Kudos for Tony Tekaroniake Evans's public presentation at the Community Library

Verily, a dream project come true

Indian video 

I am impressed and find it refreshing to see this long and multi-faceted effort by Tony, Mike Healy and others, reach fruition in several areas. The detailed way in which these authors have passionately documented local Indigenous History and distilled it here with clarity so well is a crowning achievement and excellence at its best. Some cultures might even call it a gift of "Owl medicine." 

 

 

Some highlights I especially enjoyed are: Mohawk Social Dance; The Rabbit Dance 04:07

Brief explanation and etymology of Tony's Mohawk name Two Skies: 05:12

Interview quote from Pulitzer winner Elizabeth Fen: "Native History IS American History, there is no separation between the two." 06:43

In 1970, the likeable Georgian 3rd grade teacher, while studying "The First Thanksgiving teaching what she had been taught, telling Tony there were no more Indians, while studying "The First Thanksgiving." 08:09

Kids Love Indians!: 10:01

Major resolution of a 3rd Grade Indian- teaching oversight, with School District purchasing book copies.: 12:45

Tewa: 14:00

Mini Pow Wow in Sun Valley: 15:00

Friendship & Education Big Al Ross: Scottish Schoolteacher turned Fur Trapper discovers a arrow-wounded grouse just over Galena Summit. 17:35

A highly questionable "Doctrine of Discovery." Sheepeater Indians: https://history.idaho.gov/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/0024.pdf "Archeologists missed a lot." -will elaborate later...

Indian maps and trails: 23:00

Spellbinding Redfish Overhang experience with guardians (near lake outflow): 24:02

Serious troubles on the Camas Prarie. Need to roast the very nutritious camas bulbs properly. Provisions here were promised. Promise broken. American Army had little tolerance, bloody conflict ensued. Cover of Owyhee Avalanche newspaper advertised $5 for child Indian scalp. 34:00

Hailey's Hop Porter Park was an Indian camp and trade center. 36:00

Powerful Buffalo hunting bows were crafted by Indians from Bighorn Sheep horns. 38:08


Some forbidding assimilation policies: 40:32


Even Medicine Men were jailed for practicing their sacred healing ceremonies: 42:00

Wagon Days Pow Wow with Fort Hall Ghost Drum Group playing and singing and Tee-Pee raising. 43:30

Some things archeologists missed: Elkhorn "tool making site" was actually a strategic lookout for hunting animals. That's why there's a 7,000 years layering of piles of chips. A small fine perfect arrowhead masterfully crafted, becomes a holy grail, valuable enough to become currency. : 44:22

More comprehensive signage honoring Indigenous History highlights, which have been much obscured until now, would complement Idaho's already popular and successful Statewide Roadside Historical Signage program. Remember: Kids love Indians! 45:25

Only seven thousand people (?) still speak the native Bannock language. Modern linguists have developed 'Rosetta Stone' tools to assist in easier learning of the now much obscure Bannock language. 48:38

Ketchum's Museum features a broad array of Indigenous artifacts: 49:00

Russ Fields an early 1900's Fairfield homesteader, would see Indians come through on horse-drawn wagons during Camas root harvest season. He finally made an effort to meet many of these Indians, who were abiding by their (broken, by being cheated) treaty, harvesting camas lily bulbs. 49:40 

 Story goes into more depth...

Tony broke the story of the new friendship between Lionel and Curly, the friendship which led to Camas Lily Days and much more, indeed much of what's here in this video.

A Cornell Hall of Fame Track Star, slowing down for a second for a nice snapshot. 56:40

Revising history more accurately in the Stanley Basin, e.g. perhaps explaining better or elaborating more of why "Roving Indians," reminded me of something that happened to us when Boise Professor Tom Trusky as part of his "Statewide Movie Signage Proposal" suggested a legend for a small tribute to Clint Eastwood's Pale Rider film. Tom, Brad N. and I came up with a suggestion for the legend, which included the words: "With a theme as timeless as the Boulder Mountains, a nameless preacher protects a poor prospecting town from a gang of ruffians, send by a greedy mining corporation to intrude on their claim." The State liked our proposal, but took out the wood 'greedy' and instead of posting a full tribute the film (remember the SNRA cell tower controversy) near the Boulders, posted a smaller mention on the Wood River Mines sign north of Bellevue. Anyone interested in this type of stuff would likely enjoy reading Dr. James W. Loewen's book "Lies Across America.' When reading this be sure to check out the chapter about Almo, Idaho, near City of the Rocks. Dr. Loewen rates the lies there about the made up Indian raid that never happened as second place in his eye-opening book of signage lies. -J.B.

Great letter by Ed Jameson in today's Idaho Statesman

MICHAEL JACKSON

King of Pop 'raised the bar of genius'

The "Candle in the Wind" characterizes the limited lifespan of every genius of any genre who has given much more than they took with them. They all shared the lopsidedness of normalness/eccentricity that their "gift" carries with it. They never know, from minute to minute, when they're inadvertently stepping into the "normal" world from the world that makes them the genius. Revealing themselves to average people opens them up to criticism and questions of their basic sanity. In all cases, history and the growth of society is an accumulation and compilation of the productive minds of these people, good or bad.

