Winter Solstice and the Midwinter Moon

"The Long Night Moon," or Winter Solstice, pictured above, a pictographic representation for the lunar month of the Lakota people. This month will last from Dec. 7, 2018, through Jan. 4, 2019. The crescent represents the moon, or month, the star represents the night, and the arc represents the length of the night. 
Winter Solstice and the Midwinter Moon
They Were Carried When They Fell
By Dakota Wind
The long star-filled nights were a time to remember the myth-history of the people. I imagine a family similar to mine, gathered around a glowing fire, watching the flame, feeling the heat, and listening to the voice of ancient authority in a line of grandmothers and grandfathers going back to their elders and those before them.

The first snow was celebrated. Men put on their snowshoes and danced in the fresh powder. The snow made for ease of hunting. The Lakȟóta explained the changing of the seasons as an epic battle between two brothers: Wazíya (The North) and Okáǧa (The South). As one retreated, the other gained ground. When Wazíya won, his breath blew across the landscape, and for as deadly and sharp his cold breath might be, he brought a blanket of snow under which Uŋčí Makȟá (Grandmother Earth) slept.

The High Dog Winter Count recalls the year 1800 as one of the most challenging years to survive. The summer heat was unbearably hot. The great gangs of bison went away, and hunting was poor. Flowers disappeared from the landscape, and the wind drank up the water. The birds refused to sing too.

The punishing summer was followed by a harsh winter.

Winter came, snow and ice were everywhere. According to the White Bull Winter Count, a group of Lakȟóta decided to move winter camp from the bottomlands of one river to that of another. As they moved over the high plains, a blizzard caught them. Gradually some of them began to succumb to the cold and fell. As one person fell, another lifted and carried him or her the rest of their journey. Kičhíč’iŋpi keúŋkiyapi, “They say that they carried each other.” 

This constellation is commonly known as "Auriga" is as it would be seen in the middle of the night during the Winter Solstice. The biggest star closest to the middle of the crescent is commonly known as Capella. 

By firelight and starlight, the Lakȟóta used the time of the long winter night to share stories like that of Wičháȟpi Hiŋȟphaya (The Fallen Star; also called “Star Boy”). The story of his mother, Tȟapȟúŋ Šá Wíŋ (Red Cheek Woman), and father, Wičháȟpi Owáŋžila (The Star that Does Not Move; “The North Star”) is fairly well known.

According to Ronald Goodman’s work in his Lakota Star Knowledge, Fallen Star was renowned among the Lakȟóta as “the Protector, the bringer of light and higher consciousness.” After becoming a father, Fallen Star ascended “a hill at night with a friend,” and told him that he was going to return home. Fallen Star laid down upon the hilltop and died. His spirit was seen a light that rose into the star world. “At some time in the past, all Lakȟóta acquired the gift of light he brought them.” (Goodman, 2017; 32) Goodman’s work says that human beings are composed of matter and light.

In 1967, Helen Blish published her thesis A Pictographic History of the Oglala Sioux, featuring the works of Amos Bad Heart Bull (~1868-1913), a noted Lakȟóta artist, amongst of what was a map of the Black Hills and other features including Pahá Ská (White Butte). White Butte is noted as being north of the Black Hills. 

Kapemni, an hourglass shape symbolizing what is in the heavens is also on earth. 

Goodman discusses an ancient central symbol strongly associated with the heavens and the world. This symbol is referred to as Kapémni (“the action is swinging around and around,” as with a warclub or bullroar), and resembles an hourglass. One half represents all that is heavenly, the other half represents all that is worldly. What is in the heavens is also present in the world. In the pages of Lakota Star Knowledge, this “mirroring” is demonstrated in a map of the Lakȟóta constellation Čhaŋgléška Wakȟáŋ (The Sacred Hoop) which demarcates the locations of landmarks in and around the Black Hills.

It is a general map; not everything matches up perfectly. Matȟó Thípila (Bear Lodge), or Devils Tower, is not actually within Khiíŋyaŋka Očháŋku (The Race Track), the edge of the Black Hills. The Race Track is the “mirror” of the Sacred Hoop. White Butte is not a part of the Black Hills, but it is north. It is a real butte. It is also the hill upon which Fallen Star made his journey back to the sky. 

White Butte, located in southwest North Dakota near the town of Amidon. 

Like Devils Tower, White Butte appears to be in the narrative of the Sacred Hoop, though it is not so on earth. Yet according to the map of the Sacred Hoop constellation in Lakota Star Knowledge, a star commonly known as Capella, the brightest star in the constellation Auriga appears as part of the Sacred Hoop.

Referencing Bad Heart Bull’s map, and tracking the sky from the Sacred Hoop to the North Star one “sees” the stars associated with the constellation Auriga “pointing” or “reaching” towards the North Star. The constellation Auriga appears to be Kapémni, or "mirror" of White Butte and the immediate landscape surrounding that beautiful plateau. 

The constellation is commonly known as Auriga. The brightest star in this constellation is Capella. If this were the Lakota constellation for Fallen Star it would seem that his arm is raised, perhaps reaching for his father, North Star. 

I suggest that Capella is the Fallen Star, and Auriga is his constellation.

The Lakȟóta share Ohúŋkakaŋ (stories from the distant past) and Wičhówoyake (stories, legends, myth) during the five lunar months of Waníyetu (the winter season), and during this moon especially, they share stories like the Fallen Star narrative. 

Fallen Star, wears a robe symbolizing the day and night, a bow under the edge of his robe. 

Long ago, before the reservation era anyway, the month which some might call December today, was known by some Lakȟóta as Waníčhokaŋ Wí (The Midwinter Moon). They might not have known the exact day, but could reckon the subtle shift in daylight when there was a little more of it and could track the general date with counting sticks; they knew it happened in the Midwinter Moon.

According to Vi Waln, “I believe the real day of prayer was observed on the winter solstice by the people with ceremony, food, and family.” Further, “Nature and the stars were monitored carefully to help with preparation for whatever time of year was upon the people.” And lastly, “Many Lakota people will offer prayer in much the same our ancestors did so on the Winter Solstice.” (Valn, Winter Solstice Is Sacred, 2011)

There are five winter moons in the traditional Lakȟóta calendar. After the Winter Solstice, it was time to gather red willow (eastern dogwood) to make čhaŋšáŋšaŋ, a traditional tobacco made from the inner bark of the red willow, and used for ceremony. 

