“So I’m rooted to this ground. That’s why I’m supposed to outlive everybody”.
Henry Cultee, Chehalis
“I don’t believe in magic. I believe in the sun and the stars, the water, the tides, the floods, the owls, the hawks flying, the river running, the wind talking. They’re measurements. They tell us how healthy things are. How healthy we are. Because we and they are the same thing.”
Billy Frank, Jr, Nisqually
“Before anything else, we are our land/place… Our flesh, blood, and bones are Earth-body. “
Jeanette Armstrong, Okanagan
“Someday the land will be our eyes and skin again.”
Lizzie Pitt, Warm Springs
There is a story behind each of these quotes: a story that links human life with something larger and more enduring than a single human individual. A story that yields a sense of belonging that can be had no other way.
In order to understand such a story one must spend time in the company of its keeper. In such luminous presence one instantly abandons the stance that insulted Chehalis Indian storytellers: the stance that labeled the enduring wisdom of their people as “just a story”. To diminish a traditional story as less than a fact is to lack the intellectual sophistication of those who used the imagination to bring humans into a fundamental intimacy with all that surrounded them. Native stories were more rather than less than facts: they were facts imbued with meaning.
One day in 1975, Henry Cultee, whose mother and mother’s father were powerful “Indian doctors”, told me he wanted to show me something. He beckoned me aboard the boat he kept moored by his fishing shack at Samamanauwish on the Humptulips River. Samamanauwish was also Henry Cultee’s traditional name, inherited along with his luck in fishing from his grandfather’s brother. It meant “between two channels.” In explaining the name he shared with the land, Cultee said, “I’m living right here”, as he pointed out the channels of the Humptulips that ran on either side of his cabin.
Eighty-five year old Cultee stood erect as he poled the river to guide us over the riffles for which the original people here named this river Hum-m-m-m-p-tulips, the name humming along with water running so fast it cleaned itself out in three days after a rain.
As Grays Harbor opened before us, modern 
frame houses and mill stacks dissolved from view. We entered a world composed of water and sky. The wind danced paths of light on the water. That was the wind that lives here, the one that Henry Cultee’s mother told him to run against with his arms outstretched, measuring its gaping mouth, so it would be ashamed of itself and calm down. As we moved on into ancient memory, that nearby lone sentinel of a rock shrugged off the name of James Rock (for the pioneer) and relived its history as Sme’um– the place where Wildcat stole fire, singeing his tail with the mark he still wears as a result. The urbanized jumble along the Aberdeen River evaporated on the milky mist behind us, giving way to its more lively self: the Wishkah River (”stink water,”) –where Thunderbird dropped a rotting whale carcass. Across the harbor from us was no longer the Cosmopolis named by pioneers, but Khaisáləmish: named after the character of the sandbar where the Transformer Xwane Xwane kept himself from being swept out to sea in the story that depicted the origin of the Chehalis way of life.
Power lived in this place. It was also here that Henry Cultee’s mother’s father obtained his Indian doctor power that was as famous as it was dangerous. After he found his power, his grandfather took the name of the place where it lived: Khaisáləmish. He had a white name too, but he never dropped his Indian one. Thus he was known as Khaisáləmish Pete- or as pioneers anglicized it, Cosmopolis Pete.
Cultee and I slid smoothly down the harbor channel until we came to a dense dense array of shell mounds exposed by the action of the water on the shore beside us. Cultee laughed as he pointed out these signs of the generations of sweet feasting of his people here. This was what he wanted me to see: how the land recalled the lives of his people.
The land trades stories with us this way. If we know its stories, it keeps our own. The stories Henry Cultee told me expressed this ancient reciprocity with “the eyes of the world” that sees “what is in our hearts”, even if we hide it from other humans. In his tradition, it was how the land’s eyes see us that determine the length of our lives.
Stories belong to a live land: and if that land becomes only an object of development, those stories can be lost. There is a place in Upper Chehalis territory, where the old winter dances and later Shaker dances were held. This prairie is perfectly encircled by hills, like a bowl offered up to the sky and time. The stuttering lines of hills to the west hold the story of the swinging door between the worlds that the salmon jump through when they go back to their own lives in the sea.
I could hear ancient voices of people singing here, etched onto the waves of hills and playing back again like the grooves of a record playing back a song.
That was in 1976. Today the prairie where the people danced has become a gravel pit. The hills that encircle it don’t sing anymore. I can only hope that they keep their music inside somewhere where dreamers may still find it. Perhaps this music is another thing, as Grandma Aggie sees happening with mistreated water, that the earth is taking back to her womb.
