ET’WI (Eagle)

March 16, 1984, Bo’ma’rhee (Fall River Mills, CA), morning
(Polished, U. C. Davis, February 16, 1991, 6:11 am)

ET’WI (Eagle)

[To keep the record straight, Ramsey Bone Blake was not my DNA Grandfather. He was married to my father’s great aunt. He was “uncle” in my youth, but after my generation began having children he automatically changed into “Grampa,” because he had a good heart and we liked him]

With the words of an old Grandmother, Ah’poni’ha, mee’moo’ischi’ee (Great Mystery, we are you little children) swimming within my spirit, my twin boys and I went to Grampa Ramsey Bone Blake’s home. Jo’ji (bone) is one of his “real” names but his father worked for a white man named Blake. That is how his father acquired that name. Ramsey lived in a little apartment between Fall River Mills and McArthur, overlooking It Ajuma (Pit River). To the north across the flat valley and looking over the mountains, Ako Yet (Mount Shasta) stood strong, heavy and frozen.

Sun was white-gold and frigid. Wind moved but with chilly reluctance. Frosted leaves in his driveway scurried in a swirl, stirred by an invisible, icy finger. Earlier, the engine of our old truck growled and died. It did not want to go to work today. We did not relish working in the frozen atmosphere either (cutting wood), so we went to Grampa’s for warm milk and cookies.

We had just killed a buck so we took some back strap to Grampa. The old ones of our life appreciate good meat and they prefer heart, liver and back strap of the deer. With fried potatoes, greasy gravy and warm biscuits, the back strap is delicious, so delicious that it must be tasted with the heart of your life-spirit.

He was at his plain little table in his worn apartment. Instant coffee, a cup and a spoon were on the table and steaming water was on the stove. When he saw my little boys he began heating milk in an old pan. Soon they were having warm milk and cookies. Ramsey had just finished breakfast and was reading from his almost ragged Bible. His countenance was one of surprise and happiness to see us, but there was a strange thickness to his manner. Somehow I knew that he wanted to talk. He always called it “Talk that doesn’t mean anything anyhow.” But I always delighted in listening to him because he had so much substance, depth and historic meaning in his “talk.” It was not gossip or news. It was a lesson in life and the “way,” wisdom passed to this generation.

After shaking his hand (which was like shaking the hand of a stout thirty-year-old weight lifter who was really ninety-years-old), I accepted a cup of coffee and while the twins rolled around on his floor spilling warm milk on the shaggy carpet and bouncing off the bed like little cubs, he talked. I listened.

He put both hands on the table and opened them like one would open a book, softly but deliberately, expecting the page that one searched for to fall open at the proper place. With sober graying eyes he looked out the window into a past that had no limit to time and into a future that had no boundary. His eyes did not focus upon anything in particular, but he saw life in its totality. He was solemn. His bottom lip trembled slightly and his hands vibrated just a little from his memories. Silence was thick all around us.

Then he forced a smile and his countenance softened. He reminded me of a balding white-haired Elmer Fudd. His eyes twinkled and he began.

“People don’t believe me what I am telling. It true.

“When I young and before I was buckaroo, I dream of being Medicine Man, powerful doctor. I want Elamji (spirit power) tame many Damaa’goomes, capture and tame dini’howes. In this way I am strong medicine doctor. I have power. I want powerfulness. White Horse Bob taught me one song. The one Qon (Silver Fox) sing when he make world. That White Horse Bob Dini’howe, that song.

“I try. I got cleansing, went to Rainbow Falls. Run there early in morning. I talk. Spirits not answer. I got ‘nother cleansing and travel to En’ehal’ewi (Falls on It Ajuma in the big canyon near Fall River Mills). I got cleansing again and run to I’paa’ka’ma (Bald Mountain), to top. I talk, I holler. Again, spirit not answer. Grandmother tell me get cleansing then go Sa’tit (Medicine Lake), to stay ‘til power claim me. Maybe I return too soon. Maybe I was not strong enough. Maybe I was shy.

“White Horse Bob say get purification, go into Pit River Canyon (between Little Valley and Big Valley). There I find cave. It will not be big. It will be small one. That place not look like power-place but it is. It will fool you.

“He say I find old tree hang ‘cross, high over river. It not reach other side, so I run length of tree and jump far and reach other side. I needed to reach cave. I need Dini’howe

“White Horse Bob say big spider live there. It curl up in corner by roof. It have red mark on belly. That is how I know it proper place.

“After my old people cleanse me I find cave and cross over on danger tree – like White Horse Bob say to be. I brave. Some power pull me into canyon, into cave. When I enter it dark, but ‘nough lite to see after a while. Spider was there. It not curl up but hang in net, red mark on belly – just like White Horse said it was to be.

“Spider not like me. Cave not want me. So I go to Big Valley few days, “wandering” before I went home. For my Dini’howis, I choose Ro’nee’wee (Origin of Thunder) Ch’art’esee (Origin of lightening power) and Et’wi (eagle, white). Just some how, white eagle seem powerfulness.

I pray. I pray. I pray. I do every thing like told but I not have strength to have power. They tell me jump in Jema’wehelu’tiwiji (Burney Falls). I do. They tell me fast. I do. They say ‘be dreamer.’ I dream many dreams. But still I not medicine man. I not have power tame Dini’howis, Damaa’goomis (spirit helpers required for doctors and medicine persons).

“It seem I sick, something – dizzy. Something not right. Something wrong. I not know what could be. I not think ‘bout womans. I not think ‘bout drinks. I not think ‘bout bad things but good. Still….

“Day I know not have power come. I home, door open. Thunder pound sky. Try break it! Through door I see lightning flash far past the valley. Then flash far past mountains, goin’ away. It fade. Thunder beat sky but goin’ away. It go ‘cross valley and roll heavy down canyon. It fade to quietness.

“Like spirit, like clean window, Et’wi, White Eagle, land in door. It fold wings look side to side. It look all ‘round but not look at me. Et’wi have yellow eyes, black in middle, and yellow feet. Rest look white eagle but small, black feather over each eye. Claws make scrape and thud when grab board on porch.

‘It say nothing, just look but not at me. Then turn, look over left shoulder. With move it in air, glide ‘cross valley. Like thunder, lightening, it fade, leave no shadow. It glide up, over mountain in west, just like thunder, lightening, vanish.
‘Then I know I not be Medicine Man, not have “power.” Rejected. Power no want me. I no have strength overcome it.”

I do not remember breathing through his entire story. After a long silence we made fresh coffee and small talked. He got the boys more cookies and milk. When we finished our refreshments we left Grampa for our little home in the solitude of the Great Canyon, there on the eastern end under the Hat Creek Rim.

Grampa left many stories with me, some that I am recording for my children so they will somehow know the strength and conviction it takes to become a person-of-power, a Medicine Man. Then, perhaps, they will not flit across earth taking titles like “Pipe Carrier.” “Road Man,” “Medicine Man,” from people who have no authority to issue them. “Power” and “Medicine” are not elements of life issued by people. They are pure parts to the Great Wonders that must be earned, deserved, maintained, and something one was born to receive.

During the full moon of October, 1984, Grampa left us. Like Et’wi, his spirit floated over the valley leaving no shadow. It glided up over the western range, climbing with the wind whispering under its power, and vanished. Our little world seemed empty, again. We wept.

* Damaa’gomis and Dini’howes are spirit/power helpers. It is said the life spirit of the male being is weak without one or the other.