Birch Bark and Oak Leaves

      This story has some words in another language. The translations are put in parentheses, and the Anishinaabe is a group of indigenous people made up of the Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi tribes. While Michilimackinac is current Mackinaw Michigan, and Mishigami is lake Michigan. Also the title, "Birch Bark and Oak Leaves," represents the Ojibwe, using Birch for canoes and scrolls as well as other things and Oak Leaves represents British, English Oak, a common tree in Britain, and nature.

     My name is Minwaadizi, I am an Anishinaabe girl with dark hair, light brown eyes, and medium olive skin. My younger brother Miskwaadesi has loved turtles since he was born, and his name means, “Painted Turtle.” We live in Michilimackinac near lake Mishigami and see painted turtles, snapping turtles, and on occasion blanding turtles. My name suggests that I am good spirited and deeply connected to my culture.

      I am wearing a deerskin dress, moccasins, and have my hair in two braids. Miskwaadesi, who is sitting across from me, has on hide leggings and a belt. I am playing the game Playing Leader with him while concentrating hard, the board on the adoopowinaak (Ah-do-poe-win-ahk, Short wood table,) in front of us. My best friend Okwi, who is Chief Ahusaka’s daughter, is playing with us, as the game requires at least three people. Her braids swing with laughter as she captures Miskwaadesi’s unprotected pegs.

      I would have come in second place, but did not want him to be upset about losing. Ojiin (O-jean, mother,) comes into our small wigwam (Wig-wom, a dome shaped stick structure.) “Miigwech (Mick-wedge, thank you,) Minwaadizi for looking after him while I was on the lake.”

      “Of course, I didn’t mind,” I say politely. Men and women trade in birch canoes, and when Ojiin goes out I watch Miskwadesi, sometimes with Okwi accompanying me.

     Me and Okwi exit the wigwam and go down to the creek that is concealed from the river. We like to go down there to: think, play, and embrace nature. Ojiin does not realize how far out of view we are from the river, and Okwi’s Ojiin has not thought of it much, but both Nindedeyag (Nin-de-dey-ah, our father's) are concerned about it.

     It would seem normal for us to go to the creek, but recently people have grown increasingly worried about safety. The Wemitigoozhi (Weih-mit-goo-g, French men) have been lurking closer and we were told to be skeptical of them since they do not seem to understand that Gizhe-manidoo (Gitch-e-muh-nee-doo, the benevolent/ great spirit they worship) is the one above all. Then again, I have had my doubts, he has not ever answered my prayers, but I dare not question Okwi about him for she is solid in the roots of our culture. She has the Chief for Obaabaayan (Oh-ba-ba-yahn, her dad) afterall, and her older brother Nenokaasi, who is sometimes fun, would not give up his beliefs.

      The first time I heard the men there was galloping as me and Miskwaadesi were outside playing a game we invented with sticks and a rock. I also like to come down to the creek alone to weave baskets and gather berries. My life is simple, but Okwi’s is more interesting, so we are talking about how she is going to dress for the oodena (Oh-day-nah, village, town) meeting, but really the whole tribe will be there this evening. We, however, come to an abrupt stop in conversation, going quiet as we hear the mishtadimoog (Mish-tah-di-moo-g, horses) stamping by, my heart pounds.

      Okwi looks scared,I never see her scared, but I see the group that we are most weary of, the Waabigwan-iweg (Wauh-ah-big-ah-uh-i-weg, British,) and we jump into the creek in the hope that we will not be seen. Will we even meet up for the tribe meeting in the oodena or will we not be around to see it? We stay motionless for what seems like an entirety. When one of the men emerge from the bushes I think my heart will stop, but he looks around briefly then goes back to the others.

      The first time I heard them there was a galloping, as me and Miskwaadesi were outside playing a game we invented with sticks and a rock. I also like to come down to the creek alone, to weave baskets and gather berries. My life is simple, but Okwi’s is more interesting, so we are talking about how she is going to dress for the oodena (Oh-day-nah, village, town,) meeting, the whole tribe will be there this evening though. We come to an abrupt stop in conversation, going quiet as we hear the mishtadimoog (Mish-tah-di-moo-g, horses) stamping by and my heart pounds.

      Okwi looks a bit scared, which she rarely is, but I see the group we are most weary of, the Waabigwan-iweg (Wauh-ah-big-ah-uh-i-weg, British) we jump into the creek in the hope that we will not be seen. Will we even meet up for the tribe meeting in the oodena or will we not be around to see it? We stay motionless for what seems like an eternity. When one of the men emerges from the bushes I think my heart will stop beating, but he looks around briefly, then goes back to the others.

      When we dare to move I see Okwi’s extremely alarmed expression, “What would have happened if he saw us Minwaadizi, what would have happened?” I do not know how to answer her, but I can tell that this whole situation is becoming an ordeal. We sit contemplating what had happened in the cold creek for a while, before going back to the oodena, wet, and shivering. We had been in the creek, which luckily does not have much of a current for at least an hour, so I am quite grateful to return to my wigwam, just for the sheer comfort of warmth.

      “Gibaabaa (Gi-baa-baa, your dad,) was going to go look for you two when you didn’t come back and we heard them,” Ojiin whispers to me in an attempt to shield Miskwaadesi from the truth. I tell her what happened once she sends him out to Imbaabaa, watching Imbaabaa strain to hear us. Part of me wonders if we should tell my brother more, but I do not want to scare him and we do not know how much he will understand. He realizes that something is different though, he is far too smart not to know that.

      So before we eat dinner I take Miskwaadesi out for a short walk. “Where are we going Minwaadizi?” he asks curiously.

      “No where really, I just want to tell you something important that you might not know.”

      “Ok,” he replies cheerily, “can I ask you something?”

      “Sure,” I say.

      “I keep hearing people whisper around me, mostly Waa-begen-iwg,” he says, struggling to pronounce the main group's name. “Does it have anything to do with them?” he asks, now looking scared.

      “Yes,” I say, now wondering if he truly is too young, but he needs to know what is happening. “They came through today again and . . . well they want to take our homes and things.”

      He trembles, looking as young as ever but straightens up, “Ok,” he says while giving me a little nod, “Miigwech for telling me the truth.” With that he turns back around, marches back to our wigwam, and we eat a meal. Our meal consists of: laketrout, rice with beans, and delicious June berries that I gathered this morning with the other girls. Then we all go down as a family, Imbaabaa looking fierce but kind with his tattoos on his arms.

