Meet Richard Hetzler, Executive Chef of The National Museum of the American Indian’s Mitsitam Cafe

I regret deeply not being able to participate in the 2004 opening of the National Museum of the American Indian—my family flew in to dance for the celebration, but I was presenting at a conference, and wasn’t able to join them.

Over the intervening years when I’m in D.C., I’ve always tried to leave time to visit the Museum’s Mitsitam Café (in the Piscataway and Delaware languages, mitsitam means “let’s eat”).  It’s been recognized as one of the major culinary attractions in the D.C. area, and Rachael Ray has recommended it on her television show.  Atlantic Monthly has featured Mitsitam Café and its Executive Chef, as has Cowboy and Indian Magazine. Gourmand Magazine has awarded its new cookbook as “Best Regional” in the U.S.  In March, it will be competing in Paris for “Best in the World.”

Executive Chef, Richard Hetlzer, was involved from the inception of the restaurant, with its intention of integrating the Museum’s emphasis on Native cultures through indigenous foods.  He is a 1995 graduate of the Baltimore International Culinary College,   “We were involved with
planning a year and a half before the opening,” Richard told me.

(Richard Hetzler)

In the Atlantic Monthly article, architect Duane Blue Spruce discussed some of the challenges in designing the café:   “The assumption was that, of course, the cafeteria would serve native food, but we had a difficult time backing that assumption up… We wanted to show that there are regional differences. Not only culturally, but in terms of food.”

The Mitsitam Native Foods Café is divided into five geographic stations, with each region having a separate menu. These include the Northern Woodlands, South American, Meso America, the Great Plains, and the Northwest Coast and Columbia Plateau.

(Three Sisters Salad)
Several of the stations also provide a “feast for the eyes” as visitors can
watch their food being prepared in grill fires and pots.

Richard has discussed working with foods very familiar to most Native Americans, such as fry bread, or salmon prepared on cedar planks.  He’s also been creative about combining what
was available to local Native Nations.  “A great example is the maple-brined turkey…We know that Native Americans cured items in salt, so essentially they were doing a brine, infusing the flavor, adding  moisture…They definitely had turkey. They had maple syrup. It works for us,” he said in a Smithsonian Institute interview.

(Maple Brined Turkey)

One of the issues that came up during our interview was the
challenge of providing Native based foods for the enormous volume of customers served.  “In the winter, our slow season, we’re serving 500-600 people a day.  During our peak that climbs to 1,500-3,000 a day.”  Richard is always looking for sources of Native foods from tribal suppliers.  He has salmon flown in from the Quinault Nation of Washington State.  To supply buffalo meat, he works with the Montana based Intertribal Bison Cooperative.

(Mitsitam Indian Buffalo Taco)

We also talked about working with what food sources are available.  Some items that a tribal group might supply may be too small in number, or simply too expensive for the general Café format.   This isn’t a problem, according to Richard.   “Nothing is too big or too small. Winter is a slow time of the year, and we might feature something on the menu that we couldn’t provide in the peak season.  We change menus every three months.  We can run it as a special—turn it into a vinaigrette—giving customers  the flavor.  For example, with fiddlehead ferns, it would be too expensive to serve them by themselves. But I can have twenty pounds of salad and add five pounds of fiddleheads, so everyone gets a taste of them. “ (Fiddlehead Ferns)

Richard also mentioned his fondness for saguaro cactus syrup, comparing it to a truffle as an item that costs too much to use every day.   He buys the syrup from Tohono O’odham Community Action (TOCA), a Native American non-profit organization based in southern Arizona.  Expensive items like this might be used as a drizzle for a special presentation.  One of the reasons it costs so much is how labor-intensive the syrup is to make, as the TOCA site explains:

The saguaro fruit ripens during the hot months of June and July and is hand harvested just before the torrential monsoon rains using a traditional picking stick up to fifteen feet high made  of saguaro ribs. Traditionally, the fruit is made into syrup and the tiny black seeds and saffron like pulp are sun dried. Most saguaro syrup – bahidaj sitol – is used in the annual rain ceremony. A very small amount is available to the public. Thick and mahogany colored, this is the most rare of the world’s fruit syrups. Made from hand-harvested saguaro fruit, cooked slowly over mesquite fires, its unusual, deep flavor is both sweet and  smoky. Saguaro syrup can be used in a similar manner as the finest aged balsamic vinegars. It is excellent as a glaze, garnish or drizzled over fresh fruit or ice cream. The crunchy seeds are rich in healthy oils and fiber and can be used in place of poppy seeds in any recipe.

TOCA provides Richard with another favorite of his– Ciolim (Cholla Cactus Buds), as well as Bawĭ (Tepary Beans). It’s easy to understand why these Cholla Cactus Buds are such a hit—again, turning to the TOCA site:  Ciolim – cholla buds – have sustained the Tohono O’odham for countless generations.  Just before the buckthorn cholla cactus flowers in the spring, its buds are hand picked, cleaned of their many thorns and dried for use year-round.

Cholla buds have a unique flavor that includes tones that range from artichoke to asparagus –green and vibrant. Once cooked, cholla buds will triple in size. These delectable desert vegetables love marinades and will readily absorb the flavors of whatever they are cooked with. Terrific in antipastos, chiles, salads and sautées, use them as you would artichoke hearts or asparagus tips.

Cholla buds are incredibly healthy. Even as a side dish in a meal, cholla buds can improve how food affects the body. Two tablespoons of dried buckhorn cholla, for example, provides as much calcium as a glass of milk (14 grams of dry cholla buds supply 394 mg of calcium while one cup of whole milk supplies 276 mg of calcium). Yet, while a glass of milk may have 100-150 calories, the cholla buds only have 28 calories. And because cholla buds contain soluble pectins, they slow down digestion of sugars and other carbohydrates.  The result is better control over blood-sugar level, eliminating the highs and lows.

(TOCA Art)

Richard shared with me the restaurant  wants to buy from and give back to Native communities, the way they work with TOCA, ITBC, and the Quinaults.  While the non-Native Richard has had the opportunity to employ only two American Indian workers, the week of our interview, he had entered into discussions with the Navajo Technical College to explore placing interns with the college’s culinary arts program.

The Mitsitam Café Cookbook was the result of three years of labor, and features 90 recipes with beautiful photography from Renee Comet.  Because the restaurant serves so many people per day, the recipes had to be modified to meet the needs of a home cook.  Richard explained, “The staff at the museum each took three or four recipes home, made them and critiqued them, and we adjusted the recipes. One of the pushes behind the book was to really find and make recipes that any person could make. You don’t have to be a chef to recreate any of it.”

Richard will be flying to Paris this March, where the Mitsitam Café Cookbook will compete at Gourmand Magazine’s World Cookbook Awards.  There are 53 categories, with over 150 countries represented.  When I asked him what he will demonstrate, he told me he planned to showcase his Wild Rice Salad, explaining it was something he could do that would easily fit within the 20 minutes he will be allotted, and uses ingredients that are easily available.

Best of luck, Richard—and here’s the recipe he will be using:

Wild Rice Salad

This recipe is from Mitsitam Cafe,
National Museum of the American Indian.

