Tribal Journey Page 6

  The chairman of the Cowichan tribe welcomed each canoe to their shores. All were invited to come ashore for feasting and Protocols. As soon as one line of canoes finished, another line of ten or twelve pulled in beside them.

  While these canoes were performing their arrival duties, other canoes continued to enter the bay and circle the area.

  Finally, it came time for the southern canoes to approach the shore. Our group lined up side by side and drifted in. I was still leaning on my crutch, with Mr. Franks standing behind me.

  Our turn came. “Mr. Chairman, we are the Raven Canoe from the proud Duwamish Nation,” Mr. Franks announced. “We are members of the Raven Canoe Family. Standing in our bow is a young Duwamish man of great courage, Jason Morgan. He overcame many obstacles to be a part of this journey. We present him to you as our most outstanding member. We are honored by your invitation to come to your shores. We have traveled more than two hundred miles.”

  The Cowichan chairman spoke. “Mr. Franks, this young man needs no introduction to us. His story has traveled ahead of you. It has become almost a legend among the people of the canoe. We are honored to have you come to our shores.”

  Mr. Franks proudly patted me on the shoulder. I was speechless. I sat down to rest.

  After all the canoes had lined the shores and performed their arrival ceremonies, an honor song began among the northern canoes. They used the handles of their paddles to pound out the rhythm on the floor of their canoes.

  The song and the beat spread to all the canoes. It then spread across the shoreline like a wildfire spreading across a field of grass. As the sound grew, a kind of tingling spread through my body. I didn’t know what it was. I was vibrating from head to foot.

  To my surprise, I even felt it in my dead leg. For the first time since my accident, I felt something in that leg. It didn’t last long, and the effect wasn’t permanent. But that brief experience gave me new hope.

  When the song ended, the M.C. said, “We’ve done a count and there are 109 tribal canoes here today. Can you believe it?”

  The crowd roared, clapped, and cheered even louder than before.

  The M.C. invited all the canoe families to participate in the Protocols that would begin at the tribe’s headquarters that evening. We all turned our canoes and headed across the bay to a beach where we could disembark.

  Buses took all the pullers to the tribal park where our camps had already been set up by our hard-working ground crews. My first order of business: a nap.

  That evening, the Cowichan volunteers had set up dinner for us in the tribe’s gym. Pullers and ground crews lined up and filed inside to get plates of delicious Native foods. I had never seen such a spread of unusual things to eat, so I had to ask the servers what some of it was.

  One large pot held something called stinging nettle and elk stew. Another held cooked greens made from fern tops. Moving down the line, there were clams, crabs, eels, and wild bird eggs.

  Smacking his lips, Jessy piled his plate high with large helpings of the stuff. So I did the brave thing and filled my plate as well. Over the teeth, past the gums, look out stomach, here it comes.

  The final food station was a sort of cobbler made of wild blackberries, huckleberries, and raspberries. That looked really good!

  Surprisingly, most of food tasted terrific. The dessert was the best I’d ever had. I was so hungry, I cleaned my plate.

  Afterward, Protocols began. A large central canopy had been set up at the edge of a mowed field. Several other canopies formed a large U shape around a central grassy field.

  I heard that it would require four days of Protocols to allow all 109 canoe families to share their stories, songs, and thanks.

  Jessy and I sat with our canoe family under a large canopy. Though I was in my wheelchair, I also had my folding crutch at hand.

  The same M.C. who had done all of the announcing at the landing was on the microphone. “Before we go any further with Protocols tonight, we have to do something else first.”

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  “Everyone here has heard about the kid in the wheelchair.”

  Uh-oh, what was this, I wondered.

  “We all want to meet him and hear his story. So without any further delay, we ask Jason from the Raven Canoe Family to come up.”

  The applause was loud. Jessy and the rest of my canoe family urged me forward. Jessy started pushing me toward the announcer’s canopy. People continued to applaud.

  Halfway to the microphone, I put both my feet on the ground.

  “What’s going on, buddy?” Jessy asked.