      One is of a makwa (Muh-kwa, bear,) and the other on his other arm, is an animikii (Ah-nih-mih-kee, thunderbird), with lighting around it. They are both well known symbols of strength, and on his face he painted the symbol of the eagle from the Seven Grandfather Teachings, which represents peace, though he carries arrows with him everywhere. He makes me feel calm with his friendly face and tattooed symbols. We arrive taking a seat in the circle as I see Okwi with our Chief and her brother, Nenokaasi. This meeting would seem normal but everyone senses the tension in the air.

      Chief Ahuska is wearing tan deer skin leggings with a matching robe, and on his head bears a long red roach with porcupine quills and turkey feathers on the sides. It is quite impressive really, he is wearing our tribe's typical, distinct puckered moccasins, and his long hair is down with only some of his hair in a braid on each side.

      Okwi sees me, offering a small, disappointed looking smile, most likely because of what her oosan (Oh-sahn, another word or father,) is about to say. Okwi is wearing a long, pretty deer skin dress that has a fringe and many markings. She did the bead works on the dress herself out of shells, on the ends of her dress things tinkle softly in the wind and as she moves. She has the red paint on the left side of her face, beaded necklaces, and her hair still in two braids.

      I am wearing a deerskin dress with minimal beadwork and a tunic. I have feathers in my hair, knotted some eel skin in, some red paint on my face, and my lovely moccasins. Okwi’s older brother Nenokaasi has long hair in two braids that really suit him, and an eagle feather in his hair. The three of them sit down in the Kchitwaa Naanagidoonwin (Kitch-twaa- na-a-na-gih-doon-win, talking circle), Okwi is on one side of Chief Ahusaka and Nenokaasi is on the other, I see Chief Ahuska, is, of course, first to have the eagle feather and begins to speak.

      “I know we have not necessarily been living our day to day life without interruption,” he starts and then pauses. “I have a feeling that we are not here alone either, but they do not speak Anishinaabeg, so we have the advantage. I do not trust them fully though, so I advise you to keep your children in eyes watch," as he says this, I do not know if this is just me, but it seems as though he pauses, looks at me and then side glances Okwi.

      “It may be true that we have cultural differences like clothes and language, however they want our iron, timber, and land, so why not give it to them?” Miskwaadesi looks at me wide eyed and I am far from grinning, as I see Okwi try to hide her face as people, including Ahanu, who she likes look at her. “Bizaan (Biz-hong, be quiet or still),” he says sternly, “I have the talking feather, so only I shall speak!” It goes silent and he continues, “We will not give it to them without meshkwadoonige (Mish-kwa-don-a-dig-he, trading) of course, they will give us beads, or food, and we will give them furs, tools, or mined supplies- I shall pass the feather around.”

      It is passed first to Nenokaasi and he says, “Miigwech (thank you,) imbaabaa, I agree with you very much. We should not go looking for a fight if they aren’t doing anything wrong, they just want to trade, it’s not any different then trading with the Iroquois, sure they might be a little . . . rough at times, but in the end we all want to trade for things.” The Iroquois are another tribe, and despite us trading with them we have had many fights and do not care strongly for one another apart from trading. They are not the best example if you want to convince people, but Nenokaasi was somewhat put on the spot.

      He passes the feather to imbaabaa, who I do not think likes the idea, he says some kind things though before passing it to Ojiin. She says how she is delighted to get different styled clothes, but I am not sure she likes the idea much either, especially with the way she was fussing over me earlier today. More adults go, the elderly woman, Gekendaasod asks about our safety and her grandchildren. It goes around to the kids, I do not say much, and Miskwaadesi asks if they will take our home. His friends comfort him and grown up’s ask more questions, as it goes around the total four times.

      “The main things are, some will try to learn our language and hunt or gather. We shall see how it goes, and I assure you Miskwaadesi, we will not have our homes taken.” With that, some adults start talking as people start to leave. My family hangs back, besides Miskwaadesi, he is going over to his friend gabe-dibik (Gah-bay-dib-ick, all night).

      I am with Okwi as adults discuss further away, we have so much to talk about that we do not know where to start, so for a while we are both silent. “This is a big change,” we say in unison. We burst out laughing, then I say, “I do not trust these, these . . .”

      “Gichi-mookomaan (Gi-chi-moo-koh-mahn, to carry big knife, often referring to the British)?”

      “Enyanh (Enishiy-uh, yes,) they are, well they have Gichi-mookomaan’s! They do not speak the same way, dress weird, and do not believe in Gizhe-manidoo!”

      “I do not agree with my beloved Imbaabaa, I do not like them, they will . . . nitaagewin (Nee-tah-gay-win, kill, murder,) us!” She exclaims.

      “I hope not,” I say softly, hoping that these people are not as ludicrous as many are making them out to be. We rant and discuss on, and on, until our parents say we have to go home.

      I silently pray to Gizhe-manidoo before going to sleep. I lay there awhile after before falling asleep though, hearing Ojiin and Imbaabaa’s hushed voices near me, they are thinking about the same thing I am. When I wake up it is sunrise and I can not sleep more so I slip on my moccasins going outside to listen to the sweet sound of the maang’s song, common, but my favorite bird. They are not only pretty, but they also are a significant symbol to our culture. It is a nice morning, I get the basket I am working on and weave.

      As the village arouses, the elders and little kids first, I get dressed and braid my hair. I start down to the patch in the woods where I will meet Okwi, other children, and some women to pick berries. The women always watch over us as we talk and pick berries, putting them into makukoon (Muh-koo-koon, plural for birch bark containers used for collecting berries). But when I get there, I find an unexpected surprise. I know we are trying to be on good terms with them, some groups are fine, but not them.

      These ones are terribly rude, the young men always go through villages yelling on their animals with weapons out. There are girls here like them, with looks different from our own. Okwi and I try to stay away from them as we work, but one of them, a skinny girl around the same age as us but not as tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes, stays near us. It annoys me and the girl says, “I keep on getting pricked and what if there are snakes!?” She seems annoyed and bossy, but I barely know what she is saying.

      “What?” I ask in her language that I know just a hint.

      “Sharp, hurt me, what if creatures not good?” she says.

      “No,” I say annoyed. I want to tell her it is her fault, there are no snakes if you know where to pick, and it is clear that she needs advice as half her berries are not even ripe!

      Okwi senses my annoyance and tells her to, “Wait here,” and goes off, leaving us. I see a brown haired girl with green eyes behind me, she looks much more kind with her young, pale freckled face.

      The spoiled girl looks at me expectantly, “Well?”

      “Well what?” I ask rudely.

      She looks emotionally hurt, “Well my name is Anne, you?”

