Gaer
"Angel whisperer"
- Location
- New Mexico U.S.A.
Someone started a wonderful thread about American History so I thought I'd add my experiences and my Grandmother's. remembrances.
(I didn't want to takeover his thread so thought I'd start a new one for anyone interested in American Indian history.
I'm old enough to have experienced some of the old, and am relating stories told.
You see, I grew up in Miles City, Montana, named after General Nelson Miles, a few miles from Fort Keogh, and went to Custer County High,
named after George Armstrong Custer. Not in grade school, nor in High school, were any of us taught about the history surrounding us.
This place was seething in history, DRIPPING IN HISTORY, but we were only taught of the Founding Fathers and the Mayflower; stuff like that!
Important things but here we were in the middle of all this incredible history and it was as if it didn't exist.
They had barn dances near where my Grandma homesteaded. She built her own cabin and dug her own 50 foot well. She could handle a shotgun like nobody!
She was a pretty little lady and I'm proud she was my Grandma.
She was a true pioneer from Minnesota. My Grandfather was a college graduate, handsome, played every instrument, incredible photographer and they started a horse and cattle ranch. He died early, leaving her with five small children on the bitter cold Plains.
She turned it into a wheat farm . Eventually she had to marry again and to a man several years younger than herself.
When my four beautiful Aunts would go to the dances, the Indians would also attend and stand by the door, never speaking or dancing.
When the band took breaks the men (farmers and ranchers) would head out to their vehicles and drink! My Aunts were approached by the Indians ( who were in full dress with feathers and everything) and asked what tribe they were from. This was because they had the high Norse cheekbones (like the Sioux)
My Grandma hated and feared Indians! I will tell you why in the last paragraph, so my Aunts were not allowed to talk to them.
I own a gauntlet from a Lakota Sioux from Fort Keogh, 1889. In the 50's, Blackfoot women singularly walked into town wearing a dark wool army blanket for a coat and oversized army boots. I'd see this almost daily. The men 10 to 20 of them would gather outside the liquor store, nightly. I asked my Mother why and was told, "They are not allowed to buy liquor. They can't handle the alcohol."
One night, in my teenage wild days, I spent a night at a Blackfoot camp. No teepees then; it was a broken old trailer with no door. A car seat was the bed. No one was around and it was 4:00 A.M. and i was sleepy, so I went inside and slept there. There was only a small table and a large bowl for water. Outside, it wasn't even a rope. It was a hair-on cowhide cut into thin strips, tied together and stretched between two trees. Hides were hung there. Freshly gutted,
I guess, because they smelled bad. I felt, at the time, I had gone back in time a 100 years. I soaked up the feelings, the smells, looked at everything with all my senses.
There was a cowhide, deer hide, and some hides I couldn't identify. I told myself, "A Blackfoot Indian lives here!" "I'm experiencing this!"
My brother saved the life of the daughter of a Blackfoot chief who was drowning in the Tongue River.
This is the crux of the story! My Great Grandparents had a small cabin in North Dakota, (Indian territory). Indian raids were common.
My Grandma, who had just turned four years old, her little sister and baby brother ( 6 mos) were put in a hole dug under the cabin as my Great Grandparents broke open the windows for their rifles because the Indians were attacking. Many homesteaders and neighbors lost their lives from the Indian raids.
Great Grandfather gave my Grandma a loaded revolver, cocked it and put her finger on the trigger. He said, "If anyone but ME opens this hatch, shoot your sister in the chest, shoot your brother and turn the gun on yourself and shoot yourself!"
FOUR YEARS OLD!
I sculpt and paint Native American Indians. I have several paintings I did of Sioux Indians. I have many very old books about their lives and the Indian wars. I don't hold the hate inside like Grandma did, but I understand why she felt that way. It was a different time. Holding hate is the meanest thing you can do to yourself.
Here are some photos of my Grandparents, and a couple of my sculptures. I have a profound admiration for the native American spirituality and their strength of character, surviving against all odds. I also have a deep admiration for my ancestors, for it was a rough life back then! My Dad was actually born in a covered wagon traveling across the Dakota territory! I get a lump in my throat thinking about what they went through!
