Indian Ball Games

 

                                        Choctaw Ball Player, by George Catlin, 1834

 

 

I apologize for neglecting my blog site. Three of our children have come through town with their families so we have been enjoying visiting with them. I have been spending whatever writing time I have had to post on the Lone Tree Hiking Club Facebook site, trying to drum up interest in our club, and also to work on my book, which I'm beginning to think will never be finished.  

I could post several more entries about the Furniture Catalogue, which continues to fascinate me, but I thought I would get back to the Chickasaws instead. My daughters have recently visited the Chickasaw Culture Center down in Sulfur Oklahoma, which is worth a visit for anyone, whether a history buff or not. It looks like there have been several additions to the experience there since I visited it a couple of years ago.

For one, there have been several buildings added to the Chickasaw village. Also there was a craftsman making flutes. He also had drums, bows and arrows display. He let the kids accompany him with rattles and drums while he played the flute. I hope I get to see his display sometime. I've always been fascinated by the making of arrowheads out of flint stone. I tried when I was a boy, but was a miserable failure. I think it involves heating the stone and then dropping water on the edges. Maybe some day…

The other thing the kids got to see was an Indian ball game. They took a video and it showed both men and women playing. The men use sticks but the women can use their hands. There was only one goal in the demonstration, a pole with the image of a bird on top. The object was to hit the bird with the ball.

The game of stickball has a colorful history. It was originally called the "little brother to war" by the southeastern tribes who played the sport for recreation and also sometimes to settle disputes between tribes. The ball is a little larger than a golf ball and is made of cow or deer hide. Each player has two sticks with a cup on one end. The object of the game is to trap the ball between the sticks and carry or throw it through the goal posts. The French copied the game and called it Lacrosse because of the resemblance of the sticks used to a bishop's crosier.

In the old days teams were blessed and refereed by the tribes' medicine men. The goals were set about a mile apart and there were hundreds of players. About the only rule was that the players had to use the sticks to move the ball. Weapons were left on the sidelines, but players could use their bodies or their sticks to hit each other. Tackling, tripping, and hair pulling were allowed. Fights between individual players were tolerated, but other players were not allowed to interfere. Serious injuries and even death occurred.

Women also play ball, but they use their hands instead of sticks. A ball game between men and women of the Creek tribe was described by Major Ethan Allen Hitchcock in his memoir, edited by Grant Foreman, and published as "A Traveler in Indian Territory." According to Hitchcock, the women were winning in the game he watched.

Fans have always been enthusiastic in Indian ball games. In a game between the Chickasaw and Choctaw tribes in 1903 a fight broke out among the fans and the Lighthorse (Indian) Police had to be called in to break it up.

The famous western artist George Catlin was a Indian ball fan, and he attended games whenever he could. He wrote a detailed description of a game that is quoted on the Chickasaw Nation website in an article by Robert Perry. 

Indian ball or stickball is still played and although serous fights and attempts to injure an opponent are penalized, it is still much like the old game. I saw a game when I was nine or ten and it was really violent. Opponents hit and tackled each other and hit each other's sticks to knock the ball loose. I'll never forget it. 

I found some video of Indian stickball on YouTube. It shows excerpts from several games, and you can see what an exciting, challenging game it still is. See "Real Choctaw Stickball."

                          Choctaw Ball Play Dance at Skullyville, Indian Territory, 1834

                                                          George Catlin

 

The Furniture Catalogue, 3

Sorry I haven't posted a blog for a while. Our families have been visiting us so we've been busy rediscovering Colorado. That's what you do when company comes. You take them to see things that you think will impress them. Sometimes that's good and sometimes it's not. Anyway we took our son to see the Royal Gorge and found out that he is still afraid of heights, and I took my granddaughters mountain climbing and it gave them altitude sickness. I hope that doesn't mean no one will ever come to see us again. 

I miss the kids but it is good to get back to writing about my grandmother's scrap book, The Furniture Catalogue. A little more about my Grandmother, Victoria May Rosser Paul. She was born on March 31, 1877, and named after the Queen of England at that time, Queen Victoria. Her father had left Georgia after the Civil War and was headed west to join his brother Ed in Texas. Grandmother was born along the way near the town of Pittsboro, in "Calhoun County, Mississippi, three miles from the yellow bushy swamp" - that's the way she said it. Grandmother's family never made it to Texas, but settled instead in Indian Territory.  