      “Mine is Minwaadizi,” I say in English. It is interesting how she is trying to speak Anishaaemowin. We need to practice the other’s language, and we would probably not understand one another much if we tried to speak our own languages too fast. When Okwi comes back, she is carrying a lightweight, long sleeved deerskin shirt.

      “Put over dress and pick ripe berries,” Okwi tells her. We show Anne what every berry looks like ripe, what berries are poisonous, and what plants not to touch. After a while, we sit down, eat some berries, and sort the blueberries, ode'imin (Oh-day-ee-min, strawberries), juneberries, cranberries, and blackberries. I figure that the girls working with us must be part of the agreement, helping with chores.

      I see the brown haired, pale freckled girl by herself, Anne says, “Mary Jane is lone wolf.” We go to eat, Anne going to a small bit of land that Ogiin (Pronounced same as Ojin, O-jeen, means her mother) bought, and later we all come back together near the lake to the gitigaan (Ghee-ti-gun, garden) to pick crops. It is not as fun picking niswi (I-o-uh, the number three used as The Three Sisters): corn, beans, and squash as it is picking berries. Instead of just picking you have to do many steps to see if they are ready for picking.

      Pinto and kidney have to be left on the vine until they appear shriveled, then you twist it off and put it in the pile for the older women to depod. The corn silk at the end needs to be dark brown, and to double check you peel the husk back. We use small knives made of shell or bone to cut the stems, the husk is left on until after cooking, and then we say we wrestle with the spirit of Mandaamin which does not make much sense to me. Squash is simple, you just cut it off the stems.

      After a while, once the elders think we have plenty, we will go in canoes to collect manoomin (Mah-noo-min, wild rice). I like harvesting manoomin way more than niswi, and wonder if Anne has harvested it before. At first I did not like Anne, since she was not only bossy but also one of them, Waabigwan-iweg (British), this fact has seemed to almost disintegrate to me and Okwi though and we are thoroughly enjoying her presence. We help her into a canoe, Okwi going with her while I go to a different canoe, as there are two people to a canoe. I get paired with Mary Jane.

      We row, and as we near the manoomin we steer into it. Once we are in the beds we start gliding through manoomin, switching from paddles to a pole and bawa'iganaakoog (Bah-wuh-ee-guh-nah-koog, two ceder sticks made for knocking off the tops of wild rice to harvest it). I am in front with the bawa'iganaakoong, I use them gently, knocking manoomin into the canoe. While I do this Mary Jane stands in the back with a pole that has a forked bottom so as not to uproot the plant. She is the poler, pulling the canoe along as I harvest.

      Once we get enough all the canoes turn back to the bank. We take the manoomin out of the canoes and help the women prepare the crops for a meal, although they do most of that. We sit around in a circle of logs, tired, but talking rapidly. The boys come back from hunting and join the circle, including Miskwaadesi, Ahanu who Okwi sits upright and flattens her hair for, and some European boys including a blonde one looking a bit distant from the group.

      The blonde boy sits across from me and I am rather skeptical. I made friends with a girl, but the boys were the ones who rode through the village hostilely. He has curly hair, green eyes, and is looking at me. I try to ignore him but cannot get past the fact that he is staring at me. “Eya (Yes),” I say to him after a while as I am annoyed at his rude behavior.

      He looks at me as if he has been snapped out of a daze and smiles before turning away. Miskwaadesi comes to sit next to me, “Minwaadizi! I think they are moving in here,” he says in a rushed, but hushed voice. “That blonde one caught big fish today, but he scares me.”

      I feel a sharp tinge of guilt course through me at these remarks, maybe I should have kept quiet like everyone else to him. It is understandable however, that he would be scared regardless though, the guy is a couple years older than me afterall. I talk more, eating our harvest and the boys' catch. I talk to Okwi while Anne and Mary Jane go back to their newly bought land. “Well, do you think ga-ganawaabamidizon awiya jibwa dibaakonad ezhi-bimosed (Ga-ga-na-waa-ba-mi-di-zon a-wi-ya ji-bwa di-baa-ko-nad eh-zhi-bi-mo-sed, You should look at yourself before you judge the way someone walks, from the Seven Grandfathers teachings), me included,” I ask Okwi.

      “Perhaps,” she says trying to hide a grin, “they are fun, but they are only kin, what about the adults? They have scared us so badly, the Odawa and Potawatomi too.” The Odawa and Potawatomi tribes are so close to our tribe that we formed the Three Fires Confederacy hundreds of years ago. Males are in charge so we are the, “three brothers,” we are oldest, Odawa is the middle, and Patawatomi is the youngest.

      “Do I need to remind you that we are around their ages and also kin? We are the keepers of faith, we can trade as good as the Odawa, keepers of trade, and the Potawatomi keep the fire. What I am trying to say is I am skeptical, but if you keep some faith, it will all come together in the end, Gizhe-manidoo is in control.” I know exactly how she feels, I feel the same way, but I pray to Gizhe-manidoo and feel as distant from him as ever. I go to sleep early, not truly falling asleep until later, I pretend to sleep as Miskwaadesi wants me to answer things I don’t know.

      I wake up at sunrise because Miskwaadesi has poked me awake. “What do you want?” I mumble, “Can’t I wake up on my own accord, especially so gichi-gigizheb (Gih-chih-gee-gih-zhe-baw, early)?”

      “Ojiin told me to wake you, she said you mustn't miss the sunrise ceremony,” he explains. I have a feeling she never told him to poke me awake though. I did not expect the ceremony to be so soon, or if it should be, it seemed like it would have made more since yesterday. Sunrise ceremonies are held with pipe dances, where we thank many, and the cermony is typically used to celebrate marriage or a baby being born, but it can also welcome others.

      I get up and put on something festive, a ribbon skirt, regalia, and moccasins with fine bead work. The men mostly wear ribboned shirts and pants, and we give thanks to Gizhe-manidoo for creating us all, Father sun for providing light and warmth for life, Mother earth with the rocks, plants, and animals, and Father Sky, who, like Mother Nature, provides life. We also thank Waabanong (Wah-bah-non-ong, East, associated with new life,), Zhaawanong (Zh-aw-wu-nung, South, Southern direction, associated with Summer, the color red, healing, and warmth), Ningaabi'anong (Ning-gah-bee-on-ong, the West, holds significant cultural meaning), Giiwedinong (Ghee-way-din-nong, North, The North Wind,) and Mino Baamodziwin (Mih-no -bah-mo-sss-ih,  Respecting all creation including: the sun, water, and the Earth). We sing songs, give offerings such as tobacco, water used as medicine, strawberries, sage, cedar, and sweetgrass.

