by Nicole Wells
Yesterday evening we re-stocked on groceries. We'll have a proper campfire and even roast some hotdogs and s'mores over it. We haven't had a real chance to fully immerse in a camp experience, either being in the city, the restrictions of the RV park, or not enough time. I know it will be rejuvenating, but more so, I know I will connect with my dad.
I've read through all his notes, multiple times. Between his notes, Jacob's wisdom, Yasmin's clear spiritual guidance (which comes across very Yoda-like in her abbreviated texts), and some of Jacob's self-help audiobooks (I suspect he got those just for me ahead of time) I'm being peaceful a lot more. Of course, my world is a bubble of fascinating scenery and supportive friends right now, so it's not as challenging as it sounds.
At some point during this trip, I was able to let the past be the past and the future be the future. I'm not dwelling on it so much anymore. Or, as Jacob explains how the Aboriginals see it, time is multidimensional — up, down, and all around. We're swimming in it, and I can choose which direction I face.
And I'm also learning to see me as Jacob sees me. A healing presence. A big heart. Not perfect, but not needing to be. That's the forgiveness.
I'm very focused on forgiveness. It is almost incomprehensible, the amount of automatic judgment, the criticisms, the control, and the resistance to what is — it infiltrates everything. So I'm in practice with that. Not just being in the moment, but getting there through my heart. I think that's what dad missed. I think it's like Jacob said; the world is mostly good. The love is there if you open your eyes to see it. I read some of dad's quotes in a new way now, and they make sense. Different sense. Did dad ever understand them that way, and then lose his way? I know I could lose my way too, but I don't think about it much. I appreciate what I've got, right now. It's too precious to let it go to ponder something inconsequential.
It's easy to be in the now surrounded by the majesty of nature. Awe-inspiring sights of mountainsides rise above us, buttresses of rock carved by water. A distinct type of humbling, this is Nature reminding us of her glory, not Man's creations. It is too beautiful for words. I'm tempted to close my eyes and just reverberate in the energy channeled through this canyon, but my eyes want to soak up the sight. The river below is like a ribbon of mirror, a gilded adornment that reminds me not to limit things with my judgment, but open to the wonders of this world and beyond.
It's late afternoon when we arrive at the Lower Wind River campground. Although we had ample time to stretch out legs and switch driving duty, taking advantage of quick breaks on the scenic byway, I revel in knowing we'll be land-bound until tomorrow, literally setting up camp. Jacob picks up on my glee, and together we explore our new surroundings. There are errant logs and rocks, and he reaches out to hold my hand. At some point, as we traipse through the grass to the river, I no longer need his hand but hold on anyway. It's a connection that marks that closeness we've developed, a minuscule outward sign to the vibrant bond that's grown between us.
We near the shore and I lean on him as I slip off my shoes. He follows my lead and folds up his cargo pants. I'm wearing a skirt, feeling free and unbidden, as I wade in first. The water is bracingly cold, and I shiver and laugh, closing my eyes and releasing to the sensations. A shock of droplets splatter on me and I let myself laugh loud enough to echo, not even bothering to open my eyes and splash Jacob back, as I suspect he splashed me. I feel wonderfully, amazingly alive.
At some point, we run together in the water, and I imagine us like two fish skirting through the water, so alive in their being, prowess in their sleek muscular bodies, at one with the moment. Cooped up with Belinda, the RV, for too long, the campsite cannot contain me, and we both continue to let our bodies run free throughout the park, hiking, climbing, sprinting, and discovering.
We can't see the sunset from here, but eventually the light filtering down is pale and weak, sapped of its warmth. The long shadows herald our way back, and my muscles feel satiated like a body after a satisfying meal. Jacob grabs our tinder, kindling, and logs as I haul our lawn chairs and supplies to the fire pit. I set up the skewers and drinks and drape a beautiful camping blanket with indigenous geometric patterns over each chair. I also dish out some sides of potato salad and coleslaw to complete our meal. Jacob emits a jubilant whoop as the fire takes and comes over to snag his drink before collapsing in his chair. He glugs his drink down in true male style, Adam's apple bobbing. I take modest sips.
