Excellent.

An excellent book ...

Invitingly.

Countless Victorian-era engravings notwithstanding, the Pilgrims did not spend the day sitting around a long table draped with a white linen cloth, clasping each other’s hands in prayer as a few curious Indians looked on. Instead of an English affair, the First Thanksgiving soon became an overwhelmingly Native celebration when Massasoit and a hundred Pokanokets (more than twice the entire English population of Plymouth) arrived at the settlement with five freshly killed deer. Even if all the Pilgrims’ furniture was brought out into the sunshine, most of the celebrants stood, squatted, or sat on the ground as they clustered around outdoor fires, where the deer and birds turned on wooden spits and where pottages—stews into which varieties of meats and vegetables were thrown—simmered invitingly.

Nathaniel Philbrick, from Mayflower: A Story of Courage, Community, and War

Model.

Wyeth, N.C., Thanksgiving with Indians (detail), 1940

The Pilgrims’ religious beliefs played a dominant role in the decades ahead, but it was their deepening relationship with the Indians that turned them into Americans. By forcing the English to improvise, the Indians prevented Plymouth Colony from ossifying into a monolithic cult of religious extremism. For their part, the Indians were profoundly influenced by the English and quickly created a new and dynamic culture full of Native and Western influences. For a nation that has come to recognize that one of its greatest strengths is its diversity, the first fifty years of Plymouth Colony stand as a model of what America might have been from the very beginning.

Nathaniel Philbrick, from Mayflower: A Story of Courage, Community, and War

Open.

The Ohio History Connection has announced that the Octagon Earthworks in Newark will be open for full public access starting January 1, 2025. This monumental decision comes after a successful settlement with the Moundbuilders Country Club, which has held a lease on the property since 1910.

More HERE.

Archaeologist, Dr. Brad Lepper, describes the Octagon Mound.  His lecture on the Newark Earthworks complex is masterful.

Before.

Fly, Scene in Geronimo's camp, the Apache outlaw and murderer. Taken before the surrender to Gen. Crook, March 27, 1886, in the Sierra Madre mountains of Mexico, escaped March 30, 1886., 1886

Chibaiatig.

From a recent visit to the Ziibiwing Center of Anishinabe Culture & Lifeways ...

Excellent.

An excellent book ...

Excellent.

An excellent book ...

Earthworks.

Ancient American Indian earthworks in Ohio have been named UNESCO World Heritage sites ...

A network of ancient American Indian ceremonial and burial mounds in Ohio described as “part cathedral, part cemetery and part astronomical observatory” was added Tuesday to the list of UNESCO World Heritage sites.

Preservationists, led by the Ohio History Connection, and indigenous tribes, many with ancestral ties to the state, pushed to recognize the Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks for their good condition, distinct style and cultural significance — describing them as “masterpieces of human genius.”

UNESCO’s World Heritage Committee approved the application during a meeting in Saudi Arabia.

The massive earthworks comprise eight ancient sites spread across 150 kilometers (90 miles) of what is present-day southern Ohio, including one located on the grounds of a private golf course and country club. The designation puts the spot in the same category as wonders of the world including Greece’s Acropolis, Peru’s Machu Picchu and the Great Wall of China.

Gods.

Heyn & Matzen, Clear, Lakota, 1900

These were not Methodist Indians but warriors with a lineage that owed nothing to the white man. We did not live upon the same earth that they did and we flatter ourselves when we think we understand them. To pity these men is to pity the gods.

Jim Harrison, from The Road Home

My Great-Grandpa Firchau was sixteen years old when this photograph was made.

Judgment.

The Battle of Little Bighorn began on this date, at this hour, in 1876.

Nathaniel Philbrick, from The Last Stand: Custer, Sitting Bull, and the Battle of the Little Bighorn

Custer did not drink; he didn’t have to. His emotional effusions unhinged his judgment in ways that went far beyond alcohol’s ability to interfere with clear thinking.

