My ancestors; Your hands planted seeds, harvested foods, prepared meals from what was on hand, swaddled babies, fixed fences, delighted in the births, weeped at the passing. I am thankful for all the memories that now have passed along into my rivers of time, that run generously through my blood and bones.
Your hands are now my hands. Your song is now my song. Your story is now woven into my story. As Leslie Marmon Silko says; “my generation is now the doorway to memory. That is why I am remembering. “ May I continue to walk in a way that makes my ancestors proud. May I continue to walk in a way that cultivates the taproot of faith to do my best to be a responsible descendant.
My great grandfather Alex White and my great grandmother Rena David White, sitting on their homestead porch, Akwesasne Mohawk Nation. Rena spent the majority of her young life from 4-18 at a boarding school away from her community, coming home to Akwesasne unable to speak in the language of her parents and ancestors. She was a resilient woman who carried the memories and burdens of her people with grace and tenacity. I do not forget you.
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