Henry Cultee’s fishing cabin is also gone now. There is a “no trespassing” sign where visitors drove in as his little dog ran out barking to meet them, while Cultee laughed, “Just don’t speak English to him. He gets awful mad when he hears English!”
We can still tell the story of Samamanauwish, so that, as Cultee put it, “what’s in my heart won’t die with me”. But I’m not quite sure how to tell the land’s story without the land. It’s not so easy to tell this story to those who have never stood on this point and watched the Humptulips rushing single-mindedly toward the harbor in a flamboyant expression of its name.
There were some members of pioneer families- ones who lived as true neighbors to the Chehalis– who understood how land and stories go together as well. One ninety seven year man (Sandy Ames) whose Chehalis neighbors were like an “aunt and uncle” to him, were very particular when they taught him how to roast salmon. From them and from somewhere in his own heart, he also learned how to hear the “words that come through the air”. Those are the words that live on the land’s own breath, like the ones that he shared with me when I arrived at his door as a seeker.
If for no other reason than this, we must safeguard the places that have elder status in the natural world. Without them we lose the ability not only to tell their stories but our own.
Driving back from Oakville the day after I went out on the Harbor with Henry Cultee, I was hit by severe dizzy spells that caused the world to spin ruthlessly around me whenever I moved. A local RN told me it was an inner ear infection, but I dreamt that night that it was my uncried tears for all that was lost of our human belonging to this land, rolling like a rough unbidden tide against my sense of balance.
Surely if we all shed the tears waiting behind our eyes to mark the disappearance of the land’s stories, we would not allow them to be replaced by a gravel pit– or a highway or a high rise. We would still need to shelter and feed ourselves, but we would do so in a way that is in concert with the land– in a way that would allow the land to “recognize us” as innovative architect William McDonough put it.
Riding with Cultee that day on the waters he knew so well he called them by name, I entered a world in which the land did not belong to people by way of deed and title-but instead a people belonged to their land. What made a man, Cultee once asked me, think he could come along and put his name on the land? To him, it was a rhetorical question. No man by rights could do such a thing. Cultee’s people did not name the land for themselves. As in the case of himself, his uncle, and his grandfather, they named themselves for the land.
Altogether the indigenous peoples of the Northwest held the names of the land’s places and beings as an essential spiritual inheritance. At the Walla Walla treaty proceedings on the mid-Columbia River in 1855, Cayuse spokesperson Young Chief asserted that the land had its own names that men and women could not change. Asking Native peoples to turn their land over to those who would re-name it as individual property was asking them to perform an act that was “literally against their religion”, as Clifford Trafzer put it.
In Young Chief’s words:
“The earth and water and grass says God has given our names and we are told those names. Neither the Indians nor the whites have a right to change those names… The same way the Earth says it was from her man was made.”
He also said to the thousands seated on the ground for those treaty proceedings:
“I wonder if this ground has anything to say. I wonder if this ground is listening… The Earth says, God has placed me here. The earth says that God tells me to take care of the Indians on this earth. God says to the fish on the Earth: feed them right. God named the roots that he should feed the Indians on. The water speaks the same way…the grass says the same thing.”
Yakama elder Owhi put it this way when he spoke at Wallla Walla: “God looked one way and then the other and named our land for us to take care of”. “God named this land for us”.
In this light, to replace the land’s names for itself with names of individual human owners is not only a conceit, but a sacrilege. It is also a singularly self-destructive act.
In Henry Cultee’s wise tradition, if we ignore the “eyes of the world”– the eyes of those who sustain our lives–we are liable to construct a way of life that is decidedly short-lived. That tradition thus anticipated the report came out last week indicating that the average US lifespan is continuing to decrease.
No matter the count of our years, when we cease to hear the voices of the land tell their own story we truncate our lives in another way. We set ourselves adrfit from the story of belonging to life and land larger than ourselves.
Sources:
The sources of the quotes are Billy Frank, Jr: from Charles Wilkinson, Lessons from Frank’s Landing (Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 2000); Jeannette Armstrong, “I Stand with You against the Disorder,” Yes Magazine, winter 2006; Lizzie Pitt in Cynthia Stowell, Faces of a Reservation, (Portland: Oregon Historical Society Press, 1987).
The quotes from the Walla Walla Treaty Proceedings can be found in Darrell Scott, ed. Isaac Ingalls Stevens, A True Copy of the Official Proceedings at the Council in the Walla Walla Valley 1855 (Fairfield, Washington: Ye Galleon Press reprint, 1985).
Filed under: Contrasting worldviews, Environmental psychology, Folklore and Oral Tradition, Indigenous, Northwest History and Culture, Our Earth and Ourselves, Stories | Tagged: Environmental psychology, Folklore and Oral Tradition, Grays Harbor, Native American landscape names
Wow! That was quite moving. What an experience that must have been. Each time I read one of these articles my eyes are opened a bit more as to how disconnected we are from the land and how it is slowly affecting us.
