Splatsin Centre Event

Photo: courtesy of Splatsincentre.ca

There have been two events of the month that were high on our calendaring. One was attending a show at the Splatsin Centre in Enderby, B.C. which is only a short hour’s drive from us. We wanted good seats so we left in lots of time, arriving there before the performers, the rest of the audience and the ticket taker. We had to search him out later to pay our fee.

Two things were on my mind: seeing their beautiful new round-house where the events was to be held; learning more about this band of the Secwepemc First Nation. I was not to be disappointed in either.

The size of the roundhouse is breathtaking, as are the pillars that hold up the roof, and the architecturally grand hole in the top that leads to the sky. Room around the outside of the circle would hold the break-out sessions for any conference.

The Splatsin (pronounced splat-chine) Facebook page promised dancing, story telling, a history lesson, bannock and tea – all for $10 or pay what you can. The dancing was the culmination of work done during the school year by people 14 and under – the boys doing the grass dance, the girls doing both traditional and fancing dancing. I was studying the regalia, looking for what distinguishing marks they would have. I have been to lots of pow wows, probably more than any settler in the room, and have had lots of chances to look at both beadwork and design. In this case, one woman has spent the last ten years designing and executing most of what was worn. What was common to all of the dancers were beautiful moccasins. I studied their feet for there was a 45 minute wait for us for the programme to begin. During that wait one of the young dancers grabbed a stuffy and got a game of Pig in the Middle going. So I watched those feet run back and forth for a long time. Quite a show. The part I liked best is that they let everyone join and made sure that the youngest got his turn to be in the middle and on the throwing sides of the game.

Rebecca, Bonnie, Arta, Duncan

Ann Cook was the story teller, along with her grandson Braden, whose help she often interrupted, telling him (to the pleasure of the young kids listening), “No, that is not the way the story goes”. The story was the The Liberation of the Chinook Wind and is now in the collection called Secwepemc: Lands and Resources Law Research Project (p.138). Old habits run deep. I could not help but read  the story, more than twice, in preparation for the event. I was glad for her telling of the story fleshed out questions I was left with after reading both the story and the case brief in the book.

It has been a few days now since we went to Enderby and I have had time to think about the highlights for me. One was the history part of the show. The students marched 7 placards around the room, each one of a different image of a place in their traditional territory: the Enderby Cliffs, Sicamous, Eagle River, Splatsin, the cemetery, sunflowers. That was the piece of the programme that Rebecca loved and she wanted to see the text written down so that we could remember all that was said. I do remember the Sicamous means the narrowing of a woman’s waist, and then came the explanation that the waters around Sicamous could be seen as representing a whole body. And the space around the Eagle River has a folk tale concerning a woman dipping her hair in the river and then running to the top of the hill before it dries.

Re the sunflowers, when we drove into the centre another building to the east had a garden of 10 foot high sunflowers, maybe higher. That was stunning.

I was taken with a six foot pole onto which were hanging strings and pieces of material that sparkled. When the story telling was performed, at one point Braden Cook went to the pole, brought it close to the audience and pointed to a small bag on the pole, one which represented the bag that held the Chinook wind. I noticed that other strings coming from the pole held sparkling representations of fish. Those didn’t get into the story about the Chinook wind.

Drinks? Bannock and drinks was the half time snack. I didn’t realize that what was being offered were traditional drinks. One was soapberry tea. I passed on that one for the second looked more interesting, a tea made out of 10 items collected from the land, one of them being devil’s club. Of course that is the one I chose.

The evening ended with a traditional friendship dance, everyone in a circle, holding hands and doing one of two steps that were demonstration. The second was for those whose knees or ankles are weak. I danced the first.

Just when I think I have told about the outstanding moments another one comes to mind. A former law student at UVic was there helping with the traditional dances. When the evening ended she chatted with Rebecca and said, “Too bad I didn’t know you were here. We had a Harpoon Making Class this afternoon with my uncle. Look at the burn marks on my hands. You could have come.” Yes. Too bad but hope for next time on that one.

Photo: courtesy of Splatsincentre.ca

The last event of the evening was themed in a traditional way, but far down the road we were travelling home. Two cars were on the left side of the road and two were on the right, but those were facing into us. People were milling around, someone was looking under one car and the people looked in shock. “Looks like an accident, but I don’t see the damage,” said Rebecca. She slowed down in another 30 metres and there was a dead deer on the road. “If we stop to get that off the road, we will be of no help. It will be more than we can pull,” she said, slowly driving on.

I spent the rest of the drove home trying to think of ways to make the carcass of the dead deer into moccassins, but all I could think of is that Richard told me that massive bruising spoils the meat.

Arta