Respected Elder passes along traditional wisdom

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When Antoine Littlewolf talks, people listen.

And when he gives an old time traditional dancing lesson, the dancers tend to jump a little higher, stretch a little further and bend a little deeper.

"Get down lower!" bellowed the Elder, pointing to the ground. "Make your body shake and flutter like a bird, don't straighten up. That's the way they used to do the Prairie Chicken Dance. That's the real way to do it. Stretch out your arms like this, bend your knees and get down lower!"

For the two "worthy young men," brothers Paul and Patrick Sutton, who are practicing hard to learn the old Cree ways from their adopted father, today's lesson turns out to be much more than just learning the correct forms of an ancient dance style. It is a lesson in life.

With 88 years of traditional experience under his belt, Littlewolf speaks with an authoritative voice.

"Finding that knowledge is not so hard if you are willing to learn the correct protocol, how to approach an Elder when you want to ask questions," says Littlewolf.

"Take a pouch of tobacco, open it up and offer a pinch to an old man or woman and say, 'Please show me, please tell me. I bring you this tobacco and gift of money, please tell me what used to happen a long time ago, what is right and wrong, and what I'm supposed to do'. Listen to what the old people tell you; don't be scared. That is the way to do it."

Born in 1912, the young Antoine came from humble beginnings and considered himself to be poor. He grew up in a log cabin without windows or a stove, eating food cooked over fire and stones vented by a mud chimney.

"That is how it was," said Littlewolf, as he began to tell his story.

"The fire was their only light. That was how they cooked. Everyone was poor back then and hardly had anything to eat, nothing but poor flour, poor meat, poor grub. The bison were mostly killed off at this time."

His earliest memories at Onion Lake were of the terrible flu epidemic in 1918 that took eight members of his family, with a death toll so great on the reserve, that they did not have time to dig graves. The people were buried together in a large ditch, rolled up in their blankets.

Raised by his grandfather and sent to boarding school in 1922, he found school "very hard to understand" because the teachers all spoke French and hardly any English. Only one teacher spoke fluent Cree, "a half-breed woman" (Metis) named Sister St. Wilfred.

"She was a good one, very kind and I'll never forget her," says Littlewolf.

Back in those days, he recalled, spring would come around early, the fish would be running in the lakes and streams and a young man's fancy would turn to girls.

"In the old days Native mothers were very protective of their daughters and we were not allowed to talk to the girls. An old woman kept them inside at school and wouldn't let them go outside to run around or walk by themselves. It was very hard to talk to a girl, we had to sneak and hide. They kept their daughters really close. We used to have to go to the slew with pails for water, wait around and try to talk to them when they came with buckets to get water for their families."

"My wife Mary knows about this. She remembers how it was."

Littlewolf also remembers crossing the mighty Saskatchewan with his father at the ford, a high sandy bend in the river, before the first ferries were in operation. A wagon, team and family would take several days to travel to Lloydminster, Alta. and back to pick up supplies. After crossing, they would camp overnight on the other side to dry out their wagon, harness, horses and clothing before moving on. Essential supplies from town like salt, flour, sugar, ammunition, beads, cloth and tobacco had to be carefully stashed for the return trip home.

Nothing came easy and nothing was taken for granted, even after a new ferry was built that could carry up to six wagons and teams, says Littlewolf.

"Big prairie fires that came roaring down from the southwest could also cross the river,jump over the creeks and burn down everything in their path: horses, saddles, tents, wagons and cabins.

"You also had to keep an eye out for roving bands of wild horses who could chase people down and give them a bite, so that sometimes we were scared to walk out on the reserve," he added.

As a boy, Littlewolf says he learned by listening to his Elders. He heard predictions of "strange things to come" from the old people in the bush.

"Two irons that would run across the whole country, metal birds that would fly in the sky and something on the roads that would go pretty fast. Cars. They said that there would be four things that would kill our Native people; flu, fire, scabies and booze. Many terrible deaths from whiskey, strong stuff, and tobacco smoke. How did they know it was going to be like this, that what they foresaw, we are seeing now?"

Littlewolf also grew up totally immersed in the living traditions of the sundance, sweatlodge and Prairie Chicken Society.

"We used to take white clay from the slews to rub on our hair and bodies. Men pierced themselves through the chest and back with long pointed sticks tied to a big tree in the middle of the lodge. They wore braided coils of sweetgrass tied around their foreheads, arms and legs during the dances and then gave them to the old people as a sign of respect when it was over. You would see no blood on the wounds of these persons. That's how powerful it was," said Littlewolf.

"That is the way it used to be but things have changed a great deal since I was young," says Littlewolf.

"Native women used to wear dresses, long braids with ribbons and beaded headbands. Every woman had a shawl. Nowadays they only wear shawls at a chicken dance or a funeral. Most cut their hair short like a man and wear pants like a man. To me, who was brought up in the North, they look like they have nests on their heads. I can't tell the girls from the boys."

Lamenting what he calls "the passing of the days when kinship and family relationhips were the most important part of life," Littlewolf is very serious about his traditional responsibility to teach and pass on his knowledge of Cree spirituality, ceremonies and celebrations.

"You don't see as many people wearing braids these days. Young people don't go to enough sundances, ceremonies and sweats. The stone in the ground is powerful; the sun, moon and stars have spirits; all the animals have spirits. It is important to understand this, to learn to serve at ceremonies and carry on our sacred practices and dances."

As a teacher, Littlewolf is actively passing on the knowledge of many sacred Plains Cree traditions to a number of younger dancers, pipemen and servers, including his two adopted sons, Paul and Patrick.

Reviving an ancient tradition of training young men to step into his moccasins someday, Littlewolf is clearly impressed with the way today's dancing lesson has unfolded.

"They have listened and are learning well," says their teacher.

"I am proud of these guys, proud of my sons. They work very hard to learn our ways. They have braids, real Indian braids. I cry in my heart because I like the way they are and what they are learning. I hope they keep on learning the old ways until they die," says Littlewolf.

As well as attending powwows and presiding at public functions as an Elder, Littlewolf says that one of his most enjoyable pastimes these days is driving around the countryside with his wife Mary, visiting friends and local farms. A favorite destination is a local game ranch where three kinds of bison are being raised: Woodland, Plains and the endangered European Wisent, which number only about 600 today.

He was delighted to hear about the recent birth of a baby bison whose bloodlines include all three gene pools and to see that the tiny tan colored youngster did indeed resemble the mighty pre-historic bison carved in stone and hunted by his ancestors on the North American plains, 30,000 years ago. He was even happier to hear that the breders had decided to name the baby bison (the only hybrid of its kind in the world) "Antoine" in his honor.