Grandmother came from a wealthy family, and she was very beautiful as a young woman. As a child I never thought of Grandmother as pretty or as fashion conscious, but she was. Here is the youngest picture I have of her:  

                                          Victoria May Rosser Paul

My mother said that Grandmother had some very fancy dresses in her armoire which she never wore. They were poor by that time so she had no place to wear her dresses, but she could still put pictures of pretty clothes in her scrapbook:

Here are three other clippings that illustrate Grandmother's interest in fashion. They concern a Parisian fashion designer named Jean Philippe Worth who owned an exclusive store in Paris. Here is a picture of him: 

                                             Jean Philippe Worth

and another of his wife:

                                              Mrs. Jean Philippe Worth

There is also a clipping with a picture of the Marquise de Manzanedo, who, according to the caption under the picture, wore only muslin dresses during the War of 1870, because Worth's was closed. From his picture, it looks like Jean Philippe was called into military service.

                                         Marquise de Manzanedo

The "War of 1870" was the Franco-Prussian war. At that time France was ruled by Napoleon III, a nephew of Napoleon Bonaparte. He was first elected president and then made himself Emperor. He was the last monarch to rule France. The Germans won the war, and thereafter became united under the King of Prussia, Wilhelm I. It gives me a strange feeling to realized that although the Franco-Prussian War seems like ancient history to us now, it was a relatively recent event to my Grandmother.

Grandmother's family was French, and she was interested in all things French. My mother said that Grandmother taught her about French history as a child.

While most of the clippings in the scrap book are just pictures and poetry, there are a few concerning "current events." Here is an excerpt from a poem about the brutality of the Germans during WWI. Grandmother was partial to poetry:

The German Soldier's Prayer:

The German soldier fell upon his knees

And prayed; and as he prayed, his words were these:

"Oh God, our unconditional ally, Ruler and Kamerad, who from on high

Viewest with delight the progress of our arms,

The ruined villages and wasted farms.

The starving people we have taught to hate,

Children we murder, girls we violate,

Bless this poor instrument of thy great will;

Oh Heavenly Kaiser, teach me how to kill!

Now when WWII has grown dim in our memories, it's hard to imagine how strong was the hatred of Germany during the first world war. My mother told me that when she was little there was a violinist from Belgium who lived in Pauls Valley named Professor Bruin. He gave lessons to her older brother Willie. She said "he was a Asweet old man, and everyone respected him,@ but he was investigated by the government during WWI for possible ties to Germany. I don't know what harm he could have done in Pauls Valley regardless of his sympathies.

Grandmother was a volunteer with the Red Cross during WWI and there was apparently anti-Red Cross propaganda spread by the Kaiser. Here is a poem about that:

Who Knows?

Under this caption the Sangamon County (Illinois) Chapter has printed and circulated the following satirical reply to the German propaganda stories against the Red Cross:

"Absolute knowledge I have none.

But my aunt's washerwoman's sister's son

Heard a policeman on his beat

Say to a laborer on the street

That he had a letter just last week

Written in the finest Greek
From a Chinese coolie in Timbuctoo
Who said the Indians in Cuba knew
Who got it straight from a circus clown
That a man in the Klondike heard the news
From a gang of South American Jews
About somebody in Borneo
Who heard a man who claimed to know
Of a swell female society rake
Whose mother-in-law will undertake
To prove that her seventh husband's sister's niece
Has stated in a printed piece
That she has a son who knows a Zulu chief
Who knows that Red Cross funds are not used for relief."

Finally there's a newspaper clipping about the creator of Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who was a contemporary of my grandmother. He was apparently quite an outdoorsman. The article is from Canada:

Conan Doyle on Hunting Trip

Edmonton, Alta., June 17. (It doesn't give the year) Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of the "Sherlock Holmes" adventures, who is accompanied by Lady Doyle, is camping in the Yellowhead Pass of the Canadian Rockies, west of here, the guest of Colonel S. Maynard Rogers, superintendant of the new national park, will attempt to scale Mt. Robson, 17576 feet above sea level, before returning to England, early in July.

