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Posts Tagged ‘Native American’



Every spring,

fae Dutchmen flock to free these fancy breeches

from my forest fronds.


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Grampa Ben with unknown menI recently came across this picture of my grandfather, Benjamin Odawa Littlecreek posing with a group of unknown men. I would like to know who they are. He traveled extensively during the winters when he wasn’t working at his Trading Post at Itaska State Park in Minnesota. He often went to other countries. He worked at Itaska from about 1947 to at least 1960 (That’s when I think I was about 5 when I saw him there).  So I believe this was taken during that time period–most likely from the thin ties I would say in the fifties. At least it gives people a general period around which to look.

Who are these guys? Could they be Russians? Are they from the Minnesota state capitol? Are they U.S. Marshals? Does that weird column or lamp post on the right give any clues? The guy just on the right of gramps could be Indian, he could be Russian… Can anyone identify the badges? Any clues, help, or answers would be appreciated. If you work at the FBI, or the CIA, or MI6, or the KGB, or even the Minnesota Historical Society, anonymous, or other tips welcome.

 

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Hazy snow flurries.

Winter white waves

glisten in the headlights,

ebbing and flowing across the blacktop,

as I drive home late at night,

in Red Lake

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the sound

of the North Wind

 

rushing through the trees

 

all night long.

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The Frogs are shaking their rattles

with no discernible rhythm.

 

They stand unseen

beyond the reach of the porch light.

surrounding the house

in the sultry night air

 

summoning me.

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Midnight in Red Lake.

The air is cool through the open bedroom window.

Dogs are barking.

Somewhere in the distance,

to the Northwest,

someone singin’ Indian.

Their song fades in and out.

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Always be your self

unless you can be a Littlecreek.

Then always be a Littlecreek

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A Black bear frosted with cinnamon sits on the side of the road.

An Eagle peers into the distance from her high perch over the shoreline.

Two geese bugle as they fly just over head,

against the background of a Minnesota blue-white sky,

in Red Lake.

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This morning, amid the rose-red rays of the rising sun

and the sounds of the birds singing it to rise

and the sounds of traffic from a highway not seen but heard

the four owls surround my house and encourage me.

“Go to Red Lake.”

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You perch with your mate,

directly in front of me,

and unmistakably declare your name.

The sound of your name follows you as you fly around.

I see you… A Grey Crested Tit Mouse.

Why has no one else heard this wonderful thing?

 

 

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