With Honor

PERDIDO BAY TRIBE

SOUTHEASTERN LOWER MUSCOGEE CREEK INDIANS, INC.

Native Paths Muscogee Creek Cultural Heritage and Resource Projects

With Honor, We Are Muscogee

Voices of Perdido Bay Tribe

Symbols of The Perdido Bay Tribe Logo

Perdido Bay Tribe was founded by Chief Bobby Johns Bearheart for the purpose of honoring, learning and teaching about our Southeastern Muscogee Creek heritage through art and education. This logo represents our commitment to the Muscogee Creek People we here honor.

The BEAR, NOKOSE, is our Clan totem

The CORN is new food for preservation of the People

The PIPE is presented in prayer and offered in peace

The HAND is extended to all people -

Placed on the back of the hand, the eye of the MASTER OF BREATH

Will never be closed – even if the hand is clinched in anger

The state of FLORIDA locates the source of our love for others

All things are connected as is this CIRCLE fed by the

FOUR CARDINAL DIRECTIONS

The MOUND honors the Ancestors where they danced and now rest

The ANIMAL TOTEMS represent life, old clans and our brothers in this world

The FIRE is a symbol of CREATOR’S CHILDREN as we are really of one fire

FOUR LOGS represent the four directions and other important elements of life

The four seasons of the year, four stages of life, four times of day and many more

The DANCERS show the family connection as they dance together in prayer and joy –

To honor and give blessings to GRANDFATHER

The SUN and MOON give us direction and warmth,

GROWTH for our food and for the BEAUTY OF OUR SOULS.

Micco Bobby Johns Bearheart, 1994 ©

In Art We Honor Our Heritage

For a Showcase of

Bearheart Original Woodcarvings

& Other Creek Artisans

Also Visit

Bearheart Gallery

Gallery Home

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Prose & Poetry

The Dance

Let your heart keep time

With the beating drum

Start out slowly

Let your body go numb

Keep your back straight

As straight as a rail

Lift your feet up gracefully

Through the air sail

Hold up your head

Hold it up high

Let your feet do the work

Let thought and thinking die

Dance for your People

Dance for the Earth

Each step is Healing

Each step is Rebirth

Stretch out your arms now

Let that shawl fly

Let the winds lift you up

Up towards the sky

You're soaring now

Soaring with wings

Your soul is free

And your heart finally sings

The drumming stops

And your dance suddenly ends

Wait for more music

Then do it again

Lindsey Hancock

Lindsey dances "Fancy Shawl"

to honor her

Creek and Cherokee Heritage

She wrote this poem at age 12

Cricket Songs

I step into the cold winter night

When the trees are bare hulking shadows in the snow

It is a night when all is still

When the earth is holding her breath

Waiting for warmth again

I look up

But I cannot see the stars

They are shrouded behind the clouds

It is on nights like these

That I long for summer twilight

When the drums and voices

Of People long gone

Mingle with the cricket songs

                                        Lindsey Hancock

                                       ☼ Age 14 ☼

                                                                       © December 2007

The Chiska of the Swamplands

Every path you walk, a thousand souls have walked there before.
Every river you canoe, a thousand souls have paddled there before.
Do not think that because their children’s laughters are silent,
And the songs of the Beloved Men and Women can not be heard,
That their souls never loved this land.

This land of tree-covered swamps, prairies shaded by longleaf pines,
and deep streams running through black soil, shaded from the sun by
massive trees. Our ancestors loved this land.

When you abuse this land, they weep.
When you deceive or harm your fellow human, they mourn.
Ask them, and they will guide you through the storm.
They are the ancient roots that run through our souls.
And the grandmothers and grandfathers, who watch over our lives.

Richard L. Thornton 'Mountain Lion'

From Ancient Roots III: The Indigenous People and Architecture

A WALK DOWN THE PATH

A young man was walking down a forest path one day looking at all of the things of the natural world as he had so often; the trees, the herbs, the flowers, the animals and birds. As he would come across each of these he would conjure from his memory of many books and lectures their names, their roles in the ecosystem, their habits, and so on. As he walked along the path feeling very proud of his vast knowledge, he came upon an older man sitting on a stump.