My perspective of the natural world is slowly shifting and I am becoming more aware of just how dependent we really are to our environment. We Westerners often have a veil over our eyes that obscures our vision from this truth.
Cultee’s wisdom and that of his ancestors must be preserved and recounted. Not only to honor them, but to save that which we have encroached on and harmed. We can learn much from those who so intimately know the environment around them.
Thank you for your response and your openness, Kathleen. I was very fortunate to be able to experience this.
I read and fully understood your good words, Dr. Holden.
The burden the Indians feel in their hearts is heavy, given the fact they were cheated off their ancestral lands as well as rights to self existence and independence. What nation wouldn’t feet so despondent, so helpless.
From their words, I can see their firm connection to the One who gave them their freedom in this land to feed themselves as they choose, with no interference and no treaty. If God placed them in this land, what right do the government have to remove them and put them in reservations? The generals may be planning for the next few hundred years of world domination, but the sighs of the oppressed and the dispossessed shall bring down their plans before the decade is over.
With all due respect and appreciation for your feelings here, Sayed, I must assert that native elders like Henry Cultee and Agnes Baker and Esther Stutzman are anything but “despondent and helpless”. Indeed, their strength and resilience in the face of what their people have suffered is truly striking–as I hoped to portray in the essays on this site. It is unfortunate if this particular essay in any way gave the impression that they are mere victims of tragic circumstances.
“Cultee’s fishing cabin is gone now.”
“..he gets really mad when he hears English.”
“..today, where the people danced, has become a gravel pit.”
“..but I dreamt that night that it was my uncried tears for all that was lost of our human belonging to this land.”
“..the stories Henry Cultee told me expressed this ancient reciprocity with “the eyes of the world” that sees “what is in our hearts”, even if we hide it from other humans.”
Are those not sorrowful remarks, Dr. Holden? I felt despite their resilience, the loss of their land and their ancient way of life WAS tinged with sadness.
Thank you for taking the time to clarify the basis of your response. There is certainly great occasion for grief here: but grief is not the same as helplessness. I wanted to make the point that even those who suffered great tragedies such as these are not reduced to helpless victims as a result– for they still have their humanity and thus some powerful choices. And they have their traditions– in spite of the tragic assault made on them in US policies like Indian Boarding Schools.
I’m glad you made this list, since it urges me to clarify some cultural understandings that may or may not be clear in this essay as it stands.
The comment amount the dog getting mad shows how humor is linked to resilience In Cultee’s stories. He was laughing as he said this, teasing me.
And as for the ancient eyes of the land, this is a comment not about loss, but about what a power that endures today– Cultee told me stories of the way in which this played out in his own life and that of some of his relatives.
Thank you again for your responses here.
Dr. Holden,
I believe this whole article is based around a quote found in the beginning of the first couple of paragraphs. It says, Native stories were more rather than less than facts: they were facts imbued with meaning. To me, this goes to show, once again, how much there truly is to learn from Native Americans and their theories and philosophies regarding earth and natural resources. I agree with Sayed that their is a sense of grief or loss that goes along with this article, but as you have explained in your last comment to him, much of what is being said is in a playful, resilient fashion. It is always amazing to me, to see how different the Native American culture, and their viewpoints are from many of the cultures of todays generation. Many Native Americans have such a great respect for the land and everything that surrounds them, that as mentioned in the article, they name themselves after the land, not the land after themselves. This article really opens my eyes to many different Native American viewpoints and it goes hand in hand with the book entitled Dwellings by Linda Hogan that has been assigned to the philosophy 443 class for the fact that they both go back to Native American customs and traditions and are both based around the Native American values and belief system.
Amber Steinhoff, Philosophy 443
Thank you for your thoughtful personal contribution to this dialogue, Amber.
I can’t help but see similarities with the statement from the Yakama elder at the Walla Walla proceedings with the ongoing land conflict between the Jews and the Palestinians. Both cultures feel a God-given right to the same stretch of land.
In the case of the Yakama Indians however, I suspect there is much less dispute over the historical occupation of the land. It is more a question of who’s worldview regarding land value has the most power within the government and legal system. The Native American’s view of the land being a gift from God to be appreciated and nurtured is not as valued in modern American society as the concept of land acquisition for the purpose of fullfilling human needs and desires.
I can understand the frustration of Native Americans like the Yakama and Chehalis when they see the land that they have so lovingly respected and cared for treated with such disregard by others who do not share their sense of oneness with the land.
