Reading the Landscape: Part 2

A few weeks ago I had the good fortune to lecture to a large group of students and then rotate among smaller sections of students as they responded to questions about the material from their teacher.  This has become my favorite way of roving as it gives me an opportunity to speak to many students but also to speak with students individually about what they took from what I shared.

            This particular afternoon found me chatting with a young lady who began our conversation earnestly.

“The noble savage myth,” she said, “I thought that’s what Native Americans were really like.”

“That’s ok,” I said, “That’s what a lot of people think.  That’s why it’s a stereotype.” 

(With a lot more time and regular meetings with students, I would be tempted to further the conversation with this fascinating video of White Mountain Apache skateboarders, part of a collaborative exhibition by the Phoenix Heard Museum and the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian in 2007-2008.  But there's no crueler taskmaster than the clock in the classroom.  I did not digress.)

“But if Native Americans are not one with nature,” she said, “what are their spiritual beliefs?”

“Well nature is important in a lot of Native American religions,” I said, “And a lot of native people practice their traditional religions, but some see the references to nature in their cosmology as metaphors.  Some practice their religion and Christianity at the same time, and they don’t see any conflict between the two.  Anthropologists have a fancy word for it: They all it syncretism.”

“Syncre…” She stumbles.

“Syncretism,”  I say and write the word down.

“Oh!” She says.  “Two things coming together.”

“Yes!” I say.

Now she is comfortable, and I am excited.  This is a good student!

“But what about origin stories?” She asks.  “How do they explain the world?”

“Well, like I said, all native people are different and have different beliefs, but there are origin myths.”  I continue with stories about Raven and the Salmon People drawn from my recent reading of Lissa Wadewitz’s The Nature of Borders.  I mention the Navajo figure, Spider Woman.  I describe the place of emergence in Pueblo cosmology, the sipapu.

“Are these stories written down?” She asks.

“Well,” I say, “When Europeans first met Native Americans, stories like these were part of oral tradition.  But now many are written down.”

“So I could read them?” She asks and her eyes glance toward the window in the direction, I think, of the University of Oslo.

“Sure!” I say.

“Do they have a central text?” She asks, “Like the Bible or the Koran?”

“Well,” I say.  (I make a mental note to begin a reply with another word.)

“Sometimes certain places have moral lessons or meanings attached to them.”  I am thinking of Keith Basso’s Wisdom Sits in Places. 

“Young people learn stories about a mountain and then, whenever they see that mountain, they remember that they should respect their elders.  Or a particular cluster of trees might remind you to share or a farming plot could remind you to be grateful for what you have.”

Her eyes dart back to the window.  I am less sure this time around that her glance means she is desperate to get to the library and learn more. Am I losing my curious and intelligent audience of one?  Does she think I have forgotten her question?

“And so,” I say.

No, my timing is right. Her glance is back.

“It is as if the land is a text.”

Her brown eyes grow wide and round.

“Wow.” She says.

“I know.” I say.

The Black River, which forms the border between the White Mountain Apache Reservation and the San Carlos Apache Reservation. Photo by US Bureau of Reclamation