In the heart of winter, in daylight, there sometimes appears the sundog. The Lakȟóta call it Wíačhéič'thi, which means "The Sun Makes A Campfire [For Himself]." Sometimes, during the winter nights, they see a ring around the moon, also called Wíačhéič'thi, only this is interpreted as "The Moon Makes a Campfire [For Herself]."

The New Lakota Dictionary lists the Winter Solstice as Waní-Wí-Ipȟá (Crest of the Winter Sun). The Húŋkpapȟa might call the same Haŋyétu Háŋska (The Long Night) as they called this traditional month Haŋyétu Háŋska Wí (The Long Night Moon).

However it is called this day, or this month, these things are certain: gather close together with family in observation or prayer, eat together, share stories, and carry each other.

Origin of The Rainbow

"Rainbow over the Fort Pierre National Grasslands" by Greg Latza.
The Origin Of The Rainbow
The Spirits Of All The Flowers
Edited By Dakota Wind
Bismarck, N.D. - From the last snows of winter to the first frost of the next, from the Pasque Flowers and Easter Daisies in the lingering snows of spring to the White and Purple Asters of the cool fall, the native flowers of the open prairie rise from the heart of grandmother earth and beautify the grassy steppe.

The Lakȟóta say that long ago the flowers could speak. Long ago the Pasque Flower conversed with a young man and reassured him that he would receive a vision. They say that the Prairie Rose used to greet the Lakȟóta as they passed by, a shy flower anyway, became forever silent when its greetings were either unheard or unanswered.

They say that long ago, on a bright summer day, when all the flowers were out, dancing and bobbing in the wind with all their bright and beautiful colors, that they flowers were talking to one another about mortality and the hereafter. The Great Spirit listened to their conversation.

“I wonder where we will go with winter comes and we all must die,” said the flowers. “It doesn’t seem fair. We do our share to make grandmother earth a beautiful place to live. Should we not also go to a spirit country of our own?” they asked.

The Great Spirit carefully considered their questions and decided that the flowers would live on and their beauty would be remembered after the winter snows. Now, after a rain, we may look to the sky above and see all the pretty colors of the flowers from the past year making a beautiful rainbow across the heavens. [1]

In the ancient days, they say that the rainbow used to be solid, that one could actually touch the colors. Then one day a boy, in his rush to climb a rainbow, found sure footing and grip enough to climb the rainbow, and so he did. When he reached the top, he fired a blazing arrow to signal the people, but they couldn’t find it. When they searched for the boy, neither could they find him. The spirits kept the arrow and the boy elusive. Whenever they approached the rainbow it too proved elusive.

The Lakȟóta refer to rainbows as Wígmuŋke, or "A Snare." It is said that the wígmuŋke, causes the storm to end by trapping it, so that no more rain can fall. No one points at the wígmuŋke with their fingers, but use their lips or elbows if they gesture to it.

“When a rainbow comes everyone looks at it. But no one points at it. If you point at it you will suffer then. Your finger will grow very large. It gets big. It is bad to point at the rainbow.” Mrs. Amanda Grass, May 15, 1921. [2]

[1] Works Progress Administration. Legends Of The Mighty Sioux. 5th Printing ed. Whitefish, MT: Kessinger Publishing, LLC, 2008.

[2] Welch Dakota Papers

Purple Robe, Golden Heart: The Prairie Crocus

A Prairie Crocus flower blossoms on the Northern Great Plains.
Hokšíčhekpa, Wanáȟča Tȟá Unčí
Prairie Crocus, Grandmother Of The Flowers
By The First Scout
The Prairie Crocus is known by many names: Pasque/Passover Flower, Easter Flower, or Wind Flower. The Lakȟóta know this same flower as Hokšíčhekpa, or “Child’s Navel,” for it resembled a child’s navel in the process of healing after the umbilical cord has fallen off.

One of the legends associated with this flower is that long ago, it was white.

The Lakȟóta have the story of a young man who went to the hill to pray, a spiritual practice still with them today. As day became night, the air cooled, and the young man pulled his bison robe around himself for warmth. A small voice by his feet called out, “Thank you!” He looked down and was surprised to discover that it was a little white flower that addressed him.

As the days and nights passed, the young man and the white flower enjoyed one another’s company as they watched the yellow sun rise around a scene of purple mountains. The young man took great comfort in the little white flower’s companionship, who assured him that he would soon receive his vision.

On the last morning, the Morning Star rose into the sky and the young man received his vision; it was revealed to him that he would be a medicine man and help his people. For assuring the young man and for keeping him company, Morning Star gave the little white flower the option of choosing for herself three gifts.

The little white flower asked for a heavy robe of her own to keep her warm, the color of the purple mountains for her dress (petals), and the warmth of the golden sun in her heart. To this day, in the early spring, when winter snow can still appear, the little flower’s lavender robe opens to reveal her golden heart.

On occasion, Hokšíčhekpa opens a white robe. A white Hokšíčhekpa is very rare. When one encounters a white one, they say a bison drew its last breath in that very spot.

The Lakȟóta people say that the Hokšíčhekpa is the Unčí (Grandmother) of the flowers. She is the first to appear, announcing that spring is here and the bison will bear their young. She addresses all the other flowers as grandchildren. When all the birds have returned, and the animals have come back out, it is her time to die.

Hokšíčhekpa even inspires the other flowers with a song of encouragement, “Take courage children of the flower nation, you shall appear all over the land. As you wake and rise from Grandmother Earth, I stand here old and gray.”

She shows by her example that all must go on to the land prepared for them by their ancestors. Each spring Hokšíčhekpa returns to share the same message to the next generation of flowers.

A Tale Of Jealously And Death

Ghost Hill on the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation, south and east of Fort Yates, ND.

Legend Of Ghost Hill
Jealously Drives Mob To Murder
As Told By Šiyáka (Pied-Billed Grebe)
Song by Two Shields
Recorded by Frances Densmore
Standing Rock, SD & ND – Musical ethnologist Frances Densmore recorded this story and song on the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation between 1911 and 1914. About eight miles south-east of present-day Fort Yates, ND is a high butte known as Ghost Hill.