He will also join Colonel Rogers and party on a big game expedition outside the reserve, making part of the trip in a canoe.

Although the author of the article got the elevation wrong - Mt. Robson is actually 12,972 ft. above sea level - climbing it is an impressive feat. You have to use special equipment to scale the cliffs, and even now, only about 10% of attempts are successful. Conan Doyle must have been quite athletic.   

                                                    Mt. Robson

The news recently carried the story that Conan Doyle was present at the first Olympic games held in England in 1908, when the current distance for the marathon was set. The winner of the race that day, Dorando Pietri, was so exhausted at the end that he fell five times during the last 350 meters and was helped back onto his feet by spectators. For that he was disqualified, and the medal was given to an American, Johnny Hayes. Conan Doyle, who was there as a reporter - he accepted the assignment because it would give him a better seat - helped raise money to help Pietri start a bakery in his native Italy, and Queen Alexandra presented him with a gilded silver cup to compensate for his Herculean effort. Doyle wrote:

"The Italian's great performance can never be effaced from our record of sport, be the decision of the judges what it may."

  

The Furniture Catalogue 2

                                   Grandmother's Furniture Catalogue

Since my last post, I've spent more time looking at the "Furniture Catalogue," my grandmother's scrapbook. I Googled the name on the catalogue, John V. Farwell and Co., and found out that the Farwell company was once one of the largest corporations in America. It was a wholesale distributer of "dry goods:" furniture, textiles and clothing, based in Chicago. Between 1880 and 1910 they grossed $20 mil. per year and employed over 1000 people. John Farwell himself started as a clerk in 1845 for the original company, which was called Wadsworth and Cooley.  By 1857 he had worked his way up to partner in the firm, and in 1863 the company became known as Farwell, Fields and Co. Farwell's partner, Marshall Fields, another up and coming young man, left soon afterwards to start his own company, and for the next 40 years the two companies were the most profitable names in dry goods. During the early 1900's however, the dry goods business changed. Manufacturers started selling directly to stores, eliminating the need for large wholesalers. Marshall Fields and Co. adapted by opening stores of their own, but Farwell and Co. did not. It closed its doors in 1925.  

From this, I figure that Grandmother probably started using the Farwell catalogue for a scrapbook around 1920, possibly earlier. The earliest date I can find among the pictures and articles is 1917, the latest 1932. Unfortunately, Grandmother made no effort to date her selections so any dates she included were purely by accident. Here's the cover of a magazine entitled Hunter Trader Trapper, from 1917.  

                                       Hunter, Trader and Trapper 

My other problem is that Grandmother didn't label the pictures. I didn't find the catalogue until the last few days of my mother Wenonah's life so I didn't get to go through it with her. She did tell me that one of the photos was of the actress Mary Pickford, one of the stars of the silent picture era. There are several other pictures in the catalogue which seem to be from movie ads, but only one includes a title, "Hawthorne of the U.S.A." starring Wallace Reid. Reed was another star of silent movies. He played romantic roles whereas Pickford played little girls or vivacious young women. Some of her famous roles were Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm and Pollyanna. From 1900 to 1930 Mary Pickford alleged to be the most famous woman in the world. She and her husband, Douglas Fairbanks Jr., fought the advent of talking pictures. In her opinion, "adding sound to movies would be like putting lipstick on the Venus de Milo".

                                                  Mary Pickford


As you can see Miss Pickford's picture is pasted on a page of the catalogue which advertizes wicker or "reed" furniture.  

My mother told me about going to silent movies when she was a child. There was an organ player who sat down in front providing background music for the film: fast music for action scenes, romantic music for love scenes, suspenseful music for mysteries, etc. I guess the organ player could play as loud as she (or he) wanted. There was no dialogue to drown out. My mother might not have seen many movies starring Pickford or Reid though. She told me that she and her brother Bob preferred westerns. 

Most of the pictures pasted in the catalogue are from ads. Most of the time Grandmother cut off the name of the company, but when she left it on, it's surprising how many of the names are familiar: Del Monte, Kellogg's, Coca Cola, Wrigley's gum, Chevrolet, Purina dog food, Burgess Seed and Plant Co. Here's an old Norman Rockwell painting advertizing Orange Crush:

                                               Norman Rockwell

Notice that the caption has been cut off. Grandmother was obviously just interested in the picture.  

