I raced inside the house and found Daddy relaxed on the couch, reading the Los Angeles Examiner. “Keith and Addie are asking us to make a tipi. Do you know how to make one?”
Daddy furrowed his black eyebrows and put down his paper. “What?” he asked.
I repeated the question.
“Umpqua don’t have tipis,” he said. “Just make them a lean-to like I taught you.”
“But they don’t want a lean-to. They want a tipi. That’s what Indians make.”
Daddy laughed. “Well, not an Umpqua Indian. You know that.”
He went back to reading his paper. I sighed.
Meanwhile, Peewee poked her head in the door. She signaled me to follow her outside. “Keith said he would make one.”
“A tipi?!”
She nodded. “He went home to get supplies.”
A little later, Keith showed up in the backyard with some rope, an old bedsheet, some long nails, and a hammer. He walked over to the young walnut tree that stood near our tall wooden fence. He studied the tree. Then he tied the top part of the sheet around the tree trunk with rope.
“Where did you learn that?” I finally asked, watching how he knotted the rope in ways I had never seen before.
“Boy Scouts,” Keith said. From there he stretched the sheet outward and nailed the edges to the ground. The entrance was one flap of the sheet that hung inside the tipi. “So, what do you think?” he asked me, his chest sticking out.
I raised my eyebrows. “Well, it’s much better than what I would have made.” I didn’t know what Boy Scouts were, but there was a lot I didn’t know about life outside Grand Ronde.
Peewee and I used that tipi with our friends all afternoon. And the day after that. And the day after that. More questions were asked in that tipi than I had ever heard before.
9 Plankhouse People
With all these questions and talk about “real” Indians, I knew who would have the answers. Chich.
“How come our people don’t make tipis?” I asked that night while we were getting ready for bed. I sat on Peewee’s and my bed, taking down my braids so Chich could brush my hair as she did each night.
“Because our people didn’t move around like Plains Indians,” she said. “We built plankhouses from wood, fished in the rivers, and cultivated camas and other crops.”
“But Addie said all Indians make tipis.”
“Oh, is that so?” Chich said, eyebrow raised. She tucked Peewee in her side of the bed and kissed her cheek. She then sat on my side to brush my hair.
I was deep in thought. Back home we didn’t have to prove we were Indian. Everyone on the rez knew. Even the white people who lived there knew. No one ever showed up in headdresses or buckskins or carried around bows and arrows. But in the city, I guess Indians had to show, not tell.
Chich seemed to read my mind. “Some people think Indians still live like they did before the white man came.”
“Back then we had headdresses and bows and arrows?” asked Peewee.
“No,” Chich replied, gently working the knots out of the ends of my hair.
“How come you don’t have an Indian costume?” I asked her. “Addie says we’re not Indians unless we have costumes.”
“It seems Addie thinks she knows more about us being Indians than we do,” Chich said. She tucked me in, kissed my cheek, and sat over on her bed. We listened.
I remember my mama owning a traditional dress, but it wasn’t a costume. It was beautiful. I asked her once why she didn’t wear it anymore. She told me how when she was little, the Indian agent would gather our people up in their deerskin regalia adorned with shells and parade them through town like circus acts. She didn’t like the white folks’ stares.
Then onlookers from the town would follow our people back to the rez, expecting a show. And the Indian agent would have them perform for the crowd. They danced. And sang. And drummed, while the Indian agent collected money for himself. Because of that, many stopped wearing their regalia.
A person gets tired of being treated like a circus animal.
Chich coughed a couple of times and pressed her hand to her chest.
“Are you all right, Chich?” I jumped up and placed my hand on hers. “Do you need your pill?”
The doctor back on the rez had given Chich some pills for her heart, which didn’t beat like it should. Seeing her hand on her heart like that made mine hurt, too.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing. Just my heart fluttering.” She smiled. “Now, where was I?”
“Our people danced for the townsfolk,” said Peewee.
“That’s right.”
And with that, Chich let me tuck the covers up around her.
“I don’t think Addie and Keith will believe we’re really Indian unless we have something that shows we’re Indian,” I said.
“Regina, just remember this. You were born an Indian. Peewee is Indian. It’s our Umpqua stories and traditions that keep you Indian. You don’t need to dress up to prove that.” Chich gave a tired smile and then turned over, facing the wall.
I sighed. Knowing you were Indian was one thing. Proving it was quite another.
10 Bows, Arrows & TV Indians
Peewee didn’t mind Addie’s constant questions or opinions about everything. But then, Peewee was more easygoing and loved to have lots of friends. Keith was quieter. With him I usually had to start the conversation. We sat outside, sipping Kool-Aid. After talking with Chich last night, I had some questions of my own.
“Why do you think my family should have things like tipis and costumes?” I asked.
“Well, because that’s what Indians have. I saw it on TV,” he said. “You guys live on a lot of land, hunt wild things, and have fun.”
“Yeah. It’s fun living on the rez. I can