If I ever cried as a little girl, My Mother would say, "Stop it! You come from stronger stock than that!"
I sure did!
(I didn't want to takeover his thread so thought I'd start a new one for anyone interested in American Indian history.
I'm old enough to have experienced some of the old, and am relating stories told.
You see, I grew up in Miles City, Montana, named after General Nelson Miles, a few miles from Fort Keogh, and went to Custer County High,
named after George Armstrong Custer. Not in grade school, nor in High school, were any of us taught about the history surrounding us.
This place was seething in history, DRIPPING IN HISTORY, but we were only taught of the Founding Fathers and the Mayflower; stuff like that!
Important things but here we were in the middle of all this incredible history and it was as if it didn't exist.
They had barn dances near where my Grandma homesteaded. She built her own cabin and dug her own 50 foot well. She could handle a shotgun like nobody!
She was a pretty little lady and I'm proud she was my Grandma.
She was a true pioneer from Minnesota. My Grandfather was a college graduate, handsome, played every instrument, incredible photographer and they started a horse and cattle ranch. He died early, leaving her with five small children on the bitter cold Plains.
She turned it into a wheat farm . Eventually she had to marry again and to a man several years younger than herself.
When my four beautiful Aunts would go to the dances, the Indians would also attend and stand by the door, never speaking or dancing.
When the band took breaks the men (farmers and ranchers) would head out to their vehicles and drink! My Aunts were approached by the Indians ( who were in full dress with feathers and everything) and asked what tribe they were from. This was because they had the high Norse cheekbones (like the Sioux)
My Grandma hated and feared Indians! I will tell you why in the last paragraph, so my Aunts were not allowed to talk to them.
I own a gauntlet from a Lakota Sioux from Fort Keogh, 1889. In the 50's, Blackfoot women singularly walked into town wearing a dark wool army blanket for a coat and oversized army boots. I'd see this almost daily. The men 10 to 20 of them would gather outside the liquor store, nightly. I asked my Mother why and was told, "They are not allowed to buy liquor. They can't handle the alcohol."
One night, in my teenage wild days, I spent a night at a Blackfoot camp. No teepees then; it was a broken old trailer with no door. A car seat was the bed. No one was around and it was 4:00 A.M. and i was sleepy, so I went inside and slept there. There was only a small table and a large bowl for water. Outside, it wasn't even a rope. It was a hair-on cowhide cut into thin strips, tied together and stretched between two trees. Hides were hung there. Freshly gutted,
I guess, because they smelled bad. I felt, at the time, I had gone back in time a 100 years. I soaked up the feelings, the smells, looked at everything with all my senses.There was a cowhide, deer hide, and some hides I couldn't identify. I told myself, "A Blackfoot Indian lives here!" "I'm experiencing this!"
My brother saved the life of the daughter of a Blackfoot chief who was drowning in the Tongue River.
This is the crux of the story! My Great Grandparents had a small cabin in North Dakota, (Indian territory). Indian raids were common.
My Grandma, who had just turned four years old, her little sister and baby brother ( 6 mos) were put in a hole dug under the cabin as my Great Grandparents broke open the windows for their rifles because the Indians were attacking. Many homesteaders and neighbors lost their lives from the Indian raids.
Great Grandfather gave my Grandma a loaded revolver, cocked it and put her finger on the trigger. He said, "If anyone but ME opens this hatch, shoot your sister in the chest, shoot your brother and turn the gun on yourself and shoot yourself!"
FOUR YEARS OLD!
I sculpt and paint Native American Indians. I have several paintings I did of Sioux Indians. I have many very old books about their lives and the Indian wars. I don't hold the hate inside like Grandma did, but I understand why she felt that way. It was a different time. Holding hate is the meanest thing you can do to yourself.
Here are some photos of my Grandparents, and a couple of my sculptures. I have a profound admiration for the native American spirituality and their strength of character, surviving against all odds. I also have a deep admiration for my ancestors, for it was a rough life back then! My Dad was actually born in a covered wagon traveling across the Dakota territory! I get a lump in my throat thinking about what they went through!
If I ever cried as a little girl, My Mother would say, "Stop it! You come from stronger stock than that!"
I sure did!
