|
Bruce
Martineau poles his father, Francis Martineau, along Deadfish
Lake after harvesting wild rice on the Fond du Lac reservation.
( photo by Dan Kraker, Minnesota Public Radio
|
Thomas Howes is standing at the canoe landing of a small lake,
about a half-hour outside Duluth. It's part of the reservation of
the Fond du Lac Band of Lake Superior Chippewa.
Deadfish Lake is almost completely covered with the tall green
stalks of wild rice plants.
"You essentially don't see water when you're looking at this,
you see what essentially looks like a field of grasses," Howes says
on this sunny, fall day.
Wild rice is the slender, black grain of an aquatic, reed-like
plant that grows out of the muck in the bottom of shallow lakes
and rivers. It has a rich, distinctive nutty flavor when it's cooked.
For generations, Native Americans in the northern Great Lakes
have harvested wild rice. It's an important food source. For some
it's a way to make a little extra money. And it's a cultural touchstone
that tribal members are trying to pass on to younger generations.
Howes, who's the band's natural resources manager, says to understand
why wild rice is so important to the Chippewa, or Ojibwe people,
you have to know their history.
They migrated to the Great Lakes region from the Northeast about
500 years ago. According to oral traditions, a prophecy told them
to journey west until they came to a place "where food grew on the
water."
"You know we came here from the East Coast of the United States,
and were told we'd find our permanent home when we found this wild
rice, this manomin, this food, that grows out of the water, and
that's held to be true," Howes says.
Related:
Dam removal sparks cultural revival for Mohawk tribe.
But a lot of the rice disappeared from the Fond du Lac reservation
after the government dug drainage ditches in the early 1900s, as
part of a futile effort to make the land more suitable for farming.
That disrupted the hydrology of the wild rice lakes.
For about 20 years now, the tribe has been working to restore
those lakes and bring the rice back.
Along the lakeshore we talk a pair of men pull up in a canoe,
including 58-year-old Ed Jaakola.
He's been ricing as long as he can remember. "Yep. Probably
45 years for me."
His partner, Jerrad Ojibway, helps scoop about 80 pounds of
green rice out of the canoe bottom into big plastic bags.
|
Jerrad Ojibway and Ed Jaakola bag wild rice
they harvested from Deadfish Lake on the Fond du Lac reservation.
(photo by Dan Kraker, Minnesota Public Radio)
|
There will be a lot less of it once it's dried
and processed. The finished product sells for about $10 a pound.
Ojibway's happy to see the rice return to the reservation. But
he worries about something else: He says the younger generation
isn't carrying on the tradition of ricing.
"The younger ones that are all on Facebook somewhere," he says,
adding that they're scared of the water, scared of bugs.
Later, another canoe pulls up to the landing at Deadfish Lake.
Bruce Martineau, 20, heaves it on to shore.
He started ricing five years ago with his grandfather. Now he's
with his dad, Francis Martineau. I ask Bruce why he does it.
"It's my culture," he says. "Natives done it since the beginning
of time. Once we lose this, then we lose, being as a people I guess.
Can't lose this or the language."
Bruce plans to print up some business cards and try to sell
rice to restaurants. The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources
estimates wild rice is worth at least $2 million to the state economy
every year.
But most people on the Fond du Lac reservation eat what they
harvest. Bruce Martineau says he also always gives some away.
"God gives this, so it's only right to give it back," he says.
"Give it to other people that can't go out there."
Francis Martineau says he's proud of his son for keeping the
tradition of wild ricing alive.
|