Cranes! (Again....)

We had to go into town (Albuquerque again) the other afternoon and there was some time to kill after taking care of our errands, so we stopped by Old Town for a bit. As we were headed back to the Red Van, we passed a gallery showing mostly local and regional plein air paintings. We decided to go in to take a look around and walked out with a rather nice painting of Sandhill cranes at the Bosque, painted by Placitas artist Linda Heath.

When we headed back to our place, there were an uncounted number of cranes on the ground at the ranch nearby where we'd seen them before, only this time, the cranes and the cattle had traded places and the cattle were closer to the road than the birds. As we passed by, a small part of the flock rose into the air and flew low to the east.

Some time later, not more than a few minutes, as we were feeding the feral cats at our place,  we could see formations of cranes in the air low to the north. It seemed they were coming not just from the ranch up the road but from farther north as well, wave after wave of them, not unlike the exhilarating sight of them coming in for the night at the Bosque. 

Cranes by the hundreds passed over our place. It was almost as if they were using it as a landmark. Some formations turned east as they flew by, others continued on south in a straight line. When we were at the Bosque del Apache (maybe 80 miles south as the crane flies) in the evening during the Festival, cranes were arriving from both the north and the east, and we were wondering where they were coming from. We know now that at least some of the flock routinely comes up as far north as our place and even farther north during the day, but where the cranes on the east go or come from, we aren't sure.

As the cranes were flying and honking and calling to one another overhead, we could hear -- but not see -- someone on the ground honking and calling along with them. Was he mocking? Hard to say. The sight of these huge birds by the hundreds gliding so apparently effortlessly in the air can take your breath away. It's hard -- no, it's impossible -- to ignore. It's no wonder some people want to call and honk in unison with them, even if they are mocking the sounds the birds make.

Linda Heath's painting of cranes at the Bosque now hangs in the bedroom on the opposite side of the dresser from the mysterious painting of a solitary man walking by a log house in the moonlight and the snow -- a painting by an artist whose name we don't even know. That one has been one of our favorites for years.

Collecting art that calls out to us is one of our indulgences. We have acquired a good deal of Native art -- mostly pottery and jewelry -- over the years, and yesterday we purchased a necklace of turquoise and garnet and crystal from a very chatty and quite delightful Native (Tewa) jeweler from the Santo Domingo Pueblo on the Old Town Plaza. We realize we're very lucky to be able to do this, to be able to make these kinds of purchases basically on impulse. But we've also long felt an obligation that -- if we are able to do so financially -- we should be supporting (mostly) local artists by purchasing their works.

And so we do...

Thanksgiving

Norman Rockwell's famous "Freedom From Want" illustration from 1943. Part of the "Four Freedoms" series. Needless to say, for many-- or most -- Americans in 1943, Thanksgiving wasn't quite like that...

There's one of those posts over at Alternet that lambastes the Europeans -- specifically the English settlers in North America -- for genocide of the Indians, a genocide that was the impetus for the First Thanksgiving that is still (apparently) given much play in elementary schools across this broad and fertile land.

The genocide was real, and it's still not really taught or even talked about much in schools, I'm told. The preferred way to deal with it is still to claim that the Indians "died out" due to lack of resistance to European diseases. That's true too as far as it goes. Many tribes perished en masse from disease. Many others still struggle with the twin scourges of Native Peoples, alcoholism and diabetes, both of which were introduced by and have been idly perpetuated by the dominant Euro-culture.

However, something keeps astonishing me about the Anglo/Euro-American view of American Indians, and that is the strange belief that the Indians have been all but wiped out entirely, that they are "gone, though not forgotten." The internalized belief is that the genocide -- however it was accomplished -- was essentially complete, and now there are almost no Indians left.

What nonsense. I know too many people who sincerely believe this though, who assure themselves  that they don't have to concern themselves with Indians any more because there aren't any left -- or at least that there aren't enough of them left to bother with.

