Candle Fish Mask
On those early mornings, more birds sang in unison than she thought possible -- chattering like a tribe of young girls and old women during a root gathering outing. Sparrow, thrush, chickadee, king fisher, blackbird and robin sang all at once as night turned into early dawn and in the background that old drummer woodpecker rattled on tree trunks. The music of the bird-people didn’t seem to disturb the sleep of the other family members. She wanted to get up before everyone else and go down to the river to watch the sunrise, but her father did not permit her to go outside alone in the morning, fearing that a prowling lion or even a sesquec might be hiding to snatch her away.
The moons of the new grass had come to the Duwam'ah valley. Soon mother deer would bring their fawns down from the mountains to graze on the hillside meadows covered with flowers instead of snow -- white, yellow and blue blooms bursting from bulbs and roots awakened from their long sleep. Everywhere were signs that the warm season had dawned.
On one of those days the family heard form an excited neighbor that the candle fish-people had arrived in the river. Immediately her older brothers and uncles rushed down to the riverside with their nets on long poles to scoop up thousands of shimmering silver fingerlings, quickly filling the fish baskets. A big cooking fire outside was lit and the women ran back and forth from the fisherman at the shore, hauling heavy baskets of candlefish lifted fresh from the cold water. Uma-kwee’s job was to spoon wiggling fish from the baskets into the boiling water of the cooking boxes, heated by red-hot rocks lifted from the fire with tongs. The women worked with delight as the thick fat from the fish broth formed at the top of the boxes and could be scooped into dishes.
The younger girls and boys assigned to bring wood for the fire each received a taste of the candlefish fat by dipping a stick into the dish. The fat was not only good to eat, especially when mixed with strawberries, but lit up the lodge at night when used as fuel for the lamps. The fat was so rich that some elders simply put a cedar bark wick into a dried candlefish and lit it as a long burning lamp.
Each spring working at the cook fire near the river bank, the women loved to sing the candlefish-people song thanking the Creator for the gift of such a delightful food that also, by providing lamp oil, had the power to banish darkness when the sun went down.
Flashing silver of the sea
Searching for fresh waters
Driving darkness from our sight
Pouring riches in our laps
Thankfully we dip to taste
Chief of the Ocean’s feast
The people stored many bent cedar boxes of candlefish fat and placed them in the spring hut, built over a cold stream to keep food cool, enough to last for a year with plenty of extra boxes for trading.
Another day the men returned from an elk hunt with stories of tracking a huge bull, which, after much prayer, they killed with arrows and spears. Using stone knives and axes the hunters cut the carcass into seven pieces to pack the meat back to the canoes from deep in the forest about a day’s journey up the river. The men who carried the larger pieces on their backs came home happily singing though covered with blood from head to foot.
Before and after the hunt the leaders of the hunting party chanted the permission song to take the huge animal without offending its guardian spirit. “Forgive us Creator of the forest for taking your noble animal servant. Let the blood we spill in butchery wash away our offenses and purify our hearts. Prolong our days and let your bounty satisfy our hungry children with meat.”
Continued
The moons of the new grass had come to the Duwam'ah valley. Soon mother deer would bring their fawns down from the mountains to graze on the hillside meadows covered with flowers instead of snow -- white, yellow and blue blooms bursting from bulbs and roots awakened from their long sleep. Everywhere were signs that the warm season had dawned.
On one of those days the family heard form an excited neighbor that the candle fish-people had arrived in the river. Immediately her older brothers and uncles rushed down to the riverside with their nets on long poles to scoop up thousands of shimmering silver fingerlings, quickly filling the fish baskets. A big cooking fire outside was lit and the women ran back and forth from the fisherman at the shore, hauling heavy baskets of candlefish lifted fresh from the cold water. Uma-kwee’s job was to spoon wiggling fish from the baskets into the boiling water of the cooking boxes, heated by red-hot rocks lifted from the fire with tongs. The women worked with delight as the thick fat from the fish broth formed at the top of the boxes and could be scooped into dishes.
The younger girls and boys assigned to bring wood for the fire each received a taste of the candlefish fat by dipping a stick into the dish. The fat was not only good to eat, especially when mixed with strawberries, but lit up the lodge at night when used as fuel for the lamps. The fat was so rich that some elders simply put a cedar bark wick into a dried candlefish and lit it as a long burning lamp.
Each spring working at the cook fire near the river bank, the women loved to sing the candlefish-people song thanking the Creator for the gift of such a delightful food that also, by providing lamp oil, had the power to banish darkness when the sun went down.
Flashing silver of the sea
Searching for fresh waters
Driving darkness from our sight
Pouring riches in our laps
Thankfully we dip to taste
Chief of the Ocean’s feast
The people stored many bent cedar boxes of candlefish fat and placed them in the spring hut, built over a cold stream to keep food cool, enough to last for a year with plenty of extra boxes for trading.
Another day the men returned from an elk hunt with stories of tracking a huge bull, which, after much prayer, they killed with arrows and spears. Using stone knives and axes the hunters cut the carcass into seven pieces to pack the meat back to the canoes from deep in the forest about a day’s journey up the river. The men who carried the larger pieces on their backs came home happily singing though covered with blood from head to foot.
Before and after the hunt the leaders of the hunting party chanted the permission song to take the huge animal without offending its guardian spirit. “Forgive us Creator of the forest for taking your noble animal servant. Let the blood we spill in butchery wash away our offenses and purify our hearts. Prolong our days and let your bounty satisfy our hungry children with meat.”
Continued
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