear on his big old head. Bear  could not get Coyote off his back.  After a few seconds, eight to be exact, Bear fell down flat on his big old face and big old belly.  He was exhausted and was gasping for air.

Coyote jumped off of Bear,  dusted himself off and trotted over to the berry bushes. Raven flew down to the berry bushes.  They each ate a few of those sweet, sweet, sweet berries. Coyote put a few berries in front of Bear, he did not want Bear to be too mad at him.

As Raven and Coyote left they both said to bear,” We just wanted a few berries, there are more than enough for all of us, if we all just share,,,,DUDE!”

   

The next morning Coyote and Raven went down to the creek. Bear saw them and stood up on his big old hind legs. Coyote and Raven held their breath and were kind of scared.Then Bear said, “I thought about what you said yesterday. And you are right, there are enough berries for all of us, if we share.”

From that day on Bear shared those sweet, sweet berries with all of the animals. He turned out to be a good dude.

   

Now Coyote did not realize that day what he had done. He did not know that he created the very first rodeo event, yes rodeo event— Bear back riding.

Copyright © Alan Salazar. All rights reserved. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: 

Alan Salazar writes, "I have worked in several different areas in my life. I am a Native American traditional storyteller, a traditional paddler of Chumash tomols (plank canoes), a Native American consultant/monitor and a juvenile institution officer. I have also, been a journeyman plaster since I was a young man and have been around construction most of my life. My family has traced our family ancestry to the Chumash village of Ta’apu, now known as Simi Valley and the Tataviam village of Pi’ing near Castaic, Ca.  We are Ventureno Chumash and Tataviam. My ancestors were brought into the San Fernando Mission starting in 1803. And I continue to actively protect my ancestors village sites and tribal territories.

I have been actively involved with several Native American groups. I am a founding member of the Kern County Native American Heritage Preservation Council and the  Chumash Maritime Association.  I am a member of the California Indian Advisory Council for the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History.  I have been a community  advisor with the Ventura County Indian Education Consortium for over 15 years. And I am currently a member of the Environmental Review Board for the city of Malibu. 

As a member of the Chumash Maritime Association I have helped build the first working traditional Chumash plank canoe in modern times and have paddled in this plank canoe for over 15 years.  I have also been involved with teaching youths about Native American cultures. I have been involved with protecting Native American cultural sites for 20 years.  I have been a consultant/monitor on sites in Ventura, LA, Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo and Kern counties.  I am one of the few consultant/monitors that has taken college classes in archaeology and has worked as a field archaeologist, to help me better understand the field. There are several other groups I have also been involved with as an adult.

      

I have self published the first ever Chumash coloring book featuring important Chumash animals and the Chumash language.  I am currently working on self publishing a small book of traditional and modern Chumash stories.  Chumash stories that I have told hundreds of times to thousands of children at schools in southern California. I will release that book in late 2014. I also, make Chumash seaweed rattles and Chumash clapper sticks (musical instrument) to help teach students Chumash songs.

     

A storyteller in the Chumash culture is a teacher. My stories educate and entertain. I share my joy, love and respect of my culture when I tell my stories.  As a young boy I enjoyed listening to my Father tell us about being a Marine in WWII in the Pacific islands.  And having milk and cookies with Mrs. Taylor,  an older widow lady who lived three doors down from us in Hanford, California. Mrs. Taylor would tell me stories about Hanford in the early 1900’s.  I was only 5 or 6 years old, but I loved learning from these stories.  So, sharing my stories is something I learned from many elders in my life, and not all of them Chumash.  Being a traditional Chumash paddler of Chumash plank canoes and helping to bring back our Chumash maritime culture is also, very important to me.  But, storytelling is my way of connecting to people of all ages.  It is extremely important to me.

I have also, worked as a Juvenile Institution Officer for approximately 20 years at Juvenile Facilities in Santa Barbara and Bakersfield, Ca. At the Juvenile centers, besides supervising young people, I dealt with people in difficult situations on a daily basis.  Counseling at risk youth was a large part of my job. Motivating and inspiring troubled youth is something I have strived to do most of my adult life.

It is not easy being a proud California Native American. Misinformation about my tribes is still out there. And we have many obstacles still to overcome.  But, I was raised to be proud of my Native American heritage. I take pride in being a positive role model and a respected Elder.  And I believe by sharing my knowledge about my Chumash/Tataviam cultures, I am saving these rich Native cultures."

Educational Programs For All Ages

How the Land was Lost: El Potrero

By Deborah Miranda, author of Bad Indians: A Tribal Memoir

At the end of June 2012, I traveled back to my homeland in the Carmel area of California. My goal was to discover more about Rancho El Potrero, the piece of land that was awarded to my 5x great-grandfather, Fructuoso de Jesus Cholom Real by Governor Alvarado of Mexico soon after secularization (when Mexico, then occupier of California, closed down the missions). 

