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.

American Indian Storytelling–How Daylight Came To Be: Ant and Bear

<meta name="google-site-verification" content="EJL0jt83vkSM3ByoSicwfDy3sYsFknBSbEr1kHh15TA" />American Indian Storytelling–How Daylight Came To Be:

Long, long ago, so long ago, there was no light, there was only darkness.  In those days, the Ant people worked very hard.  But sometimes they would go looking for food, and could not find their way home again.

 Sometimes, they would hear heavy footsteps, and a monster would reach into their homes and steal and eat their babies, disappearing into the darkness again.

 

This monster was Tsimox, the Grizzly Bear.  Even now, bears will sometimes dig up the nests of ants to eat their larvae.

 

There was one person, Ant Woman, who was smarter than all the rest.  “If we had light, we could see to work.  We could find our way home.  We could watch for the monster Bear, who steals our children.”

Ant Woman decided to go to the house of the Creator, and ask for light on behalf of her people.  It was a long and dangerous journey.  She did not know it, but Bear followed her, to see what she would do.

“Oh, Creator,” she said, “give my people light, so we can see and work…”

But before she could finish speaking, Bear stepped in front of her, saying, “Don’t listen to her!  Don’t give this little bug person what she wants!  I want it to always be dark so I can sleep and be cool!”

The Creator replied, “There will be a contest—a dance contest—and the winner will get his or her desire.”

This was the very first Powwow, when people came together to compete in dance.  Just as now, people came from the four directions to see the dancing.  They brought all sorts of food to share with one another.

As soon as Bear saw all the different types of food, he became very excited and began to eat.

But little Ant Woman fasted.  She concentrated on praying on behalf of her people.  She pulled her belt tight around her waist, so she would not feel hungry.  Finally it came time for them to compete.

She stood up, and told the people, “I am Ant Woman—I dance for light!”  And then she did a fast dance, pulling her belt tighter and tighter.

When she had finished, Bear stood up and wiped the crumbs from his lips, saying, “I am Bear—I dance for night!”  Then he did his slow and lumbering dance.  When he had finished, he went back to eating.

For what we would now call four days and four nights they danced against each other.  Ant Woman did not eat during this time, continuing to fast and pray.  She pulled her belt tighter and tighter.

Bear stood up to dance against her, but he was now so fat and full, he could hardly move.  He was so tired and sleepy…  “I am Bear…I dance for…” and then he fell asleep right in the middle of his dance.  He began to snore loudly.

“Little Ant has won,” said the Creator, “but both the Ant and Bear are my children and I love them both.  For that reason I will give them both what they wish for—daylight for the Ant People so they can see and work, and night time for the Bear, so he can sleep and be cool.”

And so it is today we have day and night because of the wonderful little Ant Woman.  And if you see an ant today, you’ll notice she still has a tiny waist, so you know this story is true.  In the Twana language, the name for ant is “tlatlusid” which means “tied or cinched at the waist.”

A Twana story, retold by CoyoteCooks

This is a lovely little story that has a lot of memories for me.  Many years ago, several of us were involved with something called the Indian Readers Series, which was a project out of the NW Regional Educational Laboratory.  A number of American Indian reservations in the Pacific NW designated American Indian storytellers and artists to put some of their traditional legends into booklets that were geared to the reading levels of various grades.  My major objection to this was the fact the oral comprehension level of young children will be higher than their reading comprehension.  As a result, this story, which was retold and illustrated by my relative, Bruce Miller, had to be restructured to a Kindergarten reading level, which lost a lot of its intricacy.  I did the illustrations for a couple of other books in the series. I had always wished the laboratory had made audio recordings to supplement the material designed for the lower reading levels.

At one point, a dear friend of mine, Vi Hilbert, was doing American Indian storytelling demonstrations in her Native language of lushootseed. She saw me in the audience, and asked if I would come up and help her tell the story with her son, Ron.

If you are more familiar with NW culture, the story then carries many more layers of meaning.  One of the most important elements of the tradition among the Salish people is the Winter Spirit Dance, which incorporates the Vision Quest familiar to a number of Native Nations.  This can then be understood as part of what Ant Woman is doing…her focus on prayer and fasting.  In a number of Native communities, there is also the tradition of asking something from the Creator (health and recovery for a beloved, or in Ant Woman’s example—help for her community) and an offer to give something of oneself.  In the initiation process, it is not unusual for the person undergoing the ceremony to have a woven woolen sash or belt that is tied around the waist.  When the person ceremonially dances, he or she will often have helpers who will hold on to the belt and pull against it, helping to strengthen the dancer.  The initiation process, at least the Vision Quest aspect of it, often lasts for four days, although there are other legends and teachings about how someone may have one last much longer, or for a shorter period.