Soon, our hot dogs are sizzling and their enticing aroma wafts towards us along with the smoke. Jacob digs into his sides and I pull the hot dogs off, letting them both cool on my plate as I wait to eat it along with the rest of my food.
A few minutes later he gets his hot dog from me and asks, "Is this close enough to how it was camping with your dad?" He blows on his hot dog to cool it down a little more.
I've just taken a bite, and I hum in delight as the hot, salty, savory taste erupts in my mouth. I follow it with the cool, sharp, and slightly bitter crunch of sauerkrauty coleslaw. Wiping my mouth and swallowing before answering, I say, "Often we just pitched a tent in the backyard. It was nothing fancy, but very special."
The fire pops and crackles, adding to the chorus of crickets. Tendrils of diaphanous smoke waft toward me, dispersing their burnt smell into the crisp evening air. And Jacob is a solid, warm presence next to me. I feel that connection to what I cherish most about camping now.
"And yes, Jacob, this is perfect. Thanks." I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, my face relaxed and yet muscles contracted in a smile. What an odd juxtaposition, I think. And then I realize why it's possible — it's effortless.
I scoop up some potato salad, its hints of sweetness a perfect setup for another bite of hotdog. Realizing I've been a bit mesmerized with my food and neglecting the conversation, I look up and find Jacob watching me. I stick out my tongue and cross my eyes, so I don't see the potato chip that sails towards me. "Hey!" I shriek, looking down to find the projectile. It's a hefty, thickly sliced BBQ chip, so the good kind. "What? You have potato chips?" I reach down and pick it up. "You wasted a perfectly good potato chip! When did you get potato chips?"
"You don't know all my secrets." He belies the serious statement with a smirk and then holds out the bag he pulls from behind his chair.
I take my share and settle back down into my chair, this time wrapping the woven blanket around my shoulders. Night has settled in, and the cold abuts the circle of light from the fire, seeping into my back. Jacob seems impervious, and a little introspective, staring into the fire.
A big pop from the fire releases an outburst of sparks, some ashes caught up in the thermal.
"UpSpark!" I say, in a voice reminiscent of someone finding a four-leaf clover. Jacob looks over at me and cants his head in question.
"The sparks that fly upwards. We called them UpSpark."
More pinpricks of light soar upwards into the night and disappear, their light fading, becoming ash.
"My dad called me that, too. Anytime I was too rowdy, he would playfully say, 'Okaaay, UpSpark.' You know, like a play on the word upstart."
"And a play on your name, right? Enya means 'little spark'?"
I look at him anew, "How did you know that?" He gives me a stare, like, 'Duh, I know things.'
"Um, yeah." I continue, "I think he expected me to cause waves. I don't know if that means I was a strong-willed kid and it really suited me, or if it just stuck, but it was his special nickname for me. An affectionate name." I smile tenderly, surprised I'm not crying, surprised this is so easy to share.
"I always felt like I needed to do something big with my life, like fulfilling expectations he didn't voice. I don't know if I will cause any waves with the time I have left, but I'm okay with that now. Living in the moment, choosing serenity, that's big. That's big enough."
Another pop and another flash of sparks drift heavenly.
"It just takes a spark, Enya. You don't need to be anything more than you."
We both watch
the embers float up, little lights reaching out to their star cousins. The ashes rain down, the body that housed the spark now heavy and dark, free of the fire it caged.
chapter 14
THE POUNDING OF THE DRUMS echoes in my lungs. My ribs are the hollowed-out chamber, my skin pulled tight over it — boom, boom, boom. The primal call repeats and I feel the vibrations with my entire body. My ears register the singing, a sound so human and mystical at the same time.
Wind River reservation is the seventh-largest in the US, and the fifth-biggest by population, home to Eastern Shoshone and Northern Arapaho. But today, we're seeing dancers and drummers from all over the US and Canada who have come to perform in the Powwow.
I spy a group of men gathered around a large drum, hitting it together. Even in this, there is community and oneness. The dancers weave in front of me, vivid reds and greens penetrating my thoughts. They shuffle in a slow circle, undulating around. Beautifully attired in bright colors and intricate detail, my eyes drift to the feet that pound in time with the drums.
