Lake Superior Profiles: People on the Big Lake

13. The Ricer

13 The Ricer Odanah, Wisconsin According to Ojibwe oral history, five hundred years ago the spiritual leaders told their people, who lived on the Atlantic Ocean at either Hudson Bay or the mouth of the St. Lawrence River, to move west for survival—as far west as “where food grows on water.” That food was the wild rice of the Lake Superior basin, including northern Wisconsin west of Ashland—an area called “the Wisconsin everglades” that is on and around the Bad River Indian Reservation. Some Indians call the Bad River Tribe “the bog people” because of their close ties to the wetlands and the wild rice that grows there. A member of the Bear Clan of the Bad River Tribe, Sharon Nelis is a ricer. Each late August she and her sons venture by canoe into the expansive Bad River Sloughs to harvest the wild rice, which rises from the water like wheat in a field. It’s easy to get lost here, but Sharon knows her way around. Sharon is savvy, especially about nature and its bounty. Partridge and muskrat are her daily fare. She knows how to make maple syrup and how to brain-tan deer hides. She cans venison and makes a dozen kinds of jellies. She makes moccasins, knife sheaths, and parfleches. She likes to ice-fish for lawyer on Lake Superior and for walleye in both the lake and the sloughs. All of these activities please her. “I think I was born a century too late,” she says. Sharon, who is in her fifties, also does magnificent beadwork, as delicate as sand painting. She has beaded everything from salt and pepper shakers to a priest’s stole. She shows me her dancing skirt, which is simply stunning. She’s been beading since she was eighteen and describes the activity as a “long process, a lot of work.” She says, “I’ve got to work hard for these things that I want.” “Are you known for your beadwork?” I ask. “I feel it’s a gift I’ve been given. I’ve only charged for it once for one little piece—one time I needed money real bad. But I usually barter. I get a lot of stuff like that—trading.” Sharon Nelis: I’ve got to work hard for these things that I want. 160 % chapter 13 Sharon recently made three pairs of moccasins for a man. She used moose hide—she has eight of those stashed away—thick for the sole, thin for the tops so “you could bead on it.” In return, she received enough walleye to fill her freezer. Sharon explains that beadwork is distinctive. She can distinguish the products of the Iroquois, the Winnebago, and the Seminole. She characterizes her work as an art, not a hobby or craft. The Ojibwe word for bead means “berry from the Great Spirit.” Beadwork, then, is a spiritual exercise; Sharon compares the beads to rosaries and worry beads. Beading is also a “tranquil” exercise. For colors and shapes, she takes inspiration from nature—sunsets, sunrises, flowers, leaves, and water. According to Sharon’s culture, the beader must leave a mistake in each piece because nothing is perfect except the Creator . She doesn’t particularly worry much about that because she always spots something wrong with her work. She gets her beads from a warehouse in New York City and especially likes what she calls “cut beads,” which are faceted and reflect light nicely. She has trays and bowls filled with beads. “Severe punishment to the person who spills any of my precious stock,” she has said in writing about her work. She concludes, “Beading will either drive you insane or sane, depending on what you are.” I ask her about hunting. “I don’t think of it as hunting,” she responds. “What is it?” “Dinner.” Sharon’s father taught her how to hunt for rabbit, deer, and partridge. “Now I got boys, so I don’t have to do it anymore. One of these years I’m going to hunt rabbits again. I love rabbit. I don’t care how you fix it. And muskrats. I like all that wild game. I don’t care for beaver much. It’s too rich.” She has eaten beaver but not beaver tail. “I like the muskrat a little better. The small ones. It’s not greasy, and it’s got a very mild...