On Saturday Paul and I attended the Eleventh Annual Evening of American Indian Storytelling and Drumming. It was fantastic! Last year we also attended this event, and I was excited to return to it again.
The Madtown Singers opening with drumming and singing, and also closed the event with a great departure song. There were three storytellers, one from the Ho-Chunk Nation (the native nation indigenous to Madison), one from the Moose Clan (Ojibwa?), and one from New Mexico, I believe from the Navajo Nation. Unfortunately Paul recycled the program, otherwise I would write down their names....they were all wonderful storytellers. The first speaker told one of the Ho-Chunk creation stories, the second a "risque" story she learned from her grandmother and mother about a boy who goes on a journey and destroys different evil types of women, and the third (my favorite) told a beautifully woven, humorous story about coyote learning to fly and the impact of traditions on present life. The storytellers, as well as the Madtown Singers, had me in awe the entire night. I felt honored to listen to their stories. And impressed by their gift of telling native stories in multiple languages in a meaningful way.
I've heard some great storytellers in my life. I was fortunate to spend time with different tribal elders growing up. I first listened to native storytelling as a young girl at a pacific northwest storytelling field trip to washington somewhere. There was smoke, dancing, stories told in a wooden longhouse. I remember going their twice, once in a small group and once in a very large one (with my class?) and being startled by the smoke the came out of the wall at key parts of the story...it was great effect.
What really awed me was hearing Ed Edmo tell stories around a campfire along the Columbia the summer after 5th grade. I participated in Salmon Camp, which was a ten day summer camp for native (or in my case, part-native) kids that traveled from the Warm Springs Reservation in central oregon all the way to the coast to the Siletz Reservation as we studied native culture and learned about the lifecycle of salmon. Ed's daughter Se-ah-dum was one of the councelors. I also heard two elders from the Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs come and tell our group of 5 stories about Shears Falls as we stood at its base at sunset near the native fishing spots, along with Celilo Falls, the great landmark on the Columbia River which was sadly drowned by the Dalles Dam. We had a traditional salmon bake at Kah-Nee-Ta with native dancing and also storytelling which was one of the highlights of the trip (especially the couples circle dances!).
The next summer I took a trip with a native group up to Seattle where we visited an Suquamish elder (if i remember right?) at her home. I remember her being very old, and her house being very bright on a sunny day. She reiterated more than once on the importance of learning and passing along stories. She told us a few of her favorites and then told us a very short one about a mouse and a house and something about cleaning (?) in the hopes that we would remember it and pass it along. From 5th grad on I've had a pretty bad short-term memory. I do remember trying to repeat this story in my head to myself, but I have sadly forgotten it. But I do remember the elder's face, and her wisdom, and her respect for us as young native kids.
Spending five summers in Alaska working and learning with native alaska youth, as well as one march conference as a delegate with the American Indian Science & Engineering Society also put me into fantastic opportunities to hear alaska native storytelling and dancing in central and southern alaska. What a gift.
Those key storytelling experiences, along with a rich tradition of thursday-night storytelling at outdoor school, have made me realize just how valuable the gift of storytelling is, along with the importance of passing along stories. I am so bad at storytelling, not only because I forget key plot points and details, but also because I am too serious in general and have a limited on-the-spot imagination. I do have a curiosity to listen, but not much of a desire to speak, especially in front of larger audiences. This makes me sad, but I just don't have the gift of storytelling no matter how much I'd like to have it. Maybe it will be something I gain as I grow older? In the meantime, I am very happy to sit back, listen and absorb the fantastic stories that I am able to hear.
The Madtown Singers opening with drumming and singing, and also closed the event with a great departure song. There were three storytellers, one from the Ho-Chunk Nation (the native nation indigenous to Madison), one from the Moose Clan (Ojibwa?), and one from New Mexico, I believe from the Navajo Nation. Unfortunately Paul recycled the program, otherwise I would write down their names....they were all wonderful storytellers. The first speaker told one of the Ho-Chunk creation stories, the second a "risque" story she learned from her grandmother and mother about a boy who goes on a journey and destroys different evil types of women, and the third (my favorite) told a beautifully woven, humorous story about coyote learning to fly and the impact of traditions on present life. The storytellers, as well as the Madtown Singers, had me in awe the entire night. I felt honored to listen to their stories. And impressed by their gift of telling native stories in multiple languages in a meaningful way.
I've heard some great storytellers in my life. I was fortunate to spend time with different tribal elders growing up. I first listened to native storytelling as a young girl at a pacific northwest storytelling field trip to washington somewhere. There was smoke, dancing, stories told in a wooden longhouse. I remember going their twice, once in a small group and once in a very large one (with my class?) and being startled by the smoke the came out of the wall at key parts of the story...it was great effect.
What really awed me was hearing Ed Edmo tell stories around a campfire along the Columbia the summer after 5th grade. I participated in Salmon Camp, which was a ten day summer camp for native (or in my case, part-native) kids that traveled from the Warm Springs Reservation in central oregon all the way to the coast to the Siletz Reservation as we studied native culture and learned about the lifecycle of salmon. Ed's daughter Se-ah-dum was one of the councelors. I also heard two elders from the Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs come and tell our group of 5 stories about Shears Falls as we stood at its base at sunset near the native fishing spots, along with Celilo Falls, the great landmark on the Columbia River which was sadly drowned by the Dalles Dam. We had a traditional salmon bake at Kah-Nee-Ta with native dancing and also storytelling which was one of the highlights of the trip (especially the couples circle dances!).
The next summer I took a trip with a native group up to Seattle where we visited an Suquamish elder (if i remember right?) at her home. I remember her being very old, and her house being very bright on a sunny day. She reiterated more than once on the importance of learning and passing along stories. She told us a few of her favorites and then told us a very short one about a mouse and a house and something about cleaning (?) in the hopes that we would remember it and pass it along. From 5th grad on I've had a pretty bad short-term memory. I do remember trying to repeat this story in my head to myself, but I have sadly forgotten it. But I do remember the elder's face, and her wisdom, and her respect for us as young native kids.
Spending five summers in Alaska working and learning with native alaska youth, as well as one march conference as a delegate with the American Indian Science & Engineering Society also put me into fantastic opportunities to hear alaska native storytelling and dancing in central and southern alaska. What a gift.
Those key storytelling experiences, along with a rich tradition of thursday-night storytelling at outdoor school, have made me realize just how valuable the gift of storytelling is, along with the importance of passing along stories. I am so bad at storytelling, not only because I forget key plot points and details, but also because I am too serious in general and have a limited on-the-spot imagination. I do have a curiosity to listen, but not much of a desire to speak, especially in front of larger audiences. This makes me sad, but I just don't have the gift of storytelling no matter how much I'd like to have it. Maybe it will be something I gain as I grow older? In the meantime, I am very happy to sit back, listen and absorb the fantastic stories that I am able to hear.
Labels: childhood, native storytelling
