Tags
early American history, Manifest Destiny, My Life with an Enigma, native peoples, romanticized west, social conscience
Continued from Daddy’s observations about the west
Herman’s lyrical description of the western landscape fueled Yry’s growing obsession with the West. She was already studying and imitating Indian lore. Patiently she strung colorful beads, imitating Indian bracelets, rings, and necklaces that she saw at the museum. Perched in the window seat of her bedroom, with a view of the forested hills around the house, she devoured books about the west. For a school project she researched the Louisiana Purchase and the resulting westward migration across the United States, laboriously clipping maps and copies of engravings from magazines and newspapers to paste into her reports—clip art of the 1920s. She read about the Indian wars, precipitated by the influx of rude and ignorant white families. She read about the great Indian chiefs, Sitting Bull and Chief Joseph. She also studied the history of the Union Pacific and Santa Fe railroads, all the while wishing she could be on one of those hurtling locomotives. As she read more history of the American West, she came to the conclusion—unusual for that time—that the American Indian had gotten a bum deal. She longed to see the wildness that her father described. She could feel the wind against her face and her hair flying as she imagined herself a young Indian scout galloping bareback across the prairie in search of buffalo for his tribe. Squaw, my mother? Not hardly. She identified with the males who had all the fun and adventure, not the women, who were little more than indentured servants as far as she could tell.
The December 1927 issue of the Roosevelt Bugle headlined Yry’s fiction story about camping. Her work covered the entire three column front page. The story illustrates Yry’s enchantment with the woods. She does an admirable job of spinning a tale about a group of boys on a camping trip gone awry. This piece is one of the few creative efforts I found among her papers that was absolutely free of romanticized passion. The dialogue she created for the boys displays great promise.
My mother viewed the adolescence of the United States through a lens of romanticism, which was, and still is, a common perspective. However, unlike her father, she recognized the taking of American soil from those who were here before for the theft it was. She grieved for the underdog. Long before the social unrest of the 1960s, which in turn lead to the 1973 uprising at Pine Ridge, South Dakota—an event that ultimately rewrote American history—my mother recognized America’s injustice to Native Americans.
Also, my mother, I think, worried that the west would be tamed before she could experience its rich mystery. The pull of the west was as visceral for her as the universal drive for reproduction.
Janes Heartsong said:
I wonder if the back-breaking work the indigenous women did was highly respected by the men, who also did hard work – it may have been before the Europeans came.i live in treaty six territory where Cree people, from the Algonquins, are the largest population. “Iskew” is the Cree name for woman which got changed to “squaw”, now considered a derogatory word.
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Janes Heartsong said:
i forgot to mention that I think your mother was ahead of her time, and chose to think on a deeper level about the social isses-sorry that my eyes had trouble making out the words in the pasted copies.
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Playamart - Zeebra Designs said:
i agree. she was in touch with that deeper level, one that we’re losing – maybe because of so many gadgets and distractions. what a lovely person she was!
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rangewriter said:
My friends always loved and appreciated my mother more than I did. You two would have gotten on famously!
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Playamart - Zeebra Designs said:
I think that happens often.. sometimes we don’t appreciate those closest to us until it’s way to late to savor what made them unique… i now marvel that my mother made my lunch every morning before i left for school –andshe never grumbled.. always made and wrapped with love, and i never realized that gift until i walked in her shoes and it was too late to say, ‘wow.. thanks for that!’
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rangewriter said:
Jane, sorry the images didn’t work for you. Sometimes, if you can increase the print size on your screen, that might help. But then again, the very old copies and my poor quality scanning may also play a role. Besides they are not central to the story, just sort of a touchstone for the times.
You are right, of course. It is impossible to generalize about native customs. Each tribe, and each family within a tribe had its own beliefs, attitudes, and customs. In some tribes, women hunted. In some tribes, women were chattel for their male partners. And every possible variety between those bookends. In any case, my mother was a tomboy and as such, she had no interest in the more nurturing/household sorts of skills necessary for Indian women…or for that matter, white women. She visualized herself, as I did too at that age, as a boy on his horse, tracking and hunting animals and fighting the “evil palefaces.”
I would not use the term “squaw” to describe an indigenous woman today. But that was the term during the 1920s, even for my more evolved mother. 😉
Thanks for dropping by. I do appreciate your feedback.
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Janes Heartsong said:
I understood that you were saying the word “squaw” in context of the times-I was just mentioning how its use may have come about.I also appreciated your comments about how things can be different in various families, tribes, etc. Oh I could relate about being a tomboy, as my bicycle became my “steed” flying over the bumps and hills.I probably whinnied as I went, too! The trees in the front yard were my home even though Dad would cut the branches to discourage the kids from climbing-it didn’t work.You are lucky to have the mementos from the past – it is so rich.
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rangewriter said:
Tom-sistas unite! I do have a treasure trove of old photos and letters. And even so, I only took one large box full of them after my mom died. I left behind probably 4 times that many.
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Keith said:
Linda, her story is well crafted. It moves along like a Twain story. I love that she felt the native Americans got a bum deal. It is still going on with the pipeline issue. Keith
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rangewriter said:
So true. So timely. I actually hadn’t even realized the congruity.
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thefeatheredsleep said:
Oh my friend if more of us had a social conscience can you imagine? Like Keith I lament the whole continued exploitation of the Native American’s it’s appauling and I so admire those who care and say something. xo
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rangewriter said:
Thanks dear one. Your soul bleeds through your words.
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thefeatheredsleep said:
Thank you L for always listening you know how much that means to me
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Glenda Hornig said:
Wow that was a splendid piece of writing for a 12 year old! Quite the imagination! And she was always rooting for the underdog. Such an amazing woman and I didn’t realize it until much later either.
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rangewriter said:
Yeah. I was so arrogant, I pooh poohed so much about her. My friends were a good deal more astute than I was, which is why they loved her more than I did. Kick my ass.
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Otto von Münchow said:
Already at an early age your mother was a reflected woman and had a well developed social consciousness. And what writing skils she had. That little story is a treat to read.
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rangewriter said:
Thanks for reading, Otto. Yes, this is my favorite of the things my mother wrote. I don’t know what happened to her writing skills later in life. I think she got hijacked by righteousness and a tendency to preach her social conscience…which both shaped me and horrified me as a teenager.
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Otto von Münchow said:
I can certainly see that. 🙂
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