1/2 cup pine nuts

1/4 cup pumpkin seeds

6 cups chicken stock

11/2 cup wild rice

1 carrot, cut into
half-inch-long matchsticks

3 tablespoons dried cranberries

1 Roma tomato, finely diced

4 or 5 scallions,
finely chopped

3 bunches watercress

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Spread the pine nuts and pumpkin seeds in a small baking pan and toast them in
the oven for about 10 minutes, until they are golden brown. Let cool.

Combine the chicken stock and wild rice in a stockpot. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low, and simmer, covered, for about 45–55 minutes, until the grains are just opened up and tender. Spread the hot rice on a baking sheet and let cool.

When the rice is cool, scrape it into a large bowl and add carrots, dried cranberries, diced tomato, toasted pine nut and pumpkin seed mixture, and scallions.

Toss all of the ingredients together with the vinaigrette, refrigerate for at least 1 hour, and serve over watercress.
Makes 4 to 6 servings.

VINAIGRETTE

3 tablespoons
apple-cider vinegar

1/4cup plus 2 tablespoons
canola oil

2 tablespoons honey

Place cider vinegar in a bowl, and slowly mix in oil. Sweeten with just a touch of honey.

Story of the Butterfly

Long and long ago, when the world was still new, the Creator watched children playing.  He watched their sheer joy, and enjoyed their laughter.   In the four directions he looked, he saw beauty—before him, behind, him, above him, and below him.  He smelled the sweetness of flowers, heard the song of birds, saw the bright blue of the sky, and tasted the first touch of the coming cold on his tongue.  This reminded him that time was passing…that winter would come again…that these children would all grow old and pass away as he had watched human children do over and over again.  The leaves would turn brown and fall from the trees, and the flowers would fade to replenish the Earth. 

 He decided to create something to memorize this moment, something that would be a part of all this beauty.  And so he gathered the blackness from the hair of the children’s parents.  He took the orange and reds of the falling leaves.  He grabbed bits of sunlight, and the colors of the flowers.  He took the evergreen needles of the pines.  He took the soft whiteness of the clouds, and added all these things into a bag of buckskin. He smiled and after a moment, added the songs of the birds to his bag.

 When he finished, he held the bag close to his heart, and called the children to him. He handed them his bag and told them to see what was inside.  When they opened the bag, a cloud of butterflies emerged.  They were like winged jewels.  They were all the colors of the rainbow.  It was as if flowers were flying. The spirits of the children and the adults soared like hawks, for they had never seen anything like this before.  The butterflies, light as a lizard’s lick, touched on the heads and shoulders of their grateful audience.  The butterflies swirled around and began to sing.

 But then a bird flew to the Creator’s shoulder and began to complain.  “Why have you given our precious songs to these small and pretty beings?  You have already made them wings more beautiful than ours—why give them our songs as well?  You promised us that each bird would have his or her own song.  It is not right to do what you have done.”

 The Creator looked at the small bird and nodded.  “You are right.  I promised one song for each bird, and it is not right to give them away to others.”  So the Creator made the butterflies silent, and thus they remain today.  But their beauty touches all people and opens up the songs in our own hearts.

 Further south, it is said the world is a reflection of itself…the world of dreams and the world of work.  It is taught these two worlds are like the wings of the butterfly.  The dream world is one wing, and the working world is the other.  The wings must connect at the heart for the butterfly to fly and live.  Real life – true life—happens because of the movement of the wings.  And this is what marriage is like.  It mirrors the butterfly’s heart, kept alive by the love of the husband and wife, moving together like twin wings.

A traditional Tohono O’odham story (with a Mayan coda)      

 retold by CoyoteCooks

I was asked by a friend for help in finding an appropriate story for her to tell at a friend’s upcoming wedding.  I requested more details about  those involved,  and was told this was a couple in their 50’s, and it was neither’s first wedding.  I suggested the butterfly story, for a number of reasons.  First, I wanted a story that wasn’t overly long, since the focus should be on the ceremony and celebration rather than on a performance.  I wanted a story that acknowledged a couple who are able to appreciate their experience of marrying again in a way a couple in their early 20s who have never been married can’t fully imagine.  That’s why I emphasized in the story how the Creator both celebrated the moment of joy, but also had sadness that this was the Autumn of life, rather than the Spring.

Here’s part of the e-mail I sent to her: .

I thought this might be appropriate for your needs.  I decided to do a retelling of a traditional Tohono O’odham legend.  These are the people who are Native to the general Phoenix area, so it will let you bring a gift from where you have been.  I then finished with a teaching from Native people further south—the Mayan.

 In similar situations, after I would tell a story of this nature, I would then end by giving a small butterfly image as a gift to the new couple.  I would probably then add the suggestion:  “And in the weeks to come, you will see an image of a butterfly.  Perhaps you will be at work, or perhaps you will be with the one you love.  You will see a butterfly and you will smile, remembering this precious day.”

 She responded that she felt the story was “perfect for this couple,” and that she would let me know how the event went.

 I answered,

One of the advantages of being from the southwest is the abundance of Zuni “fetish” carvings of various animals one can find at various shops.  I notice that for butterfly “fetishes” the artists often use mother of pearl or abalone shells as their media, which I suspect, is to capture the iridescence of their models   Since these small carvings usually range from $10.00-35.00, I’ve given away quite a few during presentations.  My favorite happened when I was asked to keynote the International Academy of Sex Research when its conference was held in Seattle.  The President elect was the clinical director where I was working.  She said, “I’ve never heard you talk about sex, but you say so many interesting things in the staff meetings, I’m sure you talk about sex as well.”

 I went home to the reservation and asked my mom, “What should I tell a lot of white people from around the world about sex?”

 She said–”Go talk to your Uncle Rooster.”

 So I did–and he said, “Tell them about Coyote’s Growing Medicine.”

 And so I did, and at the end of the story, I presented a small Coyote Zuni fetish to the new president.  She later told me it’s become a tradition that when the new president takes office, he or she is presented with the coyote fetish

I wanted to pair a recipe that would go well with the Butterfly legend, and thought something light and sweet might do it.  This is Brett’s Blueberry Special:     Take a cup of fresh blueberries (or thawed) and add to a cup of diced fresh  heirloom tomatoes.  Tear fresh basil into small bits to release their fragrance and add to the tomatoes and berries.  I’ve been carefully tending my “plantation” of basil plants  that I’ve mentioned before on my patio.  Now drizzle a couple of teaspoons of honey and squeeze the juice of one fresh lime onto the ingredients.    Toss and enjoy.

OH–UPDATE:  I was happy to find this in my e-mail this morning–

Many, many thanks for sharing your version of the story of butterfly.  I told this (with appropriate recognitions) at M’s wedding last Friday.  It was the perfect story for that perfect day.  M and T and their family and friends loved it – it was especially significant to M (which was my intent).  I followed your advice and gave them a butterfly fetish (Zuni) at the end of the story – the perfect touch!
 
Thank you for being such a wonderful storytelling friend. 

Why You Shouldn’t Whistle At Night…

She is tall…bigger than Sasquatch, and her body is covered with long, black, greasy hair. Her eyes are large like an owl’s, and her fingers are tipped with sharp claws. Her lips are formed in the eternal pucker of an eerie whistle, and children are told if they don’t listen to their elders, she will come to them at night and suck their brains out of their ears. She is called At’at’lia, Dash-Kayah, Tsonoquah, and names whispered when the time is right, and not for publication.  Children are warned not to take food that she offers.  If she catches you, she’ll throw  you inside the basket she carries on her back.  Her basket is so large she can fit 10 children in it…and that’s her favorite meal—10 children.  She is a cannibal…she eats human flesh.

