It’s late spring sliding toward summer. The Northwest is in full bloom with dogwoods, lilacs, and all kinds of trees tasseling and blooming. Larkspur appeared in its one rocky slope along the river. Osprey have returned, and eagles are tracking salmon.
My father’s birthday was in late May. Theodore C. Murray was the youngest of nine children. He died too young, in his sixties, bringing the sharp pain of a sudden death. He was born in 1917 in Pawhuska, with family there and in Hominy. His family was Methodist, attending church in Pawhuska, his grandfather donating the large stained-glass window in the Pawhuska Methodist Church, but I attend the Friends Meeting in Hominy when I’m home.
I was happy to see that the Osage Nation donated $3,000 to the church as appreciation for the ways the meeting hosts families if the Hominy Chapel is unavailable. Osage Congresswoman Alice Goodfox said she wanted to express appreciation since she’d been there for a funeral.
Tammy Mason Lux recently found a letter her father sent to his parents from Milwaukee, where he was playing with the Brooklyn Tigers in 1944. It’s written with fountain pen in the calligraphy-style common then. Although he’s only three years older than my father, my father didn’t bring forward the same beautiful handwriting. Mason describes the other men on the team, “All of them are big enough to tear up a train if they wanted to.” He also says, “I’m gonna beat someone out of a place.”
In the same way reading a well-written letter can drop you into another world, Aaron John Curtis’s Old School Indian, forthcoming in early May from Hillman Grad Books, a Zando imprint, brings a funny, well-written story to life. The author was up early before his job as a bookseller at Books & Books in Miami to write a rich story of a Kanien’kéha man traveling home to the Ahkwesáhsne Reservation where he grew up. The narrator, Dominick Deer Woods, steps in from time to time to illuminate some Native ways: not to translate or explain to non-Natives, but rather to amplify the irony or humor for Natives.
An early note from Dominick says, “you’ll see the word ‘Indian’ in this text about as often as you’ll find Native, Mohawk, Kanien’kéha:ka. If you find that jarring … I promise we’ll gut that particular fish later,” and he does. The main character returns home with a very debilitating terminal illness. He meets his great-uncle, an unpretentious healer and must decide whether he wants to engage with him further. The family is loving and intact, the father supporting his son in his writing work. The novel has been strong enough to keep me reading and laughing out loud.
I’m pleased to see a new mural underway on the west wall of the Visitors Center on E. Main Street in Pawhuska. The in-progress photos show a sweep of Osage life and cultural events, including deer. Until last year, a two-story mural of an Osage man dancing against deep blue, painted by Ryan RedCorn and youth on the Osage Language Building on West Main in 2011 was a cultural touchstone and landmark. It was well-loved, even as it began to show its age, before the building was condemned and demolished in 2024.
The new mural, that Yatika Fields and sisters Jessica Harjo and Erica Pretty Eagle started designing months ago, is coming together with eight young assistants. Having a bright mural reflecting the culture and vibrancy of the Osage people is an important reminder for everyone in Pawhuska. Appropriately, the orthography reads “You’re on Osage Land.”
In May, we celebrate Osage friends and relatives’ graduations. I’m thinking of Kristo Revard and George Shaw, and Josie Lookout holding a graduation dance on May 10th among others.