But scholars suggest that there are more American Indians alive now than there ever were, and for the most part, native tribes are holding their own if not flourishing. Tribal living has been severely -- and probably irreparably -- disrupted for many Natives, but there is no lack of Natives in this country. Many are wise, some are militant, all of the American Indians I know are creative. The stereotypes from the past are still abroad in the land, of course, but the reality mocks the stereotypes.

It's a reality worth celebrating, and yes giving thanks for. Without a Native presence, America would be much worse off than it is.

Moving from California to New Mexico, we knew we were moving from a society in which the very concept of "Native" is for all intents and purposes alien (though there be no lack of Indians in California, don't get me wrong, they are very numerous) to one in which Native Peoples, society and culture are the foundation of everything else. Indians are not "gone" from New Mexico by any means. They are everywhere. The 19 current Pueblos are only part of the picture of Native Living in New Mexico. The ruins which dot the state, some of them not far from our own home here, demonstrate that the Indians of New Mexico and round about were "civilized" (in terms that Spanish and Anglos can understand) from a very early date, and modern day Pueblos continue that society in an unbroken line from those early days. Scholars are said to be still mystified by the "Anasazi" > Pueblo connection ("if there is one") but the Pueblo Peoples aren't. They understand it fully, and they are happy to let the scholars know if they are interested, but often they are not because they are more interested in fostering their own pet theories.
 
The Navajo and Apache Peoples who have lived among the Pueblo Peoples for many generations -- and have had more than a little conflict with them over the centuries, let's not fool ourselves -- have a distinct life-style and culture and language that is not that of the Pueblos, and most people in New Mexico understand that, while many outside the state don't. Navajo may have the dominant numbers and may hold far more land than other tribes, but they do not rule Indian society, nor is their culture the dominant Indian culture. It is one of several. (Navajo and Apache are considered "new-comers" -- and invaders -- by the Pueblos, because they only started arriving from the north in the 1400's, not that long before the Spanish incursions from the south.)

The Kiowa and Comanche Peoples who once raided and preyed on the Pueblos of New Mexico from the north and east are now pretty much integrated into Indian life in the region and many have become part of Pueblo communities. There still might be a sense of rivalry or even animosity from time to time, but for the most part, no. In fact, it appears that Indians of All Nations are welcome among the established tribes, and together they form a huge part of the artistic and cultural richness of New Mexico. It's impossible to imagine New Mexico without an enormous cultural, social, and artistic influence by Native Peoples.

Of course what I know about these things is limited. My ignorance is profound, as it will no doubt be for the rest of my life. I may have lived among Indians for most of my existence, but I still feel like I "know" next to nothing -- and in many respects, that's as it should be. I'm still finding out about my own people, after all,  and the lies they've told over the generations.

We'll have a modest Thanksgiving this afternoon -- partly to acknowledge the many blessings we've had over the years, and to give thanks to the Spirits for all of it, good and bad, as we have stumbled along our complicated path of life. Myself, I once was convinced I wouldn't -- couldn't -- live past 30, and here I am well into my 60's, puttering along, amazed at every day. Astonished. And often delighted.

The United States has many sins to atone for, as each of us as individuals have our own catalog of sins  to expiate. At the same time, we have so many blessings to be grateful for.

Have a Happy Thanksgiving! Then gird thy loins, there is so much more to do...;-)

Indian Sunset

 

We did some necessary Indian Business in Albuquerque yesterday, hooking up with the local tribal township and unexpectedly reconnecting with some of the tribal leaders we haven't seen in a decade or more.

It's a long and complicated story which I don't have time to go into in any detail right now. In the past, though, I've ranted about those who misuse the term "tribal" or "tribalism" to mean mindless loyalty. In Native American Indian society, the concept of loyalty is anything but "mindless." It's just about the opposite.