      The tobacco is used in a pipe, and we do many dances, with the biggest one being the Sun dance. Then we use wooden skewers through backs and chests as a spiritual act until the flesh tears. Later in the day we have a big gathering for dinner, and Chief Ahuska performs the feast dance once everyone is done eating, he wears a rabbit skin robe and sings in Anishinaabemowin carrying a gichidewe'igan (Gih-chee-de-way-ih-gun, large sacred cerimonal drum, "big drum",) weaving in and out between us. When he is done, Anne and Okwi start talking.

      “What was the Sunrise festival for?” Anne asks us curiously.

   “To welcome you by making you feel spiritually connected,” Okwi responds.

      “Oh, you know I don’t believe Gize-manuido,” she replies.

      “Yeah we know,” I say trying to move the subject quickly along, “It is pronounced Gizhe-manidoo by the way. Anyway, I’ll go to my Wigwam now,” I say.

      “Did you not hear?” Anne asks me.

      “Are you talking about how we will have house made of logs?” asks Okwi, I stay.

      “Aaniin, (Ah-nee-in, what,) I thought, wait what about the wigwams?”

      “Minwaadizi, slow down. I am not good at this speak yet,” Anne says.

      “Sorry,” I apologize, “where do you live Anne,” I ask, realizing I have never seen her home.

      “In a log cabin, not same as you will live in though. This is smaller and has only my family, you will live in big one with othe families.”

      “Live with different families?”

      “Yes,” says Okwi, "I will live in cabin more like Anne, since I am the daughter's chief after all.” I remember what I told Miskwaadesi awhile ago, and wonder if this is them stealing our homes, changing our culture. We end up going to Okwi’s wigwam instead of me going back to mine, her's is more spacious than mine and we see Okwi’s brother Nenokaasi.

      “So is Anne a real Migoshkaadendaagozi, (Mih-goosh-ka-de-da-ah-goo-z, nuisance, a bother,)” he asks deviously, sure that she does not know what it means. Okwi scowls and he says, “I’m just kidding, I am just kidding Okwi! You know that.”

      Anne is confused, I whisper, "Just ignore him, he’s a big tease.” As the sun falls in the sky we go back to our places settling in for sleep. As moons go by we have the wood houses built to squeeze families in, and after about five moons we move in. There have been many now, after living in the log houses for a moon, that have gotten diseases that we think are being spread by the Europeans even when they are perfectly healthy, lucky this has not impacted anyone I closely know as I am not terribly social, but Ojiin has lost some of her friends.

      Especially elders have passed, an older woman with white hair is in our long log house and has gotten weak. Despite all the concerns and warnings some European girls, such as Anne and Mary Jane still hang close, and the blonde boy who I learned is named Nicholas has been hanging around the river, helping out. Nicholas is well liked for hunting but seems to shy away from the praise, in fact I have started to pay attention to him more recently. There is something moving about the way he helps people, and yet is still so humble.

      I just think something about his kindness, curly golden hair, emerald eyes . . . He is near the river now looking out, admiring the sky, as well as the water and the breeze. He has been there a while and- “Miwaadezi,” Okwi calls, so that I turn around fast. “Oh, are you looking at Nicholas again?”

      “N-no!” I say flustered, my face surely red, “Why would I ever do that? He-he is . . . European!”

      “Hey! I am European,” Anne says, “what do you mean?”

      “Nothing,” Okwi says, which I am thankful for as we pick more berries but I know the way she thinks. We said, "European," since we were speaking in English and if we say Waabigwan-iweg we might as well be saying Gichi-mookomaan, which means they carry, “big knife.” Later I see Anne with Nicholas all dinner and a bit after as I feel as though my heart aches. Okwi notices but says nothing about it, when Okwi’s brother comes up to us to tease her, though, I set off towards Anne before anyone can stop me.

      Nicholas has started home and she would too, but I hold her back. “Why were you not with me and Okwi during meal, huh? You with him?” I say angrily.

      “What, oh I wasn’t with you, sorry. I was with Nicholas,” she explains simply.

      “I know you with him,” I say, grinding my teeth.

      “Listen, I need to go home now-”

      It is getting dark with night setting in rapidly and a slight chill from the small breeze, “Why were you with him?” I ask through a chatter.

      “Nicholas is my- oh Minwaadizi! Do you like him? I didn’t know, I didn’t think . . . he’s my cousin,” she says, “I was just talking to him telling him my days, you know. I like someone else, he’s-” Anne stops, seeing Okwi and her brother, “right there,” she whispers so softly that the soft wind carries it behind her and I only read her lips.

      I am surprised to find this out and quite embarrassed, “I was angry," I say quietly.

      “It is fine, should have said, you should talk to him, now I really have to go,” Anne says and she disappears into the darkness.

      Okwi is behind me saying, “Minwaadizi, seriously I told you, I thought just that gii-ginishkaadiz (Gee-ih-nih-shk-ah-diz, you were mad, angry,) she wasn't with us. I know much being the Chief’s daughter-”

      “Are you bragging,” I say in a funny, but skeptical manner. I can tell she is embarrassed.

      “It isn’t always good, you know. I have more responsibilities and always have to act right, we would help you more if you would let us-”

      “It’s fine, really,” I say embarrassed. My family is not poor, but we sometimes struggle. “One more thing . . .”

      “Aaniin,” she asks weary.

      “Anne likes Nenokaasi.” She looks at me horrified then we burst into laughter. He has a wife that is the only one he wants, but he might marry more than one woman, an Ojibwe or another potawatomi, but we know he never will. We set off through the cool dark night towards our log homes. Unfortunately a family is mourning over the loss of the old woman who died today, while in the log house next to us they mourn the loss of their boy, just a little younger than Miskwaadesi.

      In the morning many go to Dibaajimowin (De-baj-e-mowin, storytelling, where they remember loved ones,) respecting ones who died, this takes place on the fourth day a person is dead and there is a casket. They make a fire that will stay for days to honor them. Songs are sung, many people give their last food offerings like tobacco, and there is the washing of the tears. A spirit house is placed over the ground in which they are buried.

      Another thing, some makadewiiyaas (Mah-ka-deh-wee-yah, a black person,) have been seen briefly with European, British men, and I have never seen any like them. Little kids poke around them staring in perplexed disbelief, even some young European children eye them strangely, but one of them, a girl named Mina, is kind to them. She has soft brown eyes that can burn like fire and brown hair, she tells people to leave them alone, only cowering slightly if men threaten her with the crack of a whip. She sticks up for them more than I would, they are fine but strange, and I wonder how they got here, many call them negroes as a bad thing.