C-SPAN presents National Park Service interpreter Steve Adelson's stories of Custer and his Seventh Cavalry fight against the Sioux and Cheyenne ...

Excellent Books ...

Earthworks.

Dr. Brad Lepper, Senior Archaeologist for the Ohio History Connection’s World Heritage program, on the missing links to the Newark Earthworks' history ...

In 1775, Nicholas Cresswell encountered such a ceremonial leader while visiting the Delaware Indians of Coshocton. He wrote: “Saw an Indian Conjuror dressed in a Coat of Bearskin with a Visor mask made of wood, frightful enough to scare the Devil.”

Don't miss Dr. Lepper's fascinating explanation of the geographical-geometry of Ohio's prehistoric earthworks ...

Representative.

Headquarters 

Seventh United States Cavalry

Fort A. Lincoln, D. T.

April 10th, 1878

General Orders No. 7

1. The horse known as "Comanche," being the only living representative of the bloody tragedy of the Little Bighorn, June 25th, 1876, his kind treatment and comfort shall be a matter of special pride and solicitude on the part of every member of the Seventh Cavalry to the end that his life be preserved to the utmost limit. Wounded and scarred as he is, his very existence speaks in terms more eloquent than words, of the desperate struggle against overwhelming numbers of the hopeless conflict and the heroic manner in which all went down on that fatal day.
2. The commanding officer of Company I will see that a special and comfortable stable is fitted up for him, and he will not be ridden by any person whatsoever, under any circumstances, nor will he be put to any kind of work.
3. Hereafter, upon all occasions of ceremony of mounted regimental formation, saddled, bridled, and draped in mourning, and led by a mounted trooper of Company I, will be paraded with the regiment.

By command of Col. Sturgis, E. A. Garlington

First Lieutenant and Adjutant

Seventh Cavalry

Feathers.

 Wyeth, N.C., Winter, 1909

The last lodge had been set up in the Blackfeet winter camp. Evening was closing over the travel-tired people. The sun had dropped beyond the hills not far away. Women were bringing water from the river at the edge of the great circle. Men gathered in quiet groups, weary after the long march of the day. Children called sleepily to each other, and the dogs sniffed about in well-fed content.

Lone Feather wrapped his robe more closely around him and walked slowly from his lodge door and from the camp, off toward the north. He was thinking of many things, and hardly noticed where he was going. Presently as he walked, he heard the sound of persons talking. He stopped to listen. The sound came from a lodge made of stone, close by the river. Quietly he went toward the lodge and saw a thin blue line of smoke coming from the top.

As he approached, an old woman, bent with age and crippled, came from the lodge door and looked at him.

"Will you come into my lodge?" she said, greeting him.

Lone Feather looked at her for a moment in silence. She spoke again. He could not understand her speech, for she belonged to another tribe. By signs she made him know that she wished him to come into her lodge and rest. Lone Feather entered.

Far back from the door crouched two big grizzly bears. She made signs to show that the bears were friendly, and Lone Feather sat down near the door. She stirred the fire, and as she put on fresh wood the sparks flew up toward the smoke hole, which was opened only a little way.

By signs she told him she would go out and open the smoke hole wider so that the fire might burn more brightly. She was gone for some time, and Lone Feather sat looking into the fire, still thinking of many things, when the air became thick with smoke. He looked up and saw that the smoke hole was closed. He sprang up and went to the door, but the door covering was down. He raised it, and as he put his head out the old woman hit him with a large stone club and he was dead.

Before his spirit started for the Sand Hills, he saw that with a large knife she cut up his body and put the pieces into a pot. Soon they were well cooked and the old woman and the two bears feasted on his flesh.

They threw his bones out of the door, where they fell among many others like them. The ground was strewn with the bones of the persons she had trapped and killed.

Day by day other persons disappeared from the winter camp, and more and more bones whitened on the ground outside the stone lodge on the river bank.

