these veins of fire do smolder
beneath ash and flesh-
our eyes glow red-
and lips spit rocks-
we morph and quake
and shimmer and shake
and burn it all again.
in the dust the sun does bake
the ash to caked earth-
and a seed finds
its way to grow.
now our arms do shake as we begin to awake
and reach for the sky we fly….
and as storms do come,
and as mountains do cry-
-silent-
in their shadow-
we call home.
LAWETLAT’LA
The Cowlitz name for Mount St. Helens is Lawetlat’la, which roughly translates to “the smoker”, and on May 18th, 1980, I watched as she awoke and gave her smoke to the world. I was six years old, and have never been the same!
I was six years old and bewildered by what I saw and felt that day. I could hear so clearly the call of my Ancestors and the Call of the Land. This was God, this was the true power of God. On this day, I became an Animist.
Photo info: These photos were taken by photographer John V. Christiansen at 8:32 a.m. local time on May 18, 1980. They were later featured in a 1981 edition of National Geographic magazine.
The shots were taken from Pahto (Mount Adams), looking across to Lawetlat’la (Mt. St. Helens) just over 50 kilometers away.
Introduction
An unidentified Cowlitz man picking wənàyʼx (Huckleberry).
Since the beginning of time, the sƛpúlmx (Cowlitz old name) People have lived and thrived on the abundance of the land. Fishing the rivers and streams, hunting the prairies and mountains, and picking berries near Lawetlat’la. The sƛpúlmx People came from below, from below the shadows of Volcanoes, where stúqʷpéˑsaʔ (Thunderbird) would summon fire and renewal. This is a small story about a moment in time, a story of change and rebirth.
kʼéˑci skʼàˑkʼa (Little Crow)
Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa’s (Little Crow)’s Mother had a dream while he laid in her womb, of a boy that was half skʼàˑkʼa (crow), and half séˑɬmʼx (boy). In her dream, Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa was a storyteller, always telling stories, and talking from his beak. The dreams kept happening while he was growing inside her. She would dream about Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa learning to fish and hunt, and gather and nurture. She knew he would be a strong spirit, and good to the People. Her last dream, on the night that Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa was to be born, she dreamt of fire and explosions.
Cowlitz cradle board. Artist: Paul Kane
One Day, the summer sun reigned down on Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa and stànawi (his mother),his body still strapped to the cakʷiIiɬtnʼ, bobbing to and fro to the rhythm of work songs, as stànaw picked wənàyʼx (huckleberry). Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa looked up and saw a big sČə̀txʷnʼ (bear) standing on its hind legs.
“Why, hello sČə̀txʷnʼ, how are the wənàyʼx?” Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa asked.
The sČə̀txʷnʼ looks at Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa with a look of bewilderment and curiosity, and then replies.
“Goodness child, you are the first to talk to us since you sxamʼálaxʷ (People) forgot your names? And what is your name my child?”
”Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa!”
The Cowlitz Nation
“Quiet now my child, we need not startle the other sxamʼálaxʷ, for they do not understand our ways of seeing. I must go now, but when you are older, we shall meet again.”
As the sČə̀txʷnʼ turned to walk away, the boy whispers,
“see you later old friend.”
Many moons passed and Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa was growing into a strong capable man, but many did not want to hunt with him, because he would talk all the time about the animals, and the stories they held. His uncles would snap,
“Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa, if you hunted as much as you talked, none of us would ever have a lean winter!”
Despite all this, many saw great things in the boy, and the elders would teach him good stories. Stories of nəkʼálʼus (Coyote) and how he brought the cʼáwɬ (Chinook Salmon) to feed the sxamʼálaxʷ. Stories of the wah-tee-tas (the little people) and Skookum. Stories on how stúqʷpéˑsaʔ (Thunderbird) made the Volcanoes, and how they take long sleeps in their craters. While Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa listened, he would daydream of all the things that use to be, and all the things that were to come.
To be continued…
(Author’s note: This is a story that came to me in a dream awhile ago. I decided to write it out and share. I am currently going to school at the Northwest Indian College, Nisqually campus, studying for my MFA (Masters of Fine Arts). I am in a class called “Language of the Ancestors”, I wrote this as a paper using the Cowlitz language as much as possible. I currently do not know how to speak these words, but I am learning, and one day hope to share this story orally, pronunciation and all.)
© All Rights Reserved | Justin “Si’Matta | Gathering the Stories | Reproduction or distribution to the public requires express written permission of the author.
These mountains have teeth, talking in ash and earthquake, and then silent. Lore spews forth from their huckleberry fields, seasonal rounds of medicines and comfort. Grandmothers teach old ways, the basket and weaver of stories. I feel the tinge of spirit run my spine like porcupine, goosebumps raised
Cowlitz cradle board. Artist: Paul Kane
A long, long time ago, Tyhee Sahale became angry with the people. Sahale ordered a medicine man to take his bow and arrow and shoot into the cloud which hung low over Takhoma. The medicine man shot the arrow, and it stuck fast in the cloud. Then he shot another into the lower end of the first. He shot arrows until he had made a chain which reached from the cloud to the earth. The medicine man told his klootchman and his children to climb up the arrow trail. Then he told the good animals to climb up the arrow trail. Then the medicine man climbed up himself.
mt rainier admiralty inlet 1792
After a while the waters sank again. Then the medicine man, and his klootchman, and the children climbed out of the cloud and came down the mountain side. The good animals also climbed out of the cloud, Thus there are now no snakes or bad animals on Takhoma.