Here's a picture advertizing Uncle Ben's Cream of Wheat. Isn't it amazing that the company is still using the same picture of Uncle Ben.

Uncle Ben 

It looks like I'll need to do another post or two from the Furniture Catalogue. There's just too much to condense into one or two articles. I'll finish this one off with a newspaper photo of the Oklahoma Chapter of the Grand Army of the Republic. I hope the quality of my copy is good enough for you to see the features of some of the men. Several could pass for Col. Sanders of fried chicken fame. There's a reason for that. The Grand Army was made up of Union Civil War veterans. As usual, Grandmother didn't include a date, but it's a pretty big group so I would guess the article dates from the early 20's. According to Wikipedia the Grand Army was active in lobbying for voting rights for black veterans, and for pensions for all veterans.

                                       Grand Army of the Republic
 

As you can see, the picture is pasted on a sheet of wallpaper. Grandmother often did that, I suppose to reinforce the thin pages of the catalogue.

The Furniture Catalogue

One of my most precious possessions is a furniture catalogue which belonged to my grandmother, Victoria May Rosser Paul, my mother's mother. I need say here, if I haven't mentioned it before, that I apologize for not writing more about my father's family. They were and are wonderful people, but I don't know as much about their history. Also I've been concentrating for the last couple of years on putting together information about my mother's family. Sooner or later I'll start putting together the stories about my dad and what I know about his family. 

Anyway, let me tell you about the furniture catalogue. As you can see from the picture above, it's pretty plain. It has a brown cover and is simply entitled "Furniture." The only date I can find inside is 1852, the date of the founding of the company, under a picture of a big building which it says is at the corner of Market and Monroe Streets, for anyone who is familiar with Chicago. As for the date the catalogue was published, I have to guess that it was the first half of the 1920's because under "talking machines" there are no radios displayed, and the phonographs listed are all spring operated, with a crank on the side. They boast that the machine "will play four 10 inch records without rewinding." According to Google, it was the mid 20's before radios became widely available and phonographs came with an electric motor.  

The catalogue also advertizes coal and wood burning heating or cooking stoves, although some come equipped for gas as well. You can also order an icebox. They call it a refrigerator, but it's an ice box.

As interesting as this is, it's not why I value the furniture catalogue so much. It's important to me because Grandmother used it as a scrapbook. Almost every page is covered by pictures, newspaper articles, and poems cut out of magazines and newspapers. It's not a family album though. Grandmother had those too. The clippings in the furniture catalogue are just things she liked, for one reason or another. Some of the newspaper articles are about current events, and some are stories that have illustrate some religious or moral lesson. There are poems, and cartoons. There are several "Ripley's Believe It or Not" illustrations. There are several pictures of historic figures with stories about them: George Washington, William Shakespeare, the philosopher Cato. There are too many to list. Grandmother pasted a lot of pictures onto the pages of the catalogue, pictures of famous places, Mount Vernon, the Mosque of Omar, Jerusalem, pictures of people that caught her interest, and pictures that she just thought were pretty.  

I'll eventually spend more time talking about the catalogue. I've actually just started to look at it in greater detail, and to index it, but looking at the pictures and reading the articles and poems tells me so much about my grandmother, what she liked, what interested her, what she valued. When I first noticed it, my daughter and son, Cheryl and Donald were with me, and we thumbed through it together. The main thing we noticed that the was the number of stories and pictures that Grandmother saved for her children.  

Grandmother loved children. She had ten of her own and also lots of grandchildren. After she died my mother donated a baptismal font to the Paul's Valley Episcopal Church in her memory. The reason she gave to me for her choice was: "whenever I think of Mamma, I think of babies."  

My mother, Wenonah, told me that one time Grandmother rode the train to Oklahoma City alone. It was an emergency, so she had to leave the younger children under the care of the older ones. Anyway when she got back she told them about her trip. She said: "All the time I was gone I kept thinking that I had forgotten something, that something was missing. Finally I realized it was because I wasn't holding a baby."  