Very thoughtful personal response, Karen. The Israeli and Palestinian issue is a complex one. Perhaps you would be interested in looking at this post on this site about my experience teaching in a Palestinian University under Israeli military occupation:
http://holdenma.wordpress.com/2008/02/06/supporting-the-heart-of-palestine-an-avenue-to-peace-in-the-middle-east/
Thanks for your comment.
That was a very interesting article. You have led a very interesting career/life (seeing you taught at Palestinian University too) and lucky to have met and learned from people like Cultee.
Very sad to read that this area has also been lost because of the spread of civilization. Really when you think about it, there are almost no places that you can go that you won’t find traces of people. I live in Minnesota which is considered a fairly “wild” state as far as that goes compared to many other areas of the U.S. Nevertheless, the closest you can come to an area in this state that is pristine and resembles the way it was before Europeans colonized this country is the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. Even there you’ll encounter old logging dams, fixed forest service campsites with metal grates (these are in place to keep people from camping in other spots which would increase erosion) and in most places a second growth forest that still lacks many of the original large white pine that were removed by loggers. Modern people would consider the BWCA pristine for the most part but I wonder how different it would appear to a person who lived there before this country was settled.
Interesting comment–and yes, I have been quite fortunate in my life to have been to many distinctive places and learned from elders of many cultures. I especially treasure the experience written about here.
I do think it is interesting that the land was hardly without people during the pre-pioneer era– but one might say that its wildness was still in tact. I have been to the hardwoods wilderness above Lake Superior (several decades ago) and I was struck by the ineffable sense of the sacred there. It occurred to me that it derived in part from the fact that all the life there had grown up in harmony with all else over thousands of years. There is such striking sense of peace in a place like this.
We can only hope that we learn to partner with the wild once again as the original inhabitants of this land once did. If we do not, it is our loss in more ways than one.
Thank you for your comment.
I really enjoyed the line, “In order to understand such a story one must spend time in the company of its keeper.” As a student in Dr. Holden’s environmental value course, I’ve realized I have no definite stance on environmental values. At first I wrote it off as not having time which is a lame excuse, rather I feel it’s because I haven’t been shown an appreciation for the subject. The way I relate to an essay such as this one, through my interpretation, is the way Dr. Holden related to Henry in the sense that he showed her a new appreciation for her surroundings and gave her a new perspective. In my opinion, younger generations won’t develop a more profound appreciation for the environment unless they’re given a new perspective. For example, how are younger generations supposed to know how the hills used to sing in 1976 or even what to listen for? I feel a new perspective never hurt anyone. Excellent essay.
Thank you for your thoughtful comments, Ben. I know Henry Cultee would be pleased with your analogy about teachers and students here: he really wanted me to pass on what he shared with me. I feel both blessed by this and weighted with the responsibility entailed. Thank you for allowing me to fulfill a bit of this through your own learning stance. It takes a bit to be open to a new perspective, but it is my sense that it is worth it.
It is unfortunate that you do not have elders everywhere ready to stand by you and share the land’s ancient history-and that of your own ancestors.
From your post I can infer that speaking with Cultee must have been quite the experience!
A concept I found prevelant throughout this post was that of maintaining the worldview that land is a sacred space. We must listen to the land, for example by allowing the land to tell us it’s own names, instead of instilling names upon the land, and therefore refrain from treating the land as property, as many of us do today.
I also especially liked how Cultee mentioned “what’s in my heart won’t die with me…. but I’m not sure how to tell the land’s story without the land.” I think that an important topic was touched on here, which is that people’s experiences with the land will always be remembered, but that without adequate preservation of the land much of the knowledge, which arises as a result of those experiences, cannot be passed down to others, or shared with people because the storyteller has no actual backdrop, or visualization for the story. As such, peoples of future generations will be unable to experience the same connection to the land as did these Chehalis indians, who had more of the lands’ resources and abundance available to them.
I found the concept of the length of one’s life being related to how the lands’ eyes see us to be a fascinating example of reciprocal interaction between the land and the natives. Though, I might almost say that the relationship is sided more towards that of the land knowing more than individuals, because the post referred to the land seeing through to the hearts of people, as if people are somehow see-through (like ghosts) to the land. This brings about the idea that the land really must be sacred because of the great power it holds.
Reading this articles I am reminded of the intriguing beauty of nature and cant help but wonder what ever happened to the sense of conscious presence and alert perception that we derived form nature as kids; which led the respect and appreciation of the natural world; When a tree was not merely a tree but rather the “home” of birds and a home to many other living organisms; finding a stick, (a rock, a leaf, an ant) wasn’t just a stick,(“ that”) but, rather the most amazing thing there was. Why is it so harder to appreciate the value of the stick(representing nature) as we grow up and learn its importance, than it was back then when we had no knowledge of such importance?