 

Long Time Ago…there was a young boy, named after the Silver Salmon.  He woke up early in the morning and the warmth of the rising sun felt good on his face.  He sang a song to thank the sun.  The boy went out to go fishing but he went so far he realized he wouldn’t be able to return home before the sun went down, so he decided to camp where he was.

It was late at night and the moon was full.  Now White people tell us there’s a man in the moon, but our old people tell us it’s really a frog.  And so it was , the frog in the moon was looking down at him when clouds covered the moon and everything was dark.

Suddenly he heard a strange whistling, and the clouds blew away from the moon and he could see a monster standing in the darkness.

“Don’t be afraid,” she called out to him—“People make up terrible stories about me, but I’m really a very nice person.  In fact,” she said, holding out her hand, “I’m a very nice person.  I have some berries for you…I know you must be hungry.  Children are always hungry.”  And in her claw like hand he saw a pile of berries.

When he reached to take some of the berries, she took her other hand from behind her back.  It was smeared with sticky sap from the trees.  She slapped him with her hand and his eyes were glued shut!  He was blind!  She grabbed him up and stuffed him into her basket and ran through the woods whistling.

She came to a clearing and dumped him on to the ground.  She had built a large fire and all around the fire were other children she had stolen.  She was going to barbeque them.

She was so proud of herself, that she was going to have such a fine meal of young children, she started to sing and dance around the fire.

The boy was afraid, because he knew he would be eaten.  He wished he could start his day over again.  He thought of how his day had begun, with the warmth of the sun on his face.  The warmth of the fire reminded him of the warmth of the sun.  Just so, he leaned closer to the fire.  The heat of the fire began to melt the sticky stuff on his eyes, and he could see again.  As the Cannibal Woman continued to dance, he got an idea and whispered this idea to the girl next to him, who whispered it to the boy next to her…and so it went around the circle of the children.

When she finished, the monster was so tired she could hardly stand up…and that’s when the boy shouted, “NOW!”  And all the children jumped up and pushed her into the fire.  She began to burn…but she didn’t burn like ordinary things burn. 

 She burned like fireworks!  Her body burst into a cloud of sparks…and that’s where mosquitoes come from.  They still live off the blood of young children, even today. 

That was the end of At’at’lia …but she had three sisters…and those sisters are still around.  And that’s why we teach our children “you must never whistle at night…because you don’t want to call those spirit beings to you!”

A traditional Sahaptin story

Retold by CoyoteCooks

I thought I’d share the At’at’lia legend as a celebration of Halloween.  A number of years ago, I first met the Medical Director of the clinic where I would work at a Halloween Party for Medical Residents.  He was wearing a tuxedo and a gorilla mask.  My mentor, Carolyn Attneave was a scarecrow, and I had on an articulated skull mask and a button blanket I had made.  I had been cast earlier in the play Raven, based on NW Coastal legends, and was playing “Shadowman” which explained my costume decision.

The Medical Director was from Belgium, and I asked him about Halloween customs in his own country.  He said he was shocked the first year in the United States, when children suddenly knocked on his door demanding candy.  To my own surprise, he shared Jackolanterns in Belgium were made from turnips instead of pumpkins.  In retrospect, I suppose this makes sense, given the reality pumpkins are Native America in origin—they’re a type of squash.  Pumpkin seeds dating back to at least 8,000 years ago have been found in Mexico.   In fact, the word “pumpkin” in Europe refers to what would be called “winter squash” in the United States.   In a quick search, carved turnips and other root vegetables used as a jackolantern were well known in Ireland and the British Isles, but there’s not a lot written about Halloween customs in Belgium.

(Traditional Irish Jackolantern)

 While it was certainly traditional to use fire to celebrate the harvest time, apparently jackolanterns are a relatively late addition.  Nathaniel Hawthorne is reportedly the first to mention them in 1837 in his Twice-Told Tales, making reference to making a jackolantern, and a magazine article from 1885 is the first to mention Americans introduced the idea of carving pumpkins into jackolanterns—much easier than carving a turnip.

By the way–here’s what the Trick or Treat crowd found when they rang my doorbell–

For dinner, I took a small sugar pie pumpkin, and did the standard scoop and clean, saving the seeds for planting and roasting.  I washed out the inside and rubbed in butter, with a sprinkling of garlic, ground black pepper, and salt.  I put the “lid” top back on and microwaved it for four minutes to cut off time in the oven.  Let’s face it, when you live in Arizona and it’s still hovering in the 90’s, you really don’t want your regular oven on any longer than necessary.  This is also something I often do with other squash. I  then took four slices of bacon and cut them into smaller pieces.  Plopping them into a skillet, they provided the grease to sauté chopped onion, carrots, and celery.  I also took out one of the sweet Italian sausages I’ve been enjoying, and sliced it up to add with the rest.   I seasoned the mixture with Italian herbs, and a few sprinkles of Worcestershire sauce.   When the veggies had softened and the meats were done, I added breadcrumbs, a handful of parmesan cheese,  and enough water to have a soft consistency dressing.  (btw–in re-reading, I should mention I’m not giving specific measurements, because I was “eye-balling” what would fit into the pumpkin, and that would vary based on the size of pumpkin you might use.  Since I’m always thinking a meal or two ahead, the leftover stuffing I had went into a freezer bag to be used to stuff portabella mushrooms in the next couple of weeks.)  I stuffed the little pumpkin with the dressing, placed the top back back on and wrapped it tightly with aluminum foil and placed it on a cookie sheet in a 350degree oven.  This results in a pumpkin softened to the point you can eat everything (Hey—in my family, we were raised to eat the skin of the salmon and the “outside” of a lot of vegetables) and the dressing is extremely moist.    I had also prepared chicken kabobs, and after spending about an hour in the oven, I removed the pumpkin and then used the oven to grill the kabobs.  A knife piercing the pumpkin let me know it was done, but it was easy to just look at it and know it was ready.

Incidentally, there’s an interesting recent study in China on the use of pumpkin extract which shows it may regenerate pancreatic cells.  This could have a potential beneficial impact on pre-diabetics, although American researchers stress it’s too early to know if the animal study can be directly applied to humans.  Apparently, however, pumpkin is traditionally used in Asia in alternative medicine for the treatment of diabetes.  http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSCOL06164820070710

Update:  I had some leftover stuffed pumpkin, and on a whim, I prepared some angelhair pasta, and microwaved the pumpkin (cut into cubes) with the bacon/sausage dressing, and a few tablespoons of leftover fresh salsa, since I didn’t have any tomato sauce.  When tossed with the angel hair, this was so good I think next time that’s how I’ll serve it–as the entree,  rather than using it as a side dish.

A Story Is A Type Of Medicine

This is a different post than I normally do on this blog.

