I am reading this book called "Grass Dancer" by Susan Power.

 

"Hey, Hey, what - an- ey,

Hey, Hey, what - an- ey,

Hey, Hey, what - an- ey,

Heyokenah, Heyokenah!"

 

Each line goes a little bit lower in note, then the "yo" in Heyokenah goes higher.

Just honoring my heritage. Most of us in Canada have some aboriginal blood. It was inevitable. My ancestor, James Swain, was one of the crazy Hudson's Bay Company Factors recruited for the Orkney Islands. I guess they figured the windswept freezing cold of the Orkneys in northern Scotland enabled those who were born there to acclimatize to 40 below weather near what is now Churchill, Manitoba.

Well, according to my Aunty Janet, my ancestor came over, and would've been frozen like a statue in the Hudson's Bay area if it hadn't have been for the aboriginal people. It sounds romantic, like a beautiful native woman gazing across the snow-driven, frozen beachscape at the grounded ship, and the shivering men hunched over as they looked for firewood. In reality, it was probably much worse, and there were probably many more deaths by freezing.

 

Anyhow, James Swain and another man by the name of William Sinclair were in and around York Landing. I was researching the Sinclair family name last summer, as it can be traced to the St. Clair name and the Knights Templar. If any of you out there are related to a Swain, let me know!

 

Back to Grass Dancer.

 

Have you ever felt the warm. blustery wind of the high desert on your face and in your hair? Have you ever heard the drums of the Buffalo nations beating like thundering hooves?

 

Well, I have!

 

I have been to Pow Wows in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and Mount Currie, BC (by Pemberton). I also sat near the Pow Wow grounds on the Taos , NM, Pueblo, and walked under the arbor poles in a giant circle. In the three summers I was there I never made it to an actual Pow-Wow, but looking at Taos Mountain was enough of a rush for me!

 

I tell you, a person can stay there all day, either parked in a lawn chair or entrenched in fresh green grass under the arbor. The smell of frybread, coffee, and woodsmoke fills the air. The strong singing of the men can be a high, strong falsetto ("Hey yah Hey!") all the way to a deep base in one group around the huge drum. They all hit the drumskins in unison, and it's quick, like a heartbeat.

 

Even quicker, as fast as a handclap of a flamenco dancer, is the drumbeat of a Native American Chuch (Peyote) drummer. That will be for another day, another blog.

 

Anyhow, today, on this second to last day of March, I honor the spirits of the wind. The Pow Wows are probably already starting in the warmer climates of the southern states. The Mount Currie Pow Wow is usually on the Victoria Day long weekend, May 21-23, usually a week before Memorial Day in the U.S.

 

P.S.: My Dad's birthday was March 29, yesterday. He is 67 years on this planet. Wah-tah-hey, Dad!

 

Many more.

 

P.S.S. The song written at the beginning is phonetically heard from the Mt. Currie hand drummers, and is not meant to disrespect them in any way. I felt like I was home when I heard it.

 

Love Angie