Great point on this sense of wonder, Fernando. Both we and the natural world obviously suffer when we lose this.
Many great perceptions here, Denise. Thank you for a response that entails both heart and mind.
I was struck by comments that sounded similar to how beginning scientists felt. They believed in what they could see just like Henry Cultee who believed in the stars, tides, birds and wind. Just like modern scientists he used observation to see if the environment was healthy or not. Mounds of shells provided him with evidence that plenty of food was available for previous generations. The other part that was eye-opening was about the Walla Walla treaty and how they believed that renaming the land was against their beliefs. It made me think that that is why there are so many city names in Washington that are Indian words.
Hello and thanks for your comment Teresa. I like the intimation about the links between wonder and knowledge that derives from being present to our world and all the information it gives us. The issue of naming goes partly to a perception that the land has rights and identity of its own that transcend human ownership. I think this emphasis would help us protect our environmental commons today.
I can remember, when I was a child, always standing in a spot, and imagining, trying to envision what my suroundings were like in the past. I would try and think back, 50 years and then 100, and then hundreds, to a time when people were tribal and danced around fires, back to a time where there were no people, then to a time when there were no mammels and finally to nothing but sea.
“I could hear ancient voices of people singing here, etched onto the waves of hills and playing back again like the grooves of a record playing back a song.That was in 1976. Today the prairie where the people danced has become a gravel pit. The hills that encircle it don’t sing anymore. I can only hope that they keep their music inside somewhere where dreamers may still find it.”
I think that we all long for a connection with the land and with our pasts, a connectoin which is no longer taught to us. Henry Cultee, this article, makes us relfect on our own connections with nature, differences in cultures and ways of life that we are lost to. To feel owned by the land instead of owning land, to belong somewhere, to feel connections with people of the past, to be a part of the earth…… its hard to imagine how sublime that would really feel.
Hi Kristian, thanks for a feeling as well as thoughtful personal response.
I would have loved to have met Henry Cultee. When he said, “I don’t believe in magic,” he is speaking directly to those who have twisted the beatiful stories and wisdom of Native Americans into the mystical and mythical (implying fantasy) . He is speaking their language and clarifying the fact that, though these stories ARE artistically and imaginatively told, that does not make them untrue are invalid. “The sun and the stars, the water, the tides, the floods, the owls, the hawks flying”; these things are all very real, and native peoples realize that we are a part of them as much as they are a part of us. The power and patience of native peoples is evident in this article. They realize that time is not linear, that someday nature will reclaim what development has wrought.
I really related to Kristian’s post. I also have always tried to picture places as they were before. I am now in middle age, yet I still do this, perhaps even more. Lately, I’ve been thinking of places like the Sierras, where (in the name of progress) they blasted mountains apart in order to run the railroad through. This strikes me as a good example of the exploitation and domination of not only the land, but also of the Chinese immigrants who labored and died in the railroad’s creation.
Hi Mike. Thanks for your personal response. It is important to note that relating something in terms of a story does not make it a “fantasy”; the metaphor in stories is an ancient way of bridging things– saying how something is like something else– a way of connection in a live world.
And just a note: it was not Henry Cultee who said “I don’t believe in magic”, but Billy Frank, who has worked tirelessly for the restoration of salmon runs on the Northwest Indian Fishing Commission for decades.
Very interesting and moving. I would love to have mankind move toward this way of thinking, living and being. The land is ours to take care of not to possess.
It is humbling to take a step back and tell yourself “I belong to the earth, the earth does not belong to me.”
While reading this I could not help but to ask how the natives did name things? The idea of labels is ingrained into me, everything has to be named and categorized. I would imagine that naming with out possession would be strictly descriptive; this would coincide with Clutee’s names which he gave, such as with the mumptulips.
Also, I think many of the names that the settlers chose do have historical significance, and reveal a story. For instance the state of Washington was named after George Washinton, the first president of the United states, which is an important part of US history. It seems more superficial then the deep rooted history within the native culture, but it is a piece of history that has led to my current being, and I feel privileged and safe to be where I am right now.
Interesting thought, Kate. Many names were learned in concert with stories that told how the ways of life of particular peoples and land evolved together. So the sense of naming the land according to its stories is something you also bring up here. The difference is between naming the land for ourselves (placing our names on it as property) or allowing it to name itself, if you will, because of its own identity and character. Kalapuya evidently originally meant “valley of the long grass” (that is now the Willamette Valley). When some pioneers near the Santiam (present Salem) asked them for their name, they gave the pioneers the name of the land where they stood (since their names for themselves and their lands were intertwined) and thus were known as the Kalapuya.