The singing gathers momentum and is otherworldly and haunting. There are harmonies within as a single voice adds their flair, carried by the current of the whole ensemble. Feathers flash in my vision, competing for attention, an eruption of feeling. My muscles jerk in reaction, like they are being called to join in and dance too.
There are so many people here, some in traditional garb, some in modern clothes, some tourists, families, veterans — all ages and all walks of life. And everyone is friendly and kind. I notice people look me in the eyes and see me when they talk to me. Although, honestly, Jacob is the one that garners the most stares. He is tall and stands out, but also has this presence about him, like a natural leader. As a result, Jacob has made a few new connections here, with a bunch of new contacts in his phone. I'm glad his hopes for this trip are coming true.
I look over and he’s on his phone again. He's been checking it and sending off a few texts, which is unusual for him. He's usually so present to what's going on.
“Jacob, you got a girl on the side?” I chide as I elbow him.
He looks absolutely confused, which is kinda charming, and then he blushes furiously.
“N- No! I’m trying to meet up with some people,” he stammers, looking guilty.
“Jacob, it’s okay, I’m just teasing! You were so engrossed in your phone, that’s all,” I have to hold my hands out to keep him from putting his phone away.
“So, who are we meeting?” I turn my head to catch a glimpse of his screen. All I see is a bunch of the unanswered texts he’s sent out.
“Um, well, I don’t know if they’re still coming.” He fidgets, and I know him well enough to discern what he’s not saying. He’ll be really disappointed if they don’t show.
“It’s a long trip for them. They’re from the Oklahoma Lenape reservation--”
“They’re Lenape! That’s great!”
We both look down as his phone dings. His smile transforms his face, “They’re here.”
We meet an older woman and her son at the food vendors. The woman, Grandmother Dream Walker, looks to be in her 40s and has the kind of personality where everyone is instantly her friend and confidante. She makes the people around her feel like they are privy to her inner circle, but she doesn't exclude anyone. Her son, Brayden, is about our age, maybe a little younger. His dark brown hair and clothes are crisp and in fashion, and with his striking hazel eyes, he looks like he could be a teen heartthrob.
Jacob and Brayden do that manly handshake/slap/hand dance greeting that guys do. “Sorry, man. Crazy reception,” Brayden says as he pockets a large, sleek cell phone.
Grandmother Dream Walker reaches out and engulfs Jacob in a huge bear hug. A flare of something possessive rises up in me. Whoa. Seriously, I gotta get out more. All this solidarity with Jacob is bad for my people skills.
“We only let her out in public on the full moons.” a smooth voice says next to me. I turn to Brayden, who is grinning. He juts his chin towards her, “Grandmother thinks she’s kin to everyone, in a grandmotherly sort of way.”
“I heard that, young man! And it’s Mother Dream Walker to you, no matter what anyone else says!” Grandmother Dream Walker turns away from Jacob and faces Brayden and me. “And this must be our precious Enya!” I’m baffled by her words, so her hug really bowls me over. A cloud of herbal scent envelopes me, and reminds me of being in a loose leaf tea shop. She holds me by the shoulders and beams at me, “You are darling! You take good care of our Jacob, dear --”
“MOM!” Brayden face palms while Jacob is staring at us, horrified.
“Oh, ma'am, we’re not … we don’t ...You’re mistaken.” I smile and try to smooth over her faux pas.
Jacob finally finds his voice, “She’s a great partner to have on the road. Keeps me in line.”
Oh. Is that what she meant? Now I’m the one who’s mistaken. Luckily, the vendor we’ve been waiting for is ready for us to order now.
“Fry bread and Indian tacos all around, right?” Jacob asks as he pulls out his wallet, happy for the interruption. Brayden nods, and moves forward with an offer to pay but Jacob waves him off.
Grandmother Dream Walker sidles next to me and hooks an arm around my waist. She’s aggressive in an oddly friendly way. “He’s a keeper,” she whispers conspiratorially, and then advances up front to the boys, with a parting wink to me. I sympathize with Brayden. If she was my mom, I probably would only go out with her once a month too, like he joked.