“Hello sir, what is your name?” he asked.

“You can call me what everyone else calls me; you can call me, Micco.”

The young man was perplexed by this. “Micco” wasn’t a name he had ever heard and it left him with many questions. . . . "What do you do? Where do you live? What is your purpose?” But before any of these questions could be asked, Micco told the young man to come and sit beside him.

“Look out before you and tell me what you see.”

The young man became very excited to be able to show off his knowledge of the natural world and began to ramble on about all of the facts he had studied for so long. When he finally finished he turned to Micco with a wide grin expecting the old man to be impressed, but instead he saw a tear forming in the corner of Micco’s eye.

“What makes you sad? Don’t you understand the knowledge I can offer you?”

Micco looked at him and said, “All that you have told me is true, but I am sad because all of the time and effort you have put into learning the things of the natural world is only a part of the whole story. You do not know any of these things, you only know of them.”

The young man was taken aback.

"But what do you mean? What more could you possibly know?”

At this Micco reached down and picked a small wildflower from beside the path.

“Look at this flower. . .forget its names, and its life cycle, and all of the knowledge you have about it. Do not look at it with your mind, look at it with your heart and see the Beauty it holds. The Beauty that the Creator has given it in its color, its radiance, its LIFE! You know many things, this is true, but you have not yet begun to know the Beauty of LIFE. . . Follow me down this path and I will show you this Beauty so that in turn you can show this Beauty to others.”

Jeremy Reichmann "Pilgrim"

Poetry Through the Camera Lens

Photography of Ashley Sconiers Turner

Amayi

Reba Sconiers - Beloved Grandmother

Enduring Traditions

Makaley sees deer with Great Grandmother Reba

The Vine,The Tree

Once the vine grew on its own

Starved to find a host, a home.

It never blossomed, never flowered,

Until the tree, the peak, the tower.

The tree, it bent and looked to ground

And in his roots his strength he found.

To help the little vine to grow,

He offered up his limbs and so…

The little vine grew up to air

And blossomed what he was to bear.

And so it is with us, my friend,

We help each other bloom and stand

And in such friendship, Love does bound:

The vine, the tree, the air, the ground.

Kathryn Diamond ☼ Sees Many Bears

© BMI

Seeing Possibilities, Creating Tangible Prayers

Sharon Hartung honors her Muscogee Creek heritage through finger weaving and other handcrafts using everyday items she finds around her. She shares her knowledge and skills through presentations on Southeastern Indian lifeways to adults and children in her North Carolina community.

"I pull out a handful of pine straw and a length of sinew and ask my audience what they think it could be used for. Eventually, I show them a pine needle basket. Then we do the same thing with other sets of raw materials. I try to stimulate the imagination and teach them to see the possibilities."

This poem sprang from those experiences. . .

We are Muscogee.

We see the hidden patterns,
The possibilities in the abundant materials of the Creator.

We worship through the labors of our hands,
Creating tangible prayers.

A length of sinew,
Sixteen beads, a hoop, twelve feathers,
become a Dream Catcher.

Thirty lengths of yarn become a sash.
Leather and paint become a picture.

Strings and beads wrapped around a stick
become an intricate pattern.

A block of wood becomes a flute
or a wolf, or a bear.

We see the possibilities.

We help things 'Become'.

We are Muscogee.

Walk Mindfully Over Southern Soil

Walk mindfully over this good land we call the Deep South.
Picture a million children playing carefree in her sandy soil.
And when you hear the wind moaning through her tall, gentle pines,
Imagine a million Mothers and Grandmothers tending gardens
And going about their work with deft hands and cheerful heart.
When you see the dark waters of her rivers, creeks and swamps,
Remember a million warriors, hunting and fishing the bounty
of her forests and streams to feed their families.
And when you gaze at her azure sky, remember the Master of Breath,
Who heard the People's prayers for a thousand years

And blessed them abundantly.
The face of the South may be forever altered,
Her First People banished from the land.
But forget not. The Spirit of the Old Ones is still here.
This red-clay and white-sandy soil we love so well will always be
Indian soil, made sacred for a thousand years by the ashes of the ancestors.
Walk mindfully and remember. . .

Edna Dixon © 2000

          A Tribute. . .