  Someone I know as an on-line friend recently shared with me that she’s been going through a really excellent period of her life.  She and her husband have 2 young girls with autism.  I urged her to share her story with an on-line support group in which she participates.  She indicated her hesitation was around members of the group wondering if her experience was a fantasy—she emphasizes it was real and meant a great deal to her, but worried about not being believed.  I thought I’d share my response with you, since it touches so much on Storytelling  and the recent suicides of gay and lesbian young people:

My Dear S,

I was trained as a traditional American Indian Storyteller.  I’ve used traditional legends in my work as a Family Therapist.  We’re taught that sometimes, people need stories more than they need food.  A story is a type of map that tells you where you’ve been and where you need to go.  Sometimes a story is so powerful…the story tells you.

To put it less poetically, a story can be understood as a “script” that directs your action in the theater of Life.  That’s why one of the first questions I’ll ask of a new couple who come into therapy is about what sort of role models they had for being part of a couple.  In a nation where about half of all marriages end in divorce, many young (and not so young) adults don’t have the experience of a healthy, happy set of parents (or grandparents).  They don’t have modeled for them how to argue—or indeed, how to fight, in a way that’s healthy or loving.  What many have modeled is how to be resentful, how to be constantly angry, or how to consistently blame.

While some therapists say “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood,” it’s difficult to go back and “reprogram” a person’s personal history.  But one of the things you discover as a therapist, is the “story” (model) doesn’t have to come from a person’s parents.  A story is like water…it seeks its own level.  It goes where it needs to go.  A model of a viable couple may come from a movie, or a book, or from me telling them, “Well, last week this is what a couple who were sitting exactly where you’re sitting, told me about how they solved a problem similar to yours…”

To put it another way, American Indians consider stories to be a type of “medicine.”  For American Indians, our meaning of “medicine” combines the idea of “healing” and “holy.”  Just so, the other thing I have tried to teach my university students and professionals in training—the only difference between medicine and poison is the dosage.

Just as there are Stories that can be used in healing, there are Stories that can be used in poisoning.  Some Stories can kill.

In the past few weeks, there have been a number of stories of young gay and lesbian people who committed suicide because of treatment by others of their sexual orientation.  Even more disturbing to me is the knowledge these are only the needless deaths that have been picked up and made known by the major media.  There are deaths like these that happened in silence, or happened and were silenced. 

This is an example of the Power of Story.  Children who grow up with a message that they are damaged…that they are “bad”—that they are a mistake and an “abomination” can learn to believe such a Story.   A Story can kill.

A few moments before I read your e-mail, I was watching this video:

http://www.towleroad.com/2010/10/watch-amazing-family-embraces-princess-boy.html

It’s about a little boy who enjoys “pretty” things.  It’s about how much he enjoys dressing up in sparkly dresses and dancing.  It’s about how his family and 8 year old brother think his behavior is fine because it makes him happy and they want him to be happy.  It’s about the mother going to his school to be “pro-active”—that instead of waiting for school children to make fun of her son or bullying him, to ask about how his school teaches respect for difference.  It’s about the whole school being involved.  It’s about the mother writing a children’s book about her son being a “Princess Boy” so her child’s Story could be used as a teaching tool in the school.  The book is now being sold in bookstores.

A Story is like water.  It seeks its own level.  It goes where it needs to go. This is the story of this little boy in Seattle, who likes to dress up in sparkly dresses and dance because it makes him happy.  But the reality is…the Story of a little boy is a “real” book.  The Story of a little boy is a “real” video clip that was shown to viewers of a program on a major television station, which has since been seen by hundreds of thousands of people on Youtube, and may eventually be seen by millions.

Should you tell your story?

There’s a wonderful storyteller from Chile.  Her name is Isabel Allende. In an interview on National Public Radio, she laughed and said, “Of course I’m a liar.  A storyteller is a type of liar.”  A real storyteller is able to tell an audience the truth it needs to know.  A Story is often a type of lie.  Does a hero always win in “real” life?  Will the Princess Boy always be greeted with love and respect in “real” life?  Stories are a type of map.  In the “real” world, there is a great deal of chaos.  Awful Things Happen.  Stories are tools that can help give a person a meaning to chaos.  Stories can tell people to look at tragedy, at pain, and to continue going forward. Sometimes people need stories more than they need food.

I taught for many years in the clinic of a medical school.  Do you know what a placebo is?  Most people use the word in a dismissive way—“It’s just a placebo.”  One of the most common references is that a placebo is a “sugar pill.”  A provider gives it to a patient instead of “real” medicine.

 

The word comes from the Latin for “I please.”  But here’s the “real” part of the placebo effect.  Pharmaceutical companies hate placebos.  Do you know why? Because the FDA requires them to test their new drugs in a double-blind way against placebos.  This means the persons doing the testing and the patients don’t know if they are about to get the “real” drug or the placebo.  Why do the pharmaceutical companies hate the placebo?  Because over and over again the patients get better results from the placebo than they do from the “real” drug.

A Story is a type of Medicine.  A Story can heal.  A placebo is a type of Story.

I was once on a panel with Andrew Weil, a Harvard trained physician famed for his work in Alternative Medicine.  This is what he said about placebos—that we were missing the whole point of them.  A placebo proves there is nothing that can be done by a pharmaceutical intervention that the human body can’t perfectly duplicate on its own.

Will members of your group believe your story, even though it may seem by some to be a “fantasy?”  You know what I think?  I think that even if your experience didn’t happen…it should have happened.  It should also happen in the future, where another good couple, where another good set of parents…get a taste of happiness. 

I have worked very hard to give couples the stories they need to become better couples.  I need your story as an additional tool to help couples to become better couples.

Do I need your story to be true?  Your Story is already true.  Did it need to happen exactly the way it was Told?  No.  Most Stories don’t.  That is why a Storyteller is a type of liar. 

 

To put it another way, a Storyteller is like a weaver who takes the dirty wool from smelly sheep and makes a beautiful cloth from it.

 

  Is the cloth the “lie” of the dirty, smelly sheep?

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Or did the weaver reveal the beauty and usefulness of what a sheep can be—the Truth of Sheep?  As a Storyteller do I take the raw resources of what “really” happened? 

 

 

 

 

 

 You bet.  But I don’t hand an audience those raw resources anymore than a weaver hands someone in need of warm clothing a handful of unwashed wool.

A Storyteller does not always tell human beings about what they are…a Storyteller tells people what they can be.  A Story is a type of map.  It can show people where they should be going.

I am privileged and I am honored by the story you have shared about you and your family. 

 

 

 

 

 

I feel better having heard it. 

 I thank you.

Why Dog (and Horse) Is So Special

My most profound apologies to those I offended by the recent post “Why Dog Does Stupid Things,” who felt I did not respect the nobility of Dog.  In fact, it was suggested American Indians did not appreciate dogs to the extent non-Natives do.  I think it would be better understood the story I shared earlier is reflective of how some American Indians try to make sense of why, when Dog, who normally is so loving and caring….well, sometimes does stupid things.  When an Elder laughingly says, “Oh, why did you have to choose Dukwaps,” it’s an expression of affection in the same way when a mother has an extra cocktail (or two) at her daughter’s wedding and gets a bit silly; the response is not of condemnation, but affection.  I think one of the things it teaches is how one balances love with reality.  Those you love don’t always behave as you’d prefer…but you still love them.  When I was much younger, there was an American Indian man who was very much respected for the work and achievements he had accomplished in Native Journalism.  Unfortunately he had a problem with alcoholism.  He once told me, when he went home to his family on the reservation, “Even if you fart in their faces, they still have to take you in, because you’re family.”  There’s never a question about the love one has for Dog.  No matter what Dog does—you still love Dog.

