Beloved memories of home wrapped in family history

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What makes Peigan a special place is my attachment to past experiences with my family, relatives and friends.

It is the place where my grandparents and parents live. I remember my older brother and I walking with Grandma in the spring to pick duck eggs. My grandmother cooked them for us with the ducklings starting to form which we thought was wonderful.

I remember one of my uncles holding me so I could suck a mare and grandma being hysterical that I would be killed. My uncles thought it was the funniest thing.

I remember begging to go swimming with my older brother and uncles at the lake. Being allowed to go along reluctantly. While swimming, they talked me into swimming out to the middle where a raft was. They left me there and I eventually got enough courage to swim back to shore.

Memories of my childhood days with my brothers and cousins stealing the tractor tires and taking turns sitting inside and rolling one another down a hill. We thought it was great entertainment to see one another staggering around.

The reserve was the place where my brother and I went to ceremonies with my grandparents. Anxiously waiting to eat the food and wondering what everyone was bringing and who would be there. Trying to help my grandparents prepare for the ceremony. I remember my grandfather singing and drumming. Most of the time it was the first and last thing I heard going to sleep and waking up.

There are memories of dancing with my grandparents with the Horn Society, All Brave Dogs Society doings and at the Sundance. Sitting with my grandmother at the medicine pipe bundle opening after hearing the thunder in the spring. My brother and I dancing during the medicine pipe bundle for our family and relatives that needed help. Watching my grandfather drumming and singing at ceremonies and powwows.

I remember hitching up the team to go berry picking, gathering roots and herbs

for medicine. Sitting in the shade with my grandmother and elderly aunts cutting meat for drying, crushing berries and drying saskatoons. Asking my grandmother questions about life. Who will I marry? When will I grow up? Then there are the memories of my grandparents and parents telling me about boarding so I can be educated in the ways of white people. In the future will be important to be well educated and help my people, they said.

The memories return of finding school challenging, feeling abandoned and stuck.

This is the final resting place of my grandparents and brother. This is the place where my cousin Korrine and I pierced each other's ears during one Easter holidays. The place where my mother told me a story of when her dad dreamed of her children playing by the spring where he fell asleep when he was rounding up his horses. The place where my daughter tried to find the Old Lady's house that lived at the spring, not realizing we were talking about a spiritual being.

This is the place where I used to argue with my brothers about getting water and chopping wood so I could wash dishes and do other things, beside wait for them. It is the place where I shared a last Sundance with my grandfather, with Uncle Ray singing for our family clan.

This where, with my family, relatives and friends organized a protest about the constitution. As I look around, I see Chief Mountain, Table Mountain and Squaw Butte. I remember the stories of who fasted where and received visions and were given a song.

This is where my Elders are that I laugh with, accept me, encourage me and most of all, visit with. It is the place where I got and can be myself and eat real food.

It is that special place where I laugh, cry, remember and look to the future. This is the place where my heart and home is.