The Pine Mountain Clan Journal

She opened her backpack and took out the bundle. Carefully unwrapped it and put away the red cloth in her pocket. The blood had dried on the leather cover and made it look worn on those spots. She had read it several times. Even knew some pages by heart. But when she was standing at the crest. She wanted to read one page, the first page….

02:20:24:17:54

It began for me that day, at the lodge not far away from here. I write this in my own little black book with blank pages in it, 3 years later. At the same spot without a mask, on the first covid free day in 4 years. If they had taken care of the first covid, things wouldn’t have gotten this bad. The pandemic that kept on giving, insurrections and riots included. I made a deer hide cover for the book. I used two beads made from the stone we got at four corners and I used grandmas old Concho for a clasp. That way, I can use it again when I fill this one. Like those journals in the movies and the museums.

I remember the meeting that day. The wind was blowing hard and we had to move camp because a child saw what we didn't, and she was right. We don’t have to work so hard if we pay attention. We can shelter from the wind together, even when far apart. I remember that morning, when light broke through my window. Even though we were miles apart, we all knew something special was happening. But I wasn’t prepared for this, I didn’t know, I really didn’t know.

Many horses and Juan where in the car. We were driving back from the meeting with rest of the clan at the lodge grounds. Those of us that could, those of us that were still able to. Most people don’t even know what a Sweatlodge is. But everything was different that day. The pandemic hit the Rez hard. Too many elders. Unknown heroes of Native American history, that kept our culture alive, that lived the old Indian way, in secret. Eventually, I will write your story. My teachers. My ancestors. All I have, is what you taught me… Us! The clan still stands. That lodge is both home, and away from home. For me at least, the Launchpad.

In the beginning this was only a good spot to get out of the car and stretch, have a smoke before driving the 4.5 hours back to LA. I remember Many Horses stepped out as soon as I turned the car off and pulled the keys. Juan stayed inside the car. For me, this place always was more. From the first time I saw the sun above the clouds, I was in love. Here I can still feel the connection to the camp. It is the place to get one last deep breath before going back into the city, away from the mountains and these lands that I love so much.

I once saw a documentary about the Aztecs on TV. When Mexico City fell to the Spaniards, the Aztecs had to flee in the middle of the night from their homes. Going up the walls of the valley, they followed a road to a point of no return. Where once you take that curve, you are no longer in the valley, that life behind you, and further away with every step. Afterwards, I saw that here. I always wanted to stop on the way back from lodge, bless myself, thank cretor and ready my mind for the city. I’d pretend I was a warrior on his way to battle. It sounded romantic. After Henry died, the place became more. After Inocencio passed it's now sacred to me. That day I was at the meeting with what was left of my clan and elders. In our land I love so much. Why didn’t I bring it up? The Bear Dance, or the dreams, or the road that showed in my visions. I should have.

Many Horses was by the edge first. He was also seeing the cracks. We have done this so many times, on so many missions. He is a road warrior too, living on the red road as best we can. I would walk into battle with him, no questions asked. And him for me. But he got his own assignment. We can't be each other's backup this time.

I remember I got out of the car. I walked towards him, towards the edge. The sun danced in my eyes, it waved and pulled at me. Many horses extended his arm towards me with the tobacco pouch and brought me back. He already had a pinch between his fingers. I pulled out a pinch for myself. I turned towards the sun and did my prayer. I spoke to my brothers that became ancestors, I prayed for the mountain, I prayed for rain. Had I known what creator had in store for me, I would have prayed a little longer and asked for more.

I turned, Many Horses was already lighting a cigarette. Juan approached us, packing his pipe. I remember I had the pouch in my hands and was rolling a cigarette. That's when I noticed their laughter, it matched our own. It was real laughter, the one that sounds like medicine healing. They were focused on their laps and what they were doing. I turned a couple times while we were sharing a smoke and laughing ourselves. Rev and Leilani pulled over as soon as they saw us. I had heard them coming up the curve. Raul followed 5 minutes after, he was the last to leave the meetings, always. Rev and Leilani were finishing their prayers, when Raul walked up to the ridge. He grabbed the tobacco pouch from Rev and turned towards the sun. I remember we felt like kids escaped from camp. We laughed and teased each other, by the time Raul finished his prayer, we were laughing out loud again. I miss them.

