The birds were already “praying” by four a.m. River groaned. She rolled over and pulled the sheets above her head. She knew this was going to be one of her last days with her nokomis that summer, so she didn’t want it to even start.
An hour later, River crawled out of bed and decided to make everyone omelettes for breakfast. She packed a lunch for herself and her nokomis, and gathered the bug spray, a blanket and a hat. She looked at her red bandana but let it rest on the dresser.
Grace made her way slowly down the stairs and gathered a few things before she sat down for breakfast. “Good morning, my girl. You’re up awfully early. Breakfast smells delicious. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Nokomis.” River smiled as she poured some coffee.
Grace stirred a sugar cube into her cup. “We will need to drive for about an hour north to this one special area. It’s an old logging road, so no one will be around on the weekend.”
“Awesome. I grabbed us everything we need. As soon as you’re ready, let me know.”
“Great. Don’t forget your bundle.”
They finished their breakfast, hopped in the car and drove toward the sun until they turned north. When they arrived at the logging road, River put the car into park and helped Grace gather her satchel and bundle. Grace placed her bundle on the ground and laid the red cloth out flat. She had two little white tobacco ties — natural tobacco leaves crumbled into a little piece of cloth with a leather tie around it. She had her smudge bowl, her feather and her other medicines in leather pouches. She handed a tobacco tie to River.
“We offer this tobacco, this semaa, to introduce ourselves to the Creator.” They placed the tobacco on the ground under the tree. River now knew it was to give thanks for the gift from the earth they were about to receive. “We take only what we need,” Grace reminded River.
Grace pulled her bush knife from its leather sheath. The handle was carved from deer antler with a tiny image of a wolf by artist Norman Knott. She held the knife to the bark of the birch tree and sliced horizontally around the tree trunk about a foot above her head. Three feet down, she made another horizontal slice all the way around the tree. She then made a final vertical slice from the top cut to the bottom cut. She poked the knife into the layers of bark, almost as if she were filleting a fish, separating the flesh from the bones. River could see the layers revealing themselves until Grace finally made it to the light-colored, wet centre of the tree.
“Avoid cutting the inside of the tree, so you don’t damage it. Only the outer bark is harvested, so the tree can continue to grow. Here, you try.” Grace handed River the knife.
River stepped up to a tree, laid town her semaa tie and started praying. She paused and looked up at her nokomis. “I think I need a spirit name, Nokomis. Maybe it would help me when I introduce myself to the Creator?”
“I think that’s an excellent idea, my girl.”
River sliced the bark, exactly as her nokomis had shown. First the top cut. Then the bottom cut. Then the vertical slice. She had a tricky time finding the inner white layer of the tree. She was nervous she would damage it and wasn’t pressing very hard.
“It’s good to practise on these trees on the logging road, River. They will be cut down, so you won’t damage a tree that needs to live. Don’t be nervous, you’ll find the inner layer,” her nokomis reassured her.
River wiggled the knife until she was able to peel the bark from around the tree. She felt absolutely elated. She felt like she was glowing.
River fell to her knees and burst into tears. Grace placed a warm hand on her back. She pulled sage and her smudge bowl from her bundle. She lit the sage with a match and offered the bowl to River. River smudged, kneeling beneath the birch trees. Then she sat down with the bark and knife at her feet. She looked up at her nokomis and asked, “This is what home feels like, isn’t it, Noki?”
“Yes, my girl, yes. This is exactly what home feels like.”
“Thank you, Nokomis, for bringing me here.” River sniffled. “It doesn’t matter where I live, just like you said. I get it now. It really is about my connection to the earth and to the Creator. Finding and listening to my spirit is what’s going to help me find my way through life, isn’t it?”
“You got it, my girl.”
Grace gathered her bundle and held her hand out to River. River pulled herself up into her nokomis’s arms and hugged her tight.
“Here, let’s sit over here,” said Grace. “Maybe we’ll have a snack or something. I’m hungry already, and I have another story to tell you.”
River and her nokomis settled in on their blanket under a large willow tree. Grace nibbled on a sandwich while River collected herself. And then she started the story.