At any rate, we had a fine time at the Annual Meeting, very well attended by folks from all over the area (some had apparently come from as far away as Phoenix) as well as -- surprisingly -- by the tribal honchos and pooh-bahs who just showed up to say "hey" and schmooze for a while. They were not expected. Some of them we hadn't seen for a decade or more, and then it was in California, so yesterday was like Old Friends Day. Of course this was our first visit with the local branch of the tribe, and they were very welcoming and warm-hearted -- the way they tend to be. They were actually a lot of fun, and some were very funny, too. We met some really fine people, had wonderful food, got together with some folks we were surprised to see again, and we learned a bit about this area's tribal branch -- which has a whole different feel and atmosphere than the one in Northern California. That's how it goes in a tribal society: it's not a monolithic thing. They may share common values, common history, often common relations, but each group has its own character, and we were delighted with the one headquartered in Albuquerque.

Heading back over the mountain, we were driving away from the sunset, but the nearly clear sky in the east was lit up with all the colors of the sunset just the same. It was so subtle, though, it was almost transfixing. The nearly turquoise blue of the sky overhead faded gradually into a paler and paler blue, dusty gray, a pale yellow, into pink and then to orange, into another sort of purplish gray, then finally into an almost pure violet. These are the colors that painters and photographers struggle to capture waiting for exactly the right time of day and conditions -- and failing more often than not.

When we turned off the highway and looked back into the west, a brilliant orange and yellow glow arced over the Manzanos where the sun had set, as if there were a fire dying down, and the sky all around it scintillated with purples and pinks and blues. It was yet another of those gorgeous sunsets New Mexico is famous for, but this time not quite so showy or dramatic. This time it was simple and warming and welcoming.

We still have much more to do but we're getting there...

[This is not my picture, it's an uncredited image from Dialog Santa Fe -- a site which doesn't seem to be in operation at the moment... ]

People and Place

Lots of people have tried to describe what constitutes the enchantment of New Mexico, "The Land of Enchantment."  It's a subject I've wrestled with a few times myself -- not very successfully.

I've driven out here dozens of times over the years. The first time we came to New Mexico in 1982 was by driving hell-bent for leather from California on the way to St. Louis (I had work there.)  There was a moment and a vision on that drive -- and on every subsequent one -- that triggered the sense of enchantment: the cleft between those painted cliffs which I've long called a Baroque Mesa at the border between Arizona and New Mexico.

This is kennedymarijuanaseed's video that gives you some idea of the gasp-worthy visuals at the crossing. (I have some photos, but they aren't loaded to this computer, so...)


It's breathtaking. And for me at any rate, the instant we cross over from Arizona into New Mexico, we are in a different environment. The sky is different. It's clearer and bluer, a nearly sapphire deep blue. The clouds are whiter and fluffier. The land is different, still high desert, but not like Arizona. It's less, how shall I say, manipulated for gain, and people's presence seems much lighter on the earth. It's Navajo country on both sides of the border, one is in Dinetah no matter which side of the line you're on, but the New Mexico side seems spiritually much freer. My heart soars on crossing the border.

That's the first enchantment for a visitor driving through. You see something you aren't really expecting given the flat arid high desert of Arizona's eastern sector, and you're transported into another world.

You see Indians everywhere; you hear their languages on the radio; you can get some frybread or oven bread at the stands along the road or in surprise locations where you don't expect to find such things. There are horses and sheep wandering free.

The place seems laden with silver and turquoise.

As you travel east, you see a series of red mesas marching along in formation, but soon enough you're in the presence of Mt. Taylor, known to the Diné as Tsoodził, "the Sleeping Woman." If the light is just right -- which it often is -- the reason for the Navajo name of the mountain is obvious. There is a long haired woman sleeping on her side taking up the whole top of the mountain.

