Thursday, November 18, 2004
Snow Swans
People often ask me what it means to be an Indian. I quip, “Be ready to move.” Fewer ask what it’s like to be multiple but the same answer would suffice.
A year ago we abruptly moved from where we’d been living in western Pennsylvania for nearly two years back to our home in the rugged Endless Mountains of the state’s northeastern region.
Eyvonne and I had been adopted into a small group of other Native descendents in Western Pennsylvania. The group was first to participate in a national project we were involved with developing ‘story poles’ with native groups. The poles were widely exhibited throughout the northeastern part of the United States, including more than once at the United Nations in Manhattan, and once in Durban, South Africa.
Eyvonne and I focused on helping the group develop a heritage complex to interpret Native American contributions and culture. We worked without pay, believing we were ‘family’.
While our home in the eastern mountains sat empty we lived in an antiquated trailer with a leaky roof working up to 70 hours a week. We were promised salaries if we brought in enough funding through grants, presentations and workshops. From the outset we contributed from our meager our income to help jumpstart the project.
My business withered but I was sure things would change as grants started rolling in. My relationship with this group proved almost as destructive as my birth family. We were told no drug users would be allowed to live on the property where our trailer sat behind the home of one of the group leaders. A few weeks before we left someone new was invited to move onto the property because he was homeless. Eyvonne and I observed him using drugs more than once. We brought this to the attention of the property owner. She and her husband initially assured us he would be asked to stop doing drugs or to move. A few days later we knew he hadn’t stopped. We called a circle to discuss the problem. The man verbally attacked both Owl and I saying we’d “betrayed’ him. He threatened to beat Owl to a bloody pulp. It was worse than a nightmare.
Next the property owners defended this guy’s right to live as he chose. They said he was welcome to stay. What he did in his own home was his business; we’d just have to adjust.
That was a Tuesday. I called a truck rental company. We packed for two days and were on the road back east by Friday evening. I was glad we hadn’t sold our house. At least we had a place to go. Owl was driving our car. He’d left two hours earlier so he could stoke up the woodstove and turn on the water.
It started snowing as we drove down the driveway for the last time. It felt like the snow stung my face right through the windshield of the U-Haul truck. I was ashamed for being fooled again. I had no desire to look back at the dwelling we’d spent so much time and money fixing up. The trailer bearing my ’54 Chevy pickup fishtailed in the darkness every time we exceeded 30 mph. We wracked up 30 miles in tense silence during our first grueling hour. 150 miles stretched before us.
“Pull into this mall and park under the lights I’ll check the trailer,” Eyvonne said.
We bailed out of the too-warm truck cab into a hell of wind-driven snow. Ebensburg. It always seemed to be snowing here.
“We might get there by dawn at this rate,” I said. Shivering violently I dogged Eyvonne as she checked the trailer hitch, the wheel restraints. She ignored my steady stream of complaints.
“Here it is!” she shouted over the wind. “This wheel restraint popped off.”
“Can you fix it?” I managed. My teeth were chattering so hard it was difficult to speak.
“I dunno,” she said. “I think it slid under the wheel.”
I watched as she worked the strap loose. Her fingers were blue. But there was little I could do to help. Old injuries to my neck and back left me with little feeling in my right hand. Lifting anything heavy disabled for days. Besides I didn’t understand how the damn thing worked. My sole job was driving our little rig. I’d driven trucks with 24-foot beds through New York City in my younger days, but I’d never pulled a trailer. I hadn’t recognized the feel of a load about to launch itself. I might have lost Indy, my faithful road companion for the last 15 years. I envisioned the Chevy rolling off the trailer and flattening an SUV. I chuckled.
Reading my mind, Eyvonne glared at me.
“That’s not funny Shel,” she said.
Chagrined, I danced from foot to foot in a vain effort to get warm. Lights from McDonalds beckoned commercial Christmas cheer across a vast stretch of empty asphalt.
“I got it! Let’s go,” Eyvonne shouted.
We bent into the wind trying in vain to run. I was shivering so hard when we breached the door customers inside recoiled. It’s not socially acceptable to be that cold. It took several minutes for my teeth to slow their chattering so I could order coffee. The kids behind counter had been watching our ordeal.
“What kind of truck is that you’re hauling,” one asked.
“’54 Chevy,” I said, grinning.
The young man offered advice on keeping the wheel restraints tight. “Check ‘em every 50 miles or so,” he said.