We don’t have to wait long, and the four of us amble back into the crowd, munching as we go. Grandmother Dream Walker is paired ahead with Jacob, talking rapidly in Lenape. I’m loving the sound of their lilting conversation as I nibble on my food, trying to balance it with the napkins and drink. While also sightseeing. It takes all my concentration to walk along with them.
“Here, let me help.” Brayden reaches over and I gratefully pass him my drink while I focus on the now perfectly cooled food.
I turn my head towards him, “Thank--. Hey, where did your food go?”
“I wolfed it down,” His smile is disarming, and I smile in response.
“It’s a joke. I’m Wolf clan,” He hooks a thumb at himself, then angles it towards Jacob. “Turtle.”
“Oh. Jacob’s never mentioned that. Can you tell me more?” I take an overly large, but oh-so-good bite.
“Lenape is a matriarchal society. We’re from Oklahoma where most Lenape live these days. It's a big deal to meet up like this. Nice to touch base with the folk back East. The homeland,” He smiles, and it’s like everything he says is a joke. There’s conspiratorial closeness when he talks too. Like mother, like son, I guess.
“And Turtle Clan! Medicine Man Great Thunder’s line!” He winks, but my face must show my confusion.
“The turtle represents the world. It’s really sacred. And us Lenape like to believe we are Grandfather to the other tribes.” His voice takes on a bit of a lecturing quality, and even though he’s young, it suits him. Although he’s too cute, and sun tanned, to be a young professor or teacher.
“Particularly, legend has it we’re Grandfather to the other Algonquin. So Mom takes her responsibilities very seriously. She’s got a complex that she’s responsible for all the tribal nations.”
“I heard that!” Grandmother Dream Walker chides over her shoulder, but returns right back to her conversation in Lenape with Jacob without missing a beat.
“We also like to think that we are an exceptionally peaceful people. When the settlers came, they didn’t even need to build fortifications.”
Brayden easily keeps up the discourse as I finish off my food. He's friendly and honestly eager to please, gladly answering all my questions.
“Do you do medicine too? I saw Jacob administering some herbs to a woman when we were at Standing Rock. Is everyone taught about herbs?”
“Oh, well it goes with the territory. My mom’s a dreamwalker, in case you haven’t figured that out,” he
peeks over at me and I take the opportunity to reclaim my drink. I don’t know if he expects me to refute him. He’s pretty easy going, and it brings it out in me too. Dreamwalker, sure. I take a sip and gesture for him to go on.
“And Jacob’s great, great grandfather was too. Dreamwalker, Medicine Man, Spiritual healer. It all overlaps. Herbal medicine included. It's the biggest honor. So people have hopes and expectations, which means training.”
Our group pauses outside another performance. Brayden leans in and whispers conspiratorially, hazel eyes twinkling, like he’s stirring up mischief, “I dodged that bullet. Got into IT. I’m a wizard with tech stuff. I don’t pay any heed to refining other talents. As much of an honor as it would be, I know that’s not my path. My mom can have all the glory. Jacob, though,” he shakes his head, but his smile belies his insincerity.
I open my mouth to ask more, but Brayden puts a finger to his lips, and turns his attention to the demonstration. Grandmother Dream Walker, with perhaps a sixth sense for his mischief, turns and looks at her son, a scold creasing her otherwise friendly face. He joins her with a placating expression as Jacob turns. I see his eyes scan, and I know the moment he realizes I’m a few steps to his right. He closes the distance and I’m happy to have his comforting presence so close again. I don’t puzzle over Brayden’s words. He’s obviously got a trouble-maker side. Silenced, Jacob and I just observe and appreciate the Powwow, and the moment, together.
Until now, it feels like Jacob and I have been walking through the past, a fossilized imprint left by time, but this is living, breathing Native American Indian culture and community. This togetherness, this power, it is what intimidated so many white settlers that they had to annihilate their culture and silence them in the history books. I know it is what Jacob has been searching for, the identity he sought but doesn’t own. This is a part of him, and a part of all the people here. A shared knowing that no single person can claim alone. This is where one becomes many.