Akayo'kaki A'pawaawahkaa: Night Heron

09 August 2009

Night Heron

IIII ) lllllllllllll Muskrats Return (6Aug09)

1534 After three days absence, getting lonely for dusk at the pond

1921 Sspopiikimi - we're greeted at the trailhead to the pond by one of the sikohpoyitaipannikimmiksi, who's soaring and diving repeatedly into the tops of the poplars hunting what we can only imagine must be small birds

1929 There are no waterfowl midpond, or even in the southern reeds, though the gosling family is feeding up on the golf greens, and at least one of the ksisskstaki is up, hauling sprigs of rabbit willow to the lodge

1937 I hate to use insect repellant, but the mosquitoes are just vicious this evening, so Piipiiaakii and I take turns spraying each other down

1949 "Sspopiikimi" is our own made-up name for this place that's otherwise known as the Elizabeth Hall Wetlands. In Blackfoot, our name translates as "turtle waters". And just this moment, there happens to be a painted turtle poking its head up for a breath of air beside us. It was probably gazing at Dani, but then saw me and got scared. Now its ducked back under, lol

1955 It's strange to find a total absence of birds on the water, not even the scabby redhead, nor the coots have made an appearance. The kingfishers are out though, one of them perched just south of us, occasionally flying over the pond and chattering away

2008 Two of the ksisskstakiiksi come out of the lodge, watching us from across the water. They are too far away to see with any clarity at first. Then one paddles off to the subpond canal while the other, Lefty, comes near for a better take. He's not too welcoming tonight, swimming slowly up toward us, only to dive and slap his tail half-heartedly, then swim a good distance south before resurfacing to watch us

2017 Lefty seems to have become bored with the inspection, drifting toward the subpond. But just as he gets out of sight mi'sohpsski, the muskrat, comes our way along the shoreline. When eventually noticing us, it does one of the hardest dives we've seen a muskrat pull-off, nearly splashing us

2024 Finally we hear the clucking of one of the coots as it emerges from the midpond reeds. So they are here tonight after all. Is it just the overcast weather that's sent them into cover?

2031 It’s been a while since we've seen so much muskrat activity. A second one just followed a beaver into the ksisskstakioyis, while an older beaver, possibly one of the parents, swam past us along the shore. A second later, the muskrat re-emerges from the lodge and continues its route north

2037 A mama mallard with three ducklings has moved out of the bulrush tufts by the subpond canal, and crossed the pond to our side. Hopefully they'll come our way. Meanwhile, another muskrat is swimming our way from the south

2046 Now the big brood has moved out into the water from somewhere on the southwest bank, seemingly headed toward the same bulrush tufts the other mallard family recently vacated

2053 It's getting dark so much earlier now. The big brood is coming close to the ksisskstakioyis, just across the pond from us, but already it's too dark to see them well

IIII ) lllllllllllllll Night Heron (7Aug09)

0752 Some cool juvenile night-heron at Innokimi on the way to work

1950 Sspopiikimi - the ksisskstakiiksi and mi'sohpsskiiksi are already out and about. At the main lodge, we find the two orphaned coot chicks. They cringe every time there's a call from the swainson above, and quickly head toward the midpond reeds when we sit down

1955 On our walk in, we passed a pair of coot parents and the mother mallard with three ducklings, all feeding midpond. We also heard a new twitter and sourced it to a fledgling western kingbird. It was singing from a fencepost, while its sibling or parent returned the song from somewhere mid-way up a cottonwood tree

2006 While a number of the ksisskstakiiksi are moving around at a distance from us, one very dark-furred member of the family just swam leisurely past our feet. We've not named this one yet, because we haven't been able to note any mark to distinguish it from the other dark beavers

2011 The scabby redhead just passed by on her way north with both her surviving ducklings. The sunlight is just perfect, and it looks from their plumage as if the siblings are male and female

2019 Its turning out to be a very good evening at the pond. For the past ten minutes, we've been watching a caspian tern flying high over the water and diving for fish. This is only the second tern night we've had all season. Our visitor tonight seems to prefer hunting at either end of this long oxbow, rather than where we're sitting (toward the middle). But we can still watch its antics just fine from our position, and we've gotten some nice picks as it passes from end to end

2038 After the tern leaves, flying off upriver, the pond seems to become more quiet. The beavers and muskrats swim calmly about, going in and out of their lodges and burrows, and visiting different locations around the pond. There's a strange gathering of diving beetles just north of where we sit, but otherwise nothing we take much note of. Perhaps we're just not looking and listening closely enough to understand what the animals we're observing are doing. There's still big mystery for us in where the muskrats disappeared to all those weeks, and why now their sudden re-emergence

2100 Why do the kingfishers chatter as they do? One just flew over and landed on the beaver lodge perch. It chattered and seems to have been answered by another to the far south. The two of them sing back and forth, then I can hear one to the north as well, in the cottonwood trees