      I go down to the river where others are and I see Nicholas. Okwi goes to Anne and they watch as I go to him, before I am fully near him he sits down and says, “Nice to see you Minwaadizi, I- glad you came.” I am startled at this remark and stand a few feet away timidly as he throws a rock into the river, having it skip six times smoothly against the water before beginning to sink.

      “What do you mean?” I ask curiously, “how you know I would see you?”

      “Well I didn’t know, but hoped . . . thought you would. I asked Anne to see if you would. Sit down if want.”

      I sit down and ask, “Why, you want to see m-me?”

      “Just help me improve my speaking in this talk and . . .” he struggles to say a word, “nisidotan (Knee-si-daw-tan, to understand, to recognize by hearing,) things you do, I mean . . . umm, nimanendam (Knee-mawn-en-dum, I am sad which is him using wrong word due to not knowing the language well), don’t know word. This ‘s why I need help.” He seems embarrassed, but it is hard to learn new languages.

      “You know, this world is so sad! This is your home, I like here, but we brought diseases causing deaths, terrible," he shudders.

      “Slow down please, I could learn too. What terebele mean?”

      “Not good.” We sit here a while, and I caught him looking at me when he thought I did not notice.

      An old woman comes and says, “Boy, you hanging with her?” I laugh trying to muffle it, but look at his startled face.

      “N-no mindimooyenh (Min-di-moo-yen, term of respect used toward older women, similar to Ma'am), was just . . . saying how well her brother hunts,” he says quickly.

      “Bizaan (Be quiet, be still,) Nicholas, lying won’t get you anywhere, tell the truth.”

      “The truth is, mindimooyenh, that we were giving each other lessons on how to talk more accurately in the other's first dialect," I say hopefully.

      “I don’t like the looks of things, but if that’s all,” she says skeptically, “I better see improvement in you two, he needs it. Off you go, I need help from you boy!” I start for the log house to check in with Miskwaadesi to assure everyone is fine. Why would everyone not be fine? I arrive finding them perfectly normal and talk to Miskwaadesi as he talks to me, I love my little brother.

      As days go by I am closer with Nicholas and even go on a couple night strolls with him, we are just friends! I tell myself when I find myself blushing. A moon goes by, I am with Anne and Okwi this morning picking berries as Mary Jane stays strangely close to us. Okwi is supposed to get married and is not allowed to eat what Europeans call strawberries, but she does not like the fact of having to be controlled by a male, as she already feels restricted at times by obaabaayan (her father). Anne had a small hope that she would marry Nenokaasi, but she has drifted away from the idea since his wife Kimimela is now gigishkawaawasowin (Gi-gi-shk-wah-wah-soh-win, pregnancy, pregnant).

      They hope it is a boy, Anne sometimes says, ‘Maybe I could be his wife to take care of the baby.’ I am also supposed to get married of course, but not quite yet. I have heard that there is a Christian teaching today and I have wondered about it and shall go. I have not told Okwi, as she would hate the idea, but it is not like I believe what Nicholas has told me . . . that is what I tell myself anyway.

      After lunch I set off to where I had seen benches on their land. I am allowed there since when they bought the land they agreed we can still hunt, fish, and gather food from the land as long as it is not thiers that they grew, in which case we shan’t take it. They say we can join the service, but almost none of my people do, they say it is wrong to. I hear a man speaking as he stands with a book.

      The man is European, of course, and I see people fill up the benches. There are some families, some elders, and the benches are mostly full. I watch from a bush nearby so I am not seen. If my people knew I was here they would not like it, and I do not want them to find out. I mostly gaze out at Nicholas who, like the man, has a brown book which I conclude must be religious.

      I listen curiously as the man talks about God, and how he sent his only son, Jesus, to Earth to teach people the ways. I do not know much on what this means, except that when they say God they are talking about someone who they think is Gizhe-manidoo’s status. I have heard Nicholas and some others talk about Jesus before, but I do not know what he did that is amazing to them. The man who has been talking comes to an abrupt stop and whispers to another man, this one is middle aged unlike the speaking man who is a bit older.

      I wonder if it is normal and decide it is not and wonder if I imagine them looking at the bush, at me. I am frightened as they go towards me and try to walk away slowly to be quiet, but the older man says, “Come out and join us.” I am embarrassed, shaking my head vigorously while red in the face, but the older man with glasses says, “You don’t need to hide to listen.” I decide it would be rude to run now, and for some reason, I do not think I came just because of Nicholas, I do not know why I chose to come today, but I did.

      I walk to the benches and sit next to Nicholas, he looks at me in a way where he is pleased, but also confused. He gives me a small smile, and we listen to the man once more.

When it ends and we leave I mouth, ‘Thank you’ to the older man and he gives me a wink. “I want know something,” Nicholas says to me.

      “Ok, but I want to know who guy is, older with glasses, and blue eyes.”

      “He is a priest, Priest James. Priest’s teach things, remind us of what God wants and teaches from the book, the Bible. Now what were you doing here and why were you in plants?” he asks, politely.

      “Can we go somewhere . . . more private to talk?”

      “Sure, where?”

      “Ziibiins, (Zee-binz, stream or creek,)” I say confidentially. Not many go there and it is shielded from most peoples view. We walk to the creek where I left a couple of woven baskets and realize that I was scared of the British here before. Now I am welcoming one here and confess, “I did not want people to see there, they will be mean.”

      “Many encourage, I do like.”

      “I know, but not my people. They say bad, and keep to our beliefs. Some even say you are bad, and Anne too.”

      “Some maybe, not all.”

      “I don’t know, I think some will say I came just because of you, some will. I felt curious though, as if it is real, is my life lie then?”

      “No. Some will say bad, some hate, you do not have to believe in Gizhe-manidoo for them or in God for me, just do which one for yourself.”

      I take a deep inhale, “Miigwech, I need to go now.” I head off toward Okwi’s cabin and see Mary Jane.

      She looks paler than normal and is very jumpy. “Minwaadizi, where you going?”

      “To Okwi’s.”

      “I-” she begins, but seems to lose her courage and shakes her head.

      “Want to come ask Nenokaasi about something?” I ask her, since it seems to be something important. She shakes her head and goes off, well that was weird I think to myself, in fact she has been around me and Okwi, clinging to my people in general all day.

      Once I am at Okwi’s we sit talking for a while until Anne says, “Is anyone going to mention where Minwaadizi went today?”

      Okwi looks at me and says, “What does she mean? Were you with Nicholas?”

      I know what Anne means and want to drop the subject, “He was there, at the service, church.”