That was the first time I met Sharon and Sheila. In this spot. I don’t remember how we started talking. Or what was said first, but I remember the cadence, they seemed familiar… Seemed almost like we we were laughing together. They were drawing the view. We started talking about nature, the weather, places around the area. Many horses, Leilani and Rev started to recommend spots. Over what felt to be a long and short time, they left as they had arrived. Until it was just their car and mine. We stayed for the sunset and Karen got out of their car to watch it with us. I was cold, and watching her made me feel colder. Jayla remained in the car, she was keeping Swetie, their four legged friend company. Her laugh was contagious. Karen got back in the car and we kept talking. I asked them to show me their drawings. They were actually using watercolors to draw the sunset in journals books. Their books reminded me of those in historical collections. But, when I looked at the drawings, I felt the mountain in Karens drawing, and saw a story in Jaylas...

We laughed some more. Turns out people have heard of Sweatlodges. Sheila actually worked for Natives and Karen worked with the river. Something made me want to ask more questions, but I had several hours to drive. As I was walking away, i knew if I didn’t at least try to extend that connection I would regret it. I asked them if they were going back to San Francisco even though I heard them say they lived in Camarillo. She took down my phone number right on the drawing and we made plans to connect when we got back into to town. As I gave her my number, for a second, I spaced out between digits. There was a crack in the light that reflected on the hood. The crack felt like it was reality breaking again. I almost plunged into the tear, but something pulled me back. Then I stuttered the last digits, moved towards my car, got in and began driving back. I remember feeling like I would see them again. I never imagined they were scientists. Much less the scientists who would find and gather the data. Or that we weren't the only ones seeing the cracks.

That feels like so long ago. By tomorrow mornings light, I"ll be over the ridge myself. To the next states and into the next country. I don’t know when or if I’ll get to see the sky from this spot again. But I have to go.

I have $4,086.86 in cash and the $20,000 I got that day, in the bank. A full gas tank, my wallet and my passport. I’m taking the eagle father and my fire keeper bundle and the medicine pouch hanging from my neck, which I hold in my left hand as I write. I've got a feeling I’m gonna need it in the red road ahead. Whatever fits in the pack. But not much else. I told the elders council and they agree I have to take the chance and deliver the data gathered at our site. I hope I can make them understand. If we’re lucky, it will be enough to get us united, and we will reconnect the dances and prayer circles.

And if I’m lucky, i’ll get to draw poems along the way, gather sunsets that only I will remember. But I’ll write them here so I don’t forget. I will collect what I can about the medicine of flowers and plants on the way. And songs for the drum circle. And my visions, and my dreams. And stories to tell by the fire. And the books will sit in the cabin and tell of me and my people. I’ll start driving as soon as I can see the seven sisters in the night sky. Imma follow spirit, and the 5 north. Until I see the Northern lights with my own eyes, and make a left. Jaja! I am Brownbear. Southern native, from the pine mountain clan.

She finished and looked up. There were tears in her eyes as she looked into the valley. She saw the ocean between two hills. The monolith to the right. The tuft of tress at the end of the opposite ridge. She was in the right place. She understood what Brownbear meant when he called that place sacred. She had promised him she would return the book to his clan. She flipped through the pages, only a handful left blank. She found the page where he had drawn the map. She wanted them to know where he was. She had been on the road herself for 2 months trying to deliver it. She closed the leather binding and wrapped the leather string, pulling it tight through the beads. The clasp was gone. She wrapped it up in the piece of red cloth and put it inside her bag. Took out a cigarette from a brand new pack in her bag, fumbled with it, broke it to pieces and held a pinch of the tobacco in her palm. She pointed it towards the sun and began to make a prayer. But the winds picked up and blew it back in her face and into her mouth. She swore she heard the bears gruff laughter as she was spitting tobacco. She got back into his car smiling. On her way to mile marker 50, to start looking for a small road that leads to an old gate. She had to explain to them who she was and how she was family. Also, how Brownbear made them all millionaires and the clan land owners in Canada.