Arrow Heads in the National Museum
Hidatsas Earth lodge
Waheenee and Her Husband, Son-of-a-Star
An ear was parched by thrusting a stick into the cob, and holding it over the coals
Cooking Dried Meat
Another form of Drying Meat
Drying meat
Another method Broiling Meat
Broiling Meat
Making a booth -3
Making a booth -2
Making a booth -1
The Lodge - 3
The Lodge - 2
Skull
The Lodge - 1
I am an old woman now
He was crying lustily when my husband drew him out
Then he arose and took my baby tenderly in his arms
The day was windy and cold, and the bull skin kept the chill air from me and my babe
many families floated their stuff over in tent covers
The Voyage Home
ver all she bound a wildcat skin, drawing the upper edge over the baby’s head, like a hood.
With horn spoon she filled her mouth with water
We made our eleventh camp on the north side of the Missouri
Strikes-Many Woman parched ripe sweet corn, pounded it in a mortar with roast buffalo fats, and kneaded the meal into little balls
I loaded my boats on the travois of two of my dogs
Indian
Daughter, save me!
Each paddle had a large hole cut in the center of the blade. Without this hole, a paddle wobbled in the current
I had hewn this paddle from a cottonwood log, only the day before. My own, lighter and better made
She dropped her pack and came running back, her hands at each side of her head with two fingers crooked, like horns, the sign for buffaloes
we women busied ourselves making bull boats
Our stages were now hung with slices of drying meat
The Hunting Camp
In his shadow he saw what he had been. It was a thorn bush
Suddenly the knoll began to shake
I put on my copper kettle and made blood pudding
It was a great fish, a sturgeon
The hunters came in
We were clad warmly, for the weather was chill. All had robes
A Buffalo Hunt
I put the weasel-skin cap on his head
As we two girls sat on the floor, with ankles to the right, as Indian women always sit
Marriage
The first he put on my head; the second he handed to my sister, Cold Medicine
A big fire was built
Suddenly a Sioux warrior
The smaller ears we bore to the village in our baskets
Corn Husking
My two mothers, I knew, were planning a big feast
And she turned the leggings up and poured the rose berries out on the ground
The Sioux fired
When my sack was filled, I tied it shut and slung it on my back by my packing strap
On his back I saw a handsome otter-skin quiver, full of arrows
I was too well-bred to look up at him, but I did not always hurry to finish my sweeping
Picking June berries
We were fond of squashes and ate many of them
At one side of our field Turtle had made a booth
A watchers’ stage