One of the suggestions was that I tell an additional legend that’s also part of our tradition—that explains why there is so much fondness as well as respect  for Dog.  I should also mention that some of the coastal traditions report a nobility connection with Dog.  A High-Class woman had a secret lover who would only come to her at night.  When she shared with her closest friends she wondered who he was, they suggested she cover her hands with red ochre (paint) and smear his back when she next had relations with him.  They told her, “Look at the back of those you see in the village the next day.”  To her surprise, the next day, she saw Dog with smears of red paint on his back.

Now, depending on which Native Nation’s legend you know, when her father, the Chief, found out she had been having sex with Dog, some say Dog was killed (others say Dog later took on a human shape and went with her), and she was set adrift in a canoe.  Some say her brother went after her to protect her.  When she gave birth, her babies were puppies.  She and her brother watched over them.  But when her brother went hunting to provide for them, she discovered the puppy children would wait until they weren’t watched, and they would take off their puppy skins and turn into human shaped children.  Eventually, the mother and brother hid and when the children took off their puppy “robes,” the brother ran out and gathered their puppy robes and threw them into the fire.   Some say one of the puppy children was able to snatch his skin out of the fire and remained in that form.   The destruction of their puppy skins forced them to retain their human shape.  Various Native (American and Canadian) Nations trace their lineage from these children.  Of interest to Twilight-Eclipse  novel/movie fans, at least as many Native Nations claim their heritage is from the Wolf.

WHY DOG (and Horse) IS SO SPECIAL

Long and long ago, Human Beings were created after the Animal People.  The Creator called the Animal People together and asked them to help the new Humans.  “They are weak and soft.  They will not be able to survive without your help.”  The Creator asked the Animal People to instruct the Human People how to gather and prepare food, the way Wolf and Bear and the others did so well.  The Creator asked others to teach them how to run and move; how to do weavings and how to build things with the skill of Beaver and others.

 

But to the surprise of the Animal People, the Human Beings not only learned quickly, but adapted their teachings to their own advantage.

The Animal People gathered together.  Many called out: “Human Beings will soon surpass us with the knowledge we have so generously provided them.  Soon they will overtake us and treat us badly.  We must kill them now so they do not dominate us!”

Only Dog and Horse argued on behalf of the Human Beings.  They asked the other Animal People not to kill them.  But the Animal People fought with one another, and Dog and Horse realized they could not win.  With great bravery—knowing the other Animal People might indeed kill them as traitors—Dog and Horse went to the Human village and warned them of the danger.  The Human beings fled and hid.

When the Animal People attacked the Human village, they found the Creator waiting for them.

“I asked you to help the Human Beings, and you responded by choosing to kill them.  To punish you, I will take away the power of universal language from you.  No longer will you be able to speak to one another as you have.  Because Dog and Horse sought to protect the Human beings, I will let them retain their Power of Communication.”

  Just so, even now, Dog and Horse are able to “speak” with Human beings in a way no other Animal People can.

A Sahaptin legend retold by CoyoteCooks

In the Sahaptin language, the name for Horse is “kusi” and the name for Dog is “kusi kusi.” Depending on how you think of things, this means a dog is a small horse, or a horse is a large dog.  As a child, I was always told in school we weren’t “really” aboriginal—that we just “beat” Europeans to North America by a few generations (if 50,000 years or more are considered a “few” generations) via an ice bridge from Siberia.  But the same science that tells us this also states Horse is originally from the so-called “New World” and crossed over exactly the same land bridges from North America to Siberia.  It seems to me bridges work both ways.  I don’t see why it isn’t just as possible American Indians crossed over the land bridges to start up communities in Siberia and elsewhere, following the hoof prints of Horse.

  According to current science, Hippidion, an early form of Horse, persisted in the so-called New World, until historic times.  A Cherokee elder told me it was her tradition Native people had Horses long before non-Native people arrived, although they were smaller and hairier than contemporary horses.  Many non-Native historians claim American Indians were only exposed to horses when the Spanish got careless and their horses ran away to become “feral.”  Looks like paleontologists give more accurate information than historians. http://dinosaurs.about.com/od/otherprehistoriclife/a/horses.htm

  American Indians had dogs long before non-Natives arrived.  Most of these Native dogs are “lost,” having interbred with the newcomers non-Natives brought with them (just as it’s been suggested the surviving Native Horses interbred with the newly arrived European horses).  For example, Elders in the Pacific Northwest talk about small wooly dogs—their fur was used to weave blankets.  “Finally, there’s the question of what makes people and dogs such inseparable friends. Using a number of behavioral experiments–most of them involving finding food hidden in scent-camouflaged boxes–a team headed by anthropologist Brian Hare of Harvard compared the ability of wolves, adult dogs and puppies to pick up subtle cues in human behavior. Both puppies and dogs showed a talent for finding the food using nonverbal signals from the researchers–even something as subtle as gazing toward the hiding place. That doesn’t surprise Nicholas Dodman, director of the Animal Behavior Clinic at Tufts University School of Veterinary Medicine. Dodman says dogs can read “a look, a facial expression, a tone in your muscles.” Wolves, by contrast, are dolts when it comes to reading such signs–suggesting that the trait arose during domestication.” http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1003802-2,00.html#ixzz0u7UTkdL5

Roots and Wings

 

Long and long ago, there was a great Chief. 

He had a son, and loved him very much.  “One day,” he always told others around him, “my son will not only grow up to be a Great Chief, but a powerful Medicine Man as well.”

  The boy heard this, but did not think anything of it.

  When it was time, the boy was prepared for his Vision Quest.  For a girl this is when she is usually first tied to the Moon, and for boys, it is often when their nipples turn out.  Traditionally, the Vision Quest will take place on the top of a mountain, or by running water.  A child is taken to the place of the Vision Quest, mentored by a Medicine Person.  The Vision Quest helps a person discover who they are meant to be…a purpose and a reason for being.

  “My son,” called the Chief, “will become a powerful Medicine Man.  For that reason, I summon seven Medicine Men from the four directions to watch over him—to prepare him for his Vision Quest.” And so seven Medicine Men came, some from very far away.

In the traditional manner, they painted him with red ochre.  

This is considered to be a type of protection.  When someone is involved in spiritual things, he or she will shine, and it will attract the attention of things of the spirit.  Some of these are indifferent, some are dangerous and some are kind.  The red paint is to keep away those things that are not kind.

A Vision Quest will traditionally take 4 days and 4 nights.  During this time, the Seekers will not eat.  He or she will fast, and take only as much water as they can hold in their mouths at one time.  The first day went by, and there was no vision.  The second day…no vision.  The third day…no vision. 

 On the fourth day, when nothing had happened, the Medicine Men returned to the boy’s father.  “Perhaps he is not yet ready,” one said.  “There is no shame in this.  Different people grow in different ways.  Let us bring him back and have him try again at a later time.”

  “No,” the Chief replied.  “You know, and I know that the longer it takes for a vision to occur, the more powerful it will be.  That is why he has not received his vision.  Paint him again!”

