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373 Introduction Cheryl Watching Crow Stedtler Friends and family always roll their eyes disapprovingly, wondering, “Again? You’re going up there again?” I never considered it to be more than their friendly concern regarding my countless trips up to Nipmuc country. Month after month, year after year they continued. Not until a friend prodded me did I really ask myself, Why? And I really had to think on it. Because I like it simply wouldn’t do. What is it? Why am I willing to drive five hundred miles roundtrip “up there”? Sometimes, I need to do it. The “need” varies—something I need to do for a project, something I need to do for my own well-being, something someone needs me to do for him or her. But that’s not it. What makes me crave it? Is it how I reward myself? It is certainly no vacation . . . more like an addiction. What is it? On one hand, it is very grounding; on the other . . . well, it is downright exhilarating. It is going home to a place where I’ve never lived. When I first started making the trips to Nipmuc country (my true home, in my heart and mind), I went searching—for what, I am not sure. What I found was family, a huge family with all the trimmings: lots of love, laughter, sorrow, with a helping of conflict. Home was like a magnet. I journeyed home to experience, to reflect, to grieve, to share, to love, to fight—I went home to live. My mission here is to introduce my family’s writings to you. I really did not know where to begin. I found it difficult trying to take the diverse writings of my brothers and sisters and tie them up in a neat package. But in thinking about my journeys home, I realized the clearest answer: these are our journeys. When we write, we journey. Sometimes we write in search of something . . . an answer or an explanation. Other times it is to revisit or reflect on an experience. We can walk the grieving path and express sorrow, and we can also dance the path of love. When things become all murky and muddled, we write to clarify, to navigate the muck. And we write to honor our ancestors, whether it be one particular person or en masse. All of these 374 writings are personal journeys—that sometimes scream to escape. They swirl in our heads and in our hearts until a pen releases them. Writers of other cultures journey in the same way, but these writings are through Nipmuc eyes. I respectfully invite you to journey with us and walk our path. Aho. Wowaus (James Printer, c. 1640–c. 1709) Nipmuc people engaged with alphabetic literacy early on, in large numbers, and often in complicated, seemingly contradictory ways. One of the most famous early Nipmuc writers was Wowaus, also known as James Printer. Son of a sachem from Hassanamesit, Wowaus attended Harvard’s Indian College and, beginning in 1659, worked there as an apprentice at Samuel Green’s printing press. He was instrumental in producing the first bibles in the Massachusett language, which were promoted by the missionary John Eliot. During King Philip’s War, Wowaus joined forces with Metacom himself; afterward he returned to his earlier occupation . He was the typesetter for Mary Rowlandson’s famous captivity narrative. In later life he returned to Hassanamesit and taught there. His son Ami was a signatory to the deed that sold the last of the tribal lands at Hassanamesit in 1727/28.¹ The first brief text below appeared as a note tacked to a tree in Medfield, Massachusetts ; the original has been lost, but a number of scholars have attributed it to James Printer.² The second text appears in Mary Rowlandson’s captivity narrative as edited by Neal Salisbury. Note Tacked to a Tree, Medfield, Massachusetts, 1676[?] Though English man hath provoked us to anger & wrath & we care not though we have war with you this 21 years for there are many of us 300 of which have fought with you at this town we hauve nothing but our lives to loose but thou hast many fair houses cattell & much good things ...

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