Where I live here in Alaska, the Native culture is very much a part of all of our lives. Our island is full of totem poles and we have several long houses that are frequently used for various functions, both Native and non-Native. There has even been books published that tell the ancient stories of how things came to be. If we are Native we can join the Native dance groups that teach the traditional Native dances. We can also go to our local heritage center and learn how to do traditional Native crafts like basket weaving and totem pole carving. Our schools teach Native culture and history and traditions right along with all the other curriculum that is taught to our children. But the part that bothers me is the traditions are not taught at home, the traditions are taught through a curriculum or from books. The older generations are not passing the traditions down to the younger generations. I am sure a good portion of this is due to our electronic age and our children having many distractions. Our families no longer sit together in the quiet of the evening and share our stories and traditions as was done in the past. What a special opportunity for you to get to share the time with Henry Cultee and hear his stories.
Thanks for your comment, Pam. I was truly honored to be able to spend time with Henry Cultee. I think there is a resurgence of some oral tradition in your area– depending on the native nation involved. I know, for instance, that native dance troupes travel from Alaska to do theater presentations- but they can only present particular stories with permission of tribal elders, since among some groups, stories are owned by particular families, and there has to be permission for telling to outsiders what traditionally belongs within families. I wonder if there are any ways to encourage your family to share with you… you might be interested to know that I met Henry Cultee through his daughter (through, in turn, a contact with my parents)–and she sat with us and listened while he told many of his stories.
“To diminish a traditional story as less than a fact is to lack the intellectual sophistication of those who used the imagination to bring humans into a fundamental intimacy with all that surrounded them.”
That line really means a lot to me. I have been amazed by all of the biological sciences for years; however, only recently did I recognize and appreciate the wealth of biological/ecological knowledge inherent in many indigenous cultures. Without this knowledge there is no way that indigenous groups could live in one area for so many generations.
The quotes that you have at the beginning of the post all tie humanity and the earth close together part of the same whole. This idea is what our “modern” society is hopefully realizing. If we sicken and pillage our planet we will not prosper. On the other hand if we respect and tend our land and planet as a whole we can have all that we need.
Thank you for the thoughtful posts and well chosen books they have really helped me to see just how much I can learn from areas of knowledge that I would have once discounted.
Thank you for your personal response here, Heath. I think it is obvious we need all the knowledge and perspectives we can get in healing current environmental crises. I appreciate your ability to integrate these fields.
Sandy Ames learned “to hear the words that came through the air”. This concept is the foundation of the “Dreamtime” or the “Dreaming” associated with many indigeneous cultures. Listening to the land is such a simple concept but it holds the power of future generations. Through observation and knowledge of the land many truths can be “heard”. It is shameful that those who hold the power in government choose not to listen to the land itself nor the people who could translate for them. Much of the land’s destruction could have been averted. I was struck by the English translation of Cultee’s traditional name “between two channels”. Could this also speak to the avenues of the traditional ways versus “modern society”? And how much more poweful soes this idea become when viewed that his natural paradise has become a gravel pit where people are no longer able to wander and commune with the land. Concerning the naming of the land, those who retain the creative aspects of mankind often can come upon something and the name jumps out at them. This is found in poetry, writings and storytellings. The names that are imposed on the land by humans are often changed for one reason or another, structures and land development is at the whim of people and do not last. It only takes another individual to come along with a different vision to change what is existing. As we are learning the land can be reclaimed, think of Gaviotas. The land is constant but people come and then return to the land in one form or another.
I think much of the wisdom of the elders of any culture is being lost as we travel further from the land and from our beginnings. The stories that where once passed from generation to generation are becoming scarce as families are more fragmented and live further apart. I was glad to here that Cultee’s daughter was listening to the stories and hopefully has passed them along. It is a great responsibility to give to the younger generations the lessons of the past. I am sorry to see much of it lost.
Hi Colleen, there is this by Adrienne Rich, from a poem called “Natural Resources”: “My heart is moved by all I cannot save/so much has been destroyed/ I have to cast my lot with those/ who age after age, perversely/with no extraordinary power/ change the world.
This article just reinforces my opinion that cities just destroy our connection to our lands. The freedom of walking out of your home and walking into a field or forest must be a great thing. I’ve never had that opportunity but will someday. When that does happen will be apart of the land. Until then I o my best to teach my kids that nature is all around us. Even here in Allen TX. We have bugs all over the place and we try to be nice to them if they are not disturbing us. I get to enjoy going out of my front door and watching the honeybees flitting from flower to flower in our front flower garden. I keep my distance and watch how the feed and fly. Once in a while one will come and check me me out. Its strange to say but that small shared moment where that bee is looking at me and I’m just letting it look is important somehow to me.
