Anne M. Dunn

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#664 – Anne Dunn: Pe’Sla

Thursday, December 13th, 2012

Anne M Dunn lives in northern Minnesota and has two earlier posts at Outside The Walls. You can read them here and here. For those of us not aware, Pe’Sla refers to a portion of what most call the Black Hills of South Dakota.

Heart of the Heart

It seems strange that an Indigenous Nation should be required to buy back a sacred site. But I have been told that we often honor the sacred with lip service while we live in the profane. So money rises above the sacred and the sacred becomes commodity.

The landholders of the sacred Black Hills site, Leonard and Margaret Reynolds, had planned a public auction to sell the 1,942 acre section of high-prairie land diced into 300 acre tracts but the Great Sioux Nation (Oceti Sakowin) quickly protested the sale.

This land plays a key role in creation and tribal members feared how new owners might develop the land which is called Pe’Sla, ‘the heart of the heart’ or ‘the heart of all that is’. The Black Hills (HeSapa) is the heart of Turtle Island (North America) and Pe’Sla is the heart of the heart. The Black Hills is the rolling range of mountains rising out of the badlands of western South Dakota. I have been told that we go to the heart with a hungry spirit and return filled.

As a result of the outcry the public auction was cancelled. The Reynolds invited private parties to bid on the property, including the Rosebud Sioux. Their bid of $9 million was accepted in late August of this year. They paid a deposit of $1.3 million which purchased a seat at the negotiating table.

The Great Sioux Nation once dominated an area that covered what would eventually become 14 states and three Canadian Provinces. But it was fragmented, scattered and exiled when they were pushed to reservations. However, they came from Montana, Wyoming, the Dakotas, Minnesota and Canada to resolve this issue.

In fact, nine indigenous nations on Turtle Island banded together to raise the money to buy the high-elevation prairie located in the Black Hills. International support came from Russia, France, Egypt, Germany, Denmark and Japan as well. The purchase deadline was Friday, Nov. 30.

The land is now in the hands of the Great Sioux Nation. Contracts were signed in Rapid City, South Dakota, where the Rosebud Sioux, the Crow Creek Tribe and the Shakopee Mdewakanton Sioux Tribe community gathered in a historic assembly of United Tribes.

I have been told ‘the people’ were created from the Black Hills and Pe’Sla is where the Morning Star in the form of a meteor fell to Earth, killing a great bird that had murdered seven women. The Morning Star placed the Seven Spirit Sisters in the sky. They are also known as the Pleiades constellation.

The meteor cut a wide open spot deep in the heart of the forested Black Hills. For millennia more than 60 indigenous nations have come to the high prairie to gather medicine and participate in sacred rituals.

The Reynold family held the site for 136 years but always allowed access for ceremony. That’s how I happened to be there in the summer of 1998 with a gathering of indigenous nations from around the globe. I’d traveled to the heart of the heart with Sami artist/activist/friend Gladys Koski Holmes.

One day we joined a small group of adventurers who had decided to climb Flag Mountain, which is one of the highest peaks in South Dakota. We stood on the remains of a Civilian Conservation Corp tower and looked down on Pe’Sla. Before the CCC tower was built the craggy site had been used for ceremony and a sense of the spiritual still lingered on those wind-swept heights.

I have been told that the hills were considered so sacred that no blood was shed there. Even hunters could not go there to kill game.

I found a small gray pearl button in the sacred soil of Pe’Sla, put it in my pocket and brought it home. It had laid in the earth for at least 100 years… probably more.

The Treaty of Fort Laramie in 1868 guaranteed First Nations ownership of the Black Hills but gold was discovered in 1874. So in 1877 the federal government seized the hills illegally. In order to secure the area for exploitation the US government engaged in a war of starvation by destroying the Buffalo Nation. A federal court decision in 1979 declared the government’s seizure of the Black Hills one of the most dishonorable acts in American history.

In 1980 the US Supreme Court ruling awarded more than $105 million to the Great Sioux Nation for the Black Hills. I have been told the interest it has accrued is now in excess of $500 million. But the tribes have never accepted the money because some things are not for sale.

#14 – Anne Dunn: Sweet Smoky Blues

Sunday, May 3rd, 2009

Note: Here’s another chapter on Sugaring near Deer River MN. Anne previously wrote on this topic at #6, published April 12, 2009, under the category, Quietings.

I’d been charged with watching the maple syrup cooker so it wouldn’t boil over. There were also three barrels of sap bubbling the steam away. Annie and Laura had just returned from emptying sap so the holding barrel was full.

After returning to camp, Annie began splitting wood while Laura renewed the fire. I was quick to see and eliminate a brief but intense flare. Using a long pole I scattered the flaming wood to cool the fire.

Earlier that day I’d noticed that the sparks clung to the shelter roof and didn’t die out as quickly as I thought they should. I also noted that the fire was swirling rather violently. But with several sugar bush veterans in camp I decided it was not going to be a problem. In fact, I told Laura that the fire had learned a new dance. She smiled and glanced into the flames but said nothing. When she went out to stack the woodpile I was alone with the fire.