Joseph Johns Cayoni

Many years ago, when Chief Bearheart was a young boy just beginning to learn his way around the swamps and woodlands of south Georgia, he had an older brother who, like all older brothers, delighted in teaching his kid brother everything he needed to know. . .the hard way. Today, Bearheart speaks fondly of his childhood memories of the brother he adored and the tricks Cayoni liked to play that often as not back-fired on him. Though their lives have been separated by time and space for many years, Bearheart still maintains that Cayoni will always be his inspiration and his hero.

A rare snow was falling over the Okefenokee Swamp of south Georgia on the night of Joseph Johns' birth. The new baby's grandfather stepped outside, looked at the sky, and gave Joe his Indian name: Cayoni, meaning ‘bad weather.’ At the age of eight Cayoni was apprenticed to his maternal grandfather, Clem Joseph Evans, who was a well known Creek carver. Thus began his years of training to fashion from logs the mythical beings of Creek ritual, ceremony and belief. His family being largely dependent on hunting and fishing for their livelihood, Cayoni also learned to make the implements necessary for survival in the swamps--bow and arrows, alligator spear, blow gun and darts.

Times were hard for the Johns family, and with the coming of WWII, Cayoni realized that if he joined the military, he would be able to earn enough to help provide for his family's needs. So at the tender age of 14, Cayoni set off to enlist in the military. After a few false starts, cutting through the obstacles in his path with determination, Cayoni soon began what would be a long-time career of duty in the US Coast Guard. Serving on the Ice Breaker, ‘North Wind,’ stationed in the Boston area, Cayoni would eventually meet and marry his wife of more than 50 years, and make his home in Massachusetts.

But Cayoni never forgot his south-Georgia roots nor the traditions and skills he learned at his grandfather's side. His work as a carver continued and in 1979 he was appointed Resident Indian Artist at the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Harvard University. In time, he would be honored as a ’National Folk Artist.’ In 1993-94, Cayoni's traditional Creek wood carving was featured in an exhibition by the Peabody Museum. Of Cayoni, the exhibition program states, ”As he matured socially and artistically, he began to understand the reverence for nature, the cornerstone of Creek religious beliefs, which came to inform his carving style as it did his way of life.”

During his tenure at the Peabody Museum, Cayoni, was given the high honor of returning a sacred relic to the Omaha Indian People of Nebraska that had been in the museum's care for 101 years. The Sacred Pole that had been carried by the Omahas for centuries had been turned over to anthropologists in 1888 by elders who feared the tribe was dying. But like Indian people of all Nations, the tribe did not die and the return of their ancient sacred relic was a joyful event for today's Omaha people.

Like his younger brother, Cayoni serves as an inspiration to each of us as together we seek to learn more of our ancient and contemporary heritage through the arts, crafts, dances, language and life ways of our beloved ancestors.

Cayoni, Our Beloved Elder...

We honor, respect and appreciate you for all you have contributed.

Joseph Johns Cayoni

With Honor Wears

Plains Regalia

The Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology

Harvard University

UNSETTLED SOIL

The ancient ones traveled thru their time of life –

A time spared from the nonsense of strife.

They lived in harmony with all things – animal, rock and tree.

They shared the land, water and air – peaceful and free.

When their journey was completed and they crossed to the other side,

Their ponies were set free – no longer to ride.

The mound of ceremonial clay in its circle, symbol of life complete,

Our beloved Elders long rested beneath a generation of dancing feet.

Then came the time of “Discovery” when our land was “found.”

Others suspected what our people knew – that our home land was “round.”

They unknowingly landed on these shores –

Greeted by a heathen savage.

We shared a full measure of food – a part of our bounty of wealth.

Their Christian response was to violate, kill and ravage.

Time under these masses that never stopped coming

has raped our Earth Mother so pure.

She fought to survive, her children to nurture, for all she must endure.

Now these learned of present-day time

are not finished “discovering” our way of life.

They are now sifting the soil where our Beloved Ones lay,

Collecting their bones and a few pots of clay.

My spiritual soul is crying, so furious, saddened and sick.

What next after our graves are sieved?

Wake up you students of mankind, forget the middens and our tombs.