Anyway, there are a lot of newspaper clippings that Grandmother cut out and pasted in the Furniture Catalogue from a series entitled, "A Bedtime Story." Here's one of them: 

Uncle Wiggly and the Persian Cat

copyrighted by Edward R. Garis

          Once upon a time, when Uncle Wiggly and nurse Jane were going out to the moving pictures in the evening, they heard, as they passed an old stump, a sad sort of voice saying:

          "Nobody wants me! Oh, nobody wants me. How sad it is not to have a home where somebody wants you!"

          "Did you hear that, nurse Jane?" asked Uncle Wiggly as they stopped near the stump.

          "Yes, I heard it," answered the muskrat lady, hurrying along. "And you'd better not stop, Wiggly. Let's go on to the pictures. Maybe that's the bad fox or wolf trying to get you close enough so they can grab you."

          "Oh, indeed I'm not a fox or wolf," the voice behind the stump went on. "I am a poor Persian cat, and because I look so queer no one around here wants me," and with that there stepped out into the moonlight a large cat with long silky fur.

          "Oh, my goodness! What a queer cat!" cried Nurse Jane.

          "That's what everyone says about me," complained the poor creature.

          "But what makes your hair stick out that funny way all over you as Kitty Kat's used to do when she saw a dog?" asked Nurse Jane.

          "It's because I'm a Persian cat," answered the pussy,who was now sitting on the stump. "Persian cats always have long fur, like the Angora cats, only it sticks out more. But my fur is as soft as silk! Just feel!"

          Nurse Jane put her paw on the Persian cat's back, and the muskrat lady was not afraid of the cat, nor did the cat try to chase the muskrat lady.

          "Oh, Uncle Wiggly! What lovely, long thick silky fur this cat has!" Exclaimed Nurse Jane. "I can hardly see my own paw when I put it on the cat's back. The fur hides it, and it hides my diamond rings too."

          "Hush! Better not speak of you diamond rings!" Whispered Uncle Wiggly.

          "Why not?" Nurse Jane wanted to know.

          "Because the Burglar Fox might be around, and when we come home from the movies he might jump out from behind a tree and take your jewelry," said the bunny gentleman.

          "Oh, I wouldn't like that!" said Nurse Jane, as she raised her paw and her rings up from the midst of the thick fur on the Persian cat's back. "But if you want a home, she said to the pussy, "Why not come and like with us? I like you, even if you are different from short-hair cats."

          "So do I," said Uncle Wiggly. "Come to the movies with us, and then come to my hollow stump bungalow."

          "Oh thank you, I will," mewed the Persian cat. So she went to the movies with Uncle Wiggly and Nurse Jane, and on their way home, all of a sudden, as the muskrat lady passed a big tree a voice shouted:

          "I want those diamond rings!"

          "Whose diamond rings?" cried Uncle Wiggly.

          "Nurse Jane's," was the answer. "I'm a burglar fox, and I know she has diamond rings. Take 'em off. I want 'em." and with that out popped the bad fox.

          "Oh, what shall I do to save my lovely diamond rings?" whispered Nurse Jane.

          "Hush!" answered the Persian cat. "Just drop the rings off your paws in the thick fur of my back. They will be safe there and the Fox can't find them."

So Nurse Jane held her paw over the back of the Persian cat and shook off her diamond rings. They fell in the thick, soft fur and stayed there, and the cat walked around in the moonlight careless like, as if she had no jewelry at all.

          "Give me the diamond rings!" Barked the fox. Nurse Jane held out her empty paws. "Ho! Ho! Fooled again! Barked the Fox. I sure thought I'd get some diamond rings tonight, but you have none, though I thought you had. "I'll try it again some other night."

Then he ran away because he heard a policeman dog coming, never thinking to look on the back of the Persian cat for the hidden diamond jewelry. Then Nurse Jane took her rings out of the long haired cat's fur and put them back on her paws, and soon she and Uncle Wiggly and the Persian cat were safe in the bungalow, where the pussy lived for some time.

          So you see, it is a good thing sometimes to have long fur, and if the automobile doesn't bump into the street lamp and make it look all twisted like a corkscrew, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggly and the snow fox.

Memorial Day

When I was little we always went to the cemetery on Memorial Day. There were a lot of deaths in our family, at least on my mother's side of the family. We'd take freshly cut flowers, and sometimes we planted flowers too. There were two cemeteries in Pauls Valley: Mt. Olivet, on a hill a little ways out of town, and the "Old Cemetery," in town right next to Rush Creek. It took a while to make the rounds. We went out there a lot of other times during the year too.