“Merry Christmas! Stay warm and have a safe trip,” they called as we left.
They gave us hope. We hung onto each other slipping and sliding toward the U-haul with lighter hearts. A faint sound made us look up instinctively.
“Geese!” I shouted into the wind.
Snowflakes fell on our upturned faces we strained to see. This was a powerful omen. Geese supported Sky Woman in her descent to earth from the sky world. A ‘V’ of huge white birds flew low directly overhead.
“Not geese, swans!” Eyvonne shouted.
We laughed and cried as the big white birds flew over us honking steadily.
“We can do this!” I said.
Eyvonne’s eyes met mine. “I know.”
Re-securing the wheel did the trick. The trailer no longer fishtailed. My truck was safe and so were the drivers behind us. An hour later we crested the Allegheny Ridge at about 20 mph and drove out of the storm. The stars twinkled overhead crisp and bright. Our own mountains lay far to the northeast. I wondered if it was snowing there. The only part of the drive that still worried me was the nine-mile haul up Sonestown Mountain. The rental truck and trailer were seriously overloaded. But I settled into easier driving and thought about what I was leaving behind: two years work and a project I’d believed in with all my heart. But the time wasn’t wasted. I’d learned many things. I hoped one of those lessons was better discernment.
I took inventory of what lay ahead. Our business was down to one major client and a smattering of smaller ones. Our house had been empty two years and was in need of many repairs. We had little firewood and no propane. Each mile devoured more of our limited resources.
The last time I’d seen a swan it was flying with a flock of geese. A true ugly duckling it was three times the size of its companions. I could relate. I never seemed to fit in either.
When we arrived Owl met us at the door wearing his winter coat, hat and gloves. Even with the fire going full blast it was freezing four feet from the stove. The windows were all covered in crystalline ice feathers a quarter of an inch thick. Wherever nail heads poked through the walls they sported delicate crowns of frost. We slept our first night home on the floor as close to the stove as we could get. We wore our coats, hats and gloves and pulled our sleeping bags up over our heads to let our breath help warm us.
The next morning we took inventory of our resources. Someone had stolen most of the wood out of our woodshed since the last time any of us had been here. We had no propane for back up heat or to cook with and the roof leaked. By the next night it was warmer in the house but it took three days for the ice to melt off all the windows. We were glad to be home.
© 2004 M. S. Eliot
A year ago we abruptly moved from where we’d been living in western Pennsylvania for nearly two years back to our home in the rugged Endless Mountains of the state’s northeastern region.
Eyvonne and I had been adopted into a small group of other Native descendents in Western Pennsylvania. The group was first to participate in a national project we were involved with developing ‘story poles’ with native groups. The poles were widely exhibited throughout the northeastern part of the United States, including more than once at the United Nations in Manhattan, and once in Durban, South Africa.
Eyvonne and I focused on helping the group develop a heritage complex to interpret Native American contributions and culture. We worked without pay, believing we were ‘family’.
While our home in the eastern mountains sat empty we lived in an antiquated trailer with a leaky roof working up to 70 hours a week. We were promised salaries if we brought in enough funding through grants, presentations and workshops. From the outset we contributed from our meager our income to help jumpstart the project.
My business withered but I was sure things would change as grants started rolling in. My relationship with this group proved almost as destructive as my birth family. We were told no drug users would be allowed to live on the property where our trailer sat behind the home of one of the group leaders. A few weeks before we left someone new was invited to move onto the property because he was homeless. Eyvonne and I observed him using drugs more than once. We brought this to the attention of the property owner. She and her husband initially assured us he would be asked to stop doing drugs or to move. A few days later we knew he hadn’t stopped. We called a circle to discuss the problem. The man verbally attacked both Owl and I saying we’d “betrayed’ him. He threatened to beat Owl to a bloody pulp. It was worse than a nightmare.
Next the property owners defended this guy’s right to live as he chose. They said he was welcome to stay. What he did in his own home was his business; we’d just have to adjust.
That was a Tuesday. I called a truck rental company. We packed for two days and were on the road back east by Friday evening. I was glad we hadn’t sold our house. At least we had a place to go. Owl was driving our car. He’d left two hours earlier so he could stoke up the woodstove and turn on the water.
It started snowing as we drove down the driveway for the last time. It felt like the snow stung my face right through the windshield of the U-Haul truck. I was ashamed for being fooled again. I had no desire to look back at the dwelling we’d spent so much time and money fixing up. The trailer bearing my ’54 Chevy pickup fishtailed in the darkness every time we exceeded 30 mph. We wracked up 30 miles in tense silence during our first grueling hour. 150 miles stretched before us.
