the buckskin

buckskin...

It was down South somewhere amidst the cedars and pinon pine, their
shaggy limbs hiding the deer in the far off place on Indian land. A
young man with a ponytail and gray eyes took his time and fired off a
single shot and dropped the deer where it stood.


With the help of his brother and girlfriend they tied it high in the
trees and left it till nightfall and later came and took it home where
it was raised into the oak tree and there it cured. The weather was
cold then and after a while, they skinned it, Sioux style, since his
mother was from Oglala, she moved as if dancing, pulling here, touching
the knife here and there and it was butchered in no time as she talked
about how such things are done.


The skin was hung on the clothesline and left there and became like a
still sail in the wind, swing to and fro covered with frost. They had
already four other deer dried for winter and this skin was left to the
wind.


A visitor dropped by, a man with braids from Ute country who visited
and saw the buckskin hanging there and walked over to it. The men
talked about hunting and way it was this fall and that it was a good
year for such things. In the way of talking, he did not mention it,
just merely looked at it and they offered it him, and told him to take
it back with him. It was stiff and hard and the woman from Oglala
packed it good and made it so the fur would come off easily and they
gave it to him


In time he got back to Ute country, the high mountains of the Uintahs
and set the skin outside. His grandmother found it and took it with her
and worked it, making sure all the fur was taken off, and makes it
soft, working it slowly until it became white and it was large and
there were no holes or tears in it. She set it on the shelf and left
it there for a later time.


There was a Navajo guy, a wanderer who traveled the lands of many
reservation selling his silver jewelry; working over the long winter
making rings, bracelets and those things that could be handmade and
packing them up with bags of Hatch green chile. He stopped by Santo
Domingo, a Pueblo by Santa Fe and visited a heishi maker, Chavez and
picked up strands of turquoise, coral and sea shells all done by hand
and traded silver between them, after a cup of coffee and some Pueblo
bread the silversmith from Dennehotso hit the road and went North. He
found himself in Ute lands and dropped by to visit, to trade for dance
bussels, small ones for his son and found his way to a small house and
a warm meal. On the shelf he saw a nice tanned buckskin and traded for
it, some Santo Domingo heishi and silver and so it was done.


When he came home he presented his son with the bussels and his son
showed him the way he moved as a pow wow dancer, it was like watching a
new born horse, a fold moving haltingly and out of kilter but he
laughed and told him you are learning and the pow wow is not far off,
July 4th in Window Rock, you can dance all day…


A young girl from Mexican Springs was thinking of her father, he came
from Wind River, an Arapaho and he was far from home, her mother and
him had left one another in Albuquerque. She could hear him singing pow
wow songs in the silence of her room and she layed on her bed she
thought it would be so nice to dance traditional with a buckskin dress.
Her grandmother from Ethete had make her moccasins and she had a large
belt and shawls from her aunts, all the things she needed but what was
missing was a dress to dance in, a long one that would cover her with
fringes, one with beadwork covering the shoulders and reaching down to
her arms. What were they called….cut glass beads, small ones that take
a long time to sew on, they glisten in the sunlight.


Her colors were dark red and yellow and with just the right dress it
would be something to see. She sat way out there on the flat land, not
far from the Kinsel place, near Hooshtah, Rabbit Brush it was called
and you could hear the pow wow songs playing over and over and you
could see her dancing in the fancy style of young women, twisting and
turning, her shawl flipping out and moving as she spun around not
skipping a beat. She learned all those songs, a Crow Hop, a slow
traditional dance, the trick songs, all recorded by her uncles who sang
with the White River singers and recorded on tapes made at pow wows all
winter long, now playing in her place sent as presents for her young
ears.


Her mother worked as a bank teller and at lunch went around Gallup
picking up small buckskin, white tanned ones and brought them to a
Kiowa woman, an elderly woman down the street who sat at home all day
with nothing and she worked on them pieces. She needed more but the
cost was too high. The mother found a place with a sign selling white
buckskin, it was cheap and looking at it closely she knew from years of
herding sheep and seeing the skins of lambs, goats and sheep that these
were dyed sheepskin. She listened to the trader tell her they were
buckskins, genuine. She didn’t say anything they never listened anyway,
her eyes told him silently without a word what they were and she left.
The trader stood there and talked about how some people try to come
into his and tell him his business, who do they think they are…she left
and could find none.


Returning to the bank she found a man trying to cash a check from
Idaho, he had ID but no account. She told him he would have to find
another place. He stood there and something about his eyes, said help
with this if you can. She spoke with him and he talked about his
travels to different places, trading the things from here with what he
found there, bags of chile, silver, sage, pueblo potter, Hopi overlay
and his silver jewelry. This check was from Ute Country from some
people there, he had traded some things and they wanted a concho belt
made and he traded for some beadwork and a buckskin, a large white
one. She stood there and listened to him and asked him do you have it,
the buckskin and he said it is at home in Dennehotso far from here.


She took the check and gave him his money and on a Saturday morning she
saw him at the Flea Market selling his wares and he reached into a
gunnysack and brought out the buckskin, it was soft and supple, not
hard like store bought skins. He told her it came from North Dakota and
found it’s way to Ute Country and now to here. That it was tanned in
the old way and with care. He gave it to her and said, this is for your
kindness.


She said no, I will pay for it, but he wouldn’t take any money. He told
her, No, you helped me and it was what I needed that day. I had to my
truck fixed and would have been stranded in town if not for you. Here,
go ahead and take it.


Morning came early, it was the day of the Pow Wow, and grand entry was
at 7 tonight. This young girl layer there and reached over and turned
on the tape and slid out of bed and with the sound of drums beating in
the background danced down the hallway to wash her face. She twirled in
her pajamas, doing a scissor kick crisscrossing her legs and turning
her hair flying around and she spun. In the flash of a turn she saw it
lying on the living room couch, it was white, with blue and yellow cut
glass beads covering the shoulders, and fringes, it was white made in
the fashion of a traditional dancer.


Where did it come from?


It is yours….go ahead and try it on.


She stood there looking at it and walked over to it and picked up.


It is Grand Entry, and the Pow Wow arbors open to the East and flag is
to raised by old Indian veterans dressed in green fatigues and standing
in the middle of the circle. The White River drum group is singing the
flag song and the first song after that is an intertribal.


Everyone dances and the group speeds up the tempo just a bit, all the
dancers are out there, their feathers twisting and turning, the old men
move in the slow steps of traditional dancers, and the old women with
their buckskins stand in single file with eagle feathers in their
hands, the young men on the outside showing the fancy steps and quick
steps of young warriors….how they move.


One of those White River singers looks over and sees a young girl
moving like a whirlwind, dancing, kicking up high and each step falling
with the drumbeat.
Yeeee…..he yelps and bangs the drum down hard and lets out his
wail….she is dressed in white buckskin, blue and yellow and she moves
like the wind…..what a sight…and she dances round and round….this young
girl…her fringes moving and the shawl on her arm, it is her time and
she has a dress that is white….look at it….oh how nice it is….and she
dances in the way of her grandmothers…that young girl.

rustywire