in quiet words of Creek

This morning I got to go back to the Lake Okeechobee area to visit with Seminole friends.  The Labor Day Rodeo is a tradition, but we don't go for the rodeo.  We go to see our Seminole friends who set up booths for pumpkin bread and sewn crafts such as palm dolls, shirts, skirts, necklaces and bracelets.

We watched the parade until it started to rain and then we ran to the booths and watched the rest of the parade go by.

Finally, the rain stopped and people began returning to the booths.  I was seated beside Judy, approximately... 40-something years old (but I could be wrong), and her mother, Shule (pronounced shoe-lah), who is about 70 now.

Every time someone came up to the booth and asked the price of something, Judy would turn to her mother and speak to her in Creek.  Shule would answer and Judy would tell the customer the price.  Sometimes it was more or less than the last person was quoted.  I found it very amusing and not at all improper.

Moses Osceola, the president of the tribe, came to the booth and spoke for quite a while with my father about projects that are pending with the tribe, including gathering supplies to send to victims of Hurricane Katrina.

Judy leaned over and spoke to me.  "They tell us that hurricanes are indians so we needn't fear them," she said.  Then she added, "My sister-in-law is a member of the Wind tribe, so we are protected."  She laughed, "We have nothing to worry about."

As we sat quietly watching everything happen around us, I noticed that people would come up to the booth and start to ask Judy, who sat in the middle, about the product and the price but then would turn to me to finish whatever they were saying.

I just looked at them and pointed to Judy.

You shouldn't make assumptions.  Indians, Seminoles anyway, are very reserved.  They speak to you only when they want or need to.   Waiting to be spoken to is usually the best course of action unless you have actual business with them. 

Selling things from a vendors booth is very odd.  It is a job for people who can allow other people to approach in various ways, paw the wares, act friendly and then walk away.

I don't know that I could sell something I made and like to any putz who comes along.  I wonder how artists learn to let go.  I guess you have to be in it for something else... the interaction, thebeing part of something, the casting of your goods into the universe, the money.

But the Seminoles do not have to sell food and bead art and clothes.   They could give up cattle if they wanted to. The casino brings in a dividend for every registered member of the tribe.  It is enough to live comfortably on without lifting a finger.

It is an extreme turn-around from a mere 30 years ago when the tribe lived in extreme poverty, in tired shacks, eking out an existence from ranching and crafts, and supplementing their tables with what they could catch or grow.

Yet it is tragic in a way.  Even though the kids now go to school to learn about their culture and their language, and even though a Seminole can go to any college in Florida for free, they now have little real incentive to do much of anything.

But Shule never stops.  She always works at something.  Much has happened in three generations time.

 

It occurs to me now that I should have gathered some of Shule's treasures to send to a certain party in the Virginia area who enjoys baubles and other people's art.

 

**For your edification: The term "Squaw" is a very rude word.  You must not refer to an indian woman that way in less you intend extreme insult.  "Squaw" is the equivalent of female genitalia, and by using it, you liken, and lessen, a woman to her sexual use.  Call a woman a "woman."  Call her a Seminole woman, a Cherokee woman, a Caucasian woman, a Jewish woman, a black woman if you have to differentiate.  Otherwise, give a woman respect.  A woman is a woman is a woman.  Her free and voluntary attentions are a precious gift.  Ain't no "squaw" about it.

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