1-26-22

I have always been fascinated by Native American history and culture. I’m not sure what sparked my initial interest, but as far back as I can remember, it’s always been there. When I was in third grade, I had to do a project for the school science fair. I clearly remember telling my mother that I wanted to do something where I could learn more about Native Americans. Yes, Native Americas seem to connect more with history than science, but my mother knew me well. Once I made up my mind about something there was no deterring me. It would be easier to find a way to bend and twist my topic to make it fit than it would be to change my mind. And that’s what my mother did. She came up with the brilliant idea of doing a project on “Indian Medicine.” (This was the 1983, before we as a culture embraced more politically correct terms.) Together — actually I think Mom did most of the work — we researched and wrote about the different herbs, roots, and other plants Native Americans used to treat various ailments. We did such a good job that I placed second in the science fair. 

My interest in Native Americans grew with age. In college, I wrote a paper on Native American boarding schools and I learned about the atrocities committed in the name of education. The whole idea of “kill the Indian, save the man” was absolutely appalling. And it’s not taught in school? Why? Perhaps it’s just another example of how we are white washing history. It’s amazing what one can learn when you step away from the sanitized textbooks used in public schools.

It was in part due to my interest in Native America history that I took G3 out west last summer. Yes, we were excited to go to the Badlands and Glacier National Park, but I was also itching to go to the Little Bighorn Battlefield and learn more about the Natives who lived on the Plains. While in South Dakota we went to a cultural presentation and learned about traditional Lakota dances. We went to Big Hole Battlefield in Montana where G3 was introduced to Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce. There was also Knife River Indian Villages in North Dakota where G3 insisted on buying a book to learn more about how Native American mythology connected to astronomy. Through most of the historical sites, Kati was bored and commented often that she was melting in the heat. Although, she did appreciate some of the ranger talks. I think the one we all enjoyed most was the one where we learned more about Custer’s army. Most of the men who had enlisted were immigrants from Ireland, victims of British colonialism much like the Native Americans were victims of America’s imperialistic pursuits. But I digress.

Even though Kati does not have the same passion for history that I have, she appreciates — to some degree — the education I have given G3 since we pulled him out of school. She recognizes that his interests, knowledge, and certain academic abilities are in part due to my rather unorthodox curriculum. She also knows that I do my best to introduce G3 to topics, authors, and content that is far more diverse than he would get in school. As a result, when we were making our way back east, wrapping up our summer road trip, Kati suggested, “Maybe next year you should read a Native America author with G3.” It was a fantastic idea. Yes, of course G3 would grumble and complain about me wanting diversity but I liked the idea and so I set out to find an appropriate book. What a challenge that proved to be.

What really complicated my quest was the fact that G3 flat out refused to read any middle school books. He figures that he’ll have to read those when he goes back to real school. With me, he wanted to read something more challenging. He’s got point, but in this case, a middle school book would have worked best. There were some good ones out there, but I had to agree that they would have been too easy, and perhaps not engaging enough. The problem I encountered with young adult and adult books was the content. Many books by Native America authors deal with rape, drugs, and domestic violence. He is only in sixth grade. I don’t mind showing him the horrors of humanity, but I also don’t want to overwhelm him with them. 

Finally, after reading many books spanning the spectrum from middle grade to adult, I settled on the young adult novel The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline. It is a futuristic dystopian novel that takes place in a North America that has been decimated by climate change. The Great Lakes have been reduced to trickles of sludge and white people have lost the ability to dream. Native Americans, however, still dream regularly. As a result, they are once again reduced to being commodities and are hunted by recruiters who wish to imprison them in the new residential (boarding) schools. But the schools are not a place to learn. It’s where men and women of European decent harvest the marrow of the Native Americans because the marrow holds the key to dreaming. Throughout the novel, we learn of the importance of language and cultural traditions. We see history repeating itself and the resilience of the Natives who have been hunted since Columbus’ arrival. It was a disturbing book, but it made for some great discussions about history and society. 

Disappointingly, G3 didn’t care for it. But this year he is proving to be a difficult student. When he doesn’t get his way, he complains. He made up his mind to dislike the book at the beginning and he never permitted himself to waver. Even discussions were difficult. He went so far as to say things will be better when he goes back to real school because his teachers there won’t ask such stupid questions. Ah yes, it is time for us to bring our homeschooling adventure to a close. But first we need to find a new house in which to move, because everything I’ve heard about this school districts makes me convinced he won’t get much of an education here. Hopefully, the real-estate gods will help us out and make something available soon. 

