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Cottage Life

If you’re thinking about a new pair of moccasins, read this first

Photo by Liam Mogan

Since my first article came out in Cottage Life, I’ve had a lot of interactions with people who genuinely want to understand appropriation. They’ve seen something or done something that they have questioned, based on what they read. The reality is that when something is new, as the issue of appropriation versus appreciation is, it takes a while to get used to it.

Recently, somebody sent me a note asking about a piece of clothing they’d bought. Once they got it home, they weren’t sure if it was okay for them to wear. Would it show appreciation for the culture, or would it be appropriation? The first thing to ask is where the clothing originated. If, say, you bought a pair of moccasins, and there’s no indication of who made them, that’s a red flag. Remember, part of the criteria for something to be considered appropriation is profit. If somebody gains financially from taking elements from Indigenous cultures, that’s appropriation.

The person who messaged me knew they’d purchased their clothing from an Indigenous creator, so wearing it was perfectly fine. Indigenous artists don’t make clothing or books only for Indigenous people. I write books because I want everyone to read them. This creator makes clothing because they want everyone to wear it. Reading my books or wearing products from an Indigenous creator isn’t appropriation. I think it’s pretty great.

This story was originally published as “If the shoe fits” in the Mar/Apr 2022 issue of Cottage Life.

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Cottage Life

Can you go to a powwow? Yes, you can

Photo by Alina Reynbakh/ Shutterstock

What is a powwow, anyway? Contrary to a common, and ignorant, idiom, having a powwow is not participating in an informal meeting at the office. But they aren’t the same as they used to be either. Prior to 1876, powwows were a ceremony to mark alliances with other tribes or to celebrate a good hunt. They typically occurred once per year, where people would drum, dance, eat food, and heal. But with the introduction that year of the Indian Act—a piece of legislation widely recognized as racist—various Indigenous ceremonies (as well as the potlatch, ghost dance, and sun dance) were outlawed. This lasted until 1951 with the removal of some of the discriminatory sections. Today, powwows are acts of reclamation that help maintain connections to traditions, songs, regalia, and community.

And you’re welcome to join in! It doesn’t matter if you’re non-Indigenous. If you’ve been hesitant to go because you’re worried that you might say or do the wrong thing, don’t overthink it. It’s okay to make mistakes—just be open to being corrected. Nobody’s going to yell at you. Promise. There really aren’t any hard and fast rules, as there are in traditional ceremonies such as the sweat lodge.

For the most part, it’s just about being respectful. But here are a few basics to get you started. Don’t bring alcohol. Do pack a lawn chair or a blanket. Being comfortable is allowed! If there’s a circle that’s been cleared by a crowd, walking through it is considered rude. There’s probably dancing going on in the middle.

How much do you really know about dream catchers?

Keep in mind that we aren’t there to perform for you, so ask permission before you take pictures. And even if you are allowed to, don’t stop dancers and ask to take a selfie with them, and don’t call their regalia a “costume.” Regalia is traditional clothing worn by Indigenous people for ceremonies like powwows. Stand for the Grand Entry, where an Elder will lead dancers into the arena. If an eagle feather falls on the ground, don’t pick it up. It’s guarded until it can be properly retrieved and returned to its owner. When in doubt, watch the crowd. Do what they do. Oh, and bring some cash so you can try some food. If I ate meat, or gluten, I’d start with a bannock burger or a bannock taco. Really, anything with bannock.

Powwows aren’t hard to find either. Search online for sites that publish the powwow trail. Communities have set dates so that dancers can do a tour across Turtle Island, and they try hard not to overlap with each other. Hope to see you there.

This story was originally published in the May 2022 issue of Cottage Life.

What’s the difference between cultural appreciation and appropriation?

 

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Cottage Life

How much do you really know about dream catchers?

By marina shin/Shutterstock

Have you noticed that during this pandemic, masks have become the new rearview mirror decoration? I’ve liked that, because masks have replaced the dream catcher as regularly featured mirror decor, a choice that has bugged me for years. Along with headdresses, the dream catcher is one of the most appropriated and exploited Indigenous symbols. There are lots of dream catcher tattoos out there. Miley Cyrus has one. Now, there are claims to Cherokee ancestry in her family, and that might be true, but guess what? Dream catchers aren’t actually from the Cherokee. Whoops.

Whoever you are, if you’re going to display a dream catcher, you should at least know its meaning, value, and symbolism to the appropriate Indigenous people. I’ll get you started. The dream catcher is a part of the Anishinaabe culture. There is no way to determine how long the dream catcher has been around—colonialism’s impact extends to our histories as Indigenous people—but it was first documented in the 1920s by anthropologist and ethnographer Frances Densmore. Dream catchers are traditionally constructed out of a hooped willow branch and a sinew net inside the hoop. Objects such as beads are often woven into the webbing.

As the name suggests, dream catchers are used to filter dreams, blocking bad ones by catching them in their net, and allowing only the good dreams to pass through, easing their way down the feathers to the person dreaming, typically a child. That’s why they’re often made out of willow and sinew; they aren’t intended to last forever.

They break down as the child ages. I’ve always hung my dream catchers by windows—which makes sense to me, because dreams probably don’t bust through walls, but traditionally dream catchers were hung over beds.

Of course, dreams aren’t exclusive to Indigenous people. We all have them. And the use of dream catchers, appropriately, has spread, first through the pan-Indian movement of the mid-twentieth century, to the shared symbol of hope they are today.

A dance group from Red Lake Indian Reservation, for example, has travelled to many schools that have experienced shootings and gifted them dream catchers. So, I’d say it’s okay to use dream catchers, but try to respect their purpose. And unless you’re planning to fall asleep at the wheel, maybe leave the job of rearview mirror ornaments to fuzzy dice.

This article was originally published in the June/July 2022 issue of Cottage Life magazine.