Exploring Cherokee land~ Day 2

It wasn't hard to locate a motel in Cherokee land.  They lined the main street from the moment you entered the town.  Like any town, they had the ultra deluxe all the way down to the low budget one's.  We picked an in-between one, as we only planned to stay the one night.  It was a comfortable motel with a balcony and nice view of the river in the back yard.  And, the best part was it had its own little mini coffee maker!
It was a different experience to fall asleep to the sound of the river.  It was quite loud and took some getting used to.  The fresh mountain air, the clear running river and the relaxing environment was just the atmosphere for the weekend get away.
The morning brought a slight drizzling rain outside, but nevertheless waking up to 'Daffy Duck cartoons on the TV and freshly brewed coffee, was all I could ever ask for.  We lounged on our King size bed and enjoyed our adventure in Cherokee land.

There wasn't much to plan for the day.  Simply drive around the reservation and be snoopy.  Take pictures, and imagine life as a Cherokee Indian 200 years ago!
But, with Chuy along, first comes breakfast.  A must for him, lest he gets cranky!
As for me, I can go hours and hours with just my coffee in one hand, and a camera in the other...
We hunted down a nearby breakfast restaurant and endured the drawling slang of the waitress.... pronouncing words I had never heard of before.  Something like this..."G'd mrning  ya all... how ya all be liken the rein dees mornin'?  How bout some caffee to wake ya all up?"  "Now, would ya all like sum suger and meelk with dat? "
I  refused to let the sloppy English take hold of my impatience this sloppy and downright disgust with the illiteracy, so I smiled, nodded my head (for yes) and did my best to order the food.
It is actually quite the experience to listen to your husband's South Mexican accent attempting to communicate with the mountain folk of North Carolina! I am not sure whether to laugh or cry! I am also not quite sure who understands who in these conversations, but somehow we got some breakfast served to us!
After breakfast we scouted out the town.  Visiting the shops along the street, and smirking at the cheap crap from China.

We didn't stay long in those stores.  I felt a bit disgruntled at this display of blatant commercialism on the Cherokee Reservation, and jumped from one store to another, thinking that this poor town had a severe problem, until we happened upon a fairly decent store that at least had some authentic Indian drumming playing over the speakers, and large stuffed animals looming around....... it was finally starting to feel like real Indian land.                                        

  The funny thing about this store was the owner.  He sat in a very old rocking chair behind the counter, and talked to people as he saw fit.  He would periodically state with pride that he is a 'tribally enrolled 'Indian' and can legally sell bear claws!  He pointed to the framed paperwork on the wall proving his Indian blood.  Well, I imagine that is a good thing.  To find pride in something that you were born into, and had no choice over.  Better than fighting against it?
He didn't look much Indian by his features though.  He looked more like a scrawny old 'mountain folk from the back woods.  And, as to be expected, the accent was almost more than I could take.  I had to ask him more than once...."Um, can you repeat that please?"   I tried to be as polite as possible when doing this, but it does get annoying when all you do is say, "Could you please repeat that?" And, then you have to act like the dummy that doesn't understand.  I wonder how they got that accent in the first place?  It sure doesn't sound much like our English language most of the time.
                                                                 

So, we wandered through the store..... and I refrained from trying to buy everything that was 'cool.
Then I spotted a copy of the original "Cherokee Herbal" a book written in 1942 by an Indian that lists over 500 natural local plants and herbs that the Indians used for healing and health etc.

My husband saw me drooling over the book, and immediately said, "Buy it!"  (He is just the sweetest man in the whole wide world!) I gave him a kiss, and gladly handed it over to him to pay for it!  And, not getting out of the store without a typical souvenir coffee mug with Cherokee NC written on it!  I plainly decided that I just didn't need anything...and resolved to not buy anymore, until my husband spotted Indian Corn.  He had been wanting that since he left Mexico.  So, we bought two of the brightly colored corns and headed out to snoop around the town and reservation.  It was the beginning of a very fun day!
I had my prized book, my husband had his cherished corn, and we got in the car to 'snoop around the reservation.  Main street had all the trimmings of a nice little Indian town.  The huge painted bears everywhere, statues of bronze Indians depicting transformation with forgiveness, and historical little log cabin buildings that once housed the tribal council hundred or more years ago!
That was interesting to see, even in a historical sense, what the reservation might have been like in days gone by.

                                                                               

After all the large painted bears, visiting the 'Tribal Coffee house (their version of Starbuck's) and walking around the mini mall areas, it was time to go deeper into the reservation.  The places where usually only the locals dare to tread!  The adventure was becoming more 'adventurous!