  And so it was the Medicine Men returned to the boy, painting him again with more of the red paint.  A fifth day went by without a vision.  A sixth day.  A seventh.  The Medicine Men returned to the boy’s father.  “No one has ever fasted this long,” said one.
“We fear this is not his time,” said another.  “We ask that you let us bring him back.  Let him continue his Vision Quest at another time.”

“No!” said the Chief.  “You are all jealous because you know that he will not only one day be a Great Chief, but one day he will be more powerful than any of you!  Paint him again, and let the Vision Quest continue!”

The Medicine Men returned to the boy.  They repainted him.  Nine days went by without a vision.  Then ten.  Then eleven.  On the twelfth day, the Chief went himself to the place of the Vision Quest.  His son was gone.

Frightened, he ran through the woods, calling out his son’s name.  A small bird followed behind him.  Finally, exhausted, he sat down on the stump of a tree, his eyes full of pain—for he truly loved his son.

The little bird approached him.  “I was your son,” the small bird said. 

“All my life you would tell other people that I would one day be a Great Chief.  That I would one day be a powerful Medicine Man.  But never once did you ever ask me what I wanted.  I did not desire to be a chief.  I did not desire to be a Medicine Man.  I just wanted to be myself.  The Creator took pity on me, and gave me this shape to wear.  It is to teach parents that they must not force their own dreams on their children.  They must give their children roots and wings.  They must help their children become who they are meant to be.”

 In English, we call that little bird the Robin.  And so it is even today when you see a Robin it still wears the red paint from long ago.

A Sahaptin Legend retold by CoyoteCooks

This was a legend my Aunt Prunie used to tell.  One time I asked her to paint me for a powwow, and she took red paint and marked my forehead solid, and then used her thumb to remove the red ochre in four small and equal circles.   When I do traditional dancing, this is the way I continue to paint my face.

In the Pacific Northwest, the red ochre (and other colors) are often mixed with elk marrow used as a base, so the paint can be easily applied.  The elk marrow was also a salve that speeded up healing of the skin.  For example, an elder used it on me when I had developed some blisters from constant drumming while helping someone being initiated into Winter Spirit Dancing.  It was amazing to me how quickly the blisters vanished.

The tradition for many Native Nations is to have the first Vision Quest take place around puberty, but there are certainly stories of younger children who did this.  Over the years, when the American and Canadian governments attempted to suppress Native traditions, some people had to wait until later in life to be initiated or to go for a Vision Quest.  For some people, a number of Vision Quests might take place during a lifetime.

I was very happy with how the salmon turned out tonight.  I realize I keep mentioning several ways of preparing salmon, but I try to eat it at least three times a week, so I enjoy a variety of options.  For today’s marinade, I whisked together 2 tablespoons of teriyaki sauce, a tablespoon of soy sauce, the juice of half a lemon, 2 tablespoons of olive oil, and a couple of spoonfuls of sesame seeds.  I had wanted to add some roasted sesame seed oil, but was disappointed to discover I was out of it.   Given the fact it was supposed to hit 114 degrees (and the next two days it’s going to be 116…) I decided I could live without running to the store to pick up some more roasted sesame seed oil.  I wanted to add more honey, but I was also low on that so I sprinkled in another tablespoon of raw sugar into the mix. I left the salmon dressed in this for a few hours.  The sesame seeds seem to provide a nice thickening agent.  When I placed the salmon into a shallow Pyrex roasting pan, I shook out more sesame seeds on the top.  Popped it into a 400 degree oven until it was done, spooning the marinade over it again before serving.

To compliment the salmon I took fresh broccoli and spinach leaves and added salt, pepper, and crushed garlic.  I used a large skillet, adding water to the veggies and brought it to a boil.  After a few minutes, I used a slotted spoon to remove the broccoli and spinach into a bowl of water, and added ice.  This keeps the veggies a bright green and doesn’t let them overcook.  When I was ready to serve, I added them back into the water of the skillet and heated everything up again.  I then plated the veggies, sprinkling them with bacon crumbs and more sesame seeds.   I  placed a serving of salmon on top of the veggies. The smokiness of the bacon mixed wonderfully with the flavor of the salmon.

Why Dog Does Stupid Things

There’s a Twana word that has no direct translation into English.  Dukwaps. Elders say it means “Something so stupid, only a dog would do it.”

 

  

  

  

  

 

 

 

 

 

WHY DOG DOES STUPID THINGS

Long and long ago, The Creator was giving out gifts to all the Animal People.

To Eagle, The Creator gave powerful eyes to see.

To Bear, The Creator gave the ability to heal.

To Beaver, The Creator gave the skill of working with wood.

To Wolf, The Creator gave great hunting prowess.

At last, when the bag of gifts was almost empty,

The Creator looked inside and saw there was only one item left…Dukwaps.

 “Who wants Dukwaps?” called The Creator.

Dog (Who had already been given Faithfulness) yelled back, “—I’ll take it!”

 And so it is, even today, when a dog does something so stupid, only a dog would do it, Elders say, “Why did you have to choose Dukwaps?”

 

A traditional Twana story retold by CoyoteCooks

Yesterday when I was taking the dog to do her business, she ran back over to a rotting bird carcass I had yelled at her about the day before.She ran up a vet bill for over $200 a couple of weeks ago for eating things she shouldn’t.  This time she not only ignored me shouting at her to leave it alone, but ran off with it in her mouth to wolf it down.

 Why did Dog choose Dukwaps?

  For all the years I lived in Seattle, I always tried to grow basil on my windowsill.  This resulted in a few scrawny stalks and tiny leaves for a few weeks which then broke out in mites and then ladybugs who swooped in for the mites.  I always enjoyed the ladybugs. 

 Imagine my delight to move to Arizona and discovering how much basil loves the constant sun as long as I water constantly.  I enjoy going out nearly every afternoon as I prepare dinner and harvesting not only fresh basil, but fresh mint from the abundance that spills over its pot.  The  basil and mint plucked from a few feet away on the patio combine nicely with fresh cilantro in a tasty mixed greens  salad and dressed with various vinaigrettes.  For an extra kick, I’ll add in some crumbled feta.  I’ve also discovered a stilton and apricot cheese at Trader Joe’s that is a great addition to the salad.  This trio also rocks when I toss in some bean sprouts and garlic while  making spring rolls as long as I add some shrimp or pork.

For a recent dinner, someone else took over duties and enjoyed being creative with the salmon and the fresh basil and additional herbs.  When the red onion he was cutting up unexpectedly fell apart,  he was inspired to take the slices and to place them in what he called “gills” but I thought looked more like the design of scales.  It looked so good I decided to take a photo before grilling it.  I’m happy to say it tasted as good as it looked.  Lately I’ve been using a marinade of honey whisked with a berry (blue/rasp) vinaigrette that does well under the broiler…a sweeter taste than the citrus combination  that’s my old reliable.

 While I love basil, I had never really spent much time looking into its origin, other than knowing it isn’t Native American.  We have a Native mint, which in Sahaptin is called shuka-shuka and is used in making tea–the scientific name is Clinopodium douglasii.  Mint and Basil are related.  The word Basil comes from the Greek basileus and it means “royal” or “king” and some have suggested it was often used in preparations for the nobility.  It’s also called the “king of the herbs.”   Although in the states we associate it with Mediterranean cooking, it appears to have come from the Iran/Indian area of southern Asia, where it’s been grown for over 5,000 years.

