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Pictures - Reservation Memories
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As I mentioned in my previous post (Anyone else who has lived on a native reservation?) I thought I’d post some pics I’ve found off the Internet that remind me of the reservation, if anyone’s interested. It’s not spectacular vistas, just stuff that makes me kind of flash back. There are certain pictures, certain smells, certain sights that make me flash back to the rez*: houses without glass in the windows, with garbage bags taped up against window frames instead… seeing a dog wandering around loose… hearing a certain kind of bird that I know only by sound, not name… hearing gunshots at night… smelling sewage… seeing garbage strewn on the side of the road… smelling fish bait…
*P.S. Rez/The Rez is what people who have lived on reservations call them.
Reminds me of the interminable road through the forest which was the only link to the outside world. 100 miles away in one direction was a town, and 200 miles in the other was a ‘town’ also… which had only one store with everything in bulk. You wanted candy, bubblegum, you had to buy that in bulk too.
There was no phonebooth on the rez, but there was a giant spotlight on the roof of one of the barred-window, paint-peeling buildings, that illuminated the vast darkness of the forest night. In a place full of people with guns and feral wolfdog packs and wild bears, seeing that light and being able to step into the circle of its brillliance where nothing could hide and surprise you, was a safe feeling.
‘Twas a walking bridge across the river on our rez, not a train bridge, but just the same, I’m always reminded when I see this pic. Reminded of fishing off the bridge and hauling fish straight up to the railing where I could grab them, or swinging them towards the bank where a waiting person could net them for me. The friend I talked about, the truest friend I’ve ever had… our friendship started right on that bridge when he and his mom were walking across and I pulled a fish up out of the murky water. They’d never seen a white person fishing off their bridge before and were so impressed we became friends on the spot.
I have another memory of the bridge… teenagers in a truck stopping and leaning over the side while I was down on the bank, and one pulled out a black pistol, firing it at me - and I ducked to the ground with my hands over my head until I saw the orange end of the pistol and realized it was a cap gun. They drove away laughing, and I was shaken for days. Cap gun pranks aren’t funny on a reservation like that where there are bullet holes in the bedroom window and you try to fall asleep at night with the sound of gunshots, and at any moment someone could kick down your door and shove a 30.-06 rifle in your face and blow you away, just because they’re ticked off or drunk. The place was known as The Murder Capital, and there was no 911 to call… I never, ever, even to this day, have been able to find the humor in that cap gun prank. But I love the memories of fishing off the bridge on hot, lazy summer afternoons…
This pic happens to be of a barn, but the peeling paint reminds me of the condition of the houses on the rez. This barn is in better condition than most of them though. It’s got glass in the windows for one thing…:)
Actually this whole picture reminds me exactly of the rez - the derelict houses, the shoddy wire fences, the gravel and dirt roads, the unkempt yards, the weeds… the only thing missing is a forest backdrop.
Ah, yes, does this ever bring back reservation memories. The tires and abandoned tapes with their innards trailing, the blowing bags and crushed pop cans, and especially the liquor bottles, everywhere. Also everywhere were animal bones… a moss-encrusted moose skeleton, left in it’s entirety after it had been shot and butchered, the white bones full of axe marks… and in the yards, thrown to the dogs, fresh moose bones and fish bones still red with peices of flesh… they eventually rotted in the sun and filled the air with stench… Also left for the dogs: fish heads and guts, shining slimily in the sunlight… Yeah, there were pieces of animal carcass everwhere. I tripped over maggot-infested dead beaver in a friend’s yard (we emptied our water guns on the thing, trying to drown the maggots. Didn’t work.), and there were bear paws hung on someone else’s clothesline, to ward away evil spirits… on another reserve I found a dog’s hide, the only thing left after a half-feral pack had turned on him and devoured him. Funny how I look at a picture of tires and suddenly I’m reminded of the pieces of animals I saw everywhere. It was normal, usual, part of living in a place where hunting and fishing was the main source of food. The only ones out of all those memories that disturb me are the liquor bottles and the dog’s hide…
This picture captures both the bleakness of the rez, but also my memories of the people there. Broken and strong at the same time, so many of them had been through so much. I always found it amazing that amid all the violence and drugs and alcohol, there were still beautiful people. Inner beauty is what I’m talking about. I remember a man in his seventies, did not drink, spoke four languages, always wore dress shoes, and possessed a quiet dignity I’ve never forgotten. He knew all the old ways of survival and would go live out in the wilderness alone for weeks at a time. I think he was happiest there. He told me stories of the animal interactions he’d see while he sat quiet and still in the forest, observing.
And I remember a woman, my best friend’s mother, who’d grown up her entire childhood in the forest with her family, never seeing a glimpse of the outside world or even other people. She was gentle and delicate, but strong. There was something of the wind and the snow and the silence of the wilderness that she seemed to hold within her.
