I miss the fellowship from being active in Church since Covid. But, I manage to honor my family’s tradition of cooking Sunday dinner. It was a Daniel Hill’s tradition, that Sunday dinner was shared as “feeding on the grounds” at Barnes Chapel Church. Mama, Mat, Mis. Doretta, Mrs. Steward, and Ms. Sudie Mae were Moon Lodge Sisters. Skaru:re women who were connected to each other and to the land whose periods came on at the same time.
They were my first teachers as I sat weighted down with leg casts under the quilt frame. Being born cripple placed me in the unique position of being raised as an old soul in a child’s broken body. Someone told me once that my life was useless because I had too many mommas. What foolish thinking! Having multiple women’s stories is empowering me to walk out being on the road less traveled. Each woman abundantly blessed me with her stories, and with her creative hands for such a time as this.
My circumstances are at rock bottom. The house that my Momma built is in need of major repairs, and I’m living like “Sanford and Son.” I’m stuck in the muck of indigenous generational trauma. My Momma tried hard to protect me from the pain of being Native American. But, she fell in love with a Seminole Rez Indian man. I get it! In many ways, you have a better chance at living in Wilson as a person of color if you’re African American. Just as long as you’re not Indian. Being Skaru:re in Wilson County is to know a resentment that has to be endured to be fully understood. But, the ritual of cooking Sunday dinner soothes the feelings of loneliness and helps me keep my eyes focused on the prize. Indigenous Fashion Week in Toronto!