So it's in a state of bewildered anticipation a few weeks later that I find myself in company with Narcisse again, making the rounds of sacred places in southern Alberta. At Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, he tells me that the “stopping” of the buffalo had caused famine not just for people but also for the land and for all the insects, birds, and mammals that relied on their great snuffling, dusty, shaggy abundance. The wolves, the vultures, the grizzly bears have lost their source of food, he says. The grasslands are no longer grazed as only the buffalo know how to do.
“It's a famine that the newcomers”âhe means people like meâ“are only beginning to sense, and not enough people are aware of it.”
Then it's on to the Aakii piskaan, the Women's Buffalo Jump, near Cayley, and from there to Okotoks, where we pay a visit to a monumental, wing-shaped slab of quartzite that towers over bales in a hayfield. Every place we go, he tells me stories about Napi, Old Man, and his sacred, comic misadventures. Late afternoon finds us in the farthest reaches of a cow pasture scarified by natural-gas extractionâ“These days, we have a very violent type economy,” my companion saysâoverlooking the dark, sinuous valley of the Bow River. Behind us, the Majorville medicine wheel extends its twenty-eight spidery spokes to an enclosing circle of stones. Around us, a wide world of ochre and tan spirals out in every direction, and for a moment, I'm back home again along the Frenchman River. “How we are in these places,” Narcisse will tell me later, “that's how we would be in the Cypress Hills if the connection hadn't been lost. Sometimes I thinkâlike when you're on a hunger strike, there's a point of no return. But mostly I think the knowledge is still recoverable.”
Whenever we're in the car traveling, Narcisse sits in the passenger seat and talks nonstop, retelling the good old stories that belong to these special places. “This is a storied landscape, a ceremonial landscape,” he explains, as if aware that I'm struggling to keep up, “very alive with its spirits and beings.” Whenever we stop to visit a site, he is quiet and relaxedâ“Don't you feel welcome here?” he asks me more than onceâand he always takes time to say a few words in Blackfoot. Once I hear my name and, without waiting to be asked, he explains that he has prayed for me and for this book.
“We come to these sites because our ancestors have prayed for us here,” he tells me, “for the people who were not yet born. They prayed for us to survive, to do the things they had always done.”
“Did they pray for people like me?” I voice this question timidly, not sure I want to know. “Do you think they will help me now?” I'm surprised to hear these words tumble out of my mouth.
For a long minute, he doesn't answer. “Yes, I think so,” he says at last. “You made the effort, you came here. There is a lot more to know, but this is a good start.” He flashes me a rueful grin. “Anyway, you newcomers are not going anywhere, and we aren't going anywhere either. I think it's a viewpoint now of we're in this together.”
This is a story that has to be marked: To Be Continued.
Acknowledgments
My encounter with
the Cypress Hills was made possible by the vision and dedication of the members of the Eastend Arts Council, who not only own and operate the Wallace Stegner House but who also, through a variety of other initiatives, help to keep the creative fire burning in southwestern Saskatchewan. Our time in Eastend has also been enriched by the company of Sharon Butala and the late Peter Butala, Betty Davis and the late Bob Davis, Dr. Anne Davis and Kevin Bristow, Susan Howard, Wendy Kabrud, Bryson LaBoissiere, Sue Michalsky and Roland Bear, Jim Saville, Mary Thomson, Seán Virgo, Ethel Wills, Sherry Wright and Bill Caton, and Sherry and Dennis Webster, all of whom have deepened my understanding of what it means to be a prairie person.
If it takes a village to raise a child, it has taken an extended community to nurture this story. Words cannot adequately express my appreciation for the generosity of elder Jean Francis Oakes, Piyêso kâ-pêtowitak, of Nekaneet First Nation. We are all lucky that, as she puts it, she “used to be nosy.” I was also privileged to consult with Dale Mosquito and Linda Oakes, also from Nekaneet, and with elder Harry Francis of Piapot First Nation. Thanks are due, as well, to former Nekaneet chief Alice Pahtayken and her council for permission to visit the reserve and to former school principal Trevor Bearance for helping me to get my bearings. Patrick Wallace, then assistant warden management services at the Okimaw Ohci Healing Lodge, opened many doors for me, and Clare McNab, ex-Kikawinaw at the lodge, made it possible to believe that telling the truth about the past could be a road to healing.
So many other people have helped me over the years that it is impossible to name them all. I owe a particular debt to family historian Nora Hassell of Grande Prairie, researcher Lou Lockhart of Saskatoon, and Royce Pettijohn and Clayton Y. Yarshenko, who are mainstays of the Southwest Saskatchewan Old Timers Museum in Maple Creek and of Fort Walsh (now the Fort Walsh and Cypress Hills Massacre national historic sites). Two First Nations art stars, visual artist Lori Blondeau and playwright Kenneth T. Williams, provided astute advice and encouragement when it was most needed. The book also benefited from the expert counsel of a number of scholars, including Barry Ahenakew, then chief of Ahtahkakoop First Nation, now with the Saskatchewan Indian Cultural Centre; Tim Tokaryk, T.rex Discovery Centre and Royal Saskatchewan Museum; the late John Tobias, Red Deer; Donalee Deck, Parks Canada; Dr. Marie Battiste, Dr. Margaret Kennedy, and Dr. David Meyer, University of Saskatchewan; Dr. David Sauchyn, University of Regina; Dr. Cynthia Chambers, University of Lethbridge; Dr. Alison Landals, Stantec Consulting, Calgary; and Dr. Brian Reeves and Dr. Gerald Oetelaar, University of Calgary. In addition, I was inspired by speakers at “History in the Hills” in 2006 and 2007 (notably Val Ryder of the Carry the Kettle First Nation) and at seminars organized by the Buffalo Bill Historical Center in Cody, Wyoming, including Dr. Linea Sundstrom, Joe Medicine Crow, and the late Blackfeet cultural historian Curly Bear Wagner. As for the ebullient, eloquent Narcisse Blood of the KáÃnai Nation and Red Crow College, my admiration for his insight, mischievous humor, and kindness is unbounded.
It is an honor to acknowledge the endorsement of the David Suzuki Foundation and the financial support of the Saskatchewan Arts Board and the Canada Council for the Arts.
The book was reviewed in manuscript by editor Shelley Tanaka, novelist Suzanne North, and historians Dr. Bill Waiser and Dr. Sheena Rolph, each of whom offered valuable advice that was gratefully taken to heart. Keith Bell, my companion in all good things, listened patiently to passages read aloud, hot off the screen, and commented on several early drafts with a remarkable combination of insight and tact. Nancy Flight of Greystone Books provided editorial direction with professional vigor and grace, and publisher Rob Sanders has believed in and supported this project from its vaguest beginnings. The title is drawn from
Wood Mountain Poems
by Andrew Suknaskiâ“this is my right/to chronicle the meaning of these vast plains/in a geography of blood and failure/making them live”âand is used with his permission.
It only remains to express my gratitude for the beauty of the Cypress Hills, which stops us in our tracks and makes us listen.
Notes
Notes refer to direct quotations only. Additional information on sources is provided in the bibliography.
CHAPTER 1: Getting There
CHAPTER 2: The Stegner House
CHAPTER 3: Digging In
CHAPTER 4: Ravenscrag Road
CHAPTER 5: Stone Circles
CHAPTER 6: Chimney Coulee
CHAPTER 7: Modern Times
CHAPTER 8: Fort Walsh
CHAPTER 9: The Hunger Camp
CHAPTER 10: Creation Stories
CHAPTER 11: Home Truth