First, my husband needed to collect his thoughts, and get in the ' Indian mode!  We sipped our lattes, and admired all the pretty buildings with rocks and wood adorning them... the swirled cement walkways, with imprints of cattails and swamp grass.

We crossed over the bridge that had the most creative branch type railing's...



And wondered if the drizzle was going to let up anytime soon?

It didn't matter about the slight drizzle though.  The fresh mountain air, and smells of fresh greenery all around was a treat in and of itself.
The typical cars drove by, with the Indian slogan decals of feathers and dream catchers.  One definitely got the impression that you were in a land of a different tenure.  An ancient land, dwelt upon by an ancient people.  The Eastern band of the proud Cherokee Indian.

Interesting thing about the Cherokees,(a very civilized tribe of Native Americans), is that they developed their own alphabet and written language.

An Indian named Sequoya was fascinated with the 'White mans ways of reading 'talking leaves (another term for a book).  He holed away, and soon developed their own alphabet.  The written language looks kinda funny... but the Cherokees are very proud about that accomplishment, and they have a huge wooden carving of Sequoyah standing in the middle of town.  He is carved out of a single tree, and the base of the statue has names of the seven clans of the Eastern Band of Cherokees.
If you notice the face of the carved Sequoyah, he is crying.  I am sure that is in honor of the 'trail of tears......... (historical event of the forced removal of the Natives from their ancient lands in the mid 1800's).          

    It was very impressive to stand near this wooden carving.  Its amazing that someone can carve into wood, a figure that can exude such emotion, and capture with such reality, the mood, feeling and look of a people that belies the feelings of hopelessness and despair, as the US government started rounding up the Indians during the Indian removal act.

So the story goes, and how a Great Great Great Grandmother on my fathers side was given away as an infant to a family to be raised, as she was unable to care for her infant during the long forced march on the 'Trail of tears.
It must have been a very heartbreaking moment, to hand your infant child over to  some one else to raise, knowing full well, you would never see it again.
What an epic example of a mothers love.

  She endured the inevitable pain and loss, in order to ensure that her child would live. And that is the 'story of Cynthia Black. My Fathers Great Grandmother.

The Eastern Band escaped the forced removal that the other Cherokees had to endure, when they were relocated west of the Mississippi, on  the forced four thousand  mile march... leaving behind millions and millions of acreage to the greedy and thieving White European intruder. Namely, our past President Andrew Jackson.  A known Indian hater...
And, discovering Gold in North Carolina did the Indian no favor either.  The White man simply wanted their land, and they took it.  And the Indian way of life changed forever.... and so it goes.

The statue with carved wooden tears reminds one of the unforgettable pain and atrocities committed against the Cherokees, and many other tribes alike.   
Tribes like the Eastern Band of Cherokee remain on original grounds.  They claim to have been here some 10 to 14,000. years ago, never relocating to another land.
It is interesting to hear them talk of 'their land.  You sense the respect for all living things, all animals, and respect for the plants and water and even the insects.  The Native Americans truly are the keepers of the land, and have a deep love for their reservation, in the Mystical Smokey Mountains.

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                                         The importance given to Sequoyah and the remembering of the old ways is evident if you notice, or know what to look for.  The people have written various things in their own language.  Welcome signs have Cherokee, display monuments with their alphabet, and even road signs.  The 'tribal coffee beans we bought had the Cherokee language, basically it is everywhere.  However, though you see it written, I did not once hear it spoken.  Perhaps that is saved for tribal gatherings or the elders at home?  I suppose most of the younger generation of Cherokees are so assimilated into European culture that they are embarrassed to speak their native language.  Which, much to the dismay of the elders, will bring about an extinction of the language.  Some are working very hard to preserve the spoken and written Cherokee, but it remains to be seen if it will truly survive time, as the people have somehow managed to do.

                        

 Even though the sign reads Welcome Center, we had already made ourselves welcome by wandering around town, attending events, shopping and relaxing.  It was now time to investigate further..... and try to see how the 'real natives lived.

Driving a bit down the main street, we turned off on a little side road.  I couldn't help but notice a few particular items; like the name of some of the side roads, the speed limit sign that was ancient, and in comparison, the brightly painted fire hydrant!  Such contrast is such a short space.   As you turn a corner or two, you come upon little log structures that used to house the tribal headquarters.  One such structure had been burned out in the inside, but the rock solid logs still stood firm.   We drove on, and found some little houses out in the 'weeds, dilapidated old cars overgrown with weeds, and mysterious shacks in the woods.  I imagined that one to be haunted for sure, or housing some old medicine man that chants into the night on a full moon~

The various sights were interesting.  Road sign written in English as well as Cherokee, old corroded speed limit signs, and bright red fire hydrants.

The little old log cabin structures, that previously were the tribal headquarters.