When Sitting Bull and his band were brought from Canada they camped one winter on the lowland beside the Missouri River, a few miles below Fort Yates. It was a large camp, including many hostile Indians, who were afterward located at Pine Ridge and at Cherry Creek in the Cheyenne River Reservation.

Among these Indians was a particularly handsome young man, who was very fascinating to the young women.

One day he disappeared. As no trace of him could be found, his parents consulted a man who had some sacred stones, giving him a horse and asking that he would tell them of their son. This man said that during the next night the voice of the missing man would be heard passing through the camp, and that all must follow the voice. On the night designated all the camp was on alert; just before dawn they heard the voice of the young man approaching. His parents and friends, recognizing the voice, began to lament, and the dogs barked at the approach of a person.

The voice passed through the camp, singing a love song, then turned and came back, retracing its way toward this hill. The people followed, but could not go as fast as the voice, which gradually became more distant until it was lost in darkness.

This incident seemed to make the grief of the young man’s parents more acute, and they went again to the owner of the stones, to whom they gave another horse, asking him to tell who had killed their son. The man said he had been murdered by ten men, who were jealous of him, and that one of these men would die in ten days, another in ten days after the first, and so on until all were dead.

This came to pass as he predicted. The parents of the missing man then went again to the owner of the stones and begged to know where they could find the body of their son. The man said that their son had been chased a long distance by his enemies and finally had been killed far from home, and that his body had been devoured by wolves. He told the parents to follow the voice (which was still heard at intervals singing the same song) and to keep following it until they reached the place where the voice disappeared, where they would see their son.

The next time they heard the voice they hastened toward the place whence it came and saw at some distance before them a figure wrapped in a gray army blanket. They followed it but could never quite overtake it. Sometimes they would feel its presence behind them, and on looking back, would see it, but it never quite overtook them. It always followed the path toward Ghost Hill, and the parents thought it disappeared in the side of the hill.

Accordingly they dug into the side of the hill and made a diligent search, but the body of the young man was never found. A man named Walking Elk lived at the foot of Ghost Hill. He had a large family, the members of which died one after another. He laid their deaths to the ghost and shot at it with his rifle. The last appearance of the ghost was about the year 1889. It is said that a similar figure wrapped in a gray army blanket was later seen at Pine Ridge and on the Rosebud Reservation.

Two Shields assented to record the song attributed to the young man’s ghost:

Hénake (Finally)
Wačéye (I Weep)
ČhéyA (Weeping)
Omáwani (I-wander-about)
Kȟoškálaka (Young-man)
Wióyuspapi čhaŋ (Courting-women Then)
Iyótaŋ Wačháŋmni Kȟó (Best I-tried As-well)
ČhéyA (Weeping)
Omáwani (I-wander-about)

Lakota Woman Goes To War

Camp of the Gros Ventre on the Prairies, by Karl Bodmer. 
Brave Woman Counts Coup
Huŋkphápȟa Woman Remembered
As told by Jenny Leading Cloud
American Indian Myths And Legends
Edited by The First Scout
White River, Rosebud, SD - Over a hundred years ago, when the Očhéthi Šakówiŋ (“Sioux”) were still living in Mníšota (Minnesota), there was a Thítȟuŋwaŋ (Teton) band of Huŋkphápȟa at Mní Wakȟáŋ (Spirit Lake) under an chief called Tȟáwa Makȟóčhe (His Country). It was his country too, Indian Country, until the white soldiers with their cannon finally drove the Thítȟuŋwaŋ across the Mníšoše (Water-Astir; Missouri River).

In his youth the chief had been a great warrior. Later, when his fighting days were over, he was known as a wise leader, invaluable in council, a great giver of feasts, and a provider for the poor.

The chief had three sons and one daughter. The sons tried to emulate their father in deed by becoming great warriors as their father, but it was a difficult thing to do. Time and again they battled against the Kȟaŋğí (Crow) with reckless bravery, exposing their selves in the front rank, fighting hand to hand, until one by one they were all killed. The sad chief had only his daughter left. Some say her name was Makȟáta Wiŋ (On The Ground Woman). Others called her Ohítika Wiŋ (Brave Woman).

The young woman was beautiful and proud. Many young men sent their fathers to the old chief with gifts of fine horses that were preliminary to marriage proposals. Among those who desired Ohítika Wiŋ for a wife was a young warrior named Hé Lúta (Red Horn), himself the son of a chief, who sent his father again and again to arrange a marriage on his behalf.

Ohítika Wiŋ would not marry. “I will not take a husband,” she said, “until I have counted coup on the Crow to avenge my brothers.”

Another young man, Waŋblí Čík’ala (Little Eagle), also loved Ohítika Wiŋ. He was too shy to declare his love because he was poor, and had never been able to distinguish himself.

At this time, the Kȟaŋğí made a great effort to establish their nation on the upper Mníšoše, a country the Saóŋ (Northern Thítȟuŋwaŋ) consider their own. The Huŋkphápȟa decided to send out a strong war party to chase them back. Hé Lúta and Waŋblí Čík’ala were in this same war party.

“I shall ride with you,” Ohítika Wiŋ said. She put on her best dress of white buckskin, which was richly decorated with beadwork and quillwork; around her neck she wore a dentalium choker.

Ohítika Wiŋ then went before Tȟáwa Makȟóčhe and addressed him, “Father, I must go to the place where my brothers died. I must count coup for them. Tell me that I can go.”

Tȟáwa Makȟóčhe wept with overwhelming pride and profound sadness. “You are my last child,” he said, “I fear for you, and for a lonely age without children to comfort me. Your decision has long been determined. I see that you must go. Do it quickly. Wear my warbonnet into battle. Go and do not look back.”

Ohítika Wiŋ then took her brothers weapons, her father’s warbonnet and best horse, and rode out with the war party. They came upon a vast enemy camp, that it appeared to be the entire Kȟaŋğí nation – hundreds of men and thousands of horses. There were many more Kȟaŋğí than Huŋkphápȟa, but they attacked nevertheless.

