by Alex Harris
Chapter 3
Monday morning, Summer had finished feeding the livestock and was having a cup of green tea in the kitchen when the phone rang.
“Summer, it’s Richard Yellowhorse. How are you? I’m sorry to disturb you. I need to ask a favor. I need a sweat. Do you have time?
“ Richard, you were with Oriole the other night, uh? Sure. How about tomorrow say 11:00.”
“I gotta work tomorrow. Anyway we can today?”
“Chalcey gets home about 3:30. Can you come at 1:00?
“I’ll be there. Thanks.
Summer had been a practicing Shaman for over 20 years. Most of the Indians who needed help came to her because of her reputation and knowledge. She was trained as a Shaman by the Foundation for Shamanic Studies. Even though she was as White as they come, the Yavapai Apache, local Hopi and Navajo Native Americans respected her abilities.
Richard arrived on time, parked his truck in the driveway and saw that she had saddled two horses for the ride to the hogan she had built on the back of the ranch.
Summer had her bag ready and they mounted up and rode to the hogan together. “Richard, tell me what you have done so far.”
“I called in my spirit guides to protect me. I was concerned his spirit might come back with me.”
“Ok. I have everything ready at the hogan. I’ll get it started and leave you to it. You’ve been here more than once.”
They rode for about 30 minutes and arrived at the sweat lodge and hogan Summer had built for her indoctrination into Shamanic ways. She dismounted, tied Popeye to the rail and went into the lodge.
The sweat lodge was built in a circular dome, covered with hides, one of which served as the door. Summer had gathered the willow branches from the Verde River bed and dug the fire pit herself years ago. From the fire, she had taken the hot rocks and placed in the pit, along with sage and cedar for purification. Water was waiting in Hopi jugs next to the fire pit. Summer called in the spirits from the four directions and from Mother Earth and Father Sun. She asked the spirits to cleanse Yellowhorse from the death experience and then left the lodge to Richard.
“Summer, I’m home. Whose truck is that out there?” Chalcey was scrounging in the refrigerator as Summer walked into the kitchen.
“Chalcey, it’s good to see you too. That’s Richard Yellowhorse’s truck.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s at the lodge.”
“Oh. Why do they come to you for help? Don’t they have their own Shaman?”
“Well, over the years the tribes around here have found I follow the traditional ways and they trust me. They know I’ll treat them right.”
“But why does Yellowhorse need a sweat?”
“Natives believe, and so do I, that if a spirit leaves it’s body unprepared, it wanders until it can find peace. Whenever Natives come upon a murder or violent death, they seek a sweat to purify and cleanse their soul and to help release the spirit of the deceased.”
“Is that real?”
“Let me tell you about a time it happened to me. I had gone out with Oriole to a murder site. I could sense the spirit still there. I did a spirit release prayer. But when I got home, I discovered the spirit had come back with me. The young man’s spirit wasn’t ready to go home because he couldn’t see home. He hung around for several days and I called the drummers to help me help him find his way across. I could tell right after that, he was at peace and home. That’s one of the things that Yellowhorse didn’t want to happen to him, that’s why he did a sweat.”
“Do we need to do a sweat for Puddles?” Chalcey, with all the seriousness of a 13 year old, asked her great-grandmother.
“Not a sweat. When we prayed over her, she knew where she needed to go.”
“Do you believe Puddles had a spirit too?”
“Animals have spirits. They’re different than yours and mine, but nonetheless they still have a spirit.”
“So if I see a dead person, I need a sweat?”
“You might need a sweat for other reasons too, like illness, emotional trauma, to pick a career, to make a big decision.”
Chalcey chewed on that while eating her burrito. “I guess I’ll wait on the sweat for awhile, cuz I’m not ready for a career, I’m not ill or emotionally traumatized, unless it’d be because I got too many mothers. The kids at school say I have three mothers.”
Summer chuckled to herself and turned her back so Chalcey couldn’t see the laughter in her face. “You got one mother-Oriole; one grandmother-Marlowe; one great-grandmother-me. Then you got lots of other relatives that are by heart if not by blood.”
“Ok. I gotcha. I’m going to go for a ride with Red. I think I’ll go up to Knob Hill. Is thatOK?” Chalcey’s independence was moderated by her common sense in letting people know where she was and what she was doing.
“ It’s nearly four. Be back in an hour so we can get supper on. Take the ..22 just in case you come across rattlers. Take your cell too.” If you lived on the ranch, you knew how to shoot and what to shoot at when necessary and even though Chalcey was 13 she had taken to shooting just like Oriole had.
