It Ain't Easy Being Indian

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ricey wild.jpgYet more wintry weather is on the way

and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I mean, really???

Eh … I along with all the other people who are suffering severe

winter-itis are beyond ready for spring. Shoot. The first mosquito

that bites me this year I won’t even smack it, I’ll just let it

feast until it bloats up and falls off my skin. But only the one

though.

To come out of this endless winter

somewhat sane I have taken to pretending that every new snowfall is

the first one of winter because that’s the only way I can save

myself from going bat-shit crazy. Another thing I’m doing is I

joined a gardening class! In Ojibwe language it’s “Gitigaan”

and it was great. There were Indian tacos to eat and prizes; I won

and picked out organic stuff for soil. I saw a lot of familiar faces

that already are long time gardeners who have a lot of knowledge I

need to begin my own little garden.

Last year in June I became a Master

Naturalist so I’m pretty sure I will be able to handle a 3-by-6

foot raised container garden. If and when the snow ever melts, it

could happen … maybe. Prior to this next adventure I liked to joke

about my amazing dandelion ‘garden’ and that people came for miles

around to see it but I’m serious about becoming a gardener, a

grower of vegetables and herbs so I can eat healthier. I read a lot

and what I’m reading about genetically modified organism (GMO)

crops scares me because we the public don’t really know what is in

that produce! Ewwww!!!

I want to grow my own foods, beginning

with baby spinach steps, because then I know what it is I’m

consuming will have no ill effect on my health unlike GMOs that were

created in a laboratory. Believe me I am no survivalist type of

person who expects world annihilation any hour now but neither do I

volunteer to be a guinea pig for the big food industrial companies.

One Facebook meme I read made me think more about GMO foods: whoever

controls the food controls the people. Yikes!

“It’s all about money ain’t a

damn thing funny in this land of milk and honey” … (Grandmaster

Flash and the Furious Five? Help me out here plz!) So yeah, it’s

all about the 1 percent at the top of the pyramid who is behind the

Frankenstein foods we probably unknowingly eat because they don’t

have to list it as such. So here am I, a misplaced urban Indian who

prefers fresh, unpolluted food. Gonna make me a vegetable garden!

When I was a kid, maybe eight, nine

years-old my ole Paw sent me to his garden to pick string beans. I

remember it was really hot; I was sweating and grumbling under my

breath about child labor laws. ;D Later when I ate the beans with

melted butter I could have swooned the taste was so delicious. While

I lived in the Big City I got my fresh veggies from farmer’s

markets because I came to think let them do the work. I know! Don’t

judge me, I know! Anyways I couldn’t grow anything outside when

living in apartments most of my life as I have.

All this information on how to garden

is new to me so when I heard there was going to be a presentation on

worm composting I got the creeps. Unable to stop my utterance I asked

if there will actual live worms? “Yes” was the answer but I felt

silly like I was back in school having missed the previous day’s

class. Afterwards my ears perked up when someone said ‘wolf’ so I

listened in. A woman was talking about her garden and that she saw a

wolf, the conversation turned to bobcats too and again I could not

help myself butting in. I said, “Wolves and bobcats don’t eat

vegetables!” (Dah!) The pair of them looked at me then said the

wildlife were after deer. Oh. Okay…um, just kidding?

Twenty-six years ago I was massively

and miserably pregnant for over 10 months with my only child, my son

Steven Ross. He finally made his debut on April 7, at 3:26 a.m. the

first baby born that day in the Big City hospital and he was also the

loudest! Nothing has changed that characteristic about him; he’s

one of those people who when they walk in the room you know they’re

there. Now my grown son told his ole Maw what he wants for his

birthday. He wants a tattoo. It better be a big heart with “MOM”

inside it! Heeehehee!

Happy Birthday son, I love you! Now

about that tattoo … ?