Read more How the Land was Lost: El Potrero

Tomol Trek: California Indians Regathering a Tradition

by Terra Trevor

Our classes are held outdoors under a bead-blue California sky. We work on a patch of green grass, an occasional hawk sweeping over with light shining through her rust red tail. Back in 1997, when there was money available to be used for education, the Santa Barbara County American Indian Education Project began the series “Tomol Trek.”

After much hard work, the project put together an academy with federal (Title V) funding. Each year the academy had a different focus. In 1997 the year’s final outcome was aimed at producing a modern-day recreation of a traditional Chumash tomol. The children and teenagers attending ranged from elementary through high school. Many are Chumash, but the kids represented a variety of tribes, all with a common bond: every one of these kid’s lives in an area that made up the traditional Chumash homeland. We all hold the culture, traditions, and history of the Chumash people in our hands and in our hearts.

The tomol, a type of plank canoe, is unique to the Chumash. Tomols were used for trips between the islands and Chumash settlements. Originally they were about thirty feet long, and could hold four thousand pounds. Usually they carried six people but could hold up to twelve.

Our modern-day tomol was built by the children under the guidance of Peter Howorth, in his backyard tomol building workshop. There is a perfect balance between master and apprentice as the children sand pieces of the vessel throughout construction. A dozen hands move slowly across the handle, moving towards the paddle end of an oar. Small hands, young hands, skin so smooth and maroon, peach-colored hands, muted brown, every child with a tribal memory circling her or his heart.

A kind of palpable energy surrounds the tomol project. People seem to want to be a part of what’s going on. American Indian students from Cal Poly and UCLA arrive to volunteer support. Before I know it, I’m one of those helping out. The more I sand, the closer I am to the tomol. Sometimes I stop in the middle of the day and am silent in respect to the ancient peoples who left the witness of their lives, their visions, the strength of their faith for us to ponder.

My son is one of those kids helping out. He knows about the pleasure found in working hard, and seeing the good results of that work. As he sands the pieces of wood I watch him find his relationship with the plank canoe he is helping to create.

Our real goal is not only the finished tomol; it is also the season long process of working together. Still, everyone eagerly waits the day the vessel will be launched. When the maiden voyage takes place, within the harbor, there is only a small gathering of people. Before the “official” crewmembers begin their training we get to know the tomol. Her name is Alolkoy—dolphin in Chumash. She is twenty-five feet long, and made of redwood. Conditions in the harbor are ideal. The sun is warm; a soft, steady sea breeze blows at our backs. We fill sandbags for ballast, and then one at a time, we each have a turn sitting inside the tomol.

Photo by Terra Trevor

My son, feeling his connection with the Tomol he helped build

Alolkoy is much lighter than I ever imagined. Slowly I become one with her. I only have to “think” of shifting my weight left, and she responds almost before I even move. By the end of the day I understand we should not take photographs while we are with her, not yet anyway. First I watch someone drop a camera into the ocean, and then the back of my camera opens, exposing my film.

Remembrance weighs heavy on my mind, as it does for most Native people seeking to affirm cultural identity in a high-tech world. There is a comfort in being with those who understand. Our kids do not have to trade in their Indian values for education; the project carried ancient memory and cultural knowledge into their lives today.

First Published in the winter 1997 issue of News from Native California. © Terra Trevor. 

Postscript
A number of the children who participated in the Tomol backyard building workshop have grown up to become crewmembers making the crossings from the mainland to Limuw - Santa Cruz Island. 

You might also like to read the follow up story Tomol Evening by Terra Trevor reprinted from Volume 29, No. 2 (Winter 2015/16) of News from Native California.

Terra Trevor is the author of We Who Walk the Seven Ways (University of Nebraska Press). She is a contributor to fifteen books in Native studies, Native literature, nonfiction and memoir. Her essays have appeared in numerous anthologies and literary journals including, Tending the Fire: Native Voices and Portraits (University of New Mexico Press), Children of the Dragonfly: Native American Voices on Child Custody and Education (The University of Arizona Press), The People Who Stayed: Southeastern Indian Writing After Removal (University of Oklahoma Press), Voices Confronting Pediatric Brain Tumors (Johns Hopkins University Press), and in numerous other books. 

Of mixed descent, including Cherokee, Lenape, Seneca and German, her stories are steeped in themes of place and belonging, and are shaped and infused by her identity as a mixed-blood, and her connection to the landscape. She is the founding editor of River, Blood, And Corn Literary Journal.