It was a clash between the new and the old... as seems to be the norm with most reservations these days.  You will find the most poverty stricken houses full of rusted old cars, and boarded up windows, two or three dogs wandering around an un-kept yard, in the same area as a multi million dollar casino...with bright flashing neon signs.  What a complete set of opposites. One extreme to another....

The life of the modern day Native American on the Reservation.

I loved the old log cabins.  Too cozy.... and reminiscent of a better day.  A day when it mattered to have the winter wood cut, and corded and stacked, drying for the winter fires.  A day when you were lucky to have a house at all!  What amazes me is now-a-days you have a house start to fall apart after  30 years.  These log homes are still standing after hundreds...of... years.  Granted they are a bit rough, but they are still a standin'!  Just don't make um like they used to!

 I asked someone once, why the Indians keep all the old 'dead and rusty cars in their yards? I was told that it is a sign of wealth.  Something along the lines of...Look, I had a great car.  They just don't like to haul em off to the salvage yard.  A funny trait common to a lot of Indians.... on a lot of reservations. I asked someone once, why the Indians keep all the old 'dead and rusty cars in their yards? I was told that it is a sign of wealth.  Something along the lines of...Look, I had a great car.  They just don't like to haul em off to the salvage yard.  A funny trait common to a lot of Indians.... on a lot of reservations.

                   

All in all the reservation was one of the prettiest I have ever seen.  Snuggled into the Smokey Mountains, and with a beautiful river running right through the middle of town, and miles upon miles of green foliage, trees, and flowers, it is easy to see why the Cherokee have called this land home.  Driving down a few more gravel roads, we pulled alongside a river.  I couldn't resist a few photos of the water, and trees that were overhanging.  Large boulders lined the banks, and I had to look twice not to think I was seeing Gold in them thar rocks!..... I swear they had streaks of pure gold running right through them.

The green foliage was everywhere, and I had a great time with the camera.

 

Beautiful green ivy grows up the banks from the street. And, if you look close enough you can see the famous 'smokey stuff lingering amongst the trees...

Mystical I say!

So, after all the fun on the reservation, we realized we should be heading out.

But, that is another story.  Stay tuned, you wouldn't want to miss this one!

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Cherokee North Carolina..Mockery of a culture.

It has been a long hot and humid summer, and it was time to take a weekend off, and just get away!  Chuy and I didn't even bother to pack.  We grabbed our coats, I grabbed the camera, and we were off.
I had read about an Indian Cultural event being held in Cherokee North Carolina, on the actual Cherokee reservation for the Eastern band, so we decided that would be the perfect weekend 'getaway!  So, with the Eagle feather on the rear view mirror to guide us, and Chuy getting into the 'Warrior Spirit', we headed out.

First, in a northernly direction from Fayetteville, and then eventually heading west, way out to the western most tip of the state of North Carolina.  About a 5-6 hour drive, give or take?
As we drove, not much changed as far as the scenery goes until the elevation started climbing, and we started heading into the famous 'Smokey Mountains.  (They don't call them Smokey for nothing!) These mountains emit whiffs of trailing fog, lingering mist's, and smoke like wafes throughout their mountain tops and throughout  the valleys. It's as if there are thousands of campfires burning here and there.  It is very mystical and mysterious looking.

While driving, I began to imagine all sorts of ideas what this place must look like, tucked up deep in these mysterious mountains.  Were we heading into a long lost valley of mystical Indian figures?  Perhaps tipi's here and there? Certainly a leather clad, braided and feathered Indian or two will be looming about?
I imagined all the old West movies.  The old 'John Wayne type, with the Indians riding old paint ponies and galloping with their feathered headbands flowing in the wind.  Painted faces, and a bow and arrow in hand.  Surely, after this long drive, and winding deeper and deeper into these mysterious looking hills, I figured we must be in for a very unique cultural experience.
Well, I was right on one point, we were in for a very unique cultural experience, just not the one that I had imagined.

When we finally passed the little sign, almost hidden in the brush, that announced you had arrived on Cherokee land, and we rounded the next corner.... we were met with what one might term: The commercialization of an aging reservation.

Still, I had hopes of experiencing true Native American culture at the event we were to attend that evening.

Driving down main street, you see business's that have capitalized on the Indian theme.  However, the merchandise is right out of China.  Plastic bows and arrows, fake dreamcatchers with magenta and purple colored feathers, cheap imported blankets from Mexico that are suppose to pass for Indian woven rugs..... all kinds of cheap crap..... and its sad.
I had hoped to see authentic hand made Native craft.  Some one had even managed to put up a tipi in the parking lot?

