When Savanah opened the door, she was stunned! Her eyes couldn't believe who was standing on our doorstep.
“Grandma and Grandpa, what are you doing here?”
My parents live five hours away and we only see them a few times a year. When they come to visit, I always give my kids a heads-up. I would especially do it if they were to come the day before Thanksgiving!
I'm getting ahead of myself, so let me back up and explain a few other details . . .
As with most families, we alternate the place we go for Thanksgiving between my family and that of my wife. This year we were to make the four-hour drive to Mantua, Utah to be with Jenelle's family. Thanksgiving is always a double-edged sword for me. I love visiting either side of the family, especially with members whom I rarely see. But on the other hand, my job only allows one day off, which means it is always a quick and miserable trip, leaving in the dark on Wednesday, and returning in the dark on Thursday.
And I'm always worried about the weather. The end of November can always send a squall that will jab you in the heart if you're not careful. We've been caught in several snow storms over the years. I remember one Thanksgiving coming home from Monticello when we landed ourselves in a white-knuckled adventure in the mountains near Salina on I-70. We spent two hours at nine o'clock in the evening waiting at a rest area, bundled in blankets, before continuing the harrowing drive home.
As we kept an eye on the weather report, I became more concerned. It seemed that with each passing day the forecast became more dire. What began as a chance of rain turned into seven inches of snow, both on Wednesday and Thursday. On Monday we made the difficult decision to cancel our plans to Mantua and spend the holiday by ourselves at home.
I should inject here that this time of year is a difficult time for us. My daughter, Brittany, passed away around the holidays seven years ago. In fact, the day before Thanksgiving would have been her 21st birthday. Since her passing we have always celebrated her birthday by eating Thai fried rice, which was the last meal she ever fully ate.
So now that plans had changed, the busy work began. We had to buy turkey, pies, whip cream, stuffing, corn and all the good food that comes with Thanksgiving. We had never eaten Thanksgiving dinner with just our family. With Brittany gone, there are only four kids now, all of them in the house, except for Jordan who lives in town. It would be a simple dinner, but of course now we would have to do all the work.
The day before Thanksgiving was one of the craziest days I've experienced in a long time. First of all, the weather was insane! We knew the storm was blowing in, but we didn't think it would blow in like a hurricane. Gusts had to be around 60 miles per hour! With snow already on the ground, our entire town looked like a cloud of powder. Trash skidded across the streets and flaps of siding dangled from rooftops. Mammoth pine trees were toppled. Semi trucks were tipped over on the freeway like matchbox cars. And I had to work in all this!
That's when Savanah answered the door. Jenelle sent me a photo-text with a picture of my parents sitting in our living room. Now it was all coming back to me . . .
My mom had called me about a month ago and asked what we were doing for Thanksgiving. When I told her we were traveling to Mantua, she said that was too bad because they were actually going to be traveling through our town on their way to St. George. They were going with my brother and his family to California the day after Thanksgiving, but as for Thanksgiving day, they had no place to eat. Their plan was to find a Chuck-o-rama or other establishment that would serve a Thanksgiving dinner. And I didn't give it a second thought because I knew we would be gone . . . or so I thought.
When our plans changed, the fact that my parents would be passing through town never entered my mind. But once Jenelle notified me they were here, my memory was quickly jogged. I now recalled that they didn't have a place to eat. “We should invite them to eat with us,” I texted Jenelle. She agreed.
But what came next took me off guard. Jenelle texted back and said that Adam would be coming, also. Adam is my brother that is traveling to California with my parents. The snow ruined their Thanksgiving plans, too. He has a wife and three kids. So, on a dime, our Thanksgiving plans changed from a simple meal with six people, to a feast with thirteen.
The next twenty-four hours was spent buying more food and preparing what we could. Jenelle was the mastermind behind everything and made most of the dishes. Wednesday evening I made the fried rice and we ate ice cream and cake after dinner. Then we reminisced on memories of Brittany while sitting in the living room.
Early Thursday morning we put the turkey in the oven, then spent the next several hours baking rolls, whipping up potatoes, dicing vegetables and a plethora of other chores associated with Thanksgiving dinner. The guests arrived around around 11:00 and they too pitched in. The kids played Carcasonne in the hallway and my dad watched a Spaghetti Western.
Everything came together remarkably well. As we ate dinner, all the bites and drops tasted magnificent. Snow had fallen over night, so all was white, but by now the roads outside had dried. It was a pleasant day for conversation.
One more aspect to this holiday made it special. The last time we hosted a Thanksgiving dinner in our home was twenty-one years ago. You guessed it . . . the year that Brittany was born. Because Jenelle was due any day, my family decided it was best to travel to us instead of making us travel to them. Jenelle prepared most of the dinner that year also. We ate a sumptuous meal and the next day, early in the morning, we both drove to St. George where Jenelle was induced. Later that day a healthy baby girl was born. She came with dark hair and wide hazel-colored eyes, perhaps with a hint of blue. She appeared very alert and aware of her surroundings. On that day we nicknamed her pumpkin. ♠
For me it is the rhythmic pounding of the drums that draws allure. Pa-POOM, pa-POOM, pa-POOM. Over and over. Pa-POOM, pa-POOM, pa-POOM! And then the shrill scream of the singers, like a pack of wild coyotes screaming in the night.
I believe tonight was my fourth powwow. I arrived at the Paiute tribal grounds just ten minutes before the grand entry. It didn't go as planned.
Participants and onlookers gathered in a large circle on the grass, beneath shade huts and on chairs and feet. Beyond all of us, a beautiful backdrop of red hills that are iconic of Cedar City.
A tall man with two long dark braids stood and addressed the crowd. He had bad news. He announced that his uncle, Bryant Jake, had died just 45 minutes ago and they were postponing the grand entry until 7:30 so family members could go to his house and pay their respects before they took the body away.