As Cold Maker was bringing the snow to the Blackfeet winter camp, he passed the Sand Hills. Lone Feather and other ghosts from the Blackfeet tribe were telling each other how the old woman had sent them there. Cold Maker heard their stories and he was angry.

When he reached the camp he went to the lodge of Broken Bow--a brave young man, but very poor. He shivered when Cold Maker entered his lodge and drew his ragged robe about him. They were close friends.

"Would you like to have a new robe?" asked Cold Maker.

"Yes," said Broken Bow.

"Come with me. You may kill two grizzly bears," said Cold Maker.

"My bow is broken. I cannot," said Broken Bow sadly.

"I will help you. Bring only a knife."

Together they went from the lodges toward the north. The sun was already hidden behind the nearby hills.

After they had travelled some distance they heard the sound of voices. They listened. Two bears were complaining that they wanted meat. A woman told them they must wait. The men saw the line of thin blue smoke rising from the top of the lodge of stone. All about whitening bones covered the ground. They went nearer.

Soon an old woman, bent with age and crippled, came from the door and smiled as she saw the two persons coming.

"Come in and rest," she said. Broken Bow did not understand her language, but Cold Maker, who understands all tribes, said, "We are cold. Will you let us sit by your fire?"

The old woman smiled again. "You are welcome," she said; "come in. Do not fear my bears. They are friendly. They will not harm you."

The two friends entered the lodge, where a smouldering fire sent a feeble smoke up to the smoke hole, that was partly open. She put fresh wood on the fire and said, "I will open the smoke hole wider," and went out, dropping the door covering as she went.

Then she closed the smoke hole. The smoke began to fill the top of the lodge. It settled lower and lower. Broken Bow was afraid.

"Give me your pipe," said Cold Maker.

Broken Bow filled his pipe and, handed it to him. He lighted it by a brand from the fire, and sent great puffs of smoke curling upward. This smoke met the other smoke and stopped it. It could not descend any lower.

Broken Bow saw the wonderful medicine of his friend. He was no longer afraid but wondered what Cold Maker would do next. The grizzly bears growled low.

The old woman outside called to them, "Friends, is it smoking in there now?"

"Not a bit," replied Cold Maker. "We are very comfortable."

She waited. They did not come out. She stood near the door. Her stone club was ready. She grew impatient. She wondered what had gone wrong with her plans. The two friends were silent. She looked at the smoke hole, but it was closed securely. She lifted the door covering to see if the friends within had died. They sat perfectly still.

She entered to look more closely, and as soon as she was fairly inside Cold Maker and Broken Bow rushed out and dropped the door covering. Before she could move they piled great heaps of stone in the doorway. The bears growled. She called for help.

Cold Maker and Broken Bow went on down the river.

Then Cold Maker took from a little sack a few white eagle-down feathers. He blew them from him. At once a fierce storm blew across the valley. The bitter cold froze the water, but only in this one place. It dammed the stream with fast forming ice. The water rose higher and higher. It spread out over the banks. Cold Maker and Broken Bow went far off on the hills and watched it. Little by little it rose. It reached the stone lodge. The bears roared. The woman screamed. The water reached the top and covered the lodge from sight. All sound ceased. A moment more, and the water was quiet.

Once more Cold Maker blew from him a few white eagle-down feathers. The storm subsided. It became warm again. The ice melted. The water retreated to its channel.

Cold Maker and Broken Bow went to the stone lodge. The woman was lying beside the pot. The grizzly bears were close to the stones which blocked the doorway.

Cold Maker said, "Here is your new robe," and Broken Bow took from the bears their thick, warm skins.

On his way home Cold Maker again passed the Sand Hills. Entering the country was an old woman bent with age and crippled.

He hurried on.

Blackfoot Legend

Enchanted.