Ohítika Wiŋ was a sight to stir and motivate the warriors to great deeds. She gave Hé Lúta her oldest brother’s lance and shield, and said, “Count coup for my brother.” To Waŋblí Čík’ala she gave her second brother’s bow and arrows, and said, “Count coup for him who owned these.” She gave her youngest brother’s war club to another young warrior. For herself, Ohítika Wiŋ carried her father’s coup stick wrapped in otter fur.

At first Ohítika Wiŋ held back in the fight. She supported the Huŋkphápȟa by singing brave-heart songs and trilling (the tremulous cry which women use to encourage their men). When the Huŋkphápȟa were driven back by overwhelming numbers, she rode into the midst of the fight. She didn’t try to kill her enemies, but counted coup left and right. What Lakȟóta warrior could think of retreat when a woman fought bravely beside them?

The press of the Kȟaŋğí and their horses pushed the Huŋkphápȟa back a second time. The horse of Ohítika Wiŋ was hit by a musket ball and went down. She was one foot and defenseless when Hé Lúta passed her by. She was too proud to call out for help and he pretended not to see her. Waŋblí Čík’ala then came riding out of the battle dust, dismounted, and told her to get on. She did so, thinking that they would ride double when he called out, “This horse is wounded, and is too weak to carry us both.”

“I won’t leave you to be killed,” said Ohítika Wiŋ, when Waŋblí Čík’ala struck the horse’s rump with her brother’s bow. The horse bolted and Waŋblí Čík’ala went back into the fight on foot. Ohítika Wiŋ rallied the war party for a final charge. Their final push was so determined and fierce that the Kȟaŋğí retreated.

This was the battle in which the Kȟaŋğí were driven away from the Mníšoše. It was a great victory for the Huŋkphápȟa, and many brave young men had died. Among the dead was Waŋblí Čík’ala, struck down with his face towards the enemy. The Huŋkphápȟa warriors took the bow of Hé Lúta and broke it, then took his feathers and sent him home.

They placed the body of Waŋblí Čík’ala on a scaffold, where the enemy camp had been. Then, they killed his horse to serve him in the spirit world. “Go willingly,” they told the horse, “Your rider has need of you in the spirit world.”

Ohítika Wiŋ gashed her arms and legs with a knife in her grief. She also cut her hair short and tore her dress. Thus, she mourned for Waŋblí Čík’ala. They had not been husband and wife. In fact, he hardly dared look at her or speak to her, but now she asked everyone to treat her as a widow.

Ohítika Wiŋ never took a husband, and she never ceased to mourn the loss of Waŋblí Čík’ala. “I am his widow, “she would tell people. She died of old age. She had done a great thing and her fame endures.

GLOSSARY:

Huŋkphápȟa: Head Of The Camp Circle, Hunkpapa

Kȟaŋğí: Crow

Očhéthi Šakówiŋ: Seven Council Fires

Mníšoše: Water Astir, Missouri River

Mníšota: Smoking Water, Minnesota

Mní Wakȟáŋ: Water With Energy, Spirit Lake

Saóŋ: Northern Thítȟuŋwaŋ (Huŋkphápȟa, Oóheŋuŋpa, Mníkowožu, Itázipčho)

Thítȟuŋwaŋ: Dwellers On The Plains, Teton

A Lakota Woman's Lost Love

An engraving of Lake Pepin in Minnesota. Maiden Rock appears in the background in the right half of this image. 

Legend Of The Maiden’s Leap
A Lakȟóta Woman’s Lost Love
Collected by Frances Densmore
Fort Yates, ND – In 1911 Frances Densmore, an anthropologist and ethnographer, on behalf of the Bureau of American Ethnology, came to the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation and recorded hundreds of songs on wax cylinders for preservation.

While Densmore was stationed on Standing Rock she heard a story about a Lakȟóta woman’s leap which bore some similarity to a Sisíthuŋwaŋ (Sisseton) woman’s jump off of a promontory on the eastern shore of what is today Lake Pepin. The Dakȟóta woman jumped off this point and killed herself on the rocks below.

The Thítȟuŋwaŋ (Teton; Lakota) say that their young woman jumped from a high point somewhere in the west. Here is their story:

A young woman had promised to marry a man, but he wished to make a name for himself before the marriage took place. He had been on the warpath, but he wished to go again that he might distinguish himself by valor. When the war party returned they said he had been killed by the Crow.

Sometime afterward in the course of tribal wanderings a camp was made at the place where, according to the report of the war party, the young man had been killed. Dressing herself in her best attire, the maiden went to the edge of the cliff, she offered a song and gave a trill before jumping into the river below her.

This is her song:
Zuyá iyá’yelo (He has gone to war)
Ehápi k’uŋ (You have said)
Hé wašté waláke (I love him)
Iyótiye wakíye (I am sad)

A Ring Around The Moon: She Makes A Fire

A ring of light, or halo, appears around the moon. The planet Jupiter is visible within the arc of light. 

Wíačhéič’ithi: She Makes A Fire

A Ring Around The Moon

By Dakota Wind

GREAT PLAINS – It’s a clear cold night on the Northern Plains, following a cloudless icy day. A blanket of snow on the driveway had become compacted into crunchy ice over the past week. The sun bathed the land in silent golden light then he slipped over the horizon. The stars gradually blinked into their places in the vesper dusk. The full moon slid into the night sky and glided higher and higher. A vast gently glowing halo encircled the moon and altogether her milky white light spilled into the heavens.

I was standing beside my car one minute taking in the serene brisk scene. I imagine for a moment that another man stood here beside his horse in long ago days, outside the glow of his wife’s lodge, standing in the same snow, under the same sky, perhaps even breathing in the same air.

The part of my mind that has been educated and westernized says that the ring around the moon is probably caused by a light refracting through moisture in the atmosphere, and a quick internet search says pretty much the same thing. Science is beautiful in its own way as it questions and sometimes reveals the mystery of creation, but this explanation doesn’t endear me to the majesty of what I see above.

The Lakȟóta saw the natural world, the natural heavens and concluded that what happens here happens above. The thípi glowing in the evenings, filled with the smell of sweet cedar, earthy sage, or rich tobacco, and a mother or grandmother stirring her kettle of tȟaníǧa soup over the fire, now and then adding handfuls of shelled corn and dried thíŋpsiŋla. The way she stirred her kettle reminded the Lakȟóta of the phases of the moon.