I think people used to value cemeteries more back then. It makes sense. Cemeteries hold the actual remains of our loved ones and ancestors. I've been back to Mt. Olivet and to the Old Cemetery a few times, and it makes me feel closer to my aunts, uncles, and grandparents as I stand out there next to the Paul plot. The Chickasaws felt strongly about the remains of their loved ones too, back in the old country. They used to bury a person right under his or her doorstep. That's the reason they hated so much to leave their homeland in Mississippi and migrate to present day Oklahoma. They were abandoning the bones of their ancestors.  

My grandmother felt that way too. My mother told me that when her oldest daughter died, Grandmother went to the cemetery so much that my grandfather almost built a house for her across the street. Grandmother outlived five of her children, and I think it helped her deal with her grief to visit and to care for their graves. Makes sense to me. 

I have a picture somewhere of Grandmother standing next to my Uncle Willie's grave. He had an especially tragic death. The plants around his grave come up above her waist. She even tore out the fence around her front yard to put around the Paul plot at the Old Cemetery to protect her oldest son's grave. "Little Samuel," as he was always known, died in 1899 before his first birthday. He was buried out there alongside the old settlers. I couldn't find the picture of Grandmother standing next to Willie's grave, but here she is alongside Uncle Haskell at the ceremony beginning the renovation of the Old Cemetery, which she spearheaded:

                         Haskell Paul and Victoria May Paul, Old Cemetery, 1953

Going to the cemetery was no comfort to my mother though. After Grandmother was gone she went out to there for a few more years and then stopped. It just brought back bad memories for her. She had herself cremated, my father too - he would have gone along with anything she wanted. I'm a little ambivalent about it though. I think I'd kind of like to have a grave to visit. I tried to visit my parents "graves" on Memorial Day several years ago at the columbarium - I think that's what you call it, and it was all locked up. You can't get in without a key. You can't plant a garden in there either.

Things are different in Pauls Valley too. They've pulled up my grandmother's garden. They even replaced her oldest daughter's tombstone with a flat one so they could mow over it with the lawn mower. My grandparents had that stone imported from Italy. 

Of course times are different now. Just because you don't go to someone's grave doesn't mean you didn't care about them. I spent Memorial Day this year hiking and listening to the tape of a phone conversation I had with my mother years ago. It's enough I suppose.

There is something to preserving and honoring the remains of your loved ones. though. We used to get together as a family on Memorial Day. Now people just go shopping.  I think it's important to the family, and important to society. You have to be moved when you see Arlington  National Cemetery, the Vietnam Memorial, or the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The military understands that. That's why they try so hard to return the bodies of servicemen to their families.

I did have a nice experience that Memorial Day when I tried unsuccessfully to get into the columbarium where my parents' ashes are located. My wife and I also drove out to the cemetery where her mother is buried. My wife is a woman of color, and the cemetery is in a predominantly black neighborhood. Anyway, it was packed with people, families together, some having picnics at the gravesites, little kids playing, people laughing and talking, reminiscing. It made me feel good, and I think it would have made Grandmother feel good too.

The Chickasaw Horse

                                          The Chickasaw Horse
        (From article in the Chickasaw Times by Holmes Willis Lemon in 1977)

I've started reading a book entitled Empire of the Summer Moon, by S. C. Gwynne, which tells the story of the rise and fall of the Comanche empire.

I guess I've been kind of racist in lumping the plains tribes together. I never realized that the Comanche had built an empire, but Gwynne makes a compelling argument. Anyway, I'm spellbound by the book. It's so nice to have a book about about Indian history on the best seller list.

Gwynne claims that the Comanche achieved dominance in the west by their  mastery over the horse. In his narrative he relates one of my favorite stories from the memoirs of Randolph Marcy, who made several trips west as far as California through Comanche country.   

Marcy was camped near a band of Comanche, and one morning saw two young Comanche women jump on their horses armed only with lariat ropes and chase a herd of antelope. As he watched in amazement, the girls each managed to corner and lasso one of those magnificent animals. 

I'll quote to you another story from Marcy's journal, about the Comanches' love of horses.  