Our treasures come from our hand and mind

and from our Mother Earth’s womb.

We have given our knowledge of planting and harvesting

Nature’s offer – food, medicine and creation.

A wealth more precious than gold is the treasure in our coffer.

Please let the soil settle on the Ancient Ones’ last bed.

I’d say you’ve done enough collecting –

why not learn what’s in our heads?

This world still exists because our Indian Spirit stood guard.

Let’s not get lost in history, they said.

Our Mother’s in trouble of being laid to waste,

Evil in men and greed must be quenched.

It’s today’s warriors that must take up the fight

before the Indian’s way is fenced.

Stand up Sisters and Brothers and let your voice have sound.

Join together for the love of our ways while the old path can be found.

My plea is to return our Loved Ones to rest and pack the soil to stay.

Place yourself in our hearts filled with quiet

and pray your loved ones never go this way.

We are to be remembered by what we say and do in this life.

Peace, love and harmony is the direction that frees us from strife.

Remember the Old Path and follow.

Micco Bobby Thomas Johns Bearheart   1995 ©

This poem was sent by Donna Norris of Georgia. Donna happened to find some Indian artifacts on her property. She was so touched by the very thought that these relics represented the work and lives of some long-ago human beings that she was moved to tears and inspired to pen these words. We honor Donna for her kind spirit and the lesson her words can teach all who happen to find some remaining relic of those who walked this land long ago. . .

CREEK INDIAN MEMORIES

I found this old relic just lying on the ground,

out in the open with nothing else around.

It’s worn and it’s worked, and it shows its true age,

but the stories it could tell would surely amaze.

The hands it's passed through, the lives it has touched,

is much more than I can fathom, it's almost too much.

Now if you can see it being made,

its Indian creator a strong young brave,

With skill and cunning it soared through the wind,

as quiet as night its journey begins.

How many feet or how many tractors has it survived,

and lay here right before my eyes?

Blood sweat and tears over the years,

it’s been through hell but it's hard to tell.

Because it carries great memories along with great pride,

I hope you can see it’s more than just a prize.

It's more than a point, it's more than a rock,

it was part of someone’s life that we might have forgot.

No money could buy this piece of my heart,

so next time you stumble over one of these great finds,

I hope, and I pray you keep this in mind.

You have been blessed you have been chosen

to carry its memory onto its owner

that strong young brave who has long passed over.

LETTER TO ZACHARY

Zachary, a young student, wanted to know how Creek Indians are still affected today by the events in history so long ago? Stan Cartwright Quiet Dog wrote this very thoughtful answer.

Dear Zachary,

Several years ago, I spent some time in Pinedale, Wyoming on land adjacent to the Wind River Indian Reservation. Although I was awed by the spectacular beauty of the land, the thing that sticks in my memory most, is the lack of respect given to the people who first inhabited the land. Unkind terms were still being used in reference to the people. A lack of respect for their Nation as a whole was clear to me and I found the words very offensive. I find it extremely troubling that this disrespect persists for the original founders of this great country.

More recently, I have experienced first hand the threat of being "forcibly removed" from my home and land (a proposed highway project). Like my ancestors, this is land that my family worked hard for and sacrificed dearly for, in order to have a good home. With this experience, I felt only a "twinge" of what it must have been like for all the First People to have been removed from the lands of their ancestors. Zachary, to be forced from your home is not a pleasant experience. It can be compared to the emotion of having someone precious to you near death.

Ironically, the one thing that may greatly influence the saving of my home, land, and memories is that during an initial survey of the property, an arrowhead was found. This caused the surveyors to have to consider the historical significance of this land and the impact of road-building. Chief Seattle once said, "when you walk the streets at night, and you think that you are alone . . . you are not . . . for the spirits of our ancestors walk this land. . . you may not see them. . . but they are there." Zachary, I believe that the spirits are still here and that they indeed watch over us. To have someone to pop up one day and say, "We need your home, your land . . . we are going to kill your trees" is a devastating experience that I would wish upon no person. It happened to our ancestors and it still happens today, even in your life time.