A column of moonlight reflected on a body of water is called a "moonglade." The Lakȟóta call this "Mníyata Ožáŋžaŋ."

Kevin Locke, enrolled member of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, recalled a meeting long ago with Mrs. Holding Eagle at her home on the Rosebud Sioux Indian Reservation, “She said the phases of the moon were caused by how hard she stirred her kettle.” Mrs. Holding Eagle referred to the moon, in this sense, not as Haŋwí, but as Hokhémi, an old woman bundled in layers of clothing. The phases of the moon are described as though she were standing at times, dipping, or lying down, and at the full moon she is at her kettle.

When a ring of light appears around the moon, it is Hokhémi building a fire. Wíačhéič’ithi, “She Makes A Fire.”

Mrs. Amanda Grass on the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation explained that as the moon wanes, as the moon loses light, the moon itself is the lodge of Haŋwí, and a large mouse with a pointed nose would nibble at the edge of her lodge, going back and forth, gradually, until there was nothing left. When the moon waxed, it was Haŋwí patiently and persistently rebuilding her lodge until it shown full once more. Then the cycle continued.

The cold shakes me from my reverie and I walk across the compacted snow to my home. The horse beside me a moment ago, replaced now by a little silver car. The windows warmly aglow, smells of supper adrift from the door, different smells and different light but homey all the same. 

The Legend Of Sica Hollow

Sica Hollow State Park, in South Dakota.

The Legend Of Sica Hollow

Remembering The Good Land
By Dakota Wind
SICA HOLLOW STATE PARK, S.D. – ŠíčA Hollow is a rise of gently rolling hills that are thickly wooded with cottonwood, ash, and some oak. Cool crystal streams of water burst out of the hillsides in a series of little waterfalls. The sounds of babbling brooks carry only as far as the nearest trees and hills allow. Winding footpaths and horse trails run seemingly at random throughout the park and everywhere daylight and shadow fell.

An extended Dakȟóta family had gathered in the forest shade alongside a stream for prayer and community as they celebrated the naming of two of their own. The family patriarch, a Dakȟóta spiritual leader officiated the naming ceremony. They didn’t allow photography or other media to record the event, but I think I can share this: my friend stood upon a star quilt laid there upon the ground, and as he received his Dakȟóta name the sun broke through the cloudy overcast and shown down so intently, that an afterimage of a star quilt was burned into my eyes for a quarter of an hour afterwards. 

"...I saw a tree bent in an arch over the path."

I had decided to take a brief walk through the woods, when in my path I saw a tree bent in an arch over the path. I wondered at the way it grew, and so asked the eldest Dakȟóta in attendance about it. She said if there was one, she couldn’t recall, but told me to go back and take a cutting from the root and to plant it back home.

The park is named “Sica Hollow” and I suspected that there must be a story there and asked that uŋčí (grandmother) about it. She said that a long time ago it was called Makȟóčhe Wašte (The Good Country). My friend sent me some information about the park name he acquired from Blue Cloud Abbey. A monk of the abbey, Fr. Stanislaus Maudlin, had recorded an unattributed story of ŠíčA Hollow. It follows here with minor edits:

Fr. Stanislaus Maudlin, O.S.B. (above), was honored with the Dakȟóta name Waŋbdí Wičháša (Eagle Man).

There is a place that today is called ŠíčA Hollow. It is deep and dark, and long memories live there. Few people, except the Sisíthuŋwaŋ (Sisseton), know its entrance, and these people keep its story a secret.

Once it was a shelter for many camps. Quiet smokes rose up to the prairie. Wazíya (North Wind) tried every opening into the Hollow, but the great trees held back his white breath.

Deer and antelope slipped into the folds of the Makȟóčhe Wašte. They found open water and salt, when all the earth above was hard with ice.

Great thipȟéstola (lodges) lay under buffalo robes, and the old men sat every day in their thípiyókhiheya (council lodge). Their bones were warm, and their pipes prayed to tȟuŋkášila (grandfather), who had blessed them.

But a stranger came from the west into the Makȟóčhe Wašte.

His bow was broken and his moccasins were worn. He had no family. He made a sign to say his name was Napé (Hand). He was not tall, and his eyes were thin. The young girls looked at him, and something told them to be afraid.

He ate much, and did not show thanks. He laughed under his breath at the wičháȟčala (elder men), and no one saw him pray. He did not smile like good men do, nor did he tell stories.

The winúȟčala (elder women) said he should be sent away. But it was cold outside of Makȟóčhe Wašte, and thick ice covered the Bdé Íŋyaŋȟčake (Granite Lake, Big Stone Lake). The wičháȟčala said he would go when it was warm.

After several moons the great light in the sky, Wí (the Sun), began to move back to the north. Uŋčí Makȟá (Grandmother Earth) began to open and let out her young. Young braves quit their winter games and crept out of Makȟóčhe Wašte to search for fresh meat and for the eggs of water birds that flew at night from the south.

Napé was older and slyer, and he showed the young boys many tricks. He hid like a lynx in the grass. His eye drew the game to him. He was proud and laughed at the mistakes of the young men.

Around the prairie camp fire, when the old men could not hear, he said, "Why do you follow the old ways? What little glory do you have? In the dark of the night I can bring you to big kills that will make you warriors, feared by everyone. You will be great chiefs and wear scalps at your belts. Not the tails of rabbits. Will you listen to me, and keep my secrets away from the council fires?"

It was spring, and the young braves' hearts were beating for the beautiful maidens hidden in their mothers' thipȟéstola. A great kill would prove manhood, and the maidens would surrender to marriage.

"Listen, then, to me and prepare your war clubs. Soon the Valley trail will be dusty with camps moving north to the Lakes of Rice. If you follow me, you will strike many coups, and you will have many eagle feathers in your hair. You will be men, not old skeletons who sit and dream in the lodges."

This talk stirred the blood of the youths, and they made war clubs and waited. Every dawn they watched the Valley in order to make their first kill.

And it was easy.

The people of Makȟóčhe Wašte had a always been good. The camps who passed them sent signals of friendship and slept safe on the open earth.

Now no more. Napé had taught the boys to strike.

Travelers woke to wail over their dead. They ran for their lives into the tall grass, holding their hands over the mouths of the little ones. Blood ran everywhere. It fell into the River, and even today this river is called Šá (Red).