“You know, long ago, when women had babies, they kept them in a piece of wood called a cradleboard. The babies were swaddled in a blanket or cloth, or probably deer hide way back when, and then secured to the cradleboard. Then mothers carried their babies on their backs or hung them in or on their lodging, or even in a tree. This kept the babies safe and happy while the mothers worked. They kept a moss bag for the baby, before cloth diapers came around.”
River smiled and found a more comfortable position on the blanket.
“The Elders also used to say that the teaching in the cradleboard is the first teaching a baby receives. The baby learns to watch, observe and listen. The baby pays very close attention to the things going on around him or her. Babies learn to observe before they learn to speak. And some people even say this is why our people are so quiet sometimes even now. Even politicians, or people in the public eye. We have always listened and observed since we were infants. We thought about things before we made decisions, or before we spoke up. Sometimes people talk so much, they don’t spend any time listening. People who talk a lot aren’t truly listening. And you can’t learn much if you aren’t listening, if you’re doing all the talking.”
“I know the type,” River groaned. “That makes perfect sense.”
“You said you want your spirit name, River.”
“Yes,” replied River. “I realize I want to be able to introduce myself with a spirit name, in Anishnaabomowin. Like you do.”
“Well, that’s something that you could ask an Elder for. You prepare some semaa and you offer it to an Elder you are close with. If they accept it from you, that means they will want to talk with you and get to know you better. They will wait until the name comes to them. Sometimes it comes to them in a dream, or a vision. When they are ready, they will let you know to come and visit them. You can have a naming ceremony at that time. They will introduce you to the people and to the Creator using your spirit name. Then you have a little giveaway, kind of like party favours. You make special things to give away, to thank the people who came to support you. It’s like the opposite of a birthday party where you get things. This is more like a gratitude party where you give things, to thank the people for coming.”
“Is that why they have giveaways at the end of the powwow, to thank the dancers and singers for coming?”
“Exactly, my girl.”
“Cool,” River mused. “So if you have a spirit name, why do you only say it in our language, and not in English?”
“Well, some people believe the name is only between you and the Creator, so they don’t share it with anyone, or anyone who is not very close to you. Most people don’t translate into English because the meaning gets lost. Native languages are so descriptive that the English version would be too long a name to call someone. Take my name for example. In Anishnaabomowin, my name means, the moment the lightning from the thunderbird’s eyes hits the ground. There is no word for that particular moment, so you have to describe it. And to describe it would take forever in Ojibwe, so they call me Nimke Biiniishe Kwe, which simply translates to Thunder Bird Woman. When I introduce myself to speakers of the language I explain my whole name, though. This is why it is so important to learn and preserve our language. So we can maintain our culture.”
“Nokomis, you have so much knowledge. I want to listen to your stories and teachings forever.” River played with some blades of grass. She knew if she met her nokomis’s eye, she would burst into tears again.
“Well, I’m only a phone call away, my girl. And you are always welcome here anytime too. You can even bring a friend next time if you like. Your old noki has lots of stories, remember?” She winked.
“Yeah, that would be fun. But I don’t want to share you with anyone,” River giggled.
“You feel ready to go harvest some more bark? My belly is full, and so is my heart.”
“Yes, Noki, let’s do this.” River hopped up, tidied her space and helped her nokomis up off the ground. She grabbed her knife in its sheath and let her nokomis lead the way.
Together, River and her nokomis harvested until they couldn’t stand the mosquitos anymore. It was almost dusk when they slammed the door of the car trunk, full of birch bark scrolls.
Grace looked up at River. “Miigwech for today, River. After I show you how to clean the bark, I’m going to show you how to bite it.”
“Bite it?” Was she joking?
“Yeah, bite it. It’s called birch bark biting. It’s a really old art form. Mostly women used to do it to pass the time, or to decorate baskets. They used an eye tooth to make floral patterns, animals, insects — anything in nature.”
“Nokomis, that sounds amazing!”
“I like to use my front teeth. My eye teeth are so far back in my mouth that I can’t use them. So my birch bark biting always looks a little different from anyone else’s,” Grace explained.
“Oh, so you’re talented and unique, eh?” River teased.
“Unique is an understatement, my girl,” Grace laughed. “And speaking of talented, I’d like to go to bingo tomorrow. Do you want to come with me?”
“Ha! I’d love to, Noki.”