When one speaks of his Muscogee heritage, or any Native American ancestry for that matter, it is looked upon in many ways. Sometimes, it is looked upon as "romantic" or "cool" sometimes with curiosity; other times with indifference; and still, even today, sometimes with hatred and disgust. Of all these, indifference is the most difficult for me to deal with. So many people just do not care at all about the history of Indian people and the heritage we strive to preserve. In today's time, this is a great obstacle for our people.

TV, computers, ease of transportation and better communication all help to preserve our history, but, these things also serve to destroy it as well, as our culture moves toward more and more technology. The generations coming will determine whether our legacy lives or dies. Peer pressure, racism, and indifference all exist today and influence our culture and its future. The most profound impact upon all Native Americans today, is the indifference shown by the government. It is an almost impossible task to get the government to recognize that we even exist. Federal recognition would assure the support needed to keep a proud Native American history and culture alive.

Several years ago, I asked an aunt of mine why our family did not do more to preserve our culture; why we did not discuss our Native origin more openly. Her response was that we were told not to speak of our heritage. Stories shared with me revealed a great grandmother who hid out in swamps and mountains, and a grandmother who "changed her looks" so as not to "appear" Indian. This fear of being persecuted caused generations of Indian children to be denied their rightful heritage.

When I was ten years old, an uncle took me aside and told me of our heritage. He said, "you are just like your grandmother. . . Indian." I will never forget that precious moment. Zachary, all in all, we live in a good time and in a great country. It is young men, like yourself, who help to keep the excitement of being Indian alive. Thank you for asking such a simple, yet profound question. It really doesn't matter what color the skin; all that matters is what's in one's heart.

Stan Cartwright, Quiet Dog, Vice-Chief PBT, 2000

Two Red-tailed Hawks

Called

GIVING and SACRIFICE

Are with us every day . . . They are an awesome sight!

Their Wings. . .

Stretch out in an embracing warmth,

giving us a safe place to stay, and the ability to Soar.

Their Talons . . .

Ready to Grasp and Hold on to the Important Things

that bring us together - The things that keep us on our path.

Their Beaks . . .

Strong. . . Defined. . . Ready to tear into the Meat

of things and bring in the Nourishment of Life.

Their Eyes . . .

Sharp. . . Clear. . . Focused to see the Love being Shared

to look past the sometimes confusing cloak

of unimportant outward appearances.

It's like a proverb I once heard - simple, yet so full of truth:

"If You want to travel Fast . . . Travel Alone,

but if You want to Travel Far . . . Travel Together."

We Must Travel TOGETHER . . . and in Our Case. . .

. . . Let's do it Dancing!

Notes on Women's Traditional Dance

by Heidi Starwalker

As beads were acquired through trade in the mid 1800's, women began to bead the entire tops of their buckskin dresses. In the north, women also used dark-colored trade cloths or wool to make their dresses, sometimes decorating them with elks teeth or ribbon work. Buckskin and cloth dresses were also worn in the south, although the styles were slightly different. Women of the "Five Civilized Tribes" (Creek, Choctow, Chickasaw, Cherokee, Seminole) wore cloth dresses called "camp dresses."

Women may wear beaded moccasins, leggings and breast plates, a conch belt, fur hair wraps and jewelry. Usually a folded shawl is worn on one arm and an eagle or hawk feather fan is carried in the other. Traditionally, women only danced to certain songs or on certain occasions, and if they did dance, it was usually in the background, behind or in support of the men. In the north, women usually dance stationary, bobbing up and down in a swaying motion and turning to the side slightly. This was symbolic of the way they used to turn and look out on the prairie waiting for their warriors to return home. In the south, women do what is called, "the graceful walk" swaying in time to the drum.

Heidi Starwalker, pictured in her dance regalia, is an accomplished American Indian dancer. She has performed many styles of American Indian dance in numerous Pow Wow competitions and professional exhibitions.

Perdido Bay Tribe of Lower Muscogee Creek Indians, Inc. is a member supported, local and state recognized non-profit 501(C)(3) & 509(a)(2) public charity dedicated to the preservation of Muscogee Creek history and culture in the Southeast through Art and Education. Membership is open to people of Native American descent and friends who hold a desire to learn, share and work together to support the programs and goals of the organization. We rely primarily on donations to support our outreach programs.

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