I remember another friend, brain damaged from being attacked with a hammer by someone enraged and drunk, but he was a beautiful person, always helpful, always doing and building things for other people, and he loved dogs and children. He was riding his bike along the highway when a trucker drove by and the side mirror caught him full in the face, taking it off. He survived, had plastic surgery. I visited him in the hospital, he recognized me even though he hadn’t recognized previous visitors. He talked to me in his language and I wasn’t fluent so I’ll never know what he said. It was the last time I saw him. He later died after being bit by a dog. The bite wound punctured his artery and he bled to death because no one knew first aid. It seemed so ironic that a man who survived his skull being bashed in with a hammer, who survived his face being ripped off by a passing semi, would die from one puncture wound. I’ve never gotten over his death.
And, I remember a young guy, always cheerful in the middle of such bleakness and violence. You always knew when he was coming because you’d hear the sound of whistling. One day while he was hitchhiking three men from the rez kidnapped him, dragged him into the woods, and beat him half to death. No-one knows why. They were drunk. They left him for dead. He was alone in the woods three days, but he survived. I remember the first time I saw him after that, he was pale as a ghost. I’m told by others who remember, that his face was battered and cut up. But strangely, I don’t remember that. I was a child and the only thing I remember is that he never whistled anymore, ever again.
Well, those are only a few of my many memories of the other side of Canada. It’s a third world place, in a first-world country. I know they weren’t all happy stories. But even if nobody reads or likes this post, it’s been cathartic for me.
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June 21st, 2008 at 9:10 pm
Wow, nice pictures, especially the last one!
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June 22nd, 2008 at 12:24 am
Great photography! Thanks for sharing.
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June 22nd, 2008 at 4:03 am
Thanks for your comments! Although I am into photography/cinematography, hate to dissapoint anyone, but I didn’t take these pics. Perhaps that wasn’t made abundantly clear. I found them while on one of my favorite photography websites, and had to save them because they reminded me so much of the rez I used to live on.
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June 22nd, 2008 at 2:49 pm
Jackrabbit,
the story you shared is so tangible. your first hand experience which involves scars, fear, shame, loss while conveying the powerful message that there are still beautiful people despite alchol and drugs touched my heart.
while these people have gone through a lot, you must have gone through many tragedies.
thank you for your honesty. you have deepened my perspective of humanity. thank you
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June 22nd, 2008 at 8:48 pm
I’m glad that sharing my memories has touched you. Thank you for your wonderful comment.
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June 23rd, 2008 at 2:34 pm
Wow, amazing pics. The pics make me wanna pic up a camera and shoot away.
I always thought photography is the best way to immortalize things in our lives, and you did just that. Thanks for sharing.
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June 24th, 2008 at 2:28 am
Glad you want to pick up a camera. Again though, although I do photography/cinematography, these aren’t my pics!I found them on the internet and they reminded me so much of the rez I had to save them.
However, I’m very interested in doing either a photodocumentary or a film documentary of a reservation. Even if it’s not ‘my reservation’, I think the story needs to be told. There’s one that has fallen so far into drug and gang wars that it’s like a new york ghetto. A baby got shot recently in a drive-by. I’d love to go to that reserve and do an in-depth documentary, but I seesaw between my desire for art and activism, and my knowledge that I would be endangering my life by attempting such a thing. Anybody’s thoughts, please?
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June 24th, 2008 at 5:01 am
Hey about the drive by shooting of a baby.. I think i’ve heard about that.. Was it on the news at some point in time? Man what was her name? All i remember was that the baby and her mom lived in the grandpa’s house and there’s like a bullet hole in the wall… I’m not sure we’re talking about the same thing..
Not sure what you should do, jackrabbit. I know what you mean about wanting to do a documentary on this, but it’s not exactly the safest thing to do.. I mean, i’ve seen documentaries done by cbc but given it’s a crown corporation, they have power AND the only things they show are the positive things government does for the people.. So that’s biased.. I mean i’m only 16, but i know enough about this to want to speak out about this. I share your desire to wanna get in-depth with the topic for others to share, hence the little article i wrote on residential schools, but like you, i was unsure for some time.. Maybe give it a bit more thought.
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June 24th, 2008 at 7:52 am
Jackrabbit: Why not write an email to Akihiro Nonaka and talk to him about what you want to do? Share some of your stories with him. Mr. Nonaka is an old friend who used to run around the jungle in Cambodia in pursuit of Pol Pot so would know about the real dangers of video journalism.
You can mention my name. Just tell him you’re a member of a Third Culture Kid forum that I’m a part of.
http://www.tckid.com/group/asia-press-international-any-aspiring-tck-journalists/
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June 24th, 2008 at 6:37 pm
Wow, this is a great post Jackrabbit! I really enjoyed it! Makes me think my life is so much more sheltered~
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