  Without saying anything, I pulled out my crutch and unfolded it.

  “I want to try walking,” I said. Jessy came around to the front of the chair to help me up. I waved him off.

  Realizing what was going on, the crowd grew quiet.

  I planted the crutch firmly on the ground in front of me. With all my strength, I pulled myself up to a standing position. The crowd went wild!

  I hobbled the rest of the way to the microphone—on my own. Jessy just watched and smiled.

  When I arrived at the microphone, the M.C. shook my hand and stepped away. I turned to face the audience. Again I was startled to see the size of the gathering.

  Since I wasn’t used to speaking in front a group of people, my first words were weak and shaky. I started again. My thoughts flashed back to spring break. It seemed so long ago.

  I told them about my car wreck and my recovery. And about my introduction to canoe carving, my introduction to canoe culture, and the warm welcome I’d received from the Raven Canoe Family. As I spoke it out loud, I realized how grateful I was to have experienced it all.

  I learned so much about myself during this Tribal Journey. It had really been a personal tribal journey. I had found a meaningful place in the mad, crazy rush of everyday life. And I’d found a new sense of courage.

  When I finished talking, a Salish song began somewhere in the crowd. People stood up from their seats and joined in the song. A couple of people stepped out into the open field with their hands raised. With palms up, elbows bent, they moved their arms to the beat of the song in the traditional Salish gesture of thanks.

  They began to circle the field as they sang. Soon others joined in the circle. One of the Cowichan elders approached me at the microphone. With Jessy’s help, the old man led me to the center of the growing circle. It wasn’t long before every able-bodied person in that arena was dancing in the circle.

  That did it. Tears welled up in my eyes. What an awesome ending to my first Tribal Journey. What an awesome beginning to my own personal tribal journey.

  A new sense of strength flowed through my body. A new sense of determination flowed through my mind. I would walk again, no matter how long it took. I would swim again too.

  Until then, I was proud to know I was a Coast Salish Indian. A member of the Raven Canoe Family. A part of the ancient Duwamish Nation.

  About the Author

  Gary Robinson, a writer and filmmaker of Cherokee and Choctaw Indian descent, has spent more than twenty-five years working with American Indian communities to tell the historical and contemporary stories of Native people in all forms of media.

  His television work has aired on PBS, Turner Broadcasting, Ovation Network, and others. His nonfiction books, From Warriors to Soldiers and The Language of Victory, reveal little-known aspects of American Indian service in the U.S. military from the Revolutionary War to modern times. In addition to Tribal Journey, he has also written another novel, Thunder on the Plains, and two children’s books that share aspects of Native American culture through popular holiday themes: Native American Night Before Christmas and Native American Twelve Days of Christmas. He lives in rural central California.

  7th Generation publications celebrate the stories and achievements of Native people in North America through fiction and biography.

  For more information, visit: nativevoicesbooks.com

  Thunder on
the Plains

  Gary Robinson

  978-1-939053-00-8

  $9.95

  A Native teen deals with the loss of his father by attending a summer survival camp. After two years, Danny Wind is still not over his father’s death. And when his mom marries a white man and they move to a new “white bread” neighborhood, Danny’s life gets even worse. The school principal considers him a troublemaker and he has to avoid Willy, a bully who calls him “redskin” and “Tonto.” After he acts out and gets suspended from school, Danny’s mom decides to send him to a summer survival camp for American Indian teens.

  Danny is sure he is in for a terrifically boring summer—there isn’t even Internet access on the reservation. Instead he meets other Indian kids, learns to ride and care for horses, and develops a relationship with his grandfather, who teaches him the ways of his people.

  Before long, Danny decides that life on the reservation is pretty cool. But never in his craziest dreams did he expect to become involved in rescuing bison from Yellowstone National Park—much less planning the adventurous mission!

  Available from your local bookstore or you can buy them directly from:

  Book Publishing Company • P.O. Box 99 • Summertown, TN 38483

  1-800-695-2241

  Please include $3.95 per book for shipping and handling.