This, my friends, is a window into my childhood; as only seemed right, we have resurrected this family heirloom in order to pass it on to our undeserving children.
This is an Indian Ceremony. Yes, that's right. We have indians that live around our lake (who look amazingly like distant and not so distant aunts, uncles and cousins). They only appear after much chanting at the water's edge (which also draws out many a curious boat - I can only imagine what the 3 that saw us this night must have been thinking). We "Hi-Ah-Nah-Nah!" our fool heads off and suddenly, from across the lake (actually, it might be nearer the neighbor's bay,) a flaming arrow is shot into the water and these indians come canoeing up to our campfire (which is completely unnecessary as it is still broad daylight at 8 pm) and teach us about the old ways and the ledgends of the area.
It is by far the most freightening experience (next to watching Chris behead a water snake with an oar) and awe-inspiring event I was ever a part of at the lake growing up. It was, as I see now, great fun for the adults. Thank the Good Chief of the Sky we didn't have to do any dancing this time to prove these indians were welcome. For better or worse, we grew up with the indians visiting our shore every so often. And now, just to make things fair, these great spirits have been resurrected in order to shower our own children with shock and awe. It worked, mostly. Eleanor still couldn't figure out why they would have to take our canoe when they could just make their own. Isn't childhood fun?
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