Different Nations have different versions of this legend.  My Aunt used to tell the Sahaptin version, where it wasn’t only Ant and Bear who danced—it was several different animals, each hoping for something special.  For example, Rabbit danced so it would always be springtime, so he would have tender green things to eat.  He lost the contest, but the old people say that you can still hear rabbit thumping on the ground—which means he’s practicing his dance, so next time he’ll win.

Just so, Ant Woman didn’t dance by herself, but with her relatives—the other insects with small waists, like the Wasp.

In thinking up a recipe to go with this story, I thought about what sort of things Bear might eat in the story, but I decided a recipe for insect larvae wouldn’t be a big hit for a lot of readers…

Thinking about so many special people in my life who have crossed over—Bruce, Vi, my Aunt Beans, I also thought about Roberta Wilson, a Lakota woman I met when I started graduate school.  One Saturday in her kitchen, she showed me how to make what she called wojapi in the Lakota language.  It’s a type of berry “pudding” that she would use on fry bread.  It’s a very simple recipe, but takes a bit to simmer down to intensify the flavor.

While traditionally it can be made with dried fruit—like dried chokecherries, because of Roberta, I’ve always associated it with freshly picked berries.  I prefer huckleberries, but I’ve also make it with blueberries.  You can experiment with what you have available.  Nowadays with so many frozen berry choices so easy to find at your local grocery store, you can discover what you enjoy the most.

One of the realities of being shown how to do something is that there really aren’t measurements, since amounts will vary according to how many berries you have, or how much wojapi you want to make.  Because there are no preservatives, I normally make wojapi in small amounts, with the expectation it will be used up in a day or two.  I’ve never tried freezing it.

Basically, the recipe consists of taking the amount of berries you want to use—a few handfuls of berries are what I will usually throw into a bowl.  I’ll mash them up with a potato masher, but I try to keep the mixture chunky, so I don’t do it too thoroughly.  Some wojapi makers prefer theirs to be smoother.  I then cover up the berries in a small sauce pan with water and start to simmer the mixture.  If the berries are sweet enough, I don’t feel a need to add sweetener to them.  Others may add honey or sugar to taste. 

Reducing the mixture down can be enough, but Roberta preferred to use flour to thicken it.  Personally, I tend to use arrowroot or cornstarch for thickening.  If you do too, make sure you mix the thickening agent separately into cold water and then when it’s smooth, add it to the simmering berry mixture.  If you add it in directly, it’s hard to keep lumps out.  For the small amount I make, I will rarely use more than a teaspoon of thickening agent. If it’s still not the consistency I want, I’ll add in a little more of the arrowroot or cornstarch.  If you put in too much, you can add additional water to thin it, until you finally get the balance you’re wanting.  When I get it just right, then I’ll take it off the stove and let it cool, although depending on who was watching me make it, it might not have much of a chance to cool before it was being spread on fry bread, or whatever carbs were at hand.  It also makes an excellent topping for ice cream.  I’m sure Bear would approve…

The Aiyaiyesh Girl and Three Sisters Soup

Long and long ago there was a young girl that people would call Aiyaiyesh, which roughly would translate into English as “stupid.”  Even today, if you don’t listen to your elders,  people will say, “Ah, you’re so aiyaiyesh.”

 Other kids her age would help their elders pick berries. 

But not the girl who was aiyaiyesh…she would just sit underneath the cedar tree, watching the world go by.

Other kids her age would help their elders tan deer hides. 

But not the girl who was aiyaiyesh…she would just sit underneath the cedar tree, watching the world go by.

Other kids her age would help their elders  dig roots.  But not the girl who was aiyaiyesh…she would just sit underneath the cedar tree, watching the world go by…

Other kids her age would gather cedar bark on the hottest days of the year to help their elders.  But not the girl who was aiyaiyesh…she would just sit underneath the cedar tree, watching the world go by.

Finally, one day, the cedar tree couldn’t take it anymore and said, “Ah, you are so aiyaiyesh.  All you ever do is sit underneath me.  Now you watch.  I’m going to show you how to do something.”