We like to stop for a bite at a place called the Kiva Cafe in Milan, just under the mountain -- which you can't see from the ground because the peak is hiding behind a mesa. The place is often packed with people from the area out for lunch or dinner, many of them Indians. The food is abundant and good and the staff is friendly -- if sometimes harried! Next door is the Chaco Canyon Trading Company, which is a remarkably fine and complete place to find Indian jewelry (some made on the spot), pottery, and other items. Most of what they sell is made by nearby artisans, much of it of very high quality and at prices that are certainly fair. The total experience at this location (it's also a truck stop and convenience store) is very down to earth, not at all what you may encounter in the more fashionable places frequented by denizens and visitors to Santa Fe, say. 

At one time I didn't care for Santa Fe at all. I didn't even want to go anywhere near it, I had such a bad reaction to the place. After a while, I found out why. I was a smoker, you see, and Santa Fe is at an altitude of 7,000 ft. It's very, very difficult for someone who smokes heavily like I did and has not adapted to the altitude to breathe in such a rarefied atmosphere. The body reacts as if you are suffocating -- which in a way you are -- and most people suffering under those conditions get very crabby, essentially panicking. 

I could recognize what was happening after I stopped smoking, but not until then. 

I still mock Santa Fe as "Fanta Se" and otherwise poke fun at the pretensions of so many Santa Feans, both newly minted and some of the crusty old timers. But it's no longer a problem being there, nor do I tend to become panicked because "I can't breathe!" 

Yesterday we had a surprisingly delightful time in the City Different, going up to attend some events as part of Indian Market week. There were some Navajo made short films playing at the History Museum, and in the afternoon, there was a book-signing at the Collected Works bookstore featuring about a dozen Native American artists whose work was featured in Contemporary Native American Artists by Suzanne Deats and Kitty Leaken. 

We also attended a workshop on support for Native American documentary film making presented by Native American Public Telecommunications. Ah, the grant process! I've been out of that realm for quite a while, but it's like riding a bicycle. You never actually forget how, though your skills may become rusty with disuse. It was really a useful presentation, though it's not clear that either the "White Guys" or the Indians in attendance (and one Filipino) could realistically participate in the program. Personally, I've never been fond of the film making process though I've been in some movies and have dabbled in making a few films and videos -- but generally only in support of theatrical projects. For their part, many film makers have trouble appreciating the theatrical process, and it is not as if one is superior to the other. They are different, and to my mind their purposes are quite different as well. I have been more attuned to and more comfortable in the theater-making process than in the movie making process.

Be that as it may, I learned a great deal about how Native Americans can gain valuable assistance in documentary film making through the NAPT. Some of the productions they've supported include "Good Meat," "Reel Injuns," and "Thick Dark Fog" among many others. 

After the workshop, we attended a showing of Navajo made short films, collectively called "Navajo Paradiso." It was quite a variety of styles and topics, all with a Navajo perspective, some spoken in the Navajo language. The film-makers were all in attendance and spoke afterwards about their work and process and intent. 

I found myself quite drawn to two of the works. One, called "Floating," was surprisingly compelling. I say surprisingly because it was so... edgy... a non-Indian is smoking dope and trying to fix hot dogs while arguing on the phone with his (Navajo) girlfriend in what the film maker referred to as an "epic" redundant conversation. Yes. It was. OMG. Stylistically, the film was innovative -- clever cuts and dissolves, unusual screen proportion manipulations, unexpected visual and auditory moments. It would not change your life by any means but it was certainly a definitive slice of what you might call an ordinary life. 

The other was titled "The 6th World," an innovative Navajo science fiction picture centering on a future mission to Mars which relies on corn (as it happens, Indian corn) to provide oxygen for the trip and to form the basis of terraforming the red planet. It wasn't a fully-developed idea, but it was a start on a topic that could prove fascinating to explore in film and other formats. Just how would Navajos and other Native peoples approach a Mission to Mars or the other planets? (According to Buffy Sainte-Marie, an old Indian told her after the moon landing in 1969, "You know, they really ought to leave that Moon alone.")