Unfortunately here in Allen that about as wild as it gets.
Concrete has really taken the life from this place and its noticeable. People talk about how this place is nice but its missing something. Perhaps when Henry Cultee says that the animals and the earth and the rivers are talking to us and telling how healthy things are, maybe here they have stopped talking, or wwe can’t here them because their covered by cement.
A powerful point about situating ourselves such that we can hear how the land speaks to us, Joe. It’s great that you are teaching your children these things–and the eye to eye with a bee is delightful. Why should nature only be a large thing?
Ignoring the “eyes of the world” is a powerful statement, and one that is so prevalent in our world today. It is as if we as a whole have covered up the eyes of the world and subsequently turned our back for entirely too long. You are blessed to have spent such quality time with Henry Cultee and others. The people that truly understand the Earth and what it has provided for us in our relatively short existence here. I hope to have experiences like that in the future. This class is really helping me understand our past values and people I can emulate to set a good example for others in my own life.
Thanks for your comment, Aaron. I truly have been fortunate: now I am fortunate to be able to pass such stories along to those like yourself who becoming a caring audience for them.
Madronna, Thanks for the story. The idea of people being “the eyes of the world” is one that has resonated with me for some time. I feel like it is our great responsibility and privilege to see the earth and to be able to reflect upon what it is that we see. By appreciating the beauty of all that surrounds us we are showing great respect to that which sustains us. What an honor it is to be the species that is able to cognitively participate in the world around us. We are the ones that can think about the choices we make in the world, and not only act from instincts. How we got so far off track is a mystery to me.
I can relate to the sorrow you felt returning from Oakville that day. I have spent many days and nights in deep despair over the state of our precious planet; which I think is actually a good thing. People need to feel in the core of their beings the deep sorrow that is all around us from the destruction of our home.
And, thank you for the update on this story too. It is good to know that good is happening too.
Hello Dazzia, thank you for your comment. It seems that you have personally entered the story that “re-stories” the land here. I am also glad you read the update. It is important to remember that the “eyes of the earth” are not our own, though our own are among them. The eyes of the earth are all the more-than-human life whose response to us tells us whether we have found our true place on the land such that we may live a long life here.
Certainly there is great grief in the destruction that has been taking place–and continues to take place. I also think that a stance of humility in honoring the great mystery of the natural world might cheer us here, since the cycle of life is greater than we are. I once heard native American environmental activist Tom Goldtooth put it this way: “Mother Earth is all right. It is we who are in trouble.” He stressed there was some unfounded pride in placing our power above that of the earth itself.
I concur that we have a special place in this world in standing by creation and appreciating it. But having seen how the animals, wild and domestic, seem to enjoy the glorious spring day today, I’m not sure we can say we are the only ones who can express such appreciation.
How we got off track is a large and complex question that I think no one has fully answered. But certainly it has to do with a human culture that rewards its members for greed and arrogance–and for a dominating attitude that has separated us from the real feedback we might obtain for the consequences of our choices.
Madronna, Thanks for your response. It is true, we are the ones in trouble, ultimately, not the Earth. I know that we are not powerful enough to bring the planet to it’s ultimate doom but we are on a fast track to bringing ourselves there! I appreciate your continued way in which you point out the beautiful, humble and hopeful aspects of life. These are good reminders for me in the midst of the despair.
Funny you mention about the lack of real feedback we obtain for the consequences of our choices. This seems to be a theme in my life with my 14 year-old son! I see the importance of clear boundaries and marked consequences for our actions. How else do we learn?
Thank you, Dazzia. I appreciate your thoughtful responses. I think it often does take some courage to look clearly at our present situation– and at the consequences of our actions that we have so often denied or hidden. If we care about these things, there is some grief involved.
Interesting that you bring up your son. It would be great if we acted as a culture on some of the simplest things that seem apparent when it comes to teaching our children!
Over the years people become obsessed with their jobs and their families et cetera and forget the natural serenity and solemnity that being close to nature can bring. A warm or even hot day watching a river slowly move down a mountain can place a place a person in a trance. I can’t help but think about how we forget the “simple” ways of living where we go fishing down by the lake or go for an exploratory hike on a near by hill brings so much pleasure to each of us. I remember fondly as a child going down to river beds and skipping rocks or swinging out over the water on a rope swing. So many wonderful and vivid memories of my early childhood. How life was so wonderful because it was simple and not complicated by the internet or my job or cars, or bills. I hope that I never forget those pleasures of yester year.
Thanks for your comment, Richard. Let’s hope such pleasures are not confined to yesteryear! Is there any ways that knowing the stories of the land where you relax in these ways might add to your enjoyment of a particular landscape?
