Umatilla Indian Maintains Storytelling Tradition
Anna King I Pendleton, Oregon 10 December 2009
In
America's Northwest Indian Country, the increasingly cold weather and
shortening days signal a time to gather. It's a time to nestle indoors
and tell stories, and try to pass on Indian culture and religion to
younger generations. Sharing these narratives has become a little harder
in this age of computer games and smartphones. But on the Umatilla
Reservation near Pendleton, Oregon, the oral tradition is alive and well
in many Northwest Indian tribes.
Capturing the
attention of children
The first thing
you notice when you walk inside John Bevis' modest two-story is the
smell. It's earthy. And spicy. And welcoming. It comes from a pot of
wild roots that simmers on the stove all day. The next thing you notice
are Bevis' tiny grandsons. They're playing with (miniature toy)
"matchbox" cars.
Grandpa John Bevis sits down in his kitchen, and
starts telling a story about how bear lost his long tail. "A long time
ago, bear used to have a long fuzzy tail like the fox. And the fox got
jealous of that, and he'd look at that goofy bear and say I'm gonna fix
that bear someday.
"
It's hard not
to get caught up in this funny story. John Bevis tells a lot of tales
this time of year when life slows down. He says as long as there have
been Indian people, there have been stories. Storytelling is something
he learned when he was young.
"Gathering the
children and sitting around the campfire, you would kind of pick them
(the stories) up as you eavesdropped on the older folks. Once the gossip
started getting juicy then they would switch to Indian language. Because
they knew we didn't understand that."
Now he's telling
these cultural tales to his 14 children, 39 grandchildren and 9 great
grandchildren. Some stories are religious, others are moral, like the
one about how to behave when you fall in love. Many stories are
instructional, describing the best ways to hunt, fish or gather roots.
"We've got more than one story about gun safety. We've got stories about
cleaning the game, taking care of the meat.
"
Bevis tells
these stories inside his home and at the Umatilla Reservation's museum
and schools. It's important for him to share stories. Growing up in
Pendleton he was often found himself in the middle of racial tensions
because he was is part white. "I'm a lima. Lima is a term we use for
half-breed. I'm neither here nor there. I'm in the middle. And some
people frown on that and say it's negative. But I always looked at it as
a positive. Hey, I can bridge both worlds."
Stories provide a
moral compass
Now Bevis is
using stories to help wipe away stereotypes. But he says even with
stories where animals talk, sometimes it can be really hard to reach
children. Bevis says growing up on-and-off the reservation is tough.
Kids deal with alcohol, drugs and poverty. He says he recognizes the
mixed-up pain in their eyes when he visits their classrooms.
"
Maybe I am trying
to make up for all that negativity and hate I had when I was a child.
And wash it away and deal with the children. Don't hate. You're born
into a situation that you may not like, poverty, and that weighs on
children. We forget as adults what it feels like to be a child."
At one time it
was easy for native children and adults to stay connected. Everyone
lived together and they would gather in the winter lodge to tell
stories. Bevis says the winter lodge is no more. Children are spread out
in their own homes facing all kinds of challenges. He's been there.
Now, he says the
stories are basically "to keep (the) faith." Bevis says he hopes the
stories he tells children today will help guide them as adults when
faced with difficult decisions. "Maybe a story I told a long time ago
that kid will carry with him, and he'll make the right choice."
On this autumn
morning in his warm home, those problems seem far away. The biggest
distractions to Bevis' bear story are matchbox cars and the flickering
TV.
But as Bevis keeps at it, his grandsons -- Payton, 6, and Quintin,
2 -- scoot a little closer, to make sure they don't miss a word. Soon
the tiny boys are nearly at their grandfather's feet, lying on their
tummies -- listening.
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