and my last class was over at 4:00 in the afternoon; then I would study until 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning. I couldn’t wait until Thanksgiving break. Boy, could I use it and was I ever thankful when it arrived.
Mom and I went to Grandfather’s on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving in order to help Grandmother prepare for Thanksgiving Day. It was just going to be the four of us this year, but it would be great being with the people I love more than anything on this earth. Grandfather and I killed a couple of wild turkeys with our bows and arrows the day before Thanksgiving. Turkey couldn’t get any fresher than that. We cut it up in strips and deep-fried it. I believe it was the best turkey I have ever eaten in my entire life. After dinner, Grandfather and I went for a long walk along Red River, stopping and skipping stones from time to time. Not much was said for the first hour or two, and then Grandfather stopped and turned toward me and asked me how my studies were going. Grandfather reminded me that life is short, and that today is all you really have, that there is no promise of tomorrow. This moment we are living is a gift from GOD and to treasure it and to seize each day He gives us. “Look at all GOD has given us that we take for granted. Not even stopping long enough to kneel on our knees and say thank you, Lord GOD, for all the many blessings and the people you have guided into our life.” Grandfather showed me the fish traps that were still visible in the river that the Indians had built hundreds of years ago. He knew how to use them, and he taught me how to build them and to use them.
“They placed rocks on top of each other making the shape of a ‘V’ in order to funnel the fish into a narrow stream and they would net the fish when they swam through or spear them. It’s amazing at how simple it looks, but it takes a long time to build one and build it right.” It was getting late, so it was time to turn around and go back to the house. Mom and Grandma were sitting on the back porch waiting for us when we returned.
We went inside and threw a couple of logs on the fire to get warm. It was extremely cold this year, colder than normal for this time of year. Their fireplace in the den was made of river rock of all colors, white, brown, red, and black.
The black rocks were placed together to create the image of a black bear, the red rocks shaped the image of a red fox, the brown took on the appearance of a twelve-point buck deer, and the white that of a wolf. After a closer look, I found that Grandpa’s name was carved into the rocks of the fox, Dad’s name was carved into the bear, and my Great-Grandfather’s name was carved into the deer. I didn’t recognize the name carved into the white wolf: “Catharine.”
I asked Grandpa, “Who is Catharine?”
Grandpa replied: “You will find out someday when the time is right”. The last image was of the bald eagle; it was made from black and white rocks with my name carved into it.
The mouth of the fireplace was about six feet wide and big enough to stand up in. There were bookshelves of solid mahogany on both sides, supported by solid rock pillars with words carved into each one from the ceiling to the floor. The Pillar on the left had “In The Beginning (HA-WI-NA-DI-TL-V) (AD-AL-EN-IS-GV)”, the Pillar on the right had “Was The Word (GE-SE-I) (DI-KA-NE-IS-DI). (AD-AL-EN-IS-GV)”, Across the Mantle said, “The Great Spirit (Ye-ho-wa-ah)”, on the hearth was written Jesus Wept (JSI) (A-TLO-YA-S-DI). The shelves were twelve feet tall and the room was thirty feet wide with the fireplace taking up twelve feet of the center of the wall leaving nine feet on either side of the fireplace. There must have been over a thousand books sitting on the shelves. Grandfather had every kind of book you could imagine in several different languages.
Grandfather had books on philosophy, poetry, mathematics, the history of different cultures, literature, science, biology, anatomy, and many other subjects. Some of them were first editions dating back to the mid-seventeen hundred. He even had some of them signed by the authors like Hemingway, Longfellow, Thomas Edison, and so many others I can’t name them all. Their home was like walking back into time; one, two, even three hundred years. It was incredible.
It was getting close to midnight when we turned in for the night. Grandfather and I had to get up early the next morning to do some simple repairs on the sweat lodge and the smokehouse to get them ready for use. The smokehouse was built two-thirds of the way into the ground; it served as a root cellar as well as a smokehouse. It was built out of river rock-like almost everything else around here. The roof was split wood shingles made from a hickory tree and the inside walls were lined with hickory. The floor was a flat rock with a fire pit built in the middle of the room; it was seven feet in diameter and about three feet deep. We had to split the wood for replacement shingles for the roof and then shave them by hand so that they fit properly. Grandfather still did everything by hand, the old-fashioned way by most people’s standards, but I thought it was perfect.
After church Sunday morning, it was time for Mom and me to head back home. I had to get back into the groove of things and get ready for school to start in two days; it was the last semester. I really had to buckle down this spring and study hard because everyone expected me to have a 3.5 or greater average by the year’s end, when school let out for the summer. It was another busy semester studying until late hours in the morning doing the best I could to learn as much as I could before summer.
My favorite class was Native American history. I loved our teacher, who was probably one of the best. Her name was (Gi-ta-ya u-ne-gv tsi-s-qua) in Cherokee (Cherrie White Dove). She looked like an angel to me with her long dark brown hair that draped to the middle of her back. Her brown skin gave her the look of a tan year-round; I believe she was two-thirds Cherokee. She always smelled like lilacs. It was very evident that she loved teaching. Her face glowed with love and excitement when she taught. She had the most beautiful brown eyes I have ever seen in my life; they held you captive when you looked into them. I think every boy in the class was in love with her. I know I most certainly was. I would stay after class when I could and talk to her about my Grandfather and the things he shared with me about the Native American ways. I brought my flute with me on the last day of class and showed it to her; she asked me if I could play. I told her my Grandfather taught me how to play. Then she asked me if I would play her a tune. I played her the tune my Grandfather taught me to play; I must have played for her for an hour. She really did like it and told me she knew this tune and she asked me if I knew what it was called. I told her it was called “The Spirit Dances within Me.” Cherrie’s family was getting together in July and she asked me if I would be willing to come and play for her family. I told her it would be a privilege to, but only if I could bring my Grandfather and he could play with me. She agreed that it would be okay for him to accompany me. I was glad school was finally over; I was looking forward to my birthday and getting another clue from Grandpa to find his journal that he had hidden.
It was four days before my birthday when Grandpa called and asked me to come over early. He wanted to know if I could come over tomorrow. “Yes, of course, I can, Grandpa.” I could hardly wait to find out why he wanted to come over a few days early; let alone what the new clue would be. I got up early the next morning to leave for Grandfather’s house with my flute and peace pipe and, of course, my journal with all the clues he had already given me. It was about five in the morning when I arrived at Grandfather’s.
“Good morning, Grandpa. Why are we getting such an early start? It’s usually the day before or on my birthday when we get together.”
Grandfather told me that this summer was going to be different than most. He said I would be meeting a girl and some very special people; this would be a turning point in my life!
CHAPTER THREE
Jacob Meets Catharine
It is May 26, 1975, and I am nineteen years old – another year had flown by. We got up at 5:00 a.m., the usual time to rise when I’m with Grandpa. He didn’t think you should lie in bed most of your life. We got in the truck and drove to a mountain range that I had never heard of, Forest of Many Spirits. Grandpa said that