The horror spread into the Makȟóčhe Wašte. Children ran for fear when they saw the dripping scalps. Women and girls spat on the tracks where the boys walked. The wičháȟčala called for a Council and for the wičháša wakȟáŋ (medicine man).

"How can we make up for what our Sons have done? How can we wash Makȟóčhe Wašte from this crime? What will be our Sacrifice? We want Makȟóčhe Wašte to be as it was long ago.

The wičháša wakȟáŋ listened to the old men. He went to his own lodge to listen to Wakȟáŋ Tȟáŋka (Great Spirit). He sat with his whistle and rattle and burning sweetgrass. He did not sleep, but his eyes were closed. He waited for Wakíŋyaŋ (a thunder-being) to bring him a message.

And Napé did not sleep. He and his killers lit a big fire in the middle of the camp. They leaped and killed again and again. They bragged and shouted to the girls, "Lift up the wihúta (base of a thípi) and follow us out into the grass. Your children will have our blood in them and everyone will tremble when they call out."

But the camp listened only to the wičháša wakȟáŋ and prayed with him. An evil had come into their Peace, and only Wakíŋyaŋ could cleanse it from them.

A wind stirred . The whistle and rattle in the lodge stilled. Tȟuŋkášila (Grandfather; Great Spirit) had heard his people. He had accepted their sacrifice. His messenger was coming.

Through the smoke holes women saw the dark wings of Wakíŋyaŋ. A flash and then another come from his eyes.

Sudden fear touched the shoulders of Napé. He crouched and shook like a water reed. Madness took him, but he could not escape. He ran and ran, but the wings of Wakíŋyaŋ beat him back into the flood that rained from the cloud.

Vines reached out for him and took him by his ankles. The water rose to his screaming mouth and to his gaping eyes. He was too evil to cry for mercy, and the talons of Wakíŋyaŋ ripped out his sight, so he would never see Wanáği Wičhóti (where the spirits dwell; “Happy Hunting Grounds”).

Wakȟáŋ Tȟáŋka did not take all the sacrifice offered to him by his people in Makȟóčhe Wašte. Most sat in their thipȟéstola and went to Wakȟáŋ Tȟáŋka with a prayer.

But one was saved. By her father she was called Thíŋgléška (Fawn).

When the wičháša wakȟáŋ had began his prayer Thíŋgléška slipped into the door of her mother's thipȟéstola. Her hair was black as a raven and long. With a bone she began to comb it and oil it. She set it into two braids and tied the ends with a bit of ermine. From her bundle she drew her tassled dress and high white moccasins. Her Medicine was calling her to flee the rising water.

Up and up the steep slope she flew. The water rose higher behind her. All the world was covered. On the top of the highest hill she stood bright and smooth-skinned in the sun light. She was alone, the only one of her tribe not touched by man or by the evil that Napé had brought to her people.

She began her song, and Wakȟáŋ Tȟáŋka behind Wí listened:

"I am grieved for the evil that my brothers did. Your beautiful land is destroyed. I stand alone with you. Let me sing my song, before I join my sisters. You were good to us before evil entered our Peace. Now I grieve. I ask your kindness. Tȟuŋkášila make this ground, where I stand, holy again. Remember this little spot and send your love here. From this ground make a new people and they will worship you always. Now I go to you."

Her song and her great grief made Thíŋgléška drop to the ground and she slept. Wakȟáŋ Tȟáŋka saw her, and he sent a white cloud to cover her. She slept many days, and the cloud covered her.

She could not feel it, but from the cloud new life stirred in her. She felt no pain either, but a motion awakened her. It was a child hungry for her milk.

A tall brave looked down on her and touched her face.

Below her the hollow was clean and bright again. Only the memory lingers, ŠíčA Hollow. Some day even this bad name will be changed and be forgotten. Gentle smokes will rise again. It will be called by its old name: Makȟóčhe Wašte (the Good Country).

The Origin Of Fire

The jacket of the book features ledger book art by Black Hawk titled, "Sans Arc Lakota."

The Origin Of Fire
Pȟéta Ohútkȟaŋ
By Dakota Wind
Standing Rock, N.D. & S.D. – The following is an excerpt from Josephine Waggoner’s wonderful book “Witness: A Húŋkphapȟa Historian’s Strong-Heart Song of the Lakotas,” which is published by the University of Nebraska Press, available now. Get your copy today.

The origin of fire as it is remembered in the traditions told by the old men of the tribe of the Sioux is that there had been no fires used by them in the times past. Fires may have been seen but not used. It was feared by the Indians as a destructive element.

Pȟóğe (Inside-Of-Nose) was the first to discover fire. He was an active man, was always examining and noticing everything about him. One day Pȟóğe went to the woods to look for hardwood knots. Those days, men looked for knots in decayed wood. The fallen logs were rotten, but the knots were hard. These were picked up, scooped out, and used for dishes. The dishes were sometimes sort of sandpapered or filed on sandstone till they were the shape they were wanted.

Pȟóğe found a rotten stump. He scooped it all out; he worked with it for quite a while. He tried to work a deep hole in the center. He got a stick. He sharpened it at the end, and with this stick placed sharpened side to the heart of the stump, he rolled it fast between his hands, trying to deepen the hole. It started to smoke, but he kept on twirling the stick. A fire started where it was smoking.

Pȟóğe has been sitting on a knoll and when the fire burnt in earnest, he started toward the camp, toward the center of the village where some of the village had gathered. Everyone was watching Pȟóğe as he walked along with the burning stump. From camp to camp it was spoken of. “Look at Pȟóğe, look at Pȟóğe. He is coming home in a strange way.” The burning stump was taken to the council lodge. Men ran and got wood. Wood was brought from all sides of the camp. Excitement ran high about this new thing that had been discovered. People carried lighted sticks home from the council lodge to start fires in their homes. Meat that had always been cured and dried before using was now cooked – that is, it was roasted.

It was decided that the fire must always be kept up in the council lodge so that those who wanted it could go and get it. After this, the fire was never extinguished. At each council the sacred fire was kept, till there were seven fires among the Sioux.

