The way to love someone
is to lightly run your finger over that person's soul
until you find a crack,
and then gently pour your love into that crack.
~Keith Miller

Monday, September 5, 2016

... down by the River to play ...

This is the River which borders the back yard of the rent house (lucky us!).  We've been spending a lot of time on the water lately.  My foot, which I damaged a few weeks ago, still swells if I walk on it as much as I want to so to have time outside we've taken to "kayaking" the river.  I am starting to plan for a better way to get in and out of the water.  Lately the water has been about two feet deep where we launch from.  I don't love how slimy and slippery the river bed is along our boundary "lawn" line ... and we have snakes down there from time to time. The neighbors have tried to dam up the river a bit with a rocky ledge with is fun to shot over but has been impossible to climb back over in the boats - the paddles strike the uneven rocky bottom and are unable to get much of a bite of water.  So far anyway.  The river was up another two inches or so today - it's probably 5-6" there , and as the level comes up,  it will be easy to pass that area in either direction. I'd like to build something makeshift and easily portable since this isn't our property.  Just something to keep me from slipping or stepping on a snake!  Most of the river is fairly deep.  I can see turtles and fish in water that is about four foot deep. I don't know how deep it gets as we make our way downstream - lots deeper though. In the shallow area upstream, one can see wagon wheel tracks.  A local ScoutMaster said they were from the Chisholm trail.  

I like being on the water as much as I enjoy walking the trails.

This weekend we discovered that my great-grandmother who I knew was from Oklahoma and had  a Cherokee heritage was actually full blooded Shawnee/Cherokee.  I knew she had an "Indian number" and felt some shadow of shame about her parentage, but I thought she was not 100% American Indian.  It was very interesting to read the Dawes Packet/her Dad's file.  He answered questions posed by the Department of the Interior for enrollment as Cherokees of Shawnee blood through an interpreter.  It is amazing. My Great Grandmother must have learned English as a second language.  I spent time threading her quilting needles and talking with her one summer while she visited at my Granny's home.  My Daddy built her a quilting frame and she made several quilts on it.  She was tall, like me, I'd say she was as tall as I am (5'9") with the same slight lopsided waistline.  I noticed it as she bent over her work and we talked about it.  Her daughter, my grandmother, was a full foot shorter, and blue eyed.  My great Grandmother had topaz colored eyes, the lightest brown with golden flecks circling her irises (just like my mother's eyes - scare-y looking like a snake).  She was very soft spoken, shy in the same way I am shy, but very matter of fact about things.  We talked about how scandalized she was when she saw that Granny sent her a pair of slacks to wear on the plane from her home in California to come to Texas for a visit for that summer.  She said she felt almost naked wearing them!  She told me that her husband had never seen her without her clothes on and when I asked her how the deal with making babies worked with that she wasn't the least bit annoyed at my questions.  She said she was always under the covers in the dark before he came to bed.  
I liked her a lot.  My mother said all the grandchildren liked being at her home when they were growing up.  The records say her mother didn't have an English name.   I wish I could know what her momma called her ... . 

Her husband, my Granny's dad, was from Wise, Texas.      


GretchenJoanna said...

She is a lovely part of your ancestry to remember and write down.

DeAnn said...

It amazes me that I can read her Father's words, saved on microfiche, now pictured on the web. Just - wow.
His file documents the loss of his wife, shows him as guardian of his brother (indicating that their parents were deceased), raising three children on his own, later documenting that his son was "struck" from the roles, his second marriage and the birth of another child ... it is a small treasure.

My husband teases me about my "Indian blood" in reference to my instincts or insights ... it is amusing to see that there is a good bit of "it" running through my veins. I have read somewhere that our blood may contain something of what we think of as instinct. I wish I could recall the article. It was an actual scientific publication. There was something about memory, DNA, and blood cells.