And so it was the cedar tree showed her how to take the strong roots of the cedar and coil them around, sewing them together into a circle.  Now circles are very sacred to most Native people.  We’re taught that the world is a circle…when the wind moves in its strongest power, it moves in a circle.   In our ceremonies, when we pray, we turn in a circle because we are taught when you turn in a circle, one of your sins falls off.

As she sewed the circles together, she created the very first hard root cedar basket.  This is a very important thing in the Pacific Northwest.  Not only is it traditionally used to hold berries, and other foods, but the baskets were so well made, they would hold water.  In fact one proof of moving into adulthood was to make four baskets which would then as a test, be dipped into water.  If they would hold the water, then the basket maker was recognized as an adult.  The baskets would then be given away to train the young person to always be generous.  This type of basket was also used for cooking. 

After being filled with water, small rocks that had been heated in a fire would be dropped into the water of the basket.  The heat of the rocks would make the water boil, and you could then cook soups and stews. 

But you had to be very careful and keep stirring the hot rocks around or they would stay at in one place and burn a hole through the bottom of your basket and you’d feel really aiyaiyesh.

When she had finished, the cedar tree examined her basket and told her she had done a good job, but she had woven no patterns onto her basket, and a basket was not finished until it had designs.

 “But I don’t know any designs,” she cried.

“Ah, you’re so aiyaiyesh,” said the cedar tree.  “Start walking—keep your eyes and your ears and your heart open, and you will find all sorts of patterns.”

Just so, the girl began to walk and all the way she was crying.  In fact, she was crying so hard, she wasn’t watching where she was going, and almost stepped on Waxpush, the rattlesnake.“What’s the matter with you, almost stepping on innocent people!” the rattlesnake hissed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she answered, “but the cedar tree told me if I just kept walking, I’d find all sorts of designs for my basket, but I haven’t found a single one.”

“Ah, you’re so aiyaiyesh,” cried the rattlesnake. “Open up your eyes and see—just look at me!”

And sure enough, when she looked—really looked at the rattlesnake, she saw she had  a beautiful pattern of diamonds down her shiny back.  “Oh, how beautiful you are!  What a wonderful pattern!”

“Take it,” said the rattlesnake, “use it for your basket.”  And so it was she wove the diamond back patterns into her basket.

When she was done, she was very proud of herself, but eventually she thought, “Well, I can’t just keep using the same pattern over and over again,” and she began to cry once more.

“Why are you crying, little girl?” called someone with a voice like thunder.  She looked up from her tears and saw Patu, the Mountain,  was talking to her.

“Oh, I’m crying because the cedar tree told me if I just kept walking, I would find all sorts of patterns for my baskets, but all I’ve found is just one!”

“Ah, you’re so aiyaiyesh,” called the Mountain.  “You look at me—what do you see?”  And sure enough, when she looked—really looked at the Mountain she saw that he was really a triangle. 

“Oh, what a beautiful pattern you are,” she said.

“Take it—and use it for your basket.”

And so it was she wove the pattern of the Mountain into her basket.

In this miniature basket, you can see how the yellow represents the path the basket maker took in climbing the mountain to gather the materials for the basket.

 She was very proud of herself, and as she kept walking, keeping her eyes and ears, and heart open, she saw all sorts of designs.

The stars came out at night and formed constellations that she used for designs.

Butterflies danced around the flowers and taught her more patterns.

She saw how the leaves of the plants danced with the wind and her heart danced when she realized she had yet another design.

She saw the tracks of little birds.  She saw lightning and that gave her another design for her baskets.

 She saw the top knot on the little quail and that gave her a design she could use.

Everywhere she went, in every direction, she found patterns and designs.

And when she learned to weave all these designs into her baskets, she returned home to her people and taught them how to put the patterns into baskets. 

When she had done that, she wasn’t aiyaiyesh anymore.

A Sahaptin story, retold by CoyoteCooks

This is one of my favorite stories, and I have used it in getting across the idea of “Learning to See/Seeing to Learn.”  As a therapist, I find a lot of people are like the aiyaiyesh girl in the beginning of her journey—they keep using the same pattern (of behavior) over and over again.  Part of their psychological growth comes from discovering that there are all sorts of other patterns (of behavior) around them that they can also use.

After I tell the legend, the first thing I will ask an audience is, “When did she stop being so aiyaiyesh?”