Soon I smelled plastic burning. I checked my boots then stepped out to tell Annie and Laura to check their boots, too. When I re-entered the shelter I was hit by a terrible odor. Then the roof burst into flames. Burning tarpaper and melted plastic began falling into our boiling barrels. I shouted “Fire!” and we flew into action. We formed an instant bucket brigade with Annie climbing to the roof while Laura and I passed buckets of sap from the holding barrel. I went back inside and began throwing cans of sap against the inside of the roof. After many desperate minutes we got the blaze under control but there was a great loss of syrup and sap, not to mention the gaping hole in the roof.

On the following day the roof was repaired and we were back in business. The sap was still running and we were still boiling it into syrup. We finished 15 quarts that day.

On Easter Sunday we had a big dinner and egg hunt at the camp and the fire seemed quite forgotten. However, Annie was later presented with a book of spent matches. The award was given in recognition of her being the camp supervisor at the time of the fire.

It was soon decided that we would close down the camp because we had all the syrup we need for the coming year. Usually we close camp when the maple tree buds are as big as squirrel ears but this year we closed early.

We began pulling taps and bagging up catch cans. The cookers and holding barrel were still full. Some of the men said they would finish cooking the remaining sap and the resulting syrup would be given to some of our hard working helpers.

We had opened the camp with a naming ceremony, give away and feast. Now we were closing with a family dinner.

I watched the smoke drift away through the trees and listened to the voices around me but I heard no words at all. I was only aware of a certain contentment that hummed about me. Closing my eyes I felt like a fetus that had been carried into the sugar bush camp within her mother’s womb.

When I opened my eyes I looked up through the bare branches above and thanked Creator for another good gathering. I asked that I be allowed to return to the sugar bush next year and enjoy the sweet smoky blues without burning a hole in the roof.

Anne M. Dunn is an Anishinabe-Ojibwe grandmother storyteller and published author. She makes her home in rural Deer River, MN, on the Leech Lake Reservation. She can be reached at twigfigsATyahooDOTcom

#6 – Anne M. Dunn: SUGAR BUSH VOICES 2009

Sunday, April 12th, 2009

Those who gather maple sap can name the signs that tell them when it’s time to tap the trees. Many will say the sap begins to rise when warm days are followed by freezing nights. This is true and this we know.

But I prefer the sign my mother waited for. She used to tell me, “When the box elders begin to weep, it’s time to tap the maples.”

So I spent some time looking up into the branches of the tall box elders that surrounded our old house (on tract 33, Cass Lake, MN). Sometimes I would listen for their weeping in the night but Mom said they wept in the warmth of the afternoon. Then one day it happened that a box elder tear fell upon my upturned face and I knew that what she said was true. The box elders were weeping.

So this year when we drove out to the sugar bush camp and parked the car at the end of the tar I was keenly aware of the privilege I had of entering this small but rich domain. Once again I was greeted by sugar bush voices.

The great white pines reach high into the April sky, poised and waiting for the wind. One after another they join their voices as the song moves from tree to tree. I raise my hands and touch the sighing breath around me before stepping off toward the camp. As my boots crush the snow beneath each step, new and unique voices rise around my feet. It’s many steps to the camp and the icy songs enrich my journey.

Everyone is out emptying catch cans so I am alone at the fire. I put a sprig of cedar on the coals for symbolic cleansing and wash my hands in the smoke. The excited voices of the flaming tongues offer their fiery poems.

Later I take a bucket and go out among the trees. I put down a bit of tobacco and than Creator for the generous gift of nourishing sap. Then I empty a can into the bucket, re-hang the can and listen as the sap drops sing against the metal. After emptying and re-hanging several cans I listen to this sweet song of life. When all the cans are emptied we return to camp and our varied voices join the chorus.

The crackling fire must be fed. So someone begins splitting wood. The boiling sap sizzles, bubbles and hisses. Of course, these lyrical voices are also blended into the sugar bush symphony.

The shouts and laughter of playful children punctuate the great song. Then a weary child is lifted into the blanket swing and the rope squeaks against the bark of the supporting trees. A grandmother sings a soft lullaby and leans into the swing to kiss the little one. The child smiles once, the eyelids flutter and close.

When the sap is boiled down to syrup it’s poured into a clean bucket, covered with a dishtowel and carried back to the road. It’s been a warm day and the snow has melted. Now the boots make sucking sounds as we follow one another through the mud. A nation of small birds flyover us and their thin raspy songs trail behind them.

I listen carefully for the voices of the ancestors whispering around us as we leave with our precious gift. They are saying that even in the midst of great and widespread change the sugar bush voices remain the same.

Postscript April 12, 2009: We pulled the taps today and called an end to the gathering of sap. We usually do that when the buds are as big as squirrel ears. But it has been an abundant flow and we have all we need. Tomorrow we return for a final boil and I will use the last bucket to make sugar.
Anne

Anne M. Dunn is an Anishinabe-Ojibwe grandmother storyteller and published author. She makes her home in rural Deer River, MN, on the Leech Lake Reservation. She can be reached at twigfigsATyahooDOTcom