The film makers were mostly women (there were two men), they were young, enthusiastic, creative in different ways, and each film was unique. The film makers were exploring the medium and the possibilities of story telling through film. None of the films was particularly polished (which is not meant as a criticism), but neither were they obviously amateur products by people who were just fooling around. They were all serious attempts at formulating and presenting unique visions of "what is" through Native eyes. And they all met that specific objective.

We had lunch at the Plaza Cafe, a Santa Fe institution that was closed several years ago due to an unfortunate kitchen fire. The restoration seemed to take forever, in part due to the requirements for upgrading so much infrastructure before the reconstruction could proceed. There were many, many delays. This was the first time we'd been back since they reopened earlier in August, and it was a treat. 

Like the Kiva Cafe in Milan, the Plaza Cafe on the Plaza in Santa Fe is not a fashionable eatery, so you'll rarely see those who suffer from "Santa Fe Style" inside its doors. On the other hand, plenty of locals seem to like it a lot, and tourists and travelers who just wander in are surprised and delighted with the food and service. It's a New Mexican/Greek diner sort of restaurant, and you can get your New Mexican dishes with a Greek accent if you like. 

It was nice being back.

Then it was off to the book-signing at Collected Works. This is where things got really intriguing. I was almost certain we'd been to other events at Collected Works, but walking in the door, I didn't recognize anything, so... maybe not. We found seats and were almost immediately approached by an elderly lady who said that Kitty was her daughter. We were not familiar with the book under discussion, so "Kitty" didn't mean anything at first. But then I looked closely at the older woman and a younger one who seemed to be in charge of the event and the resemblance was obvious, so that must be "Kitty," and then I realized that "Kitty" was Kitty Leaken, the photographer for the book "Contemporary Native American Artists" which was the topic of the event and the reason why everybody was there. Oh. Well. 

Later, we would meet Kitty through Peter. Who was Peter? I had no idea, but we struck up a conversation while waiting in line to get our books signed by the dozen or so artists featured who were in attendance. Peter had just come back from leading a tour at Chaco Canyon, and he thought he had missed this event. He was very glad he didn't. Turns out he was close friends with Kitty and knew some of the artists featured in the book. We were joined shortly by Mark, from Tesuque Pueblo, who was the manager of the tour outfit and had been a Chaco too. Turns out Mark -- in addition to running tours -- is an artist, a sculptor of some repute (well, his works are at the Wheelright and the Smithsonian among other places) but he was too modest to say that. No, I found out later when I Googled him up -- actually, I was Googling something else and his name appeared, oh. Instead, he and I chatted about Berkeley in the '60's and how things got a little tense there in 1969 when his family decided it was time to get the hell out and return to the comparative sanity of New Mexico. What a story. 

We continued to chat as if we were old friends while waiting to get our books signed, and then we chatted as if were were old friends with the artists themselves. Of course Mark was an old friend of many of them, as were many of the others in the room. 

I noted with interest that I was one of a dozen or so people in attendance happily sporting a Hawaiian shirt. Yes. Well, it's summertime in Santa Fe, and if you don't want to be taken as a tourist, what are you going to do? Wear a Hawaiian shirt, of course!

So we yakked and continued through the line -- I learned a good deal about relations between artists in Santa Fe and New Mexico which I sort of knew of in the past... and then it occurred to me how I was drawn here to begin with. 

I've written about it before, but it was this event that brought it home to me. 

Harry Fonseca.

He was a Native American artist in Northern California who created the "Coyote and Rose" series and made the Coyote character an American icon, especially in Santa Fe. I was lucky enough to have known him in California, and was intrigued when he said he was going to move to New Mexico, initially to Albuquerque. He was already famous, you see, for his Coyote character series, but it would be just a little while longer before Coyote became a... well, for want of a better word, "meme."

