• Copote: Traditional outerwear made from a Hudson Bay blanket, secured with a woven sash.
• Infinity flag: The Métis national flag, featuring a white infinity symbol usually on a blue field.
• Metchif: Métis language spoken widely by North Dakota’s Turtle Mountain tribe. “Our verbs are Cree, our nouns are French,” says Goodon.
• Pemmican: Meat (buffalo, deer, elk) dried with berries. Made and sold by Métis to other Voyageurs and explorers, Pemmican was portable and prevented scurvy.
• Red River cart: Wooden ox or horse cart used by early Métis to haul trade goods.
• Voyageur: French for traveler, voyageurs were fur traders who traveled by canoe.

North Dakota has several well-known festivals observing our cultural heritage–like the United Tribes Pow Wow or the Norsk Høstfest. But there’s one annual event you may not have heard of, and it’s already drawing more than 10,000 each August to the International Peace Garden near Dunseith.

Now in its third year, the International Métisfest celebrates the region’s Métis people–descendents of Europeans and Native Americans.

“We’re the children of the fur traders,” says Dan Goodon, Métisfest organizer. The first Métis were born to French, Scottish, or English fathers and Cree, Ojibwa, or Assinboine mothers in the 18th century. Today, Canada’s National Statistics Agency reports about 400,000 Métis can be found throughout that country, while closer to home, Goodon estimates 90% of North Dakota’s Turtle Mountain tribe are descended from Métis.

Here’s a video snatched off Youtube from the 2009 gathering…

The festival highlights the fiddle and step dance of the culture on three stages throughout the weekend. A rendezvous village, voyageur games, and music contests will also take place.
Cultural workshops will explore traditional Metchif language, sash weaving, Red River carts, dance, and beading.

Goodon says the festival, though only a couple years old, has already become important to local communities. He tells stories of long-separated cousins from across the border finding one another at the event and says the weekend feels like a family reunion for many.

At the same time, he encourages people of any background to attend. “This is all about preserving and sharing our culture,” he says.

Of course, the best cultural experiences start with food. Ask Goodon whether Métis have good cuisine, and he’ll tell you: “You betcha, and you’ll get some of it if you come up here.”

Métisfest is held August 26-28, 2011 at the International Peace Garden on the U.S.-Canada border near Dunseith, ND. Tickets are $10 for the three-day weekend and include admission to events, trading post, games, rendezvous village, and workshops.

Tickets for nightly concerts featuring fiddler Ryan Keplin (Friday) and country singer Patricia Conroy (Saturday) are sold separately. Camping is available at the Peace Garden. To enter the Peace Garden, no passport is necessary; however, some form of photo identification is required to re-enter the United States.

There are several reasons a healing might not work, Bob Copenhaver, tells me. “Sometimes roadblocks have to be dealt with. Roadblocks like unforgiveness.”

But here in Bismarck’s Healing Rooms, the walls are papered in testimonials from people for whom the healing has worked.

“I walked in limping; I walked out not limping from the Healing Room” reads one of the hundreds of yellow sheets tacked to the wall. Another reads, “I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma … the doctor was totally amazed at how fast the chemo worked.” And so on.

It doesn’t always work the first time, Copenhaver is saying. I might have to return. Plus, not truly forgiving others might not be my biggest barrier to healing. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

This is my first time at the Healing Rooms of the Northern Plains.  Lola and Bob Copenhaver opened the nonprofit in north Bismarck eight years ago, and today they work with a team of more than 30 intercessors, volunteers who pray for healing on the behalf of others.

“A wide range of people walk in,” says Lola. “We might get someone who just wants a blessing to someone with three-weeks to live.”

They don’t just walk in either. Prayer requests arrive on the phone or by email. At times, intercessors travel to see individuals at home, in hospitals, or in residential facilities as well.

“What if you’re not a Christian?” I ask.

Lola cautions that non-believers could lose their healing, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t welcome. “We’ll pray for anyone,” she says.

Soon after, she brings me a single page, like an intake form. I fill in my name, address, and phone. It asks about my church affiliation, and whether I’ve been born again or baptized in the Holy Spirit. I decide to answer honestly. Under Prayer Need, I request help for this hip pain. The rest of the page is basic liability—I understand this is not professional medical care, counseling, or therapy. I sign my name, turn in my paper, and then wait alone in the room with all the testimonials on the wall.

Bob and Lola Copenhaver, Healing Rooms of the Northern Plains directors

Nobody gets paid at the Healing Rooms. According to tax filings, not even the Copenhavers make anything for providing this service. Intercessors work here “for the joy of being used” as God heals through them, says Lola. Intercessors may be retired or working, young or old. “We’d love to see some teenagers volunteer, too,” she adds.

Becoming an intercessor requires producing a note from one’s pastor or other faith leader followed by classroom training.

Volunteers come from many denominations and churches according to the liability statement I just signed. “Lutherans, Baptists, Catholics …” Lola lists some of the faiths. But the history of Healing Rooms suggests their origins are largely Pentecostal.

Bismarck’s Healing Rooms of the Northern Plains is affiliated with the International Association of Healing Rooms in Spokane, WA. Launched in 1999, the Healing Rooms Ministry drew inspiration from the 1910s Healing Rooms run by John G. Lake, also in Spokane. Lake’s team of more than 100 trained intercessors participated in over 100,000 healings between 1915 and 1920. Today, intercessors pray out of 1400 Healing Rooms around the world, according to their own literature.

