Beartrap Falls, Shawano, Wisconsin

I have an American Indian Heritage.  My Grandmother on my fathers' side was a member of the Menominee nation of Native Americans.  In fact, my Great Grandfather was a Tribal Chief.  Menominee means “wild rice people” in Ojibwe. The Ojibwe gave the Menominee this name because they mainly grew wild rice for their staple food.  The tribe originally lived in what is now upper Michigan near Mackinac. After selling their lands to the U.S. government through treaties from 1821 to 1848, they were moved to Wisconsin. 

When I was a young girl, we used to visit relatives in Wisconsin.  During my 4th summer we went to visit and we were swimming in the lake on a hot day.  Too small to climb the tall metal slides into the water with the "big Kids" my metal sand pail and I remained on the shore.  I did not yet know how to swim.  I went out into the water and ventured too deep sinking under the water.  From nowhere one of my Menominee second cousins, Ingrid, who was three years my senior, pulled me up and out of water.  Placing me on the shore she returned to romp with the older kids.   I can still recall the panic of sinking in the cold waters.  My little toes desperately searching for the bottom as my neck struggled to reach above the surface of the water.  Through the years I have wondered what would have happened if she wasn't there.  Neither of us told any of the adults about what had happened that afternoon. 

Our families were not very close.  We did go to the same dancing school for a while she and her family were also living in Chicago.  But since she was older, we only crossed paths at the dance recitals.  At some point they moved back up to the reservation.  She grew up and became a Human Rights activist and an award-winning lecturer who spoke worldwide on behalf of the rights of Indigenous Peoples.  In 1999 Ingrid was murdered by FARC guerrillas in Colombia.  I found out about it at work, over hearing a radio news report.  Immediately I recalled the incident at the lake and felt numb.  I realized magnitude of her courageousness.  I silently thanked her and wished her a safe journey into the spirit world.  By special permission she is buried in her parents back yard.  I finally saw her resting place a couple of years ago.  I left her tobacco and again thanked her for saving my life that day now so long ago.

Recently I have been going through some very intense personal challenges.  Trusting the wrong people has left me alone in a cold world with quite the same helpless feeling of sinking into the cold waters.  Not knowing where to turn, I put out a cry for help into the universe for guidance and recently I have had spiritual visions of birds and a visit in a dream from a relative whose tribal name was O'Peqtaw-Metamoh - Flying Eagle Woman a.k.a. Ingrid.  Once again, She reached in and pulled me out of the water to safety.  Only it was a turbulent river this time.  There was a white flight feather behind.  I thought she had lost it, but now I realize it was mine from my own wings.  Eagle flight feathers are not white.  I no longer feel alone or helpless.  I know the journey will take me home and I am beginning to understand how to get there.  But more than that regaining trust, even if it is just in me, is a gift to be cherished.