This is the Coyote Harry Fonseca did for Coyote Cafe in Santa Fe in 1994:

Coyote for Coyote Cafe by Harry Fonseca, 1994

Harry told New Mexico stories before he moved here, and they were filled with both mystery and joy for me. The night sky was a special pleasure to hear about -- because in most of California you never see a brilliant starfilled night sky, you never see the Milky Way, and you can't know what is out there for your amazement. You can and often do in New Mexico.

Seeing for yourself is what it takes, along with the motivation to make it possible. 

New Mexico itself provides the motivation, I think. If it draws you back again and again, eventually you have no choice. You have to live here. You must.

I was talking to one of the artists featured at the book signing yesterday, Upton Ethelbah (Greyshoes) who is at least as well known as Harry was, and he asked me about moving to New Mexico, as he's been all over and now works in Albuquerque. I told him it was "time." He laughed and said something like, "Yah, sure. You leave California for a better quality of life out here!" I said, "Yes, that's it exactly. It IS a better quality of life, though you'd never convince most New Mexicans or Californians of that." He said, "Everybody should find the place they're best suited to. California, New Mexico, they're all good places. So don't be ashamed of being from California. Enjoy living here. It's called you home." Or did he say, "It's called your home?"

That's the key to the Enchantment; it's not just a marketing slogan. When the land calls you, you know it, and you're drawn, there's no escaping it. I've talked to so many people who live here now who came from some part of California (usually the south, because the landscape is somewhat similar)  who say exactly that. From the first time they saw it, they knew that New Mexico would one day be Home, there was no way around it. For some, like me, it took years, decades in fact, to make it real, but New Mexico would be Home no matter what.

Harry Fonseca clued me to the spirit of the place, and once he moved here himself, it was as if he, too, were part of the lure. Even after he passed away.

Yesterday, as we were going about to the various events we attended, we kept running into so many people who had made that trek east from California to New Mexico, quite a few having just arrived and who said they were just getting familiar with the place and the people. I don't know whether they felt the same pull we did, but if they did, they knew what that Enchantment was all about too. 

Practically every time I've attended events in Santa Fe or elsewhere in New Mexico -- or just been hanging around someplace-- I've been amazed at how quickly, almost instantly, I've become integrated with the locals, as if I had lived here for years and years and everybody knew me and I knew everybody. There are any number of tight-knit communities in Santa Fe and New Mexico in general, this is after all  a very tribal society, and it's not easy for outsiders to penetrate these communities, though outsiders are usually treated pleasantly and politely. 

What's so striking in our experience is that at least momentarily we are welcomed into the tribe, which ever it happens to be, spontaneously, sincerely, as if we have always been here.

It happened again tonight. We were went to the opening reception of Virgil Ortiz's "Venutian Soldiers" series of pots, sculptures, and photographs at the Zane Bennett Gallery in the Railyard District of Santa Fe. It was an adventure.  No one we knew was there. Virgil Ortiz himself we only knew by reputation. 

Spontaneously, literally out of nowhere, people started talking to us, chatting away as if we were old friends, telling tales and sharing life stories, making connections that might last. The problem for so many years has been that these spontaneous contacts can be made only one time because we almost immediately have to go back to California, and we may not be back in New Mexico for months. By then, the moment will have passed.

But now we live here, this is our home, and when we go back to California tomorrow, it will be to finish packing up for the final move east.

This has been quite a week. One we will not soon forget.

"She Rocks Harder..."

Undated photo of Buffy Sainte-Marie from her MySpace page

Saw Buffy Sainte-Marie at the KiMo in Albuquerque August 13, 2012.

"She rocks harder at 70 than she ever did..." is how she was introduced, and it is no exaggeration. She's been on tour for her latest CD, "Running for the Drum," released in 2008 or 2009 (not sure, views differ) since 2010, and her show in Albuquerque last night was a reprise of her "¡Globalquerque!" appearance last year at New Mexico's premiere World Music festival. Her band consists of members of the award-winning Canadian Indigenous rock band Gathering of Flies.

