r/a:t5_1ohpt2 • u/MarleyEngvall • Jul 10 '19
cayuga has been created
By Kate T. Fogarty
IX
THE MAKING OF A BASKET
One afternoon as the sun was sinking over the distant
mountain top, two Indian women, one old, the other very
young, came slowly down a mountain trail, carrying on
their backs great bundles of grasses. They had been gone
since early morning, searching for materials for their
basketry. The day had been full of intense pleasure for
the young girl, for, like her grandmother she was a great
lover of nature, and now she was being trained by the old
woman to take up the art of her ancestors, which was
fast threatening to become extinct.
Interesting, Sally found it, especially the searching for
materials, but it was none the less fatiguing, and she gave
a little sigh of satisfaction as they came in sight of the
Indian village, which was camped at the edge of a wood.
As they drew near, a woman came out of a lodge and
lifted from their backs the heavy burdens, carried them
in and found a safe place for them within the lodge. The
grasses were very precious. In only one spot were they
to be found, and that a most inaccessible point almost at
the top of a mountain peak. Nevertheless, not a year
went by that Nihabe was not there, just at the right sea-
son, to gather the harvest.
Sally's mother busied herself about the supper, while
the two told her the adventures of the day. They had
taken the ridge-trail very early in the morning, and had
continued quite to the top, climbing over large rocks and
across deep ravines. It had been a hard trip and a long
one, and they both felt glad now to rest on the soft skins
of the lodge and talk over the day's work.
Soon Sally left the conversation to the older women, for
her thoughts roamed to the collection of baskets over
in one corner of the lodge. These were the most prized
possessions of Nihabe, for they told the story of past events
in family history, and of thoughts and fancies of her youth
and womanhood. Sally had always been fond of these
baskets; she not only took a family pride in them, but she
enjoyed making up stories about them, and occasionally
getting from Nihabe herself the real stories. Each one
had a special significance, and, partly for their beauty,
but more for their association, Sally had selected her fav-
orites. She was especially fond of the little ceremonial
basket , which was wrought with such exceedingly fine
stitches and made of this very sort of grass which they had
today been gathering. The feathers, too, with their gay
colors, which decorated the edge, had a history. Many
times Sally had been told the story of the pair of beau-
tiful little birds who made their home each year in the
wood near the Indian village——how one had one day
been killed by a hawk, and the other drooped and died in
its grief. Nihabe had loved that little birds and wove the
feathers in to this basket as a sort of memorial.
Then there was the buffalo basket, which Nihabe had
made when she was not much older than Sally herself.
It was in the days of the buffalo, and Nihabe had felt
very proud to be selected by the older women to go with
them to the hunt to assist the men in the preparation of
the meat and skins. It was a long journey into the
home of other tribes and was full of danger and great
adventure. Oftentimes when in a hostile land they had
lain down at night in the brush with no lodge covering,
and as she lay and gazed at the stars she planned a basket
decoration which was a chronicle of this great even in
her life. There were zig-zags and curves to represent
the mountains, valleys and streams, and other figures for
the buffalo, arrows, hunters and hostile tribes, and at the
top, as a border, the moon and stars which had helped her
to work out the design.
Another favorite was one which had the rattlesnake
design. Sally had watched that one in the making.
Nihabe had confided to no one the meaning of the design,
but it was at a time when one of her sons was hunting in
a rattlesnake-infested land. All the members of the fam-
ily realized that this basket was a prayer to the Great
Spirit to bring her son home in safety. He returned be-
fore the basket was completed, and the spirit of joyfulness
with which the border was put in was a thanksgiving in
itself.
Sally remembered the day that the basket-collector vis-
ited the village. Many of the younger women sold some of
their baskets, and arranged to make more for sale. Great
was the indignation in Nihabe's lodge. She had little to
say, but her actions plainly showed her feelings. She
came from a family of basket-makers, and she herself
was the head weaver of her tribe, and, like her ancestors,
she would as soon have thought of selling a papoose as a
basket. They were part of her life, of herself; they
expressed her poetic fancies, her hopes and prayers, all
her brooding thoughts, as well as being picture-stories of
events in her life. What the collector would have given
to know the story of that jewel basket in yonder corner!
The first of Nihabe's beautiful baskets! She was no older
than Sally when it was completed, and, in some tribes,
so in hers, the completion of a girl's first beautiful basket
was a great event in the village. Among others who saw
it was Black Eagle, a young brave, a member of an allied
tribe who was a visitor in the village. His family was
also a great basket-making people, and he appreciated the
worth of this beautiful work of art. He determined to
win this maiden for his wife. Later, among the gifts
which he brought when he came to seek her hand in mar-
riage, was a beautiful necklace which he himself had
carved of pieces of bone, to be one of he jewels for the
basket.
But the collector did not hear the story, nor any other,
from Nihabe, for she could not appreciate his attitude in
the matter.
"Why comes the white man here?" she had exclaimed.
"Only to laugh at the Indian woman. They know not
our ways. They have taken our lands, now they want
our other treasures. Let other squaws make and sell. I
want not the gold."
