Spring Returns

A black capped Chickadee rests on a branch.
Spring Returns
Pȟežítȟo Alí
By Dakota Wind
Bismarck, ND – My youngest son and I went for a hike north of Mandan, ND a few weeks ago. At the time, all the snow had melted but for icy remnants tucked away in constant shadow of tree, bush, or along the river banks. The sunlight was as light and warm as a constant summer day.

Meteorologists were prognosticating that there was one more snow on the way, but my faith in their reports is only about fair to partly. Then we heard the Mourning Dove. The Lakȟóta call this bird Wakíŋyela, and they say its springtime song it warns of late snow. There it was, cooing in the branches of quaking aspen and the buffalo berry bush, its song answered by the questioning tweet of škipípi, the chickadee. The Lakota say that when the škipípi sings in springtime it’s really asking if it’s still winter or if in fact that spring is here. We head home.

Then it snowed, but not enough to constitute an emergency shutdown of schools, roads, or work, but enough to lay a soft blanket of powder on the land. There was no roaring wind that came with the snow either, and at best, it might be described best as a quiet light breeze. The snow itself melted as soon as it touched the earth, at least until the earth itself was cold enough to maintain a little accumulation. Then it warmed up, and the snow melted away as quietly as it had come.

I decided to take another hike, and it was a good thing I did. A cool breeze embraced me in my solitary walk. But this breeze came somewhat from the south, over the rolling hills, and across a lake before it enfolded me.

The trail was long but not grueling, and only slightly muddy. A little snow remained collected in the shadows of trees and brush which grew on the north side of this one particular hill. The other side, the one I was aiming for, was covered with last year’s brown grass. The wind and snow had matted the middle grasses to the hilltop like hair on a fevered head.

Sandstone jutted out of the hillside like a toe that worked its way through an old sock. Broken sandstone, worn and blasted from years of wind and rain, lay strewn upon the sides of the hills. 

A Pasque Flower, or Easter Flower on the Northern Great Plains. 

I searched for the first flower of spring and eventually found it on a hillside facing the sun. Glowing in the sun and ready to open their purple petals to the sun. The settlers and their descendants call it the Pasque Flower or Easter Flower, but to the Lakȟóta its known by two names: Hokšíčekpa, which means “Child’s Navel,” because it resembles a child’s bellybutton that is healing after the cord has fallen off; Waȟčá Uŋčí, which means, “Grandmother Flower,” because as it is the first flower of the new year, it is also the first to die.

The Lakȟóta say that the Grandmother Flower sings to the other flowers of the season, telling them to have courage, and that all things go in their time. The flowers have spirits too, you see. They are the colors of the rainbows.

I looked around where the Grandmother Flower was growing and saw the return of something green. It was there, determined to grow, pushing its way through the surface of the earth.

I lay down upon the hillside and reached out and touched the flower before me. It looks like it has a coat of soft fur, and indeed, it is soft to my caress. The petals and leaves as well. Botanists could tell you that it is an ice age flower. That it evolved over time to bloom in the cold and ice. The Lakȟóta could tell you that this flower was gifted her coat, and the color of its coat, by the creator ages ago. Regardless what you would believe, the flower is medicine too.

My lekší Cedric shared with me that the Grandmother Flower can be used to treat dry skin. Others say that the whole flower is used to treat arthritis ailments.

The impulse to pluck the Grandmother flower is strong. The feeling is almost overwhelming as I lay on the ground looking at this flower. I remind myself that I have nothing to leave if I do take one, but also that I have no reason to take one in the first place. I take a few pictures instead, stand up, and dust off bits of dirt and grass. 

Winter Counts: The Art of History

The book "Moonstick: The Seasons of the Sioux" by Eve Bunting and John Sandford provides wonderful concise explanations of the months, and beautiful illustrations of the seasons. Its a children's book, but worth looking through for information. 

Winter Counts: The Art of History

Pictographic Lakota History

By Dakota Wind
GREAT PLAINS - In the age before the railroad, before horses and guns, the Dakota and Lakota Sioux regarded the full passing of a year in thirteen months. Thirteen twenty-eight or twenty-nine day months.

The year ended and began with the arrival of the spring, when the birds flocked north, when the ice broke on the Missouri, when the trees began to bud, and when bison calves were born. The sources for the Smithsonian however, state that the year is measured from first snowfall to first snowfall. One of those sources was an anthropologist in the 1880s names Garrick Mallory, who heard it first-hand from the people he was recording the winter counts.