They call much of the music on "Running for the Drum," Buffy's most recent CD, Pow Wow Rock. Compared to what she was doing Back In the Day, it's a big step, and I was wondering last night when she started doing the "Indun Stuff." There was nothing like this before, at least not when I was more attuned to the whole music scene in which Buffy's genre was rather rigidly categorized as Folk. Not Folk Rock. Folk.

And quirky Folk at that. There wasn't anything quite like it in those days, but there was. She was a unique talent, and yet her music seemed always familiar somehow. Her catalogue of folk hits and award-winning commercial-movie type music is extensive.

Most Anglos are never exposed to the Pow Wow culture that is so appreciated among Indians, they never hear Indian music -- either the traditional style or the contemporary -- and something like Pow Wow Rock can come as a real surprise, especially when presented by someone with such an extensive repertoire in completely different genres.

"She rocks harder...than she ever did." See for yourself.

The music on her "Running for the Drums" CD is tame compared to her live show, in part because her band of Indians from Winnepeg is so strong, and they don't appear to be part of her CD. She herself is no slacker, but her band, members of Gathering of Flies, are the musical driving force, and that is in some measure due to drummer Mike Bruyere ("Ojibway, Ojibway, Ojibway" as she says when introducing him) -- a big measure of the driving force though he himself is rather diminutive.

The drum is the heartbeat of the Earth and is the central factor of Indian music. Bruyere manages to impart the spirit of that heartbeat while rocking as hard as anyone onstage if not harder.

The audience, of course, was made up largely of geezers and coots like me. One fellow said to me after the show that it was one of the first times in a long time he'd been in a room -- as he put it -- with so many of his contemporaries "in time and in space." Indeed.

I was in the front row so it was sometimes difficult to get a bead on the rest of the audience, but the "room" appeared full, the audience was probably seventy percent my age or older, not a few of them with their canes and walkers and wheel chairs, and ever so many of them with stories to tell of forty years ago -- or whenever -- and they last saw Buffy or bought her album, or in my case, were in a movie that featured Buffy's music heavily in the sound track. "Forty years ago" figured heavily in the night's festivities, and yet in some ways, many of us were allowed to forget, or if not forget, at least allowed put in perspective the vision of "forty years ago" -- and maybe let go.

For many of my generation, of course, that's not going to happen. But Buffy has largely moved on -- and at the same time stayed true to yesteryear.

When I watched the DVD that came with "Running for the Drum" this morning, it occurred to me how little I really knew about her. I had no idea she'd been adopted out of the Cree Reserve, she didn't actually know when she was born (1940, 41, something like that). Her (adoptive) mother was part Micmac but she was not raised among her people or in Indian culture. Her awareness grew with time. She was raised White. Well, sort of. She was "tan in a sea of white" and yet there was always something drawing her to Native Peoples from her earliest days, and at the same time offering her so many of the advantages and inducements that accompany being White in North America. (No matter what else she is, she is very Canadian!)

And I realized how she came to do Indian music, or at least her version of it, and why it has taken her so long to get there. The only way I can put it is this: unless it comes naturally, you can't very well do it at all, and she had to live long enough for it to come naturally to her before she could do it. Getting to that point was a process that took time and belief and courage.

The Pow Wow rock segments of the show were the ones that got these old geezers in the audience on their feet clapping and stomping and shouting, and there were enough Indians in the audience that they could accompany the music from the stage with their own calls and chants in a kind of circle of sound and life that is so much a part of the pow wow. It was a thrill to see it and hear it happening spontaneously the way it should be.

It's not everyday something like this happens.

Buffy Sainte-Marie is a legend -- a very self-aware legend, let it be said -- but she isn't stuck in The Back Then, rehashing her Old Hits one or two more times before she dies. Oh no, she's well beyond that.

And for that, I'm grateful. She was also very pleasant for a PhD! (/s)