      Okwi looks at me hard, “Aaniin ezhi-giizhiigendaagwad 'i (Ah-neen-eh-zhee-ghee-zhee-gen-dah-gwaad-uh, what are you doing?) I never thought this would happen, just for a boy!” There is a silence, I dare not tell her it was not just for a boy and more for God. I have felt more distant with Okwi and felt she is less care free, more grounded. I just am going along with change, but she is staying firm, is that a bad thing? I am mad, but remember what Nicholas said, do not believe just because people want you to, do it more for yourself.

      “He is a nice boy and-”

      “He is hypnotizing you into rebelling against your own people! I bet you call him Nick!” Okwi shouts angrily in Anishinaabemowin.

      “He is my cousin and my religion,” Anne says, clearly not knowing what Okwi said, but knowing it was supposed to be offensive. Okwi is the Chief’s daughter and so change comes hard of course.

      “You can not marry him anyway, it would be shameful,” Okwi says, now speaking.

      “Drop the subject, and marriage is final,” I try to say politely, but who is Okwi anymore? Nenokaasi comes in hearing the yelling, trying to calm us down. Mary Jane has just entered the room though, and we are still arguing, making her feel very uncomfortable.

      “Nenokaasi,” she says nervously.

      “Yes, Mary Jane, what is it?” he says softly.

      “I-” she tries to say, but Okwi calls me a traitor.

      “I am not,” I say feeling hurt.

      “I need to say to you-”

      “Why are you besties with Anne then? Is it just because of her cousin?”

      “I am not, we are friends, not because of that, and do you have a problem with her now?”

      “I really need to say to you!-” she says, looking rather frightened now.

      “Mary Jane can’t you come back," I say, "and I don’t know how I feel anymore, I-”

      “Gibaabaa (Your father,) is dead or will be killed!” There is a long silence with great sorrow and disbelief. "Last night heard Imbaabaa say to another British man,” she says squeakily in my language. I wonder if she means odedeyan (his/her father, Okwi's and Nenokaasi) Anne’s or mine, but I know it would not be Anne’s and realize it's probably not mine.

      I knew it must have been dreadfully important if Mary Jane had felt the need to tell us so badly, but I had definitely not suspected her to say anything like this. “Chief Ahuska,” I whisper and she nods sadly. “Well where is he right now?” I ask Okwi calmly, “we might still have a chance.”

      “At a meeting with- let’s hurry,” she says pleadingly, completely forgetting about our fight. All five of us sprint widely, people are giving us horrible glares and saying, “Giiwanaadizi (Gee-wa-na-dih-zih, he/she is crazy,)” as we go through the oodena. We get to the hut, dashing inside, to find Chief Ahuska looking at us puzzled and we turn to Mary Jane for clarification. When we look to turn back towards him bracing ourselves for embarrassment we see an arrow fly into his heart as Okwi watches standing motionless.

      “Not all Waabigwan-iweg are good,” I whisper to myself, looking away from the scene, seeing a brown haired man start to run away. I chase him without aybody's objection, grabbing him, kicking him down, not trying to hurt him much, but mostly just trying to pin him down. He is about to get up, but Nicholas appears making me unpin him, and he helps the man up.

      “Mary Jane saw me and said she would tell you,” he says softly. He gave her a pep talk I think. I nod, wondering if the world around me truly is falling into defeat, but I am not the true one suffering, Okwi is. I feel terrible for her, and run to her side hugging her.

      As I hug her she doesn’t tug away, and I think it makes her feel the tiniest bit better, “Why?” She says with tears spilling down her face gasping for air, “he is so important.” Some of my men took the culprit from Nicholas, ushering the man away.

      “Come on,” I say as I take her hand and we walk towards the Chief, he is still alive.

      “Okwi, I feared this day might come as I am a chief, but I suspected Iroquanus,” he says, making his death seem almost casual. “I wish I had seen you marry, and see Nenokaasi’s child. Promise that you will tell the oodena miigaadidaa, (Me-ga-di-dah, let us fight).”

      “Yes, of course.” Fight for justice rather than imposed violence, if they harm, we can not just sit and let them torture us.

      “My dear wife, may you keep these children safe, and love your grandchild twice as much so he will feel my love in you.”

      “Yes, I love you, I will love him too.”

      “Nenokaasi, love your son as I do you, take care of everyone.”

      “Yes imbaabaa, shall we meet again in a different place.”

      “As for you,” he says while looking at me, "protect your brother, family as much as you can, and keep Okwi strong. I love you Okwi,” he says as he finally goes. As you can imagine a lot of tears come, Okwi runs into the village where people are curiously concerned.

      I go with her as she says, “Your Chief is dead,” her voice quivers and there is a loud gasp. “He has told me that I shall say miigaadidaa!” She says much more angry now than sad, and we have time to let it sink in as people glare full of hatred toward me. They are blaming me, and shaming me for going to that service, saying that is why their Chief is dead, as a punishment.

      As we all sit down to eat later, many people saying Waabigwan-iweg are horrible, and they turned because the Iroquanus offered them better, which may be partially true. I am by Okwi when everybody starts getting snatched by Waabigwan-iweg. We try to run, but they capture us, knocking me out so everything goes dark. When I wake up I am tied up in a rope that is digging into my wrists. I look around and see that I am in a canoe with some of the mean men.

      Someone is tied to my back and I see that one of the young men is Nicholas. Him I think, I scream angrily at him through a gag, squirming until I feel a pain in my head and black out, I trusted him even when the Chief died, but now . . . in this canoe. . . When I wake again I am out of the canoe still tied to a girl who I realize as she screams with her gag out as they try to feed us, is Okwi. “No,” she says in a not too angry, but sinisterly sad tone.

      They force those who don’t eat to eat, but I eat without a fight. Okwi is oddly limp so I yank the rope some, “Okwi, is that you?” I ask when no one is watching.

      “Yes, Minwaadizi, stay quiet, try to listen carefully, and if we get apart . . . don’t spend time trying to get me if you can escape.”

      I stay silent thinking of leaving her, "Chief Ahuska said to keep you safe,” I say.

      “When we’re together, we will try, but who knows. Now promise me Minwaadizi.”

      “Okay,” I say with a small smile she cannot see as I reach for her hand squeezing tight, “I will.” As they put us back on the canoes they keep us awake, but we doze in and out especially since they had hit our heads earlier. I do not look at Nicholas much and sometimes we stop to trade. We found out that they had found a better deal with the Iroquois so they captured us, leaving the ill.

      They want us for wives so they can have kids, and they want us to help them gather food. After a few days we end up at a sight with log houses where they say we will stay. They put me and Okwi into different houses and I am put with strangers from another village. I share a room with three girls and two boys, and have not seen Miskwaadesi since the day Chief Ahuska’s died.

