Yakama Rising: Indigenous Cultural Revitalization, Activism, and Healing

3. Think of the Seven Generations: Xwayamamí Ishích

79 chapter three Think of the Seven Generations Xwayamamí Ishích Old Ways of Preserving Fish: An Ethnographic Note about Lessons from the Ancestors * * * It is a beautiful late-summer day with clear blue skies and warm, bright sunshine. The sun’s rays are so warm and comfortable, it seems almost as if the sun is smiling down upon us. Today we will learn how to care for food as a gift from the Creator, and in doing so, we will understand how much we depend on the sun (áan) and the wind (hulí). These are the lessons of our ancestors. We are fortunate that elders have carried these lessons and are ready to share them with us. The younger generations are ready to learn and will in turn become the next teachers for the future generations. We drive up the long, bumpy dirt driveway, careful to avoid the adjacent irrigation ditch that waters nearby pastures. As I look upon the abundant plant life on the shoulders of the deep ditch, my mind drifts; I think back to the countless hours I have spent in the library, examining the archives of local newspapers from over 100 years ago. I recall the dramatic nineteenth century headlines of the white-owned media, which tittered with delight about the riches that could be made if further settlement were allowed onto the reservation. The headlines called for opening the Yakama Reservation, the rich land being “wasted” by “lazy” and “ignorant” 80 • Yakama Rising Indians, who resisted the commands of the settlers, missionaries, and War Department officials, all of whom insisted that Yakamas give up their “blanket lives” for a more civilized ranching and farming existence. Back in the twenty-first century, bumping along on the remote dirt road on the reservation, I think of how the irrigation ditch beside me is a link to that past, how the man-made veins of water have brought new patterns of life to the reservation. I think about how our people have adapted and changed over the past hundred years. As we continue up the road, swerving to miss the largest holes, I also think about the Indian family who is hosting us today. They use their plot of land on the Yakama Reservation to engage in an act of resistance. They see their land as a base for activities that encourage and inspire cultural revitalization. They use Facebook and word-of-mouth advertising to invite strangers and friends into their home to build a collective of intergenerational teachers and learners—to ensure the old ways, the traditional teachings , will not be lost. Out in the dirt area beside the overgrown field, the air is calm and quiet. A dozen adults gather around the wooden table, quietly greeting each other and softly shaking hands. Ten or so children play in the nearby garden and on the swing set adjacent to the house. Soon the elder emerges from the house, coffee cup in hand, and greets the newcomers. She moves a lawn chair into the shade and begins chatting with those who gather around her. She gives the update of how the fish are doing. She is pleased with the work that the group did yesterday, carefully learning the littleknown fillet technique required for wind-drying fish. Several young women laugh quietly, recounting how difficult this fillet technique was, and they make fun of their misshapen fillets, which are now hanging (somewhat lopsidedly) in the wind-drying shed. The elder smiles, laughs politely, and reassures the women they are doing well. As beginners, they cannot expect to have perfect, symmetrical fillets. Such fine work takes years of practice. Some of the children and adults want to visit the fish. We go inside the wind-drying shed. The fresh smell of fish is strong and delicious . “Stand back a little bit!” we instruct one eager young girl. We tell her if she stands too close, the fat from the rich fish will drip on her head. We point to the ground, showing her all the droplets of rich salmon and steelhead oil already rendered from the fillets. The elder watches us, giggling at the young girl, perhaps recalling a time, over fifty years ago, when she was in the young’s girl’s place, eager and curious, dodging rendering fat in the drying shed, and listening to the gentle scolding of adults watching over her. Think of...