The Origin Of Stone Arrowheads

An artist's representation of early North American Indians knapping flint, others work to quarry the stone from the earth. 
The Origin Of Stone Arrowheads

Trickster, Little People Crafted Stone Utensils

By Dakota Wind

GREAT PLAINS, N.D. & S.D. – Educators in North Dakota cover North Dakota history in the fourth and eighth grades. In the fourth grade it’s called North Dakota Studies, and in the eighth grade it’s called North Dakota History. Whether it’s called studies or history, students, at least In Fort Yates where I went to school, usually take in a field trip to the North Dakota Heritage Center.

On my field trip, I remember seeing at the ol’ Heritage Center a big collection of arrowheads, and it was explained that the Paleo Indians made the early clovis points and other cultures which have come and gone in the ten millennia occupation of the Great Plains have made various style of arrowheads. I was supposed to accept this, because someone, probably a Ph.D. or a think-tank of experts somewhere, came to this conclusion, and that conclusion was fact.

In a related story, my Lalá (Grandfather) took my uncle Kenny, my younger brother, and me to the Klein Museum in Mobridge, S.D., for no other purpose than to see some old stuff. There we beheld a motley collection of various two-headed preserved animals like snakes and calves, but what captured my attention while there was a huge collection of arrow heads.

Meanwhile, in Carrington, N.D., there’s the Chieftain Inn. The Chieftain is known for a comically large two-story red Indian caricature outside the inn with its right hand jutted out, palm up and out in the frequently parodied Plains Indian sign for greetings made popular in old black and white westerns. Inside the carpeted halls of the convention center, the walls are decorated with custom cases filled with arrowheads, granite grinding stones, manos, and metates. It really is a wonderful display.

At any museum across the Great Plains, city, county, or state, someone has donated collection of arrowheads. 

So, the arrowheads come from some where, and there are stories about that. 

Colonel Alfred Burton Welch was determined to find an answer to the origin of the stone arrow heads. On September 23, 1923, Welch met with Chasing Fly, then about seventy years old. Chasing Fly had this to say to Welch’s question, “We did not make them. We picked them up when we wanted them. No one made the stone points. The Pȟadáni [Arikara] picked them up like we did. Iŋktómi Nation made them. Or some animal made them. No Dakȟóta ever made good ones. Some Dakȟóta prayed at it. There were many of them then. The wild plums grow on trees. The stone arrows lay on the ground. We picked the plums. We picked the points. Iŋktómi is wakȟáŋ. The stone points are wakȟáŋ. The plums were placed there for us to eat. We ate them. The stone points were put there for us to use. We used them in arrows. I cannot talk much about that thing. [Chasing Fly’s medicine was an animal, and he didn’t feel comfortable or obligated to answer further questions about stones especially stones that he felt were wakȟáŋ.] I cannot talk of stones much. Some other man can. The stone arrow point is wakȟáŋ. It is not my medicine. So I could pick them up when I found them. But I cannot talk much about them.”

On Oct. 6, 1926, Welch sat down with tribal elder Mrs. Grey Bull and asked her about the origin of arrowheads. This was her response, “Iŋktómi made the stone arrow points.  We had iron for a long time and made them.  The Dakȟóta never made them.  We say many of these stone rings and pictures on the ground on the high hills.  Someone made them.  I do not know who these people were.  They were not our people.  They were wakȟáŋ.”

In an undated conversation Welch had with Bull Bear, Welch approached Bull Bear with a flint-knapped turtle effigy. Bull Bear was moved to say, “This is a turtle. Sometimes in the past good boys and girls wore such things in a bag which was tied to their hair for good luck. Iŋktómi made it like he made all the arrow heads. Some people have heard him at work, but could never see him. I have, myself, heard him at work, chipping stones. It was a small hole south of Fort Yates where I heard him working. He went slow [chip chip]. We got within a few feet of the hole, when he would stop and we could not find him then. When we went away he worked again.”

On May 11, 1933, Welch interviewed Mrs. Crow Ghost about some artifacts exhumed from Crying Hill in Mandan, ND. Welch showed her bone and metal tools, and she told Welch that the tools were made by a woman’s hand, but the stone tools, Mrs. Crow Ghost said, were not made by human hands. “these stone knives and scrapers and arrow heads,” said Mrs. Crow Ghost, “Iŋktómi made them and put them where that woman could find them to use.”

A few years later, an unidentified Dakȟóta man had picked a flint arrow head and approached Welch with the offer to part with it for a nickel. Welch took the opportunity to ask if the arrowhead was made by Iŋktómi. The man’s answer, “I do not think so. Most of us say that he made them, but I think the Little People [Wanáği] made them.”

This is the cultural origin of the old stone arrowheads, made by Iŋktómi, the Wanáği, or perhaps even some early people, and scatted across the land. 

The Hero Saved, The Trickster Punished

Ziŋtkála Ša, Red Bird, reads in this photo. 
The Hero Saved, The Trickster Punished
Shooting Of The Red Eagle

By Ziŋtkála Ša (Red Bird)

The following story, "Shooting of The Red Eagle," comes from Ziŋtkála Ša’s “Old Indian Legends,” and includes minor edits. D/Lakȟóta words, when used, are spelled using the Lakota Language Consortium’s standard orthography.

A man in buckskins sat upon the top of a little hillock. The setting sun shone bright upon a strong bow in his hand. His face was turned toward the round campground at the foot of the hill. He had walked a long journey hither. He was waiting for the chieftain’s men to spy him.

Soon four strong men ran forth from the center thiyúktaŋ (a.k.a. wikiup, wigwam) toward the hillock, where sat the man with the long bow.

“He is the avenger come to shoot the red eagle,” cried the runners to each other as they bent forward swinging their elbows together.[1]

They reached the side of the stranger, but he did not heed them. Proud and silent he gazed upon the cone-shaped wigwams beneath him. Spreading a handsomely decorated buffalo robe before the man, two of the warriors lifted him by each shoulder and placed him gently on it. Then the four men took, each, a corner of the blanket and carried the stranger with long proud steps, towards the chieftain’s thípi.[2]

Ready to greet the stranger, the tall chieftain stood at the entrance way. “Háu, you are the avenger with the magic arrow!” he said, extending to him a smooth soft hand.