W. M. Beauchamp's "Indian Corn Stories and Customs", from The Journal of American Folklore, July- September, 1898 ...

The great magician called Masswaweinini, or the Living Statue, remained on the Manitoulin Islands after his friends had left. While hunting one day, he came suddenly to a wide prairie, across which he proceeded. There he met a small man, wearing a red feather on his head, and they smoked together. A wrestling match followed, with doubtful fortunes, but at last the small man was thrown. As directed, the victor cried out, "I have thrown you; wa ge me na;" and his opponent at once disappeared. In his place there lay on the ground a crooked ear of mondamin, or Indian corn, with a red hairy tassel at the top. A voice was heard, directing him to strip the body and throw the fragments all around. The spine, which gave these parts support, was also to be broken up and scattered near the edge of the wood. In one moon he was to return. This he did, and found the plain filled with growing corn. From the broken cob grew luxuriant pumpkin vines. At the end of summer he was on the wrestling ground again, where the corn was in full ear and the pumpkins of great size. Of these he gathered a good store, and the voice was heard again: "Masswaweinini, you have conquered me, and thus saved your own life. Victory has crowned your efforts, and now my body shall forever nourish the human race." Thus came the gift of corn and pumpkins, and the gift of wampum followed closely, brought about by the good fairies of that enchanted land. 

CONNECT

History.

Huffman, American Horse being Interviewed by O. D. Wheeler on the Battle of the Little Bighorn, 1898

The most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history.

George Orwell

Big.

Hillers, Big Navajo, 1879

Uncertain.

While riding along about dark we heard a wolf howl behind us. My Lipan guide stopped short and assumed a listening attitude. In a few moments another answered, way to the right. Still the Indian listened so intently that his form seemed perfectly rigid. Then another set up a howl on our left. “Umph, lobo,” said the Lipan, in a tone of relief. I can’t say that I admired the music of the wolf at any time, but it certainly never had a more unmusical sound than on that occasion, and when I saw that even an Indian’s ears were uncertain whether it was a wolf or a Comanche, I felt the cold chills creeping over me.

Captain Noah Smithwick, from his logbook, 1839

Thanks, thirty miles out.

Happy Birthday, Schoolcraft

Henry Rowe Schoolcraft was born on this day in 1793.

From Schoolcraft's Narrative Journal of Travels through the Northwestern Regions of the United States: extending from Detroit through the great chain of American lakes to the sources of the Mississippi River, performed as a member of the expedition under Governor Cass, in the year 1820, Library of Congress ...

We observed a number of smoked squirrels, fish, and ducks, hanging in the upper part of the tent; indicating a degree of care, for the subsistence of their children, and forecast as to the uncertainties of the chase, which is highly honorable to the judgment and the paternal feelings of these people.

They have a method of taking fish through the ice in the winter season, which is equally novel and ingenious. After a hole has been cut through the ice, they encompass it with a slender circular frame of rods, or a kind of open basket, over which a blanket, is thrown to exclude the light. The savage now lays himself down upon the ice, with his head under this hood, and playing a decoy or artificial fish upon the surface of the water within the hand, holds a drawn spear in the other, and when the large trout suddenly dart up to seize their fancied prey, pierces the body of his victim with unerring certainty. The spear is short and loosens itself from the handle the moment it is struck, but is attached to a strong line, with which he plays the fish a while in the water below, and draws it out as soon as it becomes sufficiently enfeebled with the wound. This method of fishing was first noticed by Mr. Hudson, a missionary among the Saganaws, to whose manuscript journal I am permitted to refer for the facts.

CONNECT 

Imbued.

Reed, Ojibwe Woman on the Shore, Ponemah, Minnesota, 1908

Her mind in childhood had been thoroughly imbued with the lodge-lore, imaginary legends, and the traditions of the forest which cover the whole aerial sphere of the heavens, and render the doctrines, the existence of gods and spirits familiar to the youthful ear and eye.  They were to her familiar as household work.  She could look into the bright tracery of the stars and clouds, and read them in the sublime pictography of the wise men and sages of her forest ancestry.

Jane Schoolcraft on her mother's storytelling, from The Sound the Stars Make Rushing Through the Sky: The Writings of Jane Johnston Schoolcraft