“Pull into this mall and park under the lights I’ll check the trailer,” Eyvonne said.
We bailed out of the too-warm truck cab into a hell of wind-driven snow. Ebensburg. It always seemed to be snowing here.
“We might get there by dawn at this rate,” I said. Shivering violently I dogged Eyvonne as she checked the trailer hitch, the wheel restraints. She ignored my steady stream of complaints.
“Here it is!” she shouted over the wind. “This wheel restraint popped off.”
“Can you fix it?” I managed. My teeth were chattering so hard it was difficult to speak.
“I dunno,” she said. “I think it slid under the wheel.”
I watched as she worked the strap loose. Her fingers were blue. But there was little I could do to help. Old injuries to my neck and back left me with little feeling in my right hand. Lifting anything heavy disabled for days. Besides I didn’t understand how the damn thing worked. My sole job was driving our little rig. I’d driven trucks with 24-foot beds through New York City in my younger days, but I’d never pulled a trailer. I hadn’t recognized the feel of a load about to launch itself. I might have lost Indy, my faithful road companion for the last 15 years. I envisioned the Chevy rolling off the trailer and flattening an SUV. I chuckled.
Reading my mind, Eyvonne glared at me.
“That’s not funny Shel,” she said.
Chagrined, I danced from foot to foot in a vain effort to get warm. Lights from McDonalds beckoned commercial Christmas cheer across a vast stretch of empty asphalt.
“I got it! Let’s go,” Eyvonne shouted.
We bent into the wind trying in vain to run. I was shivering so hard when we breached the door customers inside recoiled. It’s not socially acceptable to be that cold. It took several minutes for my teeth to slow their chattering so I could order coffee. The kids behind counter had been watching our ordeal.
“What kind of truck is that you’re hauling,” one asked.
“’54 Chevy,” I said, grinning.
The young man offered advice on keeping the wheel restraints tight. “Check ‘em every 50 miles or so,” he said.
“Merry Christmas! Stay warm and have a safe trip,” they called as we left.
They gave us hope. We hung onto each other slipping and sliding toward the U-haul with lighter hearts. A faint sound made us look up instinctively.
“Geese!” I shouted into the wind.
Snowflakes fell on our upturned faces we strained to see. This was a powerful omen. Geese supported Sky Woman in her descent to earth from the sky world. A ‘V’ of huge white birds flew low directly overhead.
“Not geese, swans!” Eyvonne shouted.
We laughed and cried as the big white birds flew over us honking steadily.
“We can do this!” I said.
Eyvonne’s eyes met mine. “I know.”
Re-securing the wheel did the trick. The trailer no longer fishtailed. My truck was safe and so were the drivers behind us. An hour later we crested the Allegheny Ridge at about 20 mph and drove out of the storm. The stars twinkled overhead crisp and bright. Our own mountains lay far to the northeast. I wondered if it was snowing there. The only part of the drive that still worried me was the nine-mile haul up Sonestown Mountain. The rental truck and trailer were seriously overloaded. But I settled into easier driving and thought about what I was leaving behind: two years work and a project I’d believed in with all my heart. But the time wasn’t wasted. I’d learned many things. I hoped one of those lessons was better discernment.
I took inventory of what lay ahead. Our business was down to one major client and a smattering of smaller ones. Our house had been empty two years and was in need of many repairs. We had little firewood and no propane. Each mile devoured more of our limited resources.
The last time I’d seen a swan it was flying with a flock of geese. A true ugly duckling it was three times the size of its companions. I could relate. I never seemed to fit in either.
When we arrived Owl met us at the door wearing his winter coat, hat and gloves. Even with the fire going full blast it was freezing four feet from the stove. The windows were all covered in crystalline ice feathers a quarter of an inch thick. Wherever nail heads poked through the walls they sported delicate crowns of frost. We slept our first night home on the floor as close to the stove as we could get. We wore our coats, hats and gloves and pulled our sleeping bags up over our heads to let our breath help warm us.
The next morning we took inventory of our resources. Someone had stolen most of the wood out of our woodshed since the last time any of us had been here. We had no propane for back up heat or to cook with and the roof leaked. By the next night it was warmer in the house but it took three days for the ice to melt off all the windows. We were glad to be home.
© 2004 M. S. Eliot