“Háu, great chieftain!” Replied the man, holding long the chieftain’s hand.[3] Entering the thípi, the chieftain motioned the young man to the right side of the doorway, while he sat down opposite him with a center fire burning between them. Wordless, like a bashful Indian maid, the avenger ate in silence the food set before him on the ground in front of his crossed shins.[4] When he had finished his meal he handed the empty bowl to the chieftain’s wife saying, “Mother-in-law,[5] here is your dish!”

“Háŋ, my son!” answered the woman, taking the bowl.

With the magic arrow in his quiver the stranger felt not in the least too presuming in addressing the woman as his mother-in-law.

Complaining of fatigue, he covered his face with his blanket and soon within the chieftain’s thípi he fell asleep.

“The young man is not handsome after all!” whispered the woman in her husband’s ear.

“Ah, but after he has killed the red eagle he will be handsome enough!” answered the chieftain.

That night the star men in their burial procession in the sky reached the low northern horizon,[6] before the center fires within the thípi had flickered out. The ringing laughter which had floated up through the smoke lapels was now hushed, and only the distant howling of wolves broke the quiet of the village. But the lull between midnight and dawn was short indeed. Very early the oval-shaped doorflaps[7] were thrust aside and many brown faces peered out of the wigwams toward the top of the highest bluff.

A photo I took of the sun over Dead Buffalo Lake in North Dakota.

Now the sun rose up out of the east. The red painted avenger stood ready within the camp ground for the flying of the red eagle. That terrible bird appeared! He hovered over the round village as if he could pounce down upon it and devour the whole tribe.

When the first arrow shot up into the sky the anxious watchers thrust a hand quickly over their half-uttered “Hinú!”[8] The second and third arrows flew upward but missed by a wide space the red eagle soaring with lazy indifference over the little man with the long bow. All his arrows he spent in vain. “Ah! My blanket brushed my elbow and shifted the course of the arrow!” said the stranger as the people gathered around him.

During this happening, a woman on horseback halted her pony at the chieftain’s thípi. It was no other than the young woman who cut loose the tree-bound captive.

While she told the story the chieftain listened with downcast face.[9] “I passed him on my way. He is near!” she ended.

Indignant at the bold imposter, the wrathful eyes of the chieftain snapped fire like red cinders in the night time. His lips were closed. At length to the woman he said, “Háu, you have done me a good deed.” Then with a quick decision he gave command to a fleet horseman to meet the avenger. “Clothe him in these, my best buckskins,” he said, pointing to a bundle within the wigwam.[10]

In the meanwhile strong men seized Iktómi[11] and dragged him by his long hair to the hilltop. There upon a mock-pillared grave[12] they bound his hands and feet. Adults and children sneered and hooted at Iktómi’s disgrace. For a half-day he lay there, the laughing stock of the people. Upon the arrival of the real avenger, Iktómi was released and chased away beyond the outer limits of the camp ground.

On the following morning at daybreak, peeped the people out of half-open doorflaps.

There again in the midst of the large camp ground was a man in beaded buckskins. In his hand was a strong bow and red-tipped arrow. Again the big red eagle appeared on the edge of the bluff. He plumed his feathers and flapped his huge wings.

"He placed the arrow on the bow," appears in the Bison Book edition of "Old Indian Legends," the Bison Book edition, by Angel De Cora.

The young man crouched low to the ground. He placed the arrow on the bow, drawing a poisoned flint for the eagle.

The bird rose into the air. He moved his outspread wings one, two, three times and lo! The eagle tumbled from the great height and fell heavily to the earth. An arrow struck in his breast! He was dead!

So quick was the hand of the avenger, so sure his sight, that no one had seen the arrow fly from his long bent bow.

The village was dumb with awe and amazement. And when the avenger, plucking a red eagle feather, placed it in his black hair, a loud shout of the people went up to the sky. Then hither and thither ran singing men and women prepared a great feast for the avenger.

Thus he won the beautiful Indian princess[13] who never tired of telling to her children the story of the big red eagle.

---

[1] Pointing, as with one’s index finger, was considered rude and impolite. To this day the polite Lakȟóta, points a variety of ways including one’s elbows (as is the case in this story), by cupping one’s hand and gesturing in the general direction of one’s attention, by pointing somewhat indirectly with one’s smallest finger, or with one’s lips, the latter to some mild amusement to those nearby. 

[2] A very high honor, to be carried into the village in this manner.

[3] Shaking hands isn’t generally an everyday Lakȟóta practice. When the occasion arose to shake hands it was with the left hand, the hand closest to one’s heart that was used. When a Lakȟóta shakes hands, it is careful and light, never a crushing or firm grip.

[4] Before chairs, the Lakȟóta man sat down upon the ground with crossed legs and straight back. Women sat upon the ground, knees together, calves tucked beneath their legs, feet extended behind or off to their side.

[5] Uŋčíši is “mother-in-law.” As a rule, a man never spoke to his mother-in-law. If a man took issue with his in-laws, he spoke through his wife, and they in turn spoke through her. The reverse is true. Not speaking to one’s in-laws was considered polite and respectful.

[6] The stars, Wičáȟpi, were/are considered to be a nation of people. When one dies, or takes his or her last journey, his or her spirit goes to the heavens where he or she is received by all those who’ve gone before. The brightest stars in the Wanáği Tȟačháŋku (The Spirit Road, aka the Milky Way) are said to be the campfires of the spirits.

[7] Thiyópa, the door or door flap of the thiíkčeya (thípi, tipi, teepee).

[8] An exclamation of surprise, usually uttered by women.

[9] The Lakȟóta consider it impolite to make and maintain direct eye contact.

[10] Ziŋtkála Ša’s use of this word is probably in reference to what most Americas knew also as a “wikiup,” a temporary lodge made by bending saplings into a small dome. Sometimes it was covered with a robe or blanket. The Lakȟóta call this type of temporary lodging thiyúktaŋ.

[11] The Trickster! He had been masquerading as the Avenger so that he could marry the chieftain’s daughter!

[12] Ziŋtkála Ša uses an interesting turn of English words to describe a wičháagnakapi, or burial scaffold. In this case, the mock scaffold may have been erected to provide temporary share in the village.

[13] Ziŋtkála Ša uses the term “princess” to describe the chieftain’s daughter. The Lakȟóta do not have royalty. The use of the term here reflects when the story was recorded by Ziŋtkála Ša at the turn of 1900.