Old ways flourish – but not among the young

Growing up in Ponemah made the writer different from most of his peers growing up on Red Lake

By Dalton Walker
Star Tribune

PONEMAH, Minn. -- Basketball hoops are planted in most yards alongside pine, maple and birch trees. Homes hug Indian Highway 18 for many miles in both directions.

A short drive north of the village leads to a secluded high point where Upper and Lower Red Lakes are both visible. On a clear day, it's hard to tell where the water ends and the sky begins.

In Ponemah -- the most remote and traditional of the towns on the Red Lake Reservation -- maple trees are tapped for syrup in the spring. Legends of a cultural trickster are told during the snow months. Bears knock over trash bins. Dogs run in packs.

This is where I grew up.

Name calling to basketball

For Ponemah kids, the first day of school in Red Lake is the worst.

After the first day I felt like I never wanted to go back. I was called names, harassed and threatened just because I was from Ponemah.

I never understood why I was called a Ponemah "sav" -- a savage -- until years later, when I thought about my background. My roots are in Ponemah, and so are Red Lake's ancient and sacred ceremonies.

I was called a savage because other reservation kids grew up thinking that technology left Ponemah behind when, in fact, Ponemah fought it off.

Learning respect

In Ponemah, old ways flourished. Elders performed traditional ceremonies and I acknowledged that being from Ponemah was different than being from Red Lake.

Growing up in a traditional community taught me how to observe and respect a culture.

I attended the local elementary school and later rode the bus 30 miles to Red Lake for middle and high school.

In Ponemah, students learn basic Ojibwe vocabulary such as numbers, greetings and the names of animals -- words that, 15 years later, I still remember.

About 20 students were in my sixth-grade class. Over the years the 20 dwindled to 15, and, later, to 10. When I graduated in 2000 I was one of maybe three students from Ponemah to receive my diploma. Some had dropped out because they had become pregnant, moved or just quit.

In Ponemah, it's rare for the young to approach the elders to learn the "old ways."

The old ways include the burials. I have a sense of pride when a loved one is buried and guided to the spirit world by elders through their wisdom and prayers. I can only hope when my time is up that someone guides me just as my grandpa was.

Road signs scattered throughout the reservation maintain that the children are the future.

It's true.

But what type of future will it be?