By Maggie Lorenz
Dakota Canoe Journey paddlers on the Mníšoše (Missouri River)
Since I was a child, I have always had an innate connection to the earth. Soil, stone, plants - these relatives have always been easy relationships for me. I am a Taurus - fixed Earth. I had never thought much about my astrological sign and the connection I feel for the earth until I had a chance to connect with a volunteer and donor to LPCP over coffee. She shared her lifelong connection with water and spoke about how natural and easy that relationship was. She said that she was connecting with us at LPCP in an intentional effort to connect with the earth, and that when she began connecting with the earth and plants, it was a difficult connection to make. She mentioned that she was a water sign; I don’t recall if it was Cancer, Scorpio, or Pisces - but the point is, that the conversation made me think more deeply about my easy connection with the earth and my lack of connection to the water. Of course, I have supported the No DAPL, Line 3, and other water protection efforts, and intellectually I understand the sacredness of water - but in all honesty, I didn’t have a relationship with water. To me, water has always been somewhat frightening. There is a whole other world in the water with creatures that are pretty terrifying to me. One of my biggest fears as a child was drowning. I have never been interested in seeing the ocean or taking a cruise or swimming with dolphins. No. I have always had a healthy fear and respect for the water and when invited on a boat trip or other water activities, I have been known to decline by saying that the water isn’t my home - I am perfectly comfortable on land, thank you very much! Nonetheless, the conversation I had with our volunteer was nagging at me. You see, the spirits speak to us in all sorts of ways, and I knew that that meeting, and conversation, was actually an invitation for me to connect with the water.
Then, a few months later, a literal invitation came when I was asked to participate in the Dakota Canoe Journey - a grassroots effort by Dakota women to connect our families and communities to mní wičóni to educate, take action, and heal by honoring the gift of water. The journey also seeks to bring awareness and restore healing justice to past—and ongoing—genocide of Dakota people. The route, from Crow Creek to Bdote, is the reverse route our ancestors endured as they were expelled from their homelands and banished to South Dakota after the atrocities of the US Dakota War of 1862. This year would be the first of a four-year journey and ceremony that will raise awareness around climate change, rematriate and sustain our traditional water practices, undo historical trauma and violence with feminizing our history. The journey sounded amazing, powerful, necessary, and terrifying. But I also knew that it was something I needed to do.
The night before we were scheduled to start out, I stood at the boat launch on the shore of the Mníšoše in Fort Thompson. I looked at the water and felt all of my fears rising in me. I began wondering what the hell I was doing here?! I have been in a canoe once or twice in my entire life. For those of you who don’t know, the Missouri River is not a relaxing paddle for beginners. The winds in South Dakota and the dams can create some pretty intense currents and choppy waters. Why did I think this was a good idea? Did I really receive a spiritual invitation to connect with the water? Maybe I could just go home and enjoy a beach day at Lake Phalen! Right? Right?! Okay. Breathe. Leave your prayers, leave your offerings. You are here for a reason.
The next day, I was relieved when the organizers chose people to paddle for day one and I was not asked to be on the canoe. Since I wasn’t asked to paddle, I needed to help move vehicles and gear from our current camp site to our next camp site. No complaints here! It was a short trip, and we had a lot of help, so I ended up spending a lovely day reconnecting with a relative who I happened to run into. She invited me to tag along to dig timpsina (prairie turnips) and other medicine with her family. Timpsina is one of my all-time favorite foods. It is the tuber of a prairie flower, and we use them kind of like a potato - but you can eat them raw. Eating freshly dug timpsina is a rare treat for me because these plants no longer grow in Minnesota, or at least they are incredibly rare. I was so happy to be on dry land, eating my fill of timpsina, and visiting with relatives. I wanted to dig enough timpsina to take some home and to make a pot of soup for the paddlers for one of our evening meals, so I was trying to dig up every plant I could find. I also know our teachings about overharvesting. SInce I was a visitor to Crow Creek, and I didn’t want to take more than was appropriate, but I wasn’t entirely sure how much was too much. Luckily, uŋčí maká (grandmother earth) is a kind teacher and I began to notice that about half of my attempts to dig a plant, the soil was hard as a rock! I couldn’t get my shovel in the dirt an inch no matter how much weight I applied. After several instances of running into rock hard soil mere inches away from soil that was soft to dig, I began to realize that uŋčí maká was telling me to only dig every other plant I see. As soon as I listened, the work became easier. I would spot a timpsina and say, “not you”, and then I’d see another and say, “but I’ll dig you!”, and each time from there on out, the soil was soft. I knew how to listen to the earth, but the water? I had no idea what the water had in store for me.