      When it is time to eat we go outside and gather around a fire as it gets dark. I sit next to Okwi and they bet on us, who we will marry, but only the girls, the boys are more important for work. They say Okwi shall marry a guy a little older than her named Ho-sa-gowwa who is an Iroquois. She is furious, “No, I am the Chief's daughter, I shall gaawiin (Gah-ween, never, not,) marry to a guy who is from Gaa-miskwaawaakokaag (En-dah-wah-wah-sh-keesh-e, that place (tribe,) where the water is red,)!”

      They look at her with raised eyebrows and some furrowed, “Well, you worth more then, Iroquois man Deganawida will take you,” says one. Okwi looks at Ahanu more longingly than ever before, but goes toward Deganawida, a big man with long raggedy hair and a raccoon hat. I know she wishes she would have taken Ho-sa-gowwa now. I realize they are appraising my value and see Nicholas nervously look at them.

      “I’ll take her,” I hear someone say as I slowly look up and realize it is Nicholas.

      “You sure boy? Don’t you want a European like yerself?” a man asks him.

      “If I do that then it will make me more likely to be on good terms with tribes,” Nicholas says smartly. I come to him flustered and want to have a whole conversation with him, but it is not the place.

      I am told to go back to my log house, but first I integrate Nicholas. “So, do you just want me so you can be on good terms with others?” I say with a hand on my hip.

      "Of course not,” he says in a whisper, taking my hand. “I don’t want them to know, look, I know you angry at me, it would be hard not to, but I didn’t know and they killed, not me.”

      I am still mad, but ask, “Why I never saw gimaamaa (Gih-mah-mah, your mother,) or gibaabaa (Gi-baw-baw, your father)?”

      He is silent for a while, but then says, “Killed by . . . Iroquois, and mom is still where I come from, England. Now I am being raised by the guy who just asked me if I was sure about marrying you,” he says grimly. That guy did not look like the gentle type and seemed rather strict, yet uneducated.

      "He seems like a hard guy go to,” I say.

      “Yeah,” he replies, with a chuckle that lightens the mood.

      “You two, lady, go to log house,” says the man we were just talking about.

      “Yeah, ok,” Nicholas says, rolling his eyes, making me laugh as he takes me to my log house.

      “Goodnight,” he whispers at the door, kissing my cheek, making my face glow, I touch the spot as I close the door. I wonder what happened to Anne’s parents, he kissed me on the cheek! I realize though as they are cousins you would think they might take him in. Then I realize that Anne’s might not like the way he talks to me so kindly . . . . and others.

      I think of Nicholas dreamily and how he has been neglected so, how he still seems to . . . well, be kind I suppose. I lay down next to a girl I talked to today named Neebin that, like me, has been separated from her family. She is a bit younger than me, not the age for marriage, with bangs, brown eyes, and long hair in braids. I sleep next to her and awkwardly close to one of the boys.

      It goes on like this for a bit, staying inside the loghouse with Neebin and going out in the middle of the day to see Okwi for a meal. After that, I am allowed some time with Nicholas, where, as for Okwi, she is forced to endure time with Deganawida who is much older than her and makes her uncomfortable. I go back to the loghouse where Neebin is forced to stay as she has no marriage in her near future, then we go out to eat again before sleep. I have tried to escape a few times, but Nicholas’ guardian Arthur always calls me back saying I am going too far or questioning where I am going, from what I have gathered he is the one in charge.

      Nicholas has persuaded me when I was mad that I would want him instead of some random guy and that is very true. Just because I have friends and him does not mean I do not want to escape though. They keep us in a lot, and my family is still nowhere to be seen. Despite several attempts to escape from, Okwi, me, and others, including a couple British, only one person has managed to escape.

      Two moons have passed. I am married now and Nicholas lets me out more, but I often stay with Okwi as she is rarely let out by Deganawida, they are married but she is very lonely which makes her grief worse. Some say you are lucky to get a cabin with your husband out of the loghouses, but most are abusive and then it is not so pleasant. Unfortunately, due to Deganawida’s reckless behavior and Okwi’s sass she has gotten hit quite a few times. I begged Nicholas to let me go out to trade yesterday to see if I could find anybody I knew, like my family, and I saw Nenokaasi who asked about Okwi and I told him the truth, even her abusive husband.

      I am in our little cabin now, with dinner waiting for Nicholas who I need to have a very important talk to. As he comes in he takes off his coat and compliments my cooking. “I have something need to talk about,” I say.

      “What is it?” he asks, his face creasing in concern.

      “I feel lone here, Anne isn’t here anymore and Okwi is hurt bigly. I hate see her this way. We need to leave, I know your people here, but I am not scared to leave. I do not want kids here, though they tell us try.” Anne hasn’t been here for at least one moon as she was the one to escape to freedom, and we hope to follow in her footsteps . . . I hope we both do.

      I see him not liking the idea, “I don’t know, how to get past Arthur? I want kids not here too, but . . . trust you. I’m scared.”

      “If we don’t gii' (Gee or Ghee, flee, escape,) then . . .” I don’t know what else to say. “Arthur. Can’t you find way past him where not see us, keep him busy?”

      “Yes.”

      “Nichalos, do you want to gii’?”

      “I have nothing to lose, only you, I can find Anne.” I lean toward him embracing him, he rocks back and forth with my arms around his neck, and then we eat. Last night we devised how to finally be free, I am waiting anxiously now, it is only morning. I do some packing and walk a few cabins down to Okwi.

      “Okwi,” I say, "tonight is the night.” I say looking around making sure Deganawida is gone. “We are going to gii’ (flee),” I breathe excitedly.

      “What about Nenokaasi and his little one?”

      “We have worked it out, they hopefully escaped dibikong (Dih-bih-kunk, last night).”

      “Miwaadezi, I want to be a ikwe (Ee-kweh, woman), with debendisiwin (De-ben-di-si-win, freedom), just like my imbaabaa wished. I want to be back with all the family, to have a chance to cherish the memories while we still can.”

      “Yes, but I think we will ani (Ah-nee or Ann-ee, be on our way- to becoming) stronger. We will have more time, more freedom.” I would love to tell her about how free you are when you follow God, but do not want to ruin the moment of happiness by upsetting her.

      “Death is still real Dezi,” she says, using a nickname from when I was young. “Just because you found a caring nice guy that is European doesn’t mean they all are that way- even all cultures of guys."

      I am shocked but nod, “I know Okwi, nimanendam (Nee-mah-nen-dahm, in a bad state of mind, sad, depresed).” I take her by the arm and to my shock she ricochets away, guiding me out a back door. Her spontaneousness is back, as we climb through the woods, skip on rocks across the creek, and walk on logs. We have a fun time talking and chatting, but make sure to come back before Deganawida so she can pack. She only packs a few clothes as we do not need to get her husband’s attention from her packing things away.