For centuries, western society and its worldview was shaped by the thought that the earth is the center of the universe and humans were created as part and owners of this center. The story of Adam and Eve elaborates named all other beings accordingly—according to their will. Thus, the names of every existing being is a result of human creativity and the human ability and wisdom to name things. Therefore, humans were also the ones that named landscapes, mountains and rivers. Imitating the example of the Chehalis by adopting the name of the landscape people live in would have been as subduing the human nature to something that humans are supposed to be superior to.
Hi Nick, thanks for your comment. There actually more than one interpretation of the tale of Adam and Eve: but I do think you have a point that the way we tell the story of humans and nature is all too often about domination. Subduing ourselves to nature might actually have some beneficial consequences in terms of human survival.
While I’m not familiar with the locales mentioned in this article, I get a sad feeling in the bottom of my heart when I read about the gravel pit. I understand that people have the right to go out and make a living in any way they see fit, but I think what many of us have forgotten is HOW that quest affects others. We’ve become too disconnected to these kind of feelings, and as a result, have taken to the environment with reckless abandon. The strength and resilence of people like Henry Cutlee is certainly an inspiration – a guiding light for those of us who would rather see the Earth left to its own natural beauty.
Hi Allison, interesting point about making a living “however we see fit”– obviously, as you indicate, this should entail consideration both for the character of the land and for others who have long term residence here. Henry would love to hear you say that!
It must have been a great gift for you to know Henry; a gift that keeps giving. There is a lot of fun wisdom it seems coming from him through you albeit very serious. I think we’ve lost connection and have too many noises in our lives to listen to the sound of a river. I had no idea that is where Humptulips came from. I’m losing track of where I’ve learned things, but are you all familiar with how the indigenous peoples said the trees could talk (likely you are)…but then some scientist recorded sounds made on some instrument from the trees. Who says our technology is better than our respect. Possibly it helps to negate it.
I think it is important to listen to our surroundings and walk barefoot on sacred mountains. But if I were to tell someone SHHH…I’m listening to ancient voices, they’d probably throw me in a small room somewhere. But, I think we should be listening to ancient voices…reading or paying attention to what we see and taking it all in to learn from it.
Hi Tina, thanks for this moving comment: your question, who said our technology is better than our respect is a profound one indeed. I have been privileged indeed to know Henry Cultee–and to have him share these things with me and so to be able to share them in turn.
Powerful point about the speech of the trees: I love this. I also understand that if you cut a tree in an old growth forest other trees of the same species miles away will register a measurable response. It is only our own lack of listening that causes us to declare such grace filled beings “objects” for our use. I also sense that stones have something to say as well: we just have to slow ourselves down long enough to hear the voices of those who have stood witness over this land for so long.
That was a very moving article, and so true. I think that humans are losing their belonging to the land, and as that happens, the scared earth is losing its meaning. It is very damaging to the earth when people do not see to sacredness of the Earth. People start treating the earth as a product, such as buying and selling the land to make a profit. This all relates to what we are seeing in the United States today. I think most of the problem is people do not stay in one location anymore to put down roots and get to know the land like the indigenous people did.
Troy
Thanks for your comment, Troy. It indicates a changing consciousness and thus a hopeful perspective to me. At the same time that things are getting worse in this regard as a result of industrialism and inappropriate development, there is a counter-trend. Which trend gains more momentum will be up the choices that each of us makes
“In order to understand such a story one must spend time in the company of its keeper.”
This essay is a beautiful portrait of Madronna’s day spent in Henry Cultees company, but as she states, the stories, including her day there, are more than facts, because they are deep with meaning. That meaning came because of being with the storyteller, and in the land where the storyteller and the story came from. Many cultures believe that there are witnesses to all our activities and even witnesses to our thoughts. Some people also believe that our communication is 99 percent vibrational and 1 percent verbal, and those vibrations are felt by nature all around us. But, I digress.
Stories are what teach and sustain us, and stories are alive with power and life. Indians lived close to nature, and nature informed them about what is true and balanced. It is more than this though. It is the dignity and grace of these people, the vast gift of their knowledge, against the stark backdrop of the most ignorant humans ever conceived…the moving Europeans with all their ideas about conquering and owning the world, being blind to everything but their own conceit. Now they have been running the world for a couple hundred years, and what is the story now? It is something about being up a creek without a paddle, but that is putting it mildly. Fools! The Indians will once again save our butts, when we listen long enough to their stories. The power of their prayers can change our hearts, and changing our hearts is what we need more than anything else.
Perceptive point about becoming intimate with stories about being in the presence–and on the land– of the teller, Lesley. Thanks for sharing this powerful personal response. This is a touching comment–changing our hearts is what we need indeed!