Obsessing On Purpose

Like most living beings - human or otherwise - I have cultivated a number of behavioural routines and aesthetic predilections that bring structure, or perhaps a sense of security, to my everyday life. In some instances, these quirks and habits border on the embarrassingly obsessive-compulsive. For instance, at nookoowa, I routinely make sure that anything situated on tables or counters be set in an alignment parallel to the edges. Sometimes, nipiitaam or nitana will offset things purposely, just to watch me run around straightening them. On the other hand though, I prefer our tables and countertops to be absolutely empty except when in use, and all items that might otherwise be placed upon them to be neatly stowed away in closets, trunks, and cupboards. I also try to make sure that any like-type objects that happen to be stored on a shelf - such as books, video games, compact discs, statuettes, picture frames, what have you - are neatly aligned and arranged in some pleasing order. My bed must always be made, unless someone’s in it, and nothing beyond sheets, blankets, or pillows belongs on it. It bothers me when clothing is tossed on the floor, or draped anywhere other than on hangers in our closets. Furniture, in the form of couches, cushioned chairs, dining sets, etc. strike me as clutter, limiting the spaces that one would otherwise have available to conduct creative activities. I prefer to sit on the floor, with just a pillow or folded blanket for support. I don’t like any lighting except that which comes from naato’si, nor prolonged periods of electronic noise. The different foods on my plate cannot touch, unless we’re eating Mexican, in which case it must all be mixed together into a bean, cheese, and rice paste. And I don’t think sinks are places to keep dirty dishes, or sponges, or globs of fallen toothpaste… although they are for cleaning such things immediately. The list could go on, all these partialities that are so rarely realized to my satisfaction. The truth of the matter is, in the long run, most of my aesthetic habits bring me more irritation than comfort. Yet I continue to uphold them all the same.

One of my greatest obsessive-compulsive behaviours, a massive sink-hole of energy, and that which applies more than any other to the present project, is an overwhelming desire to document periods of transition in my life. I’ve been journaling since I was about twelve years old, using this practice as a surrogate companion of sorts, with whom to discuss the occasionally strange (and often mundane) changes I’m constantly attempting to make in my life, in whatever direction I happen to be exploring at the time. Over nearly three decades, I’ve experimented with a wide variety of media, from classic stationary and blank books, to audio notes, photography, film, sketching. I’ve written in both first and third person, I’ve tried to approach the practice as story telling, as ethnography, as documentary, as art. But my trouble is this… for me, the final product of my efforts is never good enough. I’m constantly shifting tactics and media. I’ve probably made some stationers fairly rich. In fact, any new idea at all can compel me to destroy prior work and start anew, because my sense is that a fresh journaling project is like an opportunity for the redefinition of self. It’s a personal renewal. A cleansing, a chance to make a vow and completely transform the narratives that guide one’s experiences. An old journal, on the other hand, one that no longer accurately reflects my sensibilities or interests in the present, is to me a blemish, an imperfection, a blatant reminder of the self I’ve already outgrown. Such past projects are like carelessly wrought sculptures, beyond repair. And so I must begin, again and again.

Now I know, some may say that for the artist it is the process that matters, not the product. And there are examples from around the world to demonstrate this claim. There are the Tibetan sculptures made from butter, which melt in the sun. The sacred sand-paintings of the Navajo, scooped-up and discarded at the close of their healing ceremonies. Origami cranes, floating down the rivers of Japan. There are all manner of ikitstakssiistsi to look toward as monuments to the significance of process over product. True. I don’t deny it. But these examples involve at least two aspects that my journals do not. First, they are almost always seen to some stage of human completion, each creative act having a very defined conclusion, the point at which they are left in sacrifice to the sacred beings, the ancestors, the future generations. Which brings up the second distinction they have from my journals – these creative acts are also highly spiritual, inaugurating, feeding, or renewing sacred relationships. And while my journaling practices have always nurtured, I’ve never really approached them as offerings to the forces that sustain my life. Rather, and perhaps sadly, I feel deep down that they have been little more than tools for fostering detachment, as if the immediate activities involved in my pursuits for growth and transformation are somehow not enough in themselves. And I’m aware that it is in large part my history of exposure to an immature and ego-centric global ethos that has conditioned me to such hollow practice.

There is another (and related) reason why I tend to discard imperfect or outdated journals, over-concern myself with the organization of items on my shelving systems, fret obsessively over household clutter, etc. It is because I have been enculturated in an aesthetics that defies nature by placing all like items together, and all unalike items apart. It’s a system partial to concrete categories, surface in its emphasis, allowing little room for metamorphoses, transfigurations, or interconnectivities. In fact, it is a way that fears these complexities and the potential loss of present form. A journal, by its very nature of recording a series of thoughts and life experiences, all of which are unalike except by means of their association to a single person in the midst of constant change, somehow simultaneously calls-to and troubles this aesthetics. As typically carried out, a journal is in essence just another means of imposing false order on the flow of life, both by objectifying experience and by organizing its representation into segments of a linear-time framework that is completely removed from the shifting cyclicality of the natural world. My fluent relationship with both kinds of awareness has, in a sense, rendered me bipolar. I strive for a certain level of systematicity, all the while knowing full well that such order reflects an impoverished approach to negotiating the human condition.

Perhaps what I’ve needed all along is a healthy recognition of both the limitations and potential functionalities of record-keeping practices, particularly in the traditions of aokstakio’p and aisinaakio’p… this, followed by an alterative adoption of those beneficial techniques and media from the established global culture, inwardly, in a manner that augments rather than re-shapes niitsitapia’pii. I am lucky, in this sense, to be already engaged in a learning process through iiyaohkimiipaitapiiyssin, which I’m sure will offer many insights along the way. But all the same, I know that to achieve my vision, to revitalize forms of niitsitapi record-keeping through my journaling practice, I will have to work much more closely with those constant resources I can trust - niitsi’powahsin, akaitapiitsinikssiistsi, ki nipaapao’kaanistsi. I will also need to develop a habit of respecting the advice of my own deeper intuition, and begin responding regularly to the voices of the sspommitapiiksi, ksaahkomitapiiksi, and soyiitapiiksi of kitawahsinnoon. My hope is that in blogging the present journal, Akayo’kaki A’pawaawahkaa, I can explore and perhaps realize this interest. And if nothing else, if the urge to renew strikes again, all I have to do is hit DELETE.

Akayo'kaki A'pawaawahkaa

09 August 2009

Night Heron

Please Donate To Support

About Me

Blog Archive

Obsessing On Purpose

Followers