Passage IV

Our Place in the World

In the dusk of a late summer evening, I walked quietly with a small gathering of people toward a shelter at the edge of a field in northern Indiana. Although l had never met more of the people who walked with me, a few of them I did know quite well. We were Miami Indians, and we had waited years to make this journey across Miami land into a ceremonial longhouse made of saplings and earth. (50)

For years I had seen other Miami’s pictures — many of them the ancestors of the people, who walked along with me, to the longhouse that summer evening. My mother and grandmother helped preserve tribal history by collecting books and newspaper clippings. Books describing the history and culture of the Miami people lined the bookshelves, and framed photos of Miami lined the walks of these rooms. While I was growing up I often found my mother and grandmother each sitting quietly in her own room, reading old letters or listening to the music of Native American drums.

That room contained everything I knew about being a Miami, and unlike the larger Plains tribes, the Miami had remained no reservation lands. Once a year, the tribe held a powwow that was always well attended. This social gathering was the only tribal event that my grandmother or mother had ever participated in. For generations, the tribe had owned no land on which a longhouse could be built and Miami religious ceremonies conducted. Because of this, I had never attended a Miami religious ceremony, never danced in front of a crowd of Miami. Still, I had never known any other Miami children outside of my own family.

When the tribal council was able to purchase land and build a longhouse, my mother, grandmother, and I raveled to the summer ceremony. As we walked together through the open field that evening, hundreds of tiny fireflies flashing softly from the tall grasses. The insects lit our path like the spirits of ancestors accompanying us home.