We entered 'Cherokee just in time to catch the evening session of their 4th annual cultural event gathering.  We paid our $10.00 and entered the tribal campgrounds.  What first struck odd to me, was the tribal grounds were smack dab in the middle of the city (reservation).  They were modern!  Cemented, covered, and new buildings.  The second thought I had, was that there were no visible Indians vendors.  Usually at an event such as this, there would be little booths with Indians selling all sorts of handmade crafts.  You would find bundled sage wands, jewlery, drums, leather purses, moccasions, rattles, beaded things.  The only booth that was open, was a frybread booth.

Ummmm, ummmmm.  I tell you what!  It just about beats my Grammas Scandinavian Krum KaKa recipie!  Frybread is some sort of dough, deepfried, and topped with melted butter, cinnamon sugar, with a touch of powdered sugar!  Delicious!
Of course, my sweet warrior husband knew my hankering for a Frybread, and made sure I had one.  (Thanks sweetie!)

We 'pulled ourselves away from the frybread stand, and headed over to the 'modern bleachers facing their stage.

What grabs you first, and this is usually at any Indian event, is the drum.  There is usually a steady beat in the background somewhere.  Its relaxing and exhilarating at the same time.
Then, the dancers begin to gather.  In all their brightly colored regalia and  long black hair, they position themselves, and wait upon the MC to announce them.  At this time, the MC gives a little talk about the dance.  He speaks of its origins, what tribe it came from, how it got its meaning, and what the dance is called.  He speaks of the importance of the dance to the community, and will speak of who the dancers are, what tribe they are from, and he always thanks them for being there.
The drum hits a stronger beat, and the people start to move...... in step with the beat and each other.

As I watched this centuries old band of Indians dance, I saw a familiar sight,they acted as one.  As a community of people.  Their dancing showed the secret to their survival as a people group.  They include everyone. Everyone has a role, everyone comes together seperatly, to dance as ONE.

First, the announcer introduced the dance. In this case, the first dance of the night was the 'Ant Dance.  The speaker spoke how ancient this dance is to the Cherokee's, and that over the centuries the people have observed and learned from the lowly little ant... how it scurries about this way and that, getting things done. The speaker made sure we were all aware of the moral to each dance.  The dance teaches the people how to live, to respect and learn from nature and the animals God the Creator gave us.
The dance had men and women, teenagers and small children.  They grouped up, and with the beginings of the drum, they started moving around, with hands held up close to the forehead with their fingers sticking up moving around mimicking ants feelers.

I noticed it took all of the community to make the dance.  No one was left out, grammas and grandpas alike were included.  Around and around they moved, no one missing a beat as the drum, (the heartbeat of the people) beat a steady rhythm. I saw smiles, and humor, and everyone moved as one. We enjoyed the dancing and the drum, and the funny Indian humor as the speaker talked and told of interesting little things that the ant does.
There is not much complication to the movement of the dance.  No one notices if you miss a step, or take a break.  The people keep moving.  Around and around and around. They patiently and with stamina keep moving.

Sometimes, its just a blurr of color and people as they become one.....

The Woman move with pride in their faces.
They stare straight ahead, arm bent with a shawl or feather fan held precisly in front.  They tilt the chin slightly up, and their long black hair flows behind, giving slight ripples as they bend and dip to the beat ... the never ending beat of the drum.
You see children trying their serious best to keep up the endurance of the dance.  With the most serious of faces, they follow alongside a Mom or Dad, and have to trot sometimes to keep pace....  amazingly you see the grand mother dancing with regal stature and poise, as must her ancestors thousands of years before her danced.  They dance to remember, to learn, to become one of the community.  When they are in dance, there is no individual, only a community of people moving as one blended unit.
It was a very moving and touching thing to see.
And I am grateful they allow others to observe.
In watching the Indians dance, you have a peek into living history.  A millineum old people group, still enacting dances thousands upon thousands of years old.   Living history.....


As the evening wore on, we watched the Buffalo dance and learned that a long long time ago, the Cherokee people remembered a type of Buffalo that used to inhabit the Carolina region. (That had to be a LONGGGG time ago).  There dance re-enacts what their ancestors lived with.  And we saw a funny little dance where they took a beaver tail, tied with strings on both ends.  Two Indians sat a ways apart from each other, and pulled the tail back and forth between each other, as members of the dance broke free to try to hit it with a stick they were carring in their hands.
I guess the moral being or showing, how it takes a whole community 'giving it a try' to get even one beaver?  Anyway, again the tribe acted as one unit.  No individual's...only the group.  And the entire group acting as one in the dance.

So, we had finally seen real Natives, real authentic dancing and drumming, eaten real frybread....
It was getting late, time to find a motel and get some sleep.  We would explore the town the next day.
Stay tuned...to be continued!