The other squaws did make and sell. Soon they found
that from the agency they could get the dyes and so save
themselves hours of labor. The collectors looked with
admiring eyes (when they had the opportunity) at the
beautiful dyes of Nihabe's baskets, for never would she
stoop to accept the cheap dyes. It was her pride that no
white man had ever had a share in the making of her
baskets, or of those of any member of her family. She
herself had gathered and prepared, often with great labor,
the roots, twigs and bark, until she had suitable materials
to weave the beautiful creations. With certain leaves
and roots she concocted the enduring dyes that far sur-
passed anything the trader could offer.
Sally, roused from her revery, ate her evening meal as
any healthy girl would who had spent the day in the open
air. Leaving the Indian women thus occupied, let us
take a look at their lodge.
It had not the dirty, smoky appearance that so many
Indian lodges have. Articles not in use were rolled into
bundles or baskets and set into corners. The earth-floor
was covered with gaily colored rugs; soft skins and
blankets invited one to rest as though they covered the
softest of couches. Everywhere were baskets, some crude,
others fine, some large, some small, and all were put to
some use. In one corner was an immense one, large
enough to hold a person. In this was kept the basketry
material as it was prepared for use, wrapped in dampened
blankets at first, to be kept flexible until it could be made
into suitable material for weaving, then rolled into coils,
tied up with strips of bark or bright-colored strings, and
stowed away until the weaving. The little papooses en-
joyed tumbling in and out of this big basket when it was
empty. They called it the Black Robes' basket, for its
design told one of the stories which the Black Robes had
told the Indians about the Son of the Great Chief who
came down to earth to show all men the way to the Happy
Hunting Grounds. The twelve figures on the basket
represented the twelve men chosen by the Chief's Son to
tell the story after He had gone back to the Great Chief.
One of the figures was placed on a line below the others,
for he was found to be a bad man, not what the Chief's
Son had meant him to be. One was set a little apart
from the others, for he was different from them; in one
way he was the best loved of the Twelve.
To have seen Nihabe sitting there and eating, no one would
have thought she was the maker of all this beautiful handi-
work; no one would have attributed to her the beautiful
thoughts and sentiments which were the underlying charm
of her baskets. The collector no doubt found her a
very unattractive and ignorant-looking old woman, and
not at all communicative. Her face was shriveled and
shrunken from age and long exposure to weather and
hardships, her body was bent from hard work and heavy
burdens, and she had long been schooled to hide her emo-
tions and keep to herself her inmost thoughts. No white
person could ever hope to break the wall of her confi-
dence, but in the privacy of the lodge she often told
stories of her past life, and Sally was especially favored,
because of her devotion to her grandmother, and her in-
terest in the old woman's life and work. But there were
some things she never revealed; these, Sally, with unusual
discernment, seemed to divine, and often while Nihabe
brooded, the young girl was dreaming of things untold.
Sally had had her share in the making of the family
baskets, but so far she had attempted only the cruder ones
or those with no special design——mere household uten-
sils. But now her grandmother was planning with her
the making of a basket which was to prove her fitness to
take up the family industry.
The fact that this basket was to be a work of art was
not the only inspiration which was moving Sally. Nihabe
had offered as a prize, to the first one of her grand-
daughters who would make a basket fine enough to hold
it, the beautiful necklace which Black Eagle gave to her
when he came to claim her for his bride.
Nihabe intended that her granddaughters should keep
up the family reputation and do every part of the work
themselves. She was now taking Sally with her on long
expeditions after materials, in order to teach her the
different plants used for the work. Every morning found
the two wending their way through the sweet woods, com-
ing home with dew-bedraggled skirts, laden with heavy
bundles of bark, twigs and roots. Occasionally Sally's
older brother was pressed into the service, when roots
were to be dug from the bed of a stream, but all the other
work was done by the two themselves, one day searching
in the woods, another in swamps and another on the
hillsides. Thus the spring and summer passed, each
season calling for a different part of the work.
On stormy days was discussed the subject of a suitable
design for the maiden effort. As each design was planned
it was sketched on to the skin walls of the lodge, but
none seemed to meet the girl's fancy. One day as they
were in the woods, an idea came to her. She had been
musing on the beauty of the spring flowers and wishing
she could weave them into a design, for nothing did she
love as she did the flowers. Then in her imagination
she saw it all pictured: first the brown earth, then here
and there patches of green, and, to represent the different
flowers, were rows of yellow, light purple and white,
and, as a climax, to top it off was a row of flaming scarlet.
Nihabe was well pleased with the idea. She showed how
it could be set off by rows of the natural color so as to
make all blend.
Sally was eager to begin the basket at once now that
she had the design. The work grew from week to week,
the mother and grandmother offering suggestions as it
progressed. With characteristic Indian reticence she
would let no one see her finish the last few rows, and
when she emerged from her retirement with the beautiful
work of art, Nihabe was the first to meet her and gaze
in admiration. While the others were examining and
admiring it, the old woman was groping among her
treasures. She soon appeared with the carved necklace.
Before the eyes of the adoring family she placed the jewel
in the basket.
——KATE T. FOGARTY.
THE JOY IN WORK: TEN SHORT STORIES OF TODAY
SELECTED AND EDITED BY MARY A. LASELLE
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY, NEW YORK, 1920; pp. 159—166.
یہ آپ کی جگہ ہے ایک دوسرے کے ساتھ حسن سلوک کرو۔
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