Without art and the genius required to create it, the world would offer mankind only a place to reproduce and work. It is art, in all forms that it takes, that gives humanity the essence of what the enjoyment of life is. It is the ancient art on the caves of early man that defines them and their world. And it is the evolution of Michael Jackson's contribution to his art form that raised the bar of genius to what it is today.

ED JAMESON, New Meadows

(letter one)

http://www.idahostatesman.com/opinion/story/821088.html

Dreaming of Fabled Homeland Security






Looking for a break from the cold, I curled underneath my baby’s stove in her soul kitchen. As Ursa Major ascended over Queen’s Crown and shone through a brittle windowpane a hypnagogic reverie fluttered through my comatose state:

A King perched high above worldly problems laid aside his bubble swatter in the ivory tower and descended to a secret room beneath the magic reservoir moat. Through a flat screen-changing mirror, he gazed upon happenings of the Realm, witnessing Twilight episodes of good commoners securing the homeland:

A resort director bussing tables made certain that nothing went to waste. The President of a dozen banks polished off her pennies and placed them in a Leadville copper basin. An airline executive dashed across the ice to help unload a cargo full of skis. An attorney and his insurance executive shoveled snow off an elderly lady’s roof during their lunch break.

The king rubbed his eyes in disbelief and adjusted the plasmatic monitor, smacking it with the bubble stick, but it continued to spin out solid axis of good scenes; an architect switched out a burned out bulb above blood alley. An editor boiled up a vat of ink for kid’s crayons of mass creation, which they used to draw stick figures of critical thinkers. A hospital administrator con-cocted a headache formula from willow branches to heal his grandma’s aches. Two babies with intertwined arms looked up at him and smiled.

The king hailed a peaceful Prince to adjust the string on the back of the mirror. Everything looked normal, and the show continued; during school hours, around a children’s courtyard camp-fire a Superintendent fervently sang folk tales filtered through thousands of earth revolutions. A solar powered commander flew down on golden gossamer wings and swapped out five cents for an Ice cave Geocache arrowpoint. A statuesque eagle swooped out with the sparkly coined buffalo to decorate his mate’s nest. A basketball coach drew small harp out of his feathercap to accompany a stammering young singer through an angelic anthem. The head of the Federal Reserve wheeled some ticker tape out to the recycle bin for a parade honoring a time of peace. A frog on a demonstrator’s shoulder looked up at him riveted.

A postmaster trumpeted first-class news through her window box. It was about nine linemen for the county, who leapt like lords up windmill poles, tossing electrified nunchucks across serpentine rivers to save naïve ginger bakers from wolves. Sagging downstream a water master lent a hand redigging a caved-in hot pool. Beneath where Rainbows Bend, the owner of a hard rock mine handed out rubdown vouchers to his grizzled laborers. The same twilight, two lovers smashed evil atoms into oblivion on the dance floor.

The king wished for some of that disarming headache concoction. He did not understand. Could a culture of happiness weaving straw into gold transcend more than pretend? The extraordinary circumstances continued on all channels: A cable TV installer got a hoot out of nursing a great horned owl back into flight. An admiral played some Mussorsky lightly over the sonar, tickling the narwhal’s delight. A thoroughbred greeted the tanner as a liberator -when he whispered -the whip was shred. A port for ships of the sky flew off to a safer place and a healing clinic slapped in its stead.

Affordable shelters rolled into town. A stonemason formed Idaho rocks in their solid ground. He flew from a land Hemingway knew, where leaders open dialogues with subjects, not just an elite few. During disasters, their chieftain dirtied his hands well, as he helped commandeer survival objects for all.

A Peace Train steaming with vitamins served organic vegetables grown along its line. Nutritious music piped in from the man deflecting polluted quicksilver proposals over lumps of coal facing stalking flames. Back in the secret chamber, five star errant knights diplomatically scribed “peace seeking missives”, burning midnight ethanol through wee hours.

The king rose up his winding staircase to retire, treading lightly without popping any bubbles. From outward appearances, the castle’s perimeter looked unimpeachably secure and to make sure, guards hoisted drawbridge chains up from the enchanted moor.

As this happened, my baby’s oven squeaked open -awakening me from this feverish illusion. A real break from the chill came when Sol rose, chopping balmy clouds behind the blinding windmills. Ursa Minor transmutated into flesh and fur as a Cinnamon Bear, lighting in beyond human through the dog’s wide door. Hungry from his hibernation in some Sheep-eater Indian caves, we all shared for a spell some wonderfully warm rye biscuits around the hearth, he fresh from fantastic dreams of swat-ting fish running through unfettered streams -without reflection of mercury.

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Second level of inspiration provided by Darcie Liz Chace