Along for the Osage-cultural ride

Three young Osages tossed their suitcases filled with streamers and broadcloths onto the Red Carpet bus.

They settled into the theater-like seats with some of their family members and hit the open road for the 2011 Festival of Native People in Cherokee, N.C.

I was asked to follow the group of about 15 Osage parents, children and grandparents as they attended a cultural showcase held Aug. 24-27, more than 15 hours away.

Seven Native American tribes in the country were invited to showcase some of their cultural and traditional dances.

Somewhere between the Oklahoma/Arkansas border and Nashville, Tenn., I was reminded of what it was like to pack your best Indian clothes and head to a foreign land to show strangers who you people are.

As children my young sister and I would pack our best velvet blouses and squash blossoms, and hit the interstate with our uncle.

We traveled to museums and art shows to show people the art of Navajo weaving that had been in our family for more than five generations.

It’s been almost 10 years since my uncle; sister and I packed our Navajo looms onto his extended cab pick-up truck.

Both my grandmother and uncle taught me how to weave Navajo rugs when I was about six years old. My parents worked off the reservation about an hour away from our home on the reservation. After school I walked from the boarding school up to my grandmother’s home, which sat at a mountain base behind the school.

As soon as I walked through the door of the house my great-grandfather built, I dropped my backpack and picked up my wooden comb. My grandmother, or as we call her “Shima,” always had my loom waiting for me.

My older sister, of about 10 years, learned way before I did and my younger sister learned shortly after I picked up the talent. Before we knew it we were featured at big art shows like the Santa Fe Indian Market and the Heard Museum in Phoenix, Ariz.

As a child I never stopped to think about the importance of traveling and sharing my culture with others, but as I sat on that charter bus I realized how valuable it is and it overwhelmed me.

On the bus ride I got to know a lot of the Osage families. Some, I had seen around Pawhuska, and others I had met at least once or twice before.

I remember thinking to myself how brave and patient some of the older parents were. I couldn’t pay my parents to sit in a moving vehicle for that long.

I wondered why they would agree to hop on a bus and sit for over 15 hours.

We stopped at a barbeque restaurant outside of Memphis, Tenn., and that’s where I got my answer.

I sat at a table with John Henry Mashunkashey and his wife Ahna Wake and Vann Bighorse and his wife Mary Bighorse. They talked about what Pawhuska was like when they were teenagers. They recalled the various luxury car dealerships in town and the many pharmacies that lined the streets of Pawhuska.

They talked about what it was like to be Osage back then.

Excitement filled their voices when they talked about the traditional food, the people and the Osage culture.

I realized that they didn’t hesitate stepping on that oversized bus because it meant keeping their culture and traditions alive.

They included their children and grandchildren because they would eventually carry on those Osage traditions. 

And the children showed no hesitation.

They carried their suitcases filled with their best Osage outfits with gusto.