This took me off-guard. I met and talked with Bryant just a few months earlier. He was dying from cancer, but looked fairly healthy the day I saw him. I asked him about an old burial site west of town, and he—rightfully so—was reluctant to tell me much about it. There are very few people left who know the location of that site.
During the time of powwow, the beating of drums and high-pitched chanting reverberates over the hills and can be heard through all the neighborhood. It can be a surreal experience. Bryant Jake lived just a couple blocks away. No doubt that as he lay dying at his home, it was as if the spirits were calling him to his eternal home.
A powwow is a gathering of many Indian tribes. Here there were Shoshone, Ute, Navajo, different bands of Paiute. In the past I have seen Aztec from Southern California and a tribe from Canada. A drummer near us this evening came from Kansas. I have a pretty good feel of how the local Paiute look, as well as some of the Ute and Navajo around the state, but as I walked around the grounds, it was obvious that there were many from distant places, whose facial features and skin tone were different.
It is also interesting to note the difference between Natives and Anglos. We, the Anglos, are curious. We come with our big cameras and phones to record the event. The Natives just participate.
I talked with a white guy from Dallas, Texas who had a camera and was filming a documentary on the local Paiutes. For the last three years he has interviewed members and attended other tribal events. Of particular interest he has followed the recent controversy where our local school board voted (to the ire of much of the community) to change the “Redmen” mascot at the local high school.—I will note that I saw a local Paiute lady wearing a Redmen sweater at the powwow.
When the grand entry began, the drums began to beat and a long line of men, women and children from all the different tribes made their way into the inner circle of the grounds, some walking, and others stomping their feet in dance. They wore regalia of feathers, bells, tall moccasins and costumes of color. Some painted their face. One of the men wore a headdress. A woman wore a leather shawl and twirled like a flamenco dancer. All in all, it was a beautiful sight.
At the lead of the long procession marched the veterans holding three different flags, including that of the Paiute Tribe, state of Utah, and United States. I am always impressed at how the Natives are so patriotic. And to be a veteran is held in high regard among the community.
As the the evening continued, more dancing, singing and drumming ensued. I believe there is a competition for each of these, as there are tags with numbers attached to the regalia. I will admit that I don't understand everything that goes on at a powwow, but I am trying to learn more each year.
I did notice, however, that they pay high respect to their elders. At one point they brought an elderly lady in a wheelchair and her family into the circle and honored her by talking of her and singing to her. (When I say “sing” I mean they beat on the drums and the drummers made their high-pitched shrill that is typical powwow music.) Sometimes the singing just sounds like beautiful noise, but sometimes I can tell there are words in there, most likely of native tongue.
Upon observing the elderly lady's family, I noticed that several were Anglo, meaning some of the kids probably inter-married. This is a microcosm of their culture as they have had to adopt many of the white-man ways over the past 170 years. Say what you'd like about inter-racial marriages, but within two or three generations, usually one of the two races is usually wiped away from the family culture. I couldn't help but to feel a twinge of sorrow for the old lady, knowing that more than likely, it will be the Paiute culture that disappears from her descendants.
As a person who is curious of history and culture, I have always been fascinated with the powwow and how it relates to the native people, which in this case is the Paiute. There seems to be powwows spread across the western United States, yet I don't believe the celebration is indigenous with each of the tribes that do it. From my understanding, the powwow originates with the Plains Indians, who are very far away from Cedar City.
So, if the powwow is a transplant to the Paiutes, then when did it come and what sort of dances did they do before it arrived? And furthermore, does the powwow do justice in carrying on local traditions, or does it aid an environment where local traditions and customs are inadvertently lost?
I asked around a bit and got a few answers. The first powwow held in Cedar City was in 1980 in commemoration for the tribe being restored its Federal recognition. I believe they have had powwows every year since then.
A tribal friend told me that in the past they held Bear, Round, and Sun Dances. She has seen pictures of them dating to around the 1940's. She said they used to wear buckskin, made of deer, and that she recalls her grandmother sewing gauntlets, which are a type of glove made of leather.
I think it is very difficult to know which dances and traditions are indigenous to the local Paiutes here in Cedar City. From what I understand, even before the white man came, they were very poor and nomadic. Does that mean they had few customs of their own? I don't know. Perhaps they met with bordering bands, such as the Shivwits or the Pahvant, during times such as harvest and held celebrations. What interactions did they have with their distant cousins, the Utes? I believe the Bear Dance is of Ute origin.
The more and more I observe Native people, I realize that they tend to cling to each other. Their tribe affiliation becomes less important. There are so few of them that they strive for strength in numbers. This makes sense to me. So, therefore, even though a powwow may have originated on the Plains, this is irrelevant. A powwow is an excuse to get together and celebrate their similar heritage.
I found a quote that substantiates this idea: “A powwow is a gathering, it's a celebration. A powwow used to be to welcome the spring or you'd have a powwow after a good harvest, or you'd have a powwow for a celebration, or if someone was having a significant birthday. Now-a-days powwows are year round, any weekend, any calendar you can find powwows somewhere in the U.S. Or Canada. For me, a powwow is a gathering to see old friends and to make new friends.” (Tina Calamity, The Spanish Trail Suite Interviews)
As the evening moved forward, the shadows on the dancers grew longer before they completely faded away into the darkness of twilight. But now the big field lights came on the dancers continued to dance and the drums continued their beat.
There are still a lot of questions that remain unanswered for me, but that's alright. I go with the flow. But one thing I am sure of is that it is no coincidence that Bryant Jake died on this day at this time, with all his family members here. I'm sure the spirits were on the other side, being summoned by the rhythm of the drums, the shrill of the scream, and the jingling of the bells to bring him into the next world. ♠