 Now excuse me, I have to check on the dog to make certain she isn’t being dukwaps…

The Origin of the Bear Clan

 Long time ago, the daughter of a chief was warned by her elders to be careful as she went to pick berries, because many bears were around. She went out anyway, and as she drew near the berry bushes, she stepped into bear dung.

 

 

Upset, she cursed the bears, as she tried to clean herself. Bear people emerged from the woods and abducted her. Inside their cave, she sat sadly in a corner, until a tiny thin voice spoke to her and she looked into the bright wise eyes of Grandmother Mouse.

“Tell them they must take you out to relieve yourself–and that as a proper person, you must do this in privacy.” Then Grandmother Mouse touched the gleaming copper bracelets that the young woman wore, indicating her high-class status. “Take off your bracelets and break them into small pieces and leave them on the ground.” Traditionally, copper was very valued by Native people…it is the one of the only metals that can be used directly from the ground without smelting.

When the young woman did as she was instructed, the Bear people inspected where she had gone to relieve herself and whispered to one another. “No wonder she complains of our dung. She is so high-class that she shits copper!”

Impressed, they informed the Bear Chief, who married the young woman, and thus the Bear Clan was begun. 

 

 

 

 

 

–A Traditional Twana legend, retold by CoyoteCooks

There are many variations of this story throughout the Pacific Northwest, and a number of artists seem to take a great deal of enjoyment depicting the Bear Chief’s wife breast feeding her children, always shown in the form of cubs.  There’s an obvious concern about what happens when her babies start cutting their teeth… Here’s an example from the great Bill Reid. For those of you not that familiar with a number of Native traditions, during the time of legends, physical forms were more fluid than they are today, and individuals could often switch back and forth between an animal shape and a more human one.  For this reasons, it’s said the Bear People wore robes of bear skin, and upon removing them, looked like human people.  Some stories say that when the twin sons of the Bear Chief and his wife grew up, they put aside their bear skin robes and became famous hunters.

I had a request to do my “standard” acorn squash—which in my household means slicing one in half, scooping out the seeds and pulp, then plopping the halves like green bowls inside a shallow baking dish.  A pat of butter in each, then a sprinkle of garlic powder, ground pepper and a pinch of salt—and all I need is an hour or so in the oven at 400 degrees. I should warn readers that after moving into a new condo and confronting a very old oven…I hesitate giving an exact time and temperature.  I mean, in my years of cooking experience, I really don’t think a chicken should take more than 3 hours at 400 degrees to roast the way it went last Sunday.  I’m happy to report I have a new gas oven in the kitchen now, making things much more predictable.

I’ve written before about squash being Native American in origin–but I enjoy introducing Native foods to “new comers” to Turtle Island.  For example the gabanzo bean, or the chickpea…is thought to have originated many thousands of years ago in Turkey.  “According to recent studies, the domesticated form of chickpea contains nearly twice the tryptophan of the wild form, an amino acid that has been connected with higher brain serotonin concentrations and higher birth rates and accelerated growth in humans and animals.” http://archaeology.about.com/od/domestications/qt/chickpeas.htm

So–a healthy addition to the acorn squash…

But frankly, I sometimes get bored doing the basics, so I thought I’d try something a bit different.  I took garbanzo beans, straight from the can.  I placed them into a plastic baggie and poured in enough olive oil to coat them, along with a couple of tablespoons of balsamic vinegar.  I then spread them out on a cookie sheet (well, on top of aluminum foil on the cookie sheet, making clean up a lot easier), and topped them off with pepper and salt, putting them into the 400 degree oven for at least 30 minutes.  If your oven is better than my old one, you’ll know they’re done when they’re nice and crunchy. When the acorn squash was ready to be served, I then added the roasted garbanzo beans in the acorn half.  I felt the spicy crispness of the garbanzo beans gave a good texture contrast to the savory softness of the squash.  I’m also thinking about doing another batch of the roasted garbanzo beans and tossing them into a salad for some extra crunch.

Origin of the Butterfly

Long and long ago, there were two caterpillar people who loved each other very much, but as with all living things,  one of them died. The caterpillar woman mourned the loss of her husband. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to be around anyone. She wrapped her sorrow around her like it was a shawl and began walking. All the time she was walking, she was crying. For twelve moons (one year) she walked, and because the world is a circle, she returned to where she had started. The Creator took pity on her and told her, “You’ve suffered too long. Now’s the time to step into a new world of color — a new world of beauty.” The Creator clapped hands twice, and she burst forth as the butterfly. Just so, for many Native people, the butterfly is the symbol for everlasting life and renewal.

A traditional Sahaptin story retold by Coyote Cooks

Just as life repeats art, this legend sets a pattern the Sahaptin people use in accepting the loss of a loved one.

By the way, writing about the Butterfly legend was actually the first “official” (i.e., academic) publication I ever did, through the University of Manitoba Medical Journal.  My mentor, Carolyn Atteneave, recommended me to take over her obligation to submit an article.  Since then, I’ve tried to support her effort by asking others to work with me in publishing something professionally for periodicals, or textbooks.

 When a family member dies, a Palaxsiks is held.  The mourning ceremony of the Palaxsiks follows the “map” of this legend.   After the body has been buried, the surviving spouse, usually within a week of the burial, will be stripped of his/her regular clothing behind a blanket screen. Relatives from one side of the family have brought new clothes of dark colors that are used to dress the widow/widower. This indicates the cocoon stage. The hair is cut. But since hair continues to grow, and at one point, will return to its original length, this represents the psychological and spiritual healing that is taking place internally. Incidentally, the cut hair and the dark clothing also serve to mark an individual in the mourning process, so community members can acknowledge this and act accordingly. However, when a non-Native client begins therapy, a provider will have no way of knowing if the client is experiencing bereavement until a history is taken, and even then it may not come up immediately.

At the end of one year, there is a closure ceremony where the family members who received the clothes during the first ceremony bring new clothes of bright colors to dress the widow/widower. The bright colors represent the wings of the butterfly and also signify that the time of bereavement is over, and the individual is freed of the restrictions of the previous year.  For example, when in mourning, an individual is not permitted to take part in social dancing.  After the end of the year’s observance, the headstone for the dead is usually placed.

Community members are exposed to the story throughout the year.  Like many tribal nations, Sahaptin reservations will have dances that are considered “theirs” apart from the conventional “powwow” style competitive dancing that is acknowledged as “outside” and brought back during World War II where they were shared by Native soldiers from Oklahoma.  Just so, one such traditional dance is the “wilik wilik waashasha,” or Butterfly Dance.  It is performed by adolescent females who line up single file.  They pull their colorful fringed shawls over and begin to cry out loud as they walk in a circle. Again, this represents the cocoon.  The head drummer carefully watches, and when the lead dancer completes a circle, he or she will strike the drum twice.  This is signal for the dancers to spread their shawls across their shoulders.  They then begin a skipping dance as the song’s rhythm changes from its mournful march to a bright pattern.  The legend is normally told as part of the performance.  Just so, community members grow up hearing the legend told repeatedly, even when there are no deaths to be observed.  As a result, the knowledge of how to properly mourn is passed on so when a family must deal with death, the members know how to do so.