Was it when she learned to make a basket?  Was it when she learned how to weave a design into the basket?  Was it when she learned to see that patterns and designs were always all around her?

The legend says very specifically she stopped being aiyaiyesh when she was able to share her knowledge with her community.  The beginning of the story states she is aiyaiyesh, and gives examples of what others her age would be doing during the four seasons (a cycle) of the year, in giving back to their community.  But the girl doesn’t give anything back.  She only sits underneath the cedar tree and watches the world go by.  Her aiyaiyeshness isn’t about ignorance, but about her interactions and responsibility.

The knowledge of how to make the baskets described in the story was in danger of being lost not long ago.  When I used to interview Native elders for our TV program, Native Vision, I would hear them talk about how hard it was to make the baskets.  They involved almost a year of preparation—going out during the hottest days of the year to gather cedar bark when the sap would not be next to the surface where it would render the bark useless for basket-making—going into the higher elevations of the mountain to gather bear grass to weave into the basket—preparing alder bark to use as a reddish dye.

When the Native people would take their beautiful baskets into the White towns to trade, the settlers would dismiss them and offer used clothing for trade.  I remember Hazel Pete, a respected Chehalis woman who came from generations of basket-makers, explaining to me how her mother told her as a child, “You are better than this.  You are better than used and dirty old clothes.”  Many stopped making the baskets, and started using buckets and pots obtained from their non-Native neighbors.  Towards the last part of the 20^th century, there was a revival of basket-making among many Native communities, and basket-making was even being taught in community centers on reservations.

  On a spiritual level, this story is related to the Vision Quest, which involves discovering one’s Power.  In this case, the young woman would be about at the age of puberty, and her Spirit Power would be the Cedar Tree, which is responsible for helping her become all she can be.

 In terms of this article’s recipe, I’m going to start with the assumption you either don’t have a basket that you can use for cooking or if you do, it’s likely to be a family heirloom you probably won’t use for cooking anyway.  In the images I used in illustration I included one that shows baskets from California, that are a little out of the Plateau culture of this legend, but it did indicate some cooking baskets so readers won’t think this is something I made up.  These Californian baskets would have been used to cook ground acorns with the same technique of dropping small stone heated very hot in a fire into the mixture, and then replacing the stones as they cool off.  I’ve had some like this when I was doing a workshop in northern California.

Because the NW traditions focus on soups and stews in the baskets, I decided to do a “Three Sisters Soup.”  I was aware of the Three Sisters (Corn, Bean, Squash) from southwestern culture and was pleased to find out much later as an adult that the Three Sisters are also very much part of other Native cultures, including up in the American North East, the homeland of the Six Nations Confederacy. 

The legends say these are our relatives.  On a practical level, the corn stalk forms a support for the beans to climb, while the beans attach nitrogen to the soil in a way that benefits the corn.  The squash spreads out, helping keep the ground moist, but also discourages other plants (think about what most Americans would call weeds) and the spiny bits of the squash discourage a lot of pests.

 If I’m in a hurry, (and it’s one of those weeks) it’s easy to throw together a can of black beans , a can of hominy, and a few cut up zucchini and yellow squash into a chicken stock (although I’ve been trying to be as productive as possible lately, so I’ve been freezing pork stock which I’ll use instead).  There’s sometimes mention of the Fourth Sibling—the spicy brother Chili, so I’ll toss in enough crushed  or ground red chili pepper until I’m satisfied.

I personally prefer cutting fresh corn off the cob to use, although sometimes I get a craving for hominy.

Depending on who will be sharing dinner, I might cut the fresh corn into segments for those who enjoy the experience of gnawing the corn off.  

This is actually more representative of the Algonquian folks back east.  First appearing in English about 1778, “succotash” comes from an American Indian word for beans and maize cooked together. “Msiquatash” was the staple dish of the Narragansett tribe, who lived in what is now Rhode Island. A related Narragansett word, “asquutasquash,” gave us “squash…”(Incidentally, the verb “squash,” meaning “to smash flat,” comes from an entirely different source, the Latin word for “break.”) http://www.word-detective.com/back-m.html

I’ll also throw in a few diced tomatoes and garlic, and salt and pepper to taste.  And because it’s been a very busy week, I’ll throw in the meat from the leftover pork that’s been waiting patiently in the fridge.  I’m ready to serve within 30 minutes, which includes tossing some rolls in the oven.