      “Miigwech so much! I have been through stuff, I haven’t felt so lively since . . .”

      “You don’t need to say it, miigwech (Mee-gwech, can also be used as thank you but pronounced differently).”

    “No, I need to face it, when my imbaabaa … died. I truly am grateful for you, we fought, it all happened so fast, but you were there.” I don’t know how to respond so I just nod and then set back to my cabin. As night falls we keep to a normal dinner, Nicholas asked Neebin and a girl named Wenonah to stage a fight to distract Arthur and told them our plan.

      We wait for most people to be asleep to meet with Okwi, who had packed more once Deganawida fell asleep. Now all we have to do is wait for the signal that the fight has begun. We can not hear it, perhaps we are too busy listening to the crickets, the wind, and just holding our breath. We watch Arthur carefully from behind the trees and then we hear it- a man comes out running toward him shouting, “Two girls are fighting in lodge 2, the minors!” Hardly, I think to myself, they are not that young but nevertheless, they are probably about a couple years too young for marriage depending.

      “Girls catfight,” I hear him mutter as the guy walks away, we turn to look at each other and start laughing, stuffing our mouths with deer skin shirts that even Nicholas is wearing to blend in, and clasp our mouths trying hard to be quiet. As he turns away we set off toward the woods running, as we do though, Okwi trips twisting her ankle, and when I try to help her up she can’t walk.

      “Come on Nicholas, help me try pull her up.”

      “I’m trying.” I hear someone and realize we are not alone anymore, they hear our voices! I try to be quiet, but Arthur is coming to the source of the noise but not seeing us through the darkness, I do not know what to do. We will not be fast enough carrying limping Okwi!

      As he comes to grab us she says, “Miwadezi, please remember, please. I told you again today,” I know what she means. She wants us to escape without her.

      I stay for a moment, ducking Arthur’s grabs and then tell Nicholas, “Leave her, hurry!” He is confused, but there is no time to explain now, so we run, so hard for so long, not looking back until we are sure we have lost him. I take out animal hide stretching it across sticks setting them up to make a temporary structure. We end up sleeping until after day break as we were up late.

      I feel terrible. Yes I am free, but I left my lifelong friend behind. Nicholas and I are to take the animal's fur but destroy the sticks, in case they come to find us. They will not find a trace as we will destroy the fire pit and cover it with leaves.

      “I know we did what she wanted,” I say to Nicholas in the chilly wind of Binaakwe-giizis (Buh-nahk-way-gee-ziss, the Falling leaves Moon, October,) as I watch leaves stir beside me. “Was it right though?”

      “If you want,” he says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my cold ear and then kissing my forehead, “I think we should pray. Ask God what to do next, before we make the next move.” So we pray kneeling close to the warm fire whipping around slightly in the wind. I do not care what Ojiin or anyone thinks. I am Christian now and believe in God, I never got the help I needed before I confessed to him.

      ‘God, please. Was it right to leave Okwi?’ I pray. ‘I want to meet Anne again, see Nenokaasi with his son. Please keep them all safe, but what I mostly want, as you know, is to see Miskwaadesi again, Imbaabaa, and Ojiin. I hope I have children that live through you and please help Okwi to find her way back to us, especially her osayenyan (Oh-say-yen-yan, older brother), Amen.’

      “You ok,” Nicholas asks softly as he finishes praying, seeing me in small tears.

      “Yes,” I say, wiping them away. “Let’s go.” So he puts out the fire and I help him bury it once he dismantles the stones and we set off to find Nenokaasi, hoping he has found Anne. It is cats eye by the time we finally reach them and to my delight I see Anne with Nenokaasi, his wife, and babe.

      “Where is Okwi?” Anne asks, confused. “You married Nicholas!”

      “Yes, and she got hurt when try run way. Then she got caught, told us to leave her. How you been?”

      “It’s nice talking, but you need shelter. Anne’’s house is too small, will work for now maybe, but especially if you have kids,” Nenokaasi says in also speaking English.

      “You're going to have a baby,” Anne says more then asks excitedly, which is not true- yet. “There’s much to talk abou-”

      “Anne, you can talk and work,” Nenokaasi says in Anishinaabemowin, clearly still having some of his old authority. So me and Nicholas stay in Anne’s cabin while Nicholas constructs one for us with help from Nenokaasi. We work and talk, almost as if everything is as it was before, but a more expanded family, even Nenokaasi’s Ojiin is here, helping Kimimela with the young one who was given the name Waaseyaa because he kept them going when times got tough.

      It has been almost two moons now and I still have not seen Okwi. “Anne, will she ever turn up?” I say, I am now expecting one of my own and cooing over Waaseyaa. I turn toward her, “Anne?” She looks as though she has just seen the impossible and I look out the window into the snow. “Okwi!”

      I run outside into the snow not caring or bothering to wrap anything around me. “Minwaadizi, I could not escape with my ankle, it still hurts a lot, and they put extra guard on me, you’re expecting?”

      “Yes,” I laugh merrily, it is Christmas day. “Come in; Anne, Kimimela, and ogwizisan (Oh-gwih-zih-sahn, her son,) are there.”

      “I hate to say it Miwaadezi,” Okwi says as she is met by cheery welcomes, “but I never want to be married again.” I laugh, that is ok with me. At this moment Waaseyaa takes his first steps while cooing and everyone claps as he looks at us confused and starts to clap too. I have a special meal with Anne and Nicholas and we light candles celebrating the end of Christmas.

      Later, in Ziigwan (Zee-won, Spring), I get baptized by going to a church in a village, saying my husband wants me to get baptized, which is true, and soon after nindaanis (In-don-iss, my daughter,) is born. After ten years, me and Nicholas also have ogwizan (Og-wiz-i-san, our son,) only a few years younger than his sister, and Miskwaadesi has finally come. Imbaabaa came with him but sadly Ojiin passed more than forty eight moons ago. When I see him he looks so much older and quite a ibt taller, but he is still my little brother. Mary Jane has not fully escaped but instead helps some escape, such as Neebin and Wenonah steadily letting our little freedom oodena grow.

      As for my family, we keep some of my traditions, like wearing moccasins and such but are Christian and my boy has blue eyes, as we have the mixed family people never thought would work. Miskwaadesi is still settling in the village, a young adult now, very mature. Okwi is not Christian, I don’t think she ever will be, but she is back with me, running in the winds, and showing the kids of the village the wonders of nature such as our wonderful rivers, streams, and creeks.