After the Palaxsiks is performed, a feast is provided to those who attend.  Over the years (in my experience) as more and more Latinos have come into the pacific northwest as migrant workers and intermarried with Native people, it’s now common for tamales to be served, along with more traditional foods, such as salmon or deer meat.

Cooking for someone you love is, from a Native American experience, a sacred process. I believe I mentioned in an earlier post, the closest to “home style” canned salmon I’ve found is at WholeFoods—Copper River Salmon.  I’ve also used leftover salmon I’ve baked, but the slightly smoky flavor really compliments alfredo sauce.  In full disclosure, I should point out I’ve never been served smoked salmon alfredo on the reservation, even at the luxury resort.  Here’s a quick and easy recipe.  Take about 8 ounces of fettuccine pasta that you place in boiling water for about 12 minutes or so, checking to see if it’s al dente, and then drain it.  In a sauce pan, plops a stick of butter along with a couple of chopped garlic cloves, browning the garlic to fully release its flavor.  Blend in a cup of heavy cream, along with a few sprinkles of black pepper.  Mix in a tablespoon of flour to help thicken the sauce and then gradually add a cup of grated Parmesan.  Crumble 8 ounces of salmon, along with a couple of spoonfuls of capers.  If you like, you can also toss in a cup of fresh spinach.  I always keep fresh basil in my garden to add another level of flavor.   Stir it all together for 3-5 minutes, until everything is fully heated and toss with the pasta.  We also enjoy an artisan crusty bread with a splash of balsamic vinegar and olive oil as a side…it’s great to dip into the sauce.

Why Bluejay Hops…

One of the last times I heard my relative Sobiyax (Bruce Miller) tell a story was at a conference in Las Vegas. He was in a wheelchair and looked frail.  I still thought of him as being so large and strong.  He had once punched out a horse.  He broke his hand.  When our van was blocked by a car that had parked too close, he managed to push it so hard, it tipped enough for us to back out. 

Diabetes had taken away one of his legs; a stroke would take his life a few months later.  At the conference, Sobiyax told the Twana story of “Why Blue Jay Hops.”

 

 

Long ago, long before the coming of the Great Flood, Blue Jay was hungry.  He was excited to hear Bear inviting people to his Longhouse for a feast.

 image courtesy of haidaheritagecentre.com

The food was placed in the proper ceremonial way, but there was no oil.  Now in those days, one would dip one’s food in oil, much the way today you might spread butter on your bread, or put dressing on your salad.

When the people saw there was no oil, they started to mutter, “Why Bear doesn’t even know how to give a feast!” 

Another commented, “No Oil! How Rude.  We should just go home.”

 

Bear heard what they said, and laughed.  “You want oil?” he called out.  “I’ll give you oil!”  And he danced out to the middle of his Longhouse where the fire was burning and the salmon was roasting.

He sang his Song and as he sang he rubbed his hands together.  Now bears have a lot of fat underneath their skin, and the heat of the fire started to make the fat melt, and it dripped out in the form of oil.  This was caught by his relatives in a large wooden bowl and passed around to his guests.

Someone was watching this and that someone was Blue Jay.  He envied the Power and magic of Bear.  Before the people left, Blue Jay called out, saying, “Next full moon, I invite all of you to my Longhouse for a feast!”

The following moon, the people gathered at the home of Blue Jay.  Once again, they were shocked to see there was no oil. 

“Blue Jay doesn’t even know how to give a feast!” 

“How rude!  No oil!  We should just go home.”

            Blue Jay laughed and shouted, “You want oil?  I’ll give you oil!”  And he danced out to the middle of his Longhouse, where the fire was burning.  He sang the Song of Bear, and began to rub his hands – really his feet – together over the fire in the manner of Bear.

            Now our Old People teach us that everyone has a Song. Part becoming an adult is learning what your Song is, so you can become all that you can be.  A Song can be given; a Song can be shared.  But a Song must never be stolen.

Someone was watching.  And that someone was the Creator.  The Creator was so angry, He made the fire jump up and it burned Blue Jay’s feet.  And that’s why even today when you see a Blue Jay, his feet are dark and twisted, as though they’ve been burned in a fire.

image courtesy of v4vodk    A Blue Jay can’t walk like a normal bird.  He can only hop.  Even today, Old People will say, “He hops like a Jay,” which means the person they’re talking about is a thief.

The Trickster best known to non-Natives is Coyote, but if you continue further up in the Pacific Northwest, Native people will tell Raven stories that sound very similar to those of Coyote. Among some of the Native communities in between, the stories will focus on Blue Jay, and the Winter Spirit Dances are sometimes called Blue Jay Dances.  In one story, Blue Jay rescues light, but in doing so, a door slams shut on his poor head, resulting in its odd flattened shape.

 image courtesy of vidterry

A resource I would suggest, not only for Native American material, is the NPR program, Sound & Spirit. Fantasy writer Ellen Kushner is the host and co-producer, and the program frequently features mythological themes. Click here (http://www.wgbh.org/programs/programDetail.cfm?programid=226) and then scroll down through the archived programs to discover a terrific show on Tricksters, as well as one on Native Americans, and yet another on Storytelling.

If you are looking for some written Native American resources, you might try a curriculum (http://www.nps.gov/archive/nepe/Education/SCHOOL2Aa_files/Education%20Guide.htm) created for the U.S. National Park Service.  In a number of Parks, staff will do “interpretive” work interacting with visitors, particularly children.

            One of my relatives, Elaine (“Choppie”) Miles, used to work summers portraying Sacajawea.  She became better known a few years later on the television program, Northern Exposure, playing the nurse, Marilyn. 

And finally—you might enjoy reading the words of Sobiyax, discussing ecology and the story of trees… http://www.salmonnation.com/voices/bruce_miller.html

 

As for this post’s recipe, I would suggest a tasty smoked salmon spread.  Sobiyax was very fond of this and would often sit watching television while sharing a version of this with friends and relatives, usually dipping into it with potato chips.  I’ve also used it as a sandwich spread with various other items.

Take about ¼ cup of mayonnaise or miracle whip—oh, who am I kidding…use real mayonnaise…the salmon deserves it.  Mix in at least 6 ounces of Smoked Salmon.  For me, canned Smoked Salmon was always “handmade.”  Sobiyax and others would work hard putting away dozens of jars to use through the year.  When I was teaching ethnic cooking, I would suggest Whole Foods, which carries small jars of Copper River Smoked Salmon  This  is about the closest I’ve been able to find commercially to what I would enjoy on the reservation.  Again—we live in the age of internet shopping, so I’m sure you can easily track Smoked Salmon down.  Squeeze in about a teaspoon of lemon juice.  I also sprinkle in a few drops of Frank’s Red Hot, but hey—I was shaped by years in the American Southwest.  Add a teaspoon of diced garlic, and mix in about as much Parmesan cheese (the canned stuff will do) as you did the mayonnaise.                                                                                                                  image courtesy of baconsaltblog.com If it’s a little too thick, you can add a splash of heavy cream, although I suspect Sobiyax would have just added some more mayo.  Blend or mix it up – and as I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I’m not a big fan of smoothing everything out.  I much prefer to see (and taste) chunks of the Smoked Salmon rather than having it all come out to the consistency of cream cheese.