Anyway, due to G3’s reluctance, I wanted to make our end of the novel writing assignment fun. He is forever telling me that fiction is far more interesting and enjoyable to write than anything nonfiction. Therefore, I asked him to write a scene that might have taken place in the novel. He could chose any character or characters he wanted, but the scene had to be written in a way that remained true to the novel. I was a bit surprised that he decided to write a scene centered on one of the female characters, but I was not surprised at how well he executed the assignment. He wrote the rough draft in two days, and the revision only took him one. To really understand what is happening, I guess you’d need to read the novel. Oh, a quick note: G3 uses the term Indian instead of Native American because it is the term used by the characters in the novel.

Here is his scene about Rose being hunted by the recruiters:

The Dogs

The night grew dim and the wind blew intensely. Crows cawed as a pair of feet ran. Aching with pain the two feet hopped over roots and stones. Barking dogs were about two hundred meters away. Looking up, the girl could see the figure of a falcon. Flash lights, bright and terrifying, illuminated the forest. The waning moon gave little, but enough, light for Rose to find her way. Soon enough the recruiters had fallen further behind, but you could still hear the horrible bark of dogs and the terrifying screech of falcons. In just a little while, she would have to go to sleep. Knowing camouflage would be a great ally, she found some mud and coated herself in it. Then she began climbing a tree that had a wide enough branch to sleep on. After climbing about fifteen meters, she found a perfect ledge. Before settling in, she stuck some leaves to herself using the mud as glue. Recruiters were drawing nearer so she had to hurry. Her stomach growled. She remembered seeing a bird’s nest a few feet down that had some eggs. She began heading down there at once. Once there, she cracked open an egg and let the inside fall right into her mouth. Climbing back up, she sputtered a bit, but eventually got over the taste. Putting her back against the trunk, she started to undo her shoe laces. The first one she knotted to her legs using the square knot she learned from her uncles. The next was tied right at the waist also using the square knot. She wanted her back tied to the tree so she ripped off half of her right pant leg. Then, she ripped the the pant leg into strips. She tied them all together and somehow managed to get the rope around the trunk. When she was all ready, she put some mud on her bare leg and went to sleep.

There was a forest. One of magic, wonder and a secret. The gentle breeze made the hair of the girl on the lam flow. Birds were nesting in their nests and rabbits were sleeping in their rabbit holes. A tiny house with a blue door stood here. A voice began to sing an ancestral song. Rose recognized this song. “ Grandmother,” she called out. Running joyously to the back of the house, she was happy to hear her elderly grandmother. But when she got there, she only saw a note that said, “I Love You Rosey.”

“GRANDMOTHER,” Rose awoke, startled. She immediately regretted the yell because recruiters may not be far. Untying the the shoelaces, she thought about her dream. Having no idea what it meant, she didn’t really care because it wouldn’t help her survive. When she had replaced her shoelaces in her sneakers, she untied the rope holding her body to the trunk and stuffed it in her pocket so she would be able to reuse it. Climbing back down, she took another egg. After the descent, she ate egg. She kept running the same way she was going last night. She ran as fast as she could, jumping over logs and dodging trees, but after almost six miles she stopped. On the verge of vomiting, she laid down in a pile of leaves. Her vision felt faint and her head began to spin. Soon her mind went black. 

She woke up quite damp. Knowing she had fainted, she did not wonder why. The sky was beginning to go dark so she got up to find a place to safely sleep for the night. She found a crawl space between large rocks and was about to go in there when she saw a tiny fire and heard some voices. Creeping quietly over, she saw eight people. They all looked Indian. Tents were set up and she noticed a dead animal. Dinner. Taking out her knife, she quietly moved over to the meat. Making a mistake that she really didn’t regret, she tripped on a stick and fell into the bushes. A boy carrying kindling came out of the woods. He grabbed Rose by the arm. She kicked and writhed, then screamed, “Let me go.’’ In front of her were seven amazed and surprised Indians. One boy she saw and thought something weird, please don’t be my brother.