I once made an attempt to purchase a favorite horse from a chief of one of the bands of the Southern Comanches, and offered him a large price, but he could not be persuaded to part with him. He said that the animal was one of the fleetest in their possession; and if he were to sell him, it would prove a calamity to his whole band, as it often required all the speed of this animal to ensure success in the buffalo chase; that his loss would be felt by all his people, and he would be regarded as very foolish; moreover, he said (patting his favorite on the neck), "I love him very much."

When you know a little bit about a subject, you're always going to find something to disagree with, and it's the same with me and Empire of the Summer Moon. All of Gwynn's talk about Comanche horses reminded me that the Chickasaw were also noted for their horsemanship and for breeding horses. Gwynne states in his book that none of the other Indian tribes bred horses, and I have to take exception to that.  

The Chickasaw may have even been the first Indian tribe to become acquainted with horses, since they first acquired them in 1540, after overcoming Hernando de Soto and his men (See blog of 8/25/2010). From those original horses, the Chickasaw created their own breed, which became known as the Chickasaw Horse.  

I couldn't find any references to the Chickasaw using their horses in battle, but they gave did use them to great advantage in hunting, and when the region became ranching country, the speed and intelligence of their horses made them valued by ranchers as the forerunners of the modern day quarter horse. They were small and muscular, and had short necks like a zebra, which caused them to have to spread their legs to graze. It is said that over a quarter mile there was no faster horse. 

The Chickasaw loved their horses as did the Comanche, and when it came time for them to leave their homeland on the Trail of Tears in 1837, they refused to sell them, taking 5 to 7000 west in great herds.  

In describing the Chickasaw and their horses, Col. A. A. M. Upshaw, the Chickasaws' conductor on the Removal complained:  

I have used all the influence that I had to get them to sell their horses, but they would about as soon part with their lives as part with a horse. 

The Chickasaw Horse is now extinct as a separate breed, having been replaced by the modern quarter horse.

Anniversary

May 2nd was the anniversary of my mother's death - she died two years ago. We visited some of my cousins in Texas last week so I got to talk about her a little with them. When their father was alive he suffered from emphysema. Once he was looking for a place to stay and at the age of 90, my mother got on the phone and contacted the head of Chickasaw social services to help him find an apartment.  

I went hiking a couple of days ago. I always think of my mother while I'm hiking, I guess because it allows my mind to wander. Jim was pretty much homebound for the last 10 years of her life, so she enjoyed hearing about my treks into the mountains, and seeing my pictures. When I went hiking I was always thinking about what I could tell her about my trip. I still find myself doing that, even though she's not here any more.  

Jim travelled with my father before he died, but she was a little afraid of the mountains. She told me once about getting a panic attack while trying to climb up the steps next to Seven Falls in Colorado Springs. The experience puzzled her because she had climbed on trees and on the roof of her parents' house as a girl without ever being afraid.  

A couple of days ago I hiked up the Ben Tyler Trail just a few miles SW of Denver. The trail is between 9000 and 10500 ft elevation. There's not much snow remaining there, but the vegetation still hasn't grown up much yet. We had hoped to see some wild flowers - Jim loved wild flowers, but there weren't many. They were like jewels when we saw them though. There were a couple of clumps of Pasque Flowers, and in the middle of a bed of dead grass and fallen leaves we found about four stems of Fairy Slippers, a beautiful variety of orchid.

                                                Fairy Slippers

 

We met a young woman on the way down and got to talking with her. She does a lot of hiking and was telling us how she struggles to keep fit while holding down a job. I told her about how my mother started exercising with Jack LaLanne in her mid 40's and continued until she developed bone cancer at the age of 96. She remains my inspiration for the benefits of exercise.

There was a story on the news recently about a bear who wandered into Boulder Colorado and had to be tranquilized and taken out into the mountains. About a month later the same bear showed up in Boulder again. He had traveled about 30 miles to return. That's the kind of story Jim enjoyed. She would tell me about her childhood and I would tell her about the mountains, or whatever else I was doing.  

I really miss her. I didn't appreciate it at the time, but she was always on my side; she was always proud of me; she was always interested in whatever I was doing, and she was always glad to see me or to hear from me. No one will ever be able to replace her.  

                                       James Wenonah Paul Gunning