The Dakota/Lakota kept track of time two ways. The first method was by using counting sticks. There were thirteen sticks, about the size of tipi pins, to represent the lunar months, and a long stave upon which were carved notches representing each passing day, and in the case of the winter count keeper Brown Hat, years. 

Above is a colored example of Baptiste Good 's (Brown Hat's) winter count. The complete winter count can be viewed in the text "Picture Writing of the American Indians, Vols. 1 & 2" by Garrick Mallory. 

The second method for tracking time was the winter count. The Dakota/Lakota call it Waniyėtu Wowapi [lit. Winter They-Picture], freely translated as “Winter Count.” A winter count is a mnemonic device with a picture representing a year. The year is named rather than numbered. 

In the “dog days” (the days before horses) as the traditional elders say, the tribe would come together in the spring, as one year ended and a new one began, to decide what to name the year, then the winter count keeper would draw the year accordingly. 

Some anthropologists say that the winter count tradition began after first contact. The John K. Bear winter count begins with Wicokicize tanka [lit. Battle Big], and according to anthropologist James Howard, there are three tribes whom the Dakota/Lakota were at war with: the Assiniboine, the Cree, and the Chippewa. In one of the biggest battles fought between the Sioux and Chippewa was one which took place at Mille Lac in 1682. 1682, is also the year that the John K. Bear winter count has been determined to begin in. 

The John J. Bear winter count also starts two years before first contact, at least with this particular band of Sioux, the Ihanktowana (or Yanktonai). This winter count records 1684 as Wasicun tokahcin ahi kin [lit. takes-the-fat first came the], or “The very first white man they had ever seen among them,” or “the first white men came to them.” James Howard reasoned that the eastern Sioux, the Dakota, had made contact about 1640, with Jean Nicolet, and that the western branches of Sioux very probably didn’t have their first contact until the arrival of Nicholas Perrot in 1682. 

The Brown Hat winter count, also known as the Baptiste Good winter count, is a wonderful anomaly, for it begins in A.D. 901 with the coming of the White Buffalo Calf Woman bringing the gift of the sacred pipe and continues with various mythological histories and the arrival of the horse (which wasn’t reintroduced to North American until the arrival of the Spanish in Mexico in the early 16th century). 

Above is Blue Thunder's winter count, currently in the collections of the State Historical Society of North Dakota. It measures about 3' x 15' and was originally a tipi liner. The material is cotton, the pigments are a combination of ink, pencil, and paint.

Winter counts are an interesting subject to search for in libraries, archives, and museums. They defy being categorized. Is it philosophy? Is it psychology? Is it religious studies? Is it history or social science? Is it language? Is it art? Is it geography? Winter counts have been designated as a multi-discipline study, and are simply Dakota/Lakota.

The John K. Bear winter count has entries that fit philosophy, even an entry related to psychology case studies conducted by the North Dakota State Hospital back in the 1970s. It is definitely history. It is language. It is art. Winter counts even contain geographical data relating to movements over the plains and movements (due to warfare) of other tribes. They also contain meteorological data with references to deathly cold winters, blistering summers, devastating floods, and earthquakes. They even mention astronomical events such as unusually luminescent northern lights turning night to day, the passing of asteroids, comets, and falling stars.

The winter count is an art, and not just art, but the ability to relate the history to the listener. The winter count keeper was selected by the people made up of a council of elders, traditional tribal leaders, and spiritual leaders or advisors, for his artistic ability and his for his charisma or public speaking. The winter count keeper was referred to as Ehanna wicohan oyakapi [lit. Long-ago knowledge relating-to-the-people], relating the history to the people, or simply “historian.”

Above is the "British Museum" winter count, named that only because its part of the collection there. It is actually a variant of Blue Thunder's winter count.

Women have kept the tradition of the winter count too, in two cases at least. The Blue Thunder winter count was kept by a female relative, Yellow Lodge Woman, and was added to for a few years, until it was sold to the State Historical Society of North Dakota (it was the 1930s and the money was desperately needed).

The winter count tradition is still practiced. Cataloging and interpreting winter counts is on-going across the country as museums and other institutions realize they are more than an art piece.

The Brule winter count above is also a home. Winter counts were painted on hides, tipi liners, cloth, in ledger books, and also on the tipi.

The Smithsonian Institute has a wonderful online interactive exhibit of ten Lakota winter counts, including the Bapiste Good winter count (but only entries from 1700-01 and on). Visit: http://wintercounts.si.edu.