INDIAN HEAVEN WILDERNESS

INDIAN HEAVEN WILDERNESS

Voices of the Cowlitz Indians lost in leathery silence speak out from beyond the grave their spirit voices are crying to us their children their songs and stories of long ago

I will begin to tell you a story that has taken me several years to write but now I have an urgency to release what is kept inside of my soul, it is a story that needs to be carried forth to all my generations.

This morning I quieted myself to have some devotional time; I turned off the TV, put the dogs outside and sat down to have some ME time. I fumbled through one of my paper journals that I used to write in a few years ago. Long ago I had stopped writing in journals because of the hate of one man who violated my privacy. In due time, I did try to make an attempt to express myself again. I had bought a new, beautiful and exquisitely raised copper heart covered journal.

I nestled deeper into the couch to read the contents of this journal which had only 4 heart- felt entries but the fourth had stopped abruptly mid way through the entry. I was going way to deep, it was to painful- that is why it stopped so abruptly back then I wasn’t prepared to open myself up all the way to finish it. So there the story sat unfinished for two years.

This story cries to be let out of my spirit so today I will make my best attempt to write it all out

Father’s day year 2004

It was time to take my Daddy to Mt Adams, I gathered up my father’s ashes that my biggest sister gave to me and gingerly placed them in special pouch. I was thankful he wasn’t buried the way of a white man in a coffin. My father’s brother, My Uncle Victor, wanted him to be buried in the local military cemetery underground like a good Catholic but in my heart of hearts I knew that Daddy wanted no such thing. If he had it his way he would want to be deposited in a dug out cedar canoe on top of Coffin Rock just like his ancestral chiefs of long ago.

Flashing back, I recall a vivid trip baby sister and I took with my father in the mid seventies. We went on one of our wilderness camping trips to no man’s land. We really had no idea where we were going as we bunkered in the back of our father’s blue Volkswagen truck with his make shift government supplied canopy. Daddy never believed in camp sites that made you pay “Cowlitz Country is your inherited land” he would say. “Never pay for what is rightfully yours. The Government owed us and not us handing them blood money for the pleasure of camping on our native ancestors remains”. He made sure sis and I never forget what the Government did to our tribe. In the mid 1800’s we were 50,000 natives strong and in one month we were down to 5,000 tribal members. My father told us “they killed our people by taking our land, flooding us out of new land and then giving us blankets full of Small Pox. Disseminated our tribe just like that”!

Sis and I grew to love these camping adventures my father took us up high into Indian Country. He knew the whereabouts of all the secret, sacred Indian grounds. We explored the pristine wilderness marveling at the abundant wildlife, lakes, and wildflowers. We sure-footed on the paths of our ancestors- picking the plentiful huckleberries, telling stories-legends at sundown. We where one in spirit with them. This was a place like no other place on earth. A land of ancient secrets a holy land so sacred one is so honored to dwell in the spirit of this land.

I’m an adult now but these memories warm my heart like the warmth of brilliant sunlight on a cool day. These memories have carved in me the formation of who I’m today. My spirit has been imbedded I’m reminded over and over again of my great Washington Native heritage. Daddy always taught me to have pride.

My Father died in the month of February it was a death that nobody was prepared for–it happened quickly but not as quickly as a person would hope for, his spirit was gone but his body was still functioning thanks to the wonderful machines man has invited. A week before he was hiking Red Rock Canyon doing what he loved his Indian stuff. He had devoted his entire life to Indian Affairs and the next week he is hooked up to machines. This isn’t the way a native dies. I recollect my last conversation I had with my father it was after his quadruple bypass surgery and he was laying there in the recover room. I had flown to Nevada to see him my other siblings would be out on next flights as soon as they could get their families in order. I held his hand as if all my sisters all 5 of them were holding his hand along with mine. I told him to be strong and that the surgery went well. He had the love of his family keeping him alive. He wanted something to drink but the nurse would only give him ice chips–just a shot of black velvet he said to me. I smirked and knew that my daddy was going to be ok. My father told me that as soon as he got well we were going camping again like we used to when I was young. “Silver Star Mountain” he told me. That’s where we’ll go camping. Right there in his hospital room we made a father/daughter pact to hike back up to Silver Star Mountain. I got my Daddy back!

But I was wrong I was dead wrong. In the middle of the night my mother got the call that my dad was in serious terrible and for us to come back to the hospital–it was 3am. I remember seeing the Doctor telling us that she had run all the red lights to make it back to the hospital to help my father. She reported that they did advance life support measures for over an hour and managed to bring my father back but he will never be the same again. I knew that his spirit had left his body and what was left was the shell of his body.

My family fell apart one by one. My siblings all rushed to the hospital the next day taking the earliest flight out of Sea-Tac. It was nice to have them with me because I was barely able to breathe I had no more tears to cry no voice left. It was by far the hardest thing that any of us had ever gone through before because we were all Daddy’s little girl. We loved him so much and now he was gone. We stayed by his bedside for two days, The local natives stayed outside for two days and prayed for him in their native ways. My uncle read my father his last rites and then my sister Cathie and I unhooked my father from his life support. The natives then came up into his hospital room and played their instruments and song and chanted in their language. It was really the most honorable, beautiful experience of my life time. Sad but true–a peace surrounding me a peace so strong it took my breath away. Things happened in that room where I have no words in the English language to describe it. I just new that my dad is where he wanted to be — with his native ancestors. His new spirit family

After my father’s death, it took months for me to have the strength and courage to part with my father’s ashes. I knew without a shadow of doubt that my father’s ashes and I would high tail it to the mountain. I needed to keep our pact or agreement. I had no idea where Silver Star Mountain was until I looked it up on google. Yep, right there! I laughed its right there in Indian Heaven Wilderness, but of course where else would my father want his ashes spread. In my further research on the internet I amazinglydiscovered CHENAMUS LAKE. It was as if my father was guiding me on this mission. Growing up my father always proclaimed that he was Chief CHENAMUS. I had no inkling how he had come up with this name until now. He named himself after this lake one of the 150 lakes that dotted Indian Heaven Wilderness. Yep, that’s my father alright!

It was a beautiful July day when I departed on my mission of carrying my dad’s ashes up to the wilderness. When I was younger camping with my dad I never knew where we went except for he called it “the sacred land”. It is a very beautiful and special place for me. I spread part of my Dad’s ashes in the river that runs through the wilderness. My childhood memories came rushing back. My own spirit has returned to the wilderness. I had also planned to hike up to Lake Chenamus and I did try but soon realized it was more of a hike then I was prepared to endure. I didn’t want to die hiking up the trail because of not being fully prepared. This Summer I’m preparing to spread the rest of my Dad’s ashes in Chenamus Lake. It will be my vision quest for me. It is my way to release my father completely into the wilderness.