Thanksgiving

My sister, Sherry, Chief Pyle and Me

I took my sister to have Thanksgiving dinner with our Choctaw family in Oklahoma. Our Chief was there as well.

Stuck Backwards

There I sat, kayak turned backwards at the top of three tiers of rocks. The chilly water rushed over the front, filling my seat and soaking me. I was stuck.

Facebook Works - Five Tribes Story Conference

The Graceful Entrance

My mom and I arrived in Muskogee too late for checking into the hotel before the reception started, so we drove straight to the Five Civilized Tribes Museum. Please note: I was in my comfy four hour driving clothes and hadn’t put on make-up yet. Or plucked that one pesky chin hair.

As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, who else had just arrived? Tim Tingle, international Choctaw author and storyteller, and event co-coordinator. He waves and comes over to the car. I hold the tweezers inconspicuously. He insists we make him feel better for being casual and waits by the car to walk inside with us. So much for slapping on some make-up.

Givers

Choctaws are a giving people. How many examples do I see of this at Labor Day every year? I’ll just recount my personal ones from 2011.

A Tall Tale: Thirdy-Three Feet

Through my papaw came my Choctaw ancestry. I wrote this “tall tale” from a story he told us years ago.

In April of 2010, my papaw went on to be with the Lord. But he left his stories behind, and I want to dedicate this tale to him. It’s about the time he jumped thirdy-three feet (using his Oklahoma cowboy accent to his advantage).

The Journey - Part Two

Picking up the journey story from last week, my brother found the Robuck family cemetery. It was on private property, so we asked the neighbors if they knew anything about it. They were familiar with the property, its owner, and confirmed that it was indeed Robuck Cemetery.

The neighbor unlocked the gate for us. We could have driven up to it, but the walk was much better.

At the wood gate we carefully wrangled it open. I had never been in a private cemetery, and it felt like being in a movie.

The Journey - Part One

Two years ago, my brother Doug, my mom and I embarked on a journey that struck the core of my soul. It only lasted a few days, but the impact still lives fresh.

We were on a treasure hunt for the story of our Choctaw ancestors. My mom began the journey some fifteen years ago, and my brother and I have now joined her.

Trail of Tears 2011

As always, a beautiful and moving experience at the Choctaw Trail of Tears Commemorative Walk.

Traditional Pottery Class

Antlers, Oklahoma

I sat at the tarp-covered table and Brian (instructor) emptied a small shovel full of mud in front of me. At least it looked like mud. In reality, this was called clay, direct from tribal lands in McCurtain County.

Ian Parker, Choctaw Tribal Archeologist, worked with his own clay while talking about the differences between mixing the clay with sand or shell. He also expounded on the material available to Choctaws on the Trail of Tears.

I did as instructed, crumbling the mud, uh, clay, into bitty pieces, extracting little stems and roots until it was “clean.”

Time to mix sand and ultra fine sand together before kneading it into the clay. I had to add water as it dried out. “A little water goes a long ways,” Brian reminded me.

As we worked, Brian talked about different techniques relating to this type of clay, and what was traditionally used by our ancestors.

In spite of the small amount I worked with, I felt intimidated by the clay. What did I know about shaping and molding it to perfection? The clay knew more about what it was supposed to do than I did.

When it really got out of my control, Brian handled it expertly. He flattened the bottom, straightened the sides, smoothed the interior. It began to look like the pencil cup I was going for—just bigger.


I took it again, feeling bold. I was going to work the thing into submission. If there was to be any finger indentions on the finished product, they would be mine.

Most things I don’t pick up on the first several tries. But with my second ball of clay, I was ready to make something happen. Anything.

I started with the traditional bowl like shape:

It cracked. I tried to smooth it back together, but I had let the clay get too dry. This time, I knew what to do with its uncooperativeness. I smashed it back together, added water, and kneaded.

About that time I heard the comment of someone making a coffee mug. Me and Mama went with it.

Rolled into a ball once again, I started in the center. Again, lessons learned, I focused on keeping the opening small, going deep without allowing the clay to spread out. When my thumb would no longer reach, I changed to my fingers and stretched their limits. Then I dropped it on its bottom to flatten it. I knew the action would make the clay spread and widen, so I was grateful to have kept it so tight.

As I worked with the clay, I realized something. I began to relax. Weeks old tensions released into a sooth calmness. Using my hands to mold the clay made me smile. I really enjoyed it.

About that time, I found myself engaged in conversation with some of the other students around the table. We talked about other projects they had done and the next steps in the process, including the firing. According to the sweet lady next to me, they bring lawn chairs and food, prepared to hang out awhile and socialize while the fire burned before the clay creations are buried in the coals overnight. On average, the clay needs to dry a minimum of two weeks before firing.

Okay, God just keeps directing our paths. Last week, my mom and I talked about writing a novella length story (longer than a short story, shorter than a novel) about the Choctaw Code Talkers of World War I. The flash fiction story I’d written on it earned a Faithwriters.com Editor’s Choice and was well received by readers.

Near the end of the class, two sisters prepared to leave. One took a picture of the newbies (me and my mom). We all introduced ourselves and she announced, “My grandfather was a Choctaw Code Talker. His name was Ben Caterby.”

We talked, and I asked for their phone numbers. Too amazing to be a coincidence.

Before we left, Ian and Brian loaded two plastics bags with clay and sand for us to play with at home. Our four creations nestled in bags and cardboard box lids, we said our thanks and goodbyes.

After they are fired, I’ll post pics of the finished products. At least I still have the banner of “I’m just a beginner” to hide behind.

What an experience.

I Didn't Know You Were...

While I'm on the Choctaw Trail of Tears Commemorative Walk on this Armed Forces Day (May 21), I hope you enjoy this flash fiction story. This is in honor of all Choctaws currently serving in our military.

I Didn’t Know You Were…

By Sarah Elisabeth

Sixth Annual Choctaw Pow Wow

Me and my dad

Last November, there was little time to digest Thanksgiving dinner as my parents and me loaded up on Friday and drove to Durant, Oklahoma, for the Sixth Annual Choctaw Casino Pow Wow. We stayed in the beautiful Choctaw Tower.

The Story

Me with Conference Coordinator/
Choctaw Author/Storyteller Tim Tingle

It’s been awhile since I was impacted by something as much as with the Five Tribes Story Conference.

Filled with storytelling, music, workshops, food and laughter, the conference took place in Muskogee, Oklahoma last September.

It solidified who I am as a written storyteller, the importance of what I do, and increased my pride in being Choctaw. But most of all, it confirmed my call to tell stories as Jesus Christ did to reach the hurting people in this world.

Commemorative

It was the journey of many lifetimes.

The day started last May at five a.m.. With the three hour drive from East Texas to Tvshka Homma, Oklahoma, we left nothing to chance on missing any part of this great day.

The moment we arrived on Tribal Grounds, our family was treated like VIP’s. Shuttled on a golf cart from the parking area and then by bus to the starting point, we were greeted by Chief Gregory Pyle and Assistant Chief Gary Batton.