Day two I had been asked to paddle the afternoon shift, so I had a good amount of time in the morning to let my anxiety build. But I made my prayers and left my offerings and by lunch time I was ready. We headed out in our safety boat to meet up with the paddlers where they had pulled off the river for lunch. The plan was for the safety boat to pick up two paddlers from the morning and bring them back to camp and my daughter and I would take their places in the canoe for the afternoon. The lunch spot was gorgeous, and I immediately began to walk along the banks to explore the plants and river rocks. I ate lunch and before I knew it, it was time for me to get in the canoe and get on the water, leaving behind my plant and stone friends. I have been taught to always ask permission before I get into the water, and I made sure to do so and give offerings of tobacco every time I stepped foot in that river. Again, a very healthy fear and respect for our sacred water. In addition to being somewhat terrified of the water, I am also a person who is very comfortable in a position of control. Growing up through some difficult situations, I have grown to use control as a defense mechanism to protect myself. Obviously, being “controlling” isn’t a place you want to operate from on a day-to-day basis. Learning to let go of the need for control has been a new part of my own personal healing journey. In this context though, on a multi-person canoe, you have just one person who is controlling where the canoe goes, and that is the stern at the back of the canoe. I was not the stern on this journey. I had to not only face my fear of the water, but I had to let go of control. Healing work is not easy. And then I remembered a teaching about one of our Dakota values - bravery. They say that being brave doesn’t mean you’re not afraid. It means being afraid and doing it anyway. So, I got in the canoe and began to paddle. Shortly after we set out, the other paddlers from the morning pointed out an eagle was following us along the shore. They said the eagle had been with them since day one. And I remembered when chairman Peter Lengkeek at Crow Creek prayed for us on the first day, he told us that there would be an eagle who would stay with us the entire journey. I saw that eagle at Crow Creek when the canoe first launched, and it gave me comfort to see the eagle with us at that moment. Soon we were in rough waters, and it was two hours of nonstop paddling to get to our exit point. That night I lay in my hotel bed while my arm and shoulder muscles burned and screamed in ways I had never experienced in my life, but somehow, I fell asleep.
Day three I was off the water and had time to reflect. I realized that I really, really, REALLY liked being in the canoe as a paddler, not at the stern in charge of directing the canoe. As I reflected on the aspect of control, I realized that by letting go of that control, I was able to go on “auto-pilot” and just paddle. I could let my brain rest. Decision fatigue is a very real thing, and, in my life, I play the “leader” role in so many ways - at work as the executive director, at home as a mother to three kids, and even in community where I volunteer on various boards and committees. Having that time to let my mind rest was incredibly renewing. It was also incredibly healing that I was able to let go of control in a feared situation, put my trust into someone else, and be safe and feel secure. I knew I was getting the things I needed from this journey and ceremony.
When day four came, I was asked to paddle again, and we were looking at some pretty intense wind conditions. In fact, we were going to be in a wind advisory starting at noon with expected wind gusts up to 50 mph. We knew we had to get on the water early and get off by noon, so we planned to stop at the three-mile point which had road access to get the canoe and us off the river. With a good plan in place, we got on the water and paddled for an hour or two when we had come to what we thought was the three-mile point. We stopped for a bathroom and snack break and to assess the weather. After we stopped, though, we quickly realized that we were actually about a half-mile shy of where we needed to be, so we decided to get back on the river and paddle what should have been another 15 minutes to the access point. Once we were back on the river, the wind picked up almost immediately. Because we were so close, we figured we could push through, but after a half an hour or more of extremely hard paddling, we had probably made it 500 feet. At this point, we were not only not moving forward, but despite all of our effort, we were being pushed backwards and towards the shore.
During this 30-minute ordeal, I was praying hard. I was paddling even harder. For Dakota people, one of the ways we describe the word, “wakáŋ” is something that has the power to give life and the power to take life. That is why we consider water sacred. We need water to live. Water sustains all life on this planet. But in that moment, I completely understood the power that water has to take a life. I knew I had to believe in my prayers and offerings that I had been making over these last four days. I knew I had to believe in this journey as a ceremony. And when I was praying in that moment, I asked our relatives in the water to help us stay alive. Ultimately, the river pushed us to the shore, but not at an access point. We stored the canoe and hiked into town where we were able to get picked up. None of it was easy. Physically, the paddle, the hike, the wind - it was all incredibly difficult. Emotionally, it pulled things out of me that were buried deep. I released things that had been pushed down and stored away for far too long. It all came out. That night I cried harder than I have in a long time. I have always heard, and repeated, the teachings about the healing power of moving water. This journey allowed me to experience and benefit from that power firsthand. In the end, I am not exactly sure what I left there at the Mníšoše, but I know that I came home feeling like a brand-new person. Things I didn’t even know I was carrying I was able to put down. It’s truly impossible to explain in words what happened that day on the river, but it was one of the most powerful experiences of my life. And I made a new relative with the water.
To learn more about the Dakota Canoe Journey, visit Dakota Canoe Journey (watobomani.org). Shout out to my dear friend Graci Horne for organizing and inviting me on this journey.
