Donald Carufel

Lac du Flambeau, Wisconsin (ICC)

As I emerged into the morning air I heard the music of water flowing and falling and I was glad to “be.” Not that I was pondering “to be or not to be;” it’s usually “to pee and where to pee.” As I looked down I saw the music came from freshly fallen rain swirling and spinning into the iron drain in the middle of the parking lot.

It was music nonetheless. Life from above, the grandfathers enriching mother earth once again, providing nourishment for all flora and fauna, those that walk, swim or crawl, and even those that fly and bite you in the middle of the night.

But its still nice to be and enjoy the light of another day and I walked sideways between the torrential downpour. There’s a price to pay, being a woodland Indian and dwelling on one of the watersheds that lie amongst the world’s largest supply of fresh water. Thank goodness I was just a bit oily and I was not washed away by the pouring rain. I sought shelter in the restaurant with the Norwegian theme.

I descend from long lines of hunters and gatherers and I gathered with my eyes that one of the specials being served on this great morning included a flapjack, sausage and eggs. All round, all circular and all a part of the sacred circle of life.

I almost stood up and removed my hat when she brought my round dish, but instead I rolled up the sleeves of my archaic tee-shirt and made quick history out of that entree. The food was great and I continued to be.

I had to traverse the great megapolis of Hayward and gather more supplies for daily life at the great discount franchise. After making the necessary purchases I greeted the elders at the door and the air was fresh. There I smelled the rain evaporating from the asphalt of the parking lot. And even though it might sound like I’m stretching words for column inches, it truly was a sensation worth remembering and I thanked the Creator for such a smell. Two days before I lay on my back suspended by water and looked at the wisps of clouds on the field of sky blue and it was also worthy of thanking the one above and to think of loved ones far and near.

Somewhere along this road of life I heard that we faced our doors of our lodges to the east so that we could greet the grandfather sun and give thanks for another day. At this point of time and life it seems like a good idea so wherever you are and whoever you are perhaps the images seen and feelings sensed will be an uplift to you and yours. Sunlight 93 million miles away seen through these eyes, planted upon these keys sent into cyberspace and appearing before you at this instance, amazing.

During the last week of school, a couple of my students and I skirted the only mountain adjacent to Hayward, ignoring property lines and humanity as much as we could. We pretended we were Natives of long ago and we actually were making our tracks on tracts where we had never been before. We scared up two deer from their beds, one at very close range.

As we waked we gathered a few stalks and unfolding heads of shield ferns or fiddle head ferns to some. The Ojibwe word for these plants is wewaagaagin (bent or crooked growth). Soon another indigenous green will make its appearance, milkweed. The text produced by GLIFWC has told me that that milkweed is called ininiwanzh or again in my analytical efforts, “man’s shrub” or “man’s bush,” not to be confused with any public figures or elements of evolution.

I recently came across an old text dated 1888 that using the word inini (man ) such as in ininishiib (a mallard) does not mean man’s duck but means common duck. So in consideration a milkweed plant would be a common shrub.

The latter part of the word is used many times. One example is zhigaagawinzh, or onion. So our word for onion means skunk shrub, plant and so forth. Another such Ojibwe word would be mitigominzh, a type of oak. Mitig is tree or wood and min in is seed or fruit or berry, so mitigomin, the word for acorn, could be wooden berry and the mitigominzh would be the plant that supplies wooden berries, all very interesting to me and hopefully to you too.

At any rate time keeps on slipping, slipping into the future and another summer is upon us, the time for gathering food and medicine. The time to gather together, eat and dance. So far at this part of June when I write, I haven’t had the opportunity to attend an outdoor pow wow and I anxiously await the sounds and sights of such an event but enjoy even the drone of the fan, the smell of freshly mown grass and the crisp sweet sensation of a watermelon relinquishing its life force to be added unto mine.