My intercessors are Val and Bob. Val stands behind my left shoulder murmuring prayers I can’t quite hear, while Bob directs most of the healing. I hold my hands out while Bob smears ointment on my upturned palms and forehead. Then silence while Bob listens for guidance from God.

Soon, Bob asks me to sit in a chair. Squatting in front of me, he lifts my ankles level with my knees. That’s when he sees it—one of my legs is ¼ inch shorter than the other. Val sees it too, I think.

I am the only one who doesn’t see it, but maybe I see it. I allow that his hands wrapped around my ankles aren’t even, so maybe that means ….

We pray.

Well, Bob and Val pray. I close my eyes because I don’t know what else I am supposed to be doing.

When the prayer is over, Bob notes that my legs evened out almost the moment he began praying.

I admit, my hip isn’t throbbing at that moment…though it doesn’t feel healthy exactly.

Bob says God has healed me, but as others have said previously, I am at risk to lose those results. Bob says Satan may try to take away my healing. And that reminds Bob of a bigger problem—my faith. He picks up my form and verifies the information: “You haven’t been baptized? You haven’t accepted Jesus as your Savior?”

Bob and Val are ready to fix that too, but I decline. Bob says my healing will be harder to maintain, but to their credit, Bob and Val don’t pressure me. Instead, they say a final blessing, thank God for bringing me there that day, and hand me pamphlets describing the value of baptism and speaking in tongues.

We hug and I thank them for their generosity and volunteerism.

James Randi, magician and skeptic, says it’s one of the most common tricks in the faith-healing repertoire, leg lengthening.  He documents it in his book, The Faith Healers, and in numerous YouTube videos where you can see faith healers from decades past lengthening legs and then Randi replicating the illusion.

Closer to home, Marv Mutzenberger, Bismarck State College Religion Professor, says he has doubts about “transcendental magic” too.

A Lutheran clergyman in Bismarck since 1960, Mutzenberger says he doesn’t discount the possibility of faith healing, but he’s never seen it. “The only healing I’ve seen that works is medicine, eating right, taking care of your body—and your mind.”

A few days later, I visit my physician about the hip pain, which still bothers me off and on. She takes x-rays and says she’ll call. Her assistant phones just as I sit down to write this story:

“The doctor looked at the x-ray. She doesn’t see anything wrong.”

You can see Schmidt play free Sunday Dec. 26, 7-9 p.m. at Cappuccino on Collins, 105 Collins Ave, Mandan. The coffee shop is small, so you’ll want to get there early for a table.

The problem was, Rena was an unlikely candidate for any of my attention/adventure/shock theories. She’s a nice woman. She lives where she was raised and likes to knit. I met her through her Mom. She’s happily married as far as I know—in fact I think her husband bought her wheels.

And an attention hound? Like the kind of girl you find outside during a party sitting on the curb crying, surrounded by concerned girlfriends?

No. That’s not Rena.

So, I connected with her and the new BisMan Bombshellz on Facebook and followed as they talked about learning to skate, bake sale fund raisers, and boot camps. I watched as Facebook names morphed: Rena became Anne Thrax;  Tara became Jewce E., etc.

I told Rena I thought she was cool. She told me I should join the roller derby. “You know you want to.”

But I am too old and rickety. I have this bad back…

…and, well, long story short, I signed up to be a referee about a week later. As a ref, I can skate, practice with the team, and get my own badass derby name (currently taking suggestions).  Plus, nobody bumps into me on purpose.

I observed my first practice Wednesday night at a local school gymnasium, and that’s what I really want to talk about:

Practice amounts to an hour of stretching and strengthening followed by an hour or so of skating. Nothing remarkable about that, but the SPIRIT of practice is unforgettable.  Imagine going back to high school PE class, on a day when all the popular girls and your PE teacher have all bussed off to Fargo for some cheerleading thing. The substitute teacher isn’t empowered enough to enforce many dress or conduct codes either.

What’s that leave? It leaves all the quirkiest girls behind, in their most comfy clothes, free from feeling judged for once. They work hard. They cuss. They laugh. They hug. They don’t notice who did 20 push ups and who only mustered 1.

It’s like that. Only they aren’t high school girls. They are grown women, grown tattooed women, many with small children running in and out of the gym.

“Aren’t you even a little concerned about whether I’ll be fit enough to ref an entire bout?” I ask Jewce E., the volunteer coordinator.

“No. Most of us couldn’t even skate a couple months ago.”

Then she adds, “I’m really glad you signed up.”

Me too. At 49, I will be the oldest lady at practice starting Sunday (most appear to be in their 30s or younger), and I’m not even a little worried about that.

You see where all this is going, right? An environment where you can work out, play, make friends, cuss, dress how you want, and not feel self-conscious? PE teachers and gym owners everywhere, take note. The BisMan Bombshellz got it all over you.

I’m joining the roller derby for the exercise.

Carrie Fisher once wrote that the saddest two words in the English language are “what party?”

If you missed the Jescia Hoffman reception on November 12 at the Mandan Art Association Gallery, you well should be mouthing those very words this morning. It was great fun: live music, fresh baked goods, cool people, interesting banter, and fantastic art. Allow me to rub it in:

Live music: The Three Amigos (Buck, John, and Tabitha) kept the guitar, fiddle, mando music going all evening. Tabitha at just 15 is already a blossoming singer, songwriter, and musician. Think Nora Jones, but with a fiddle.

Three Amigos. One of several photos. Talented, capable, but unable to photograph with all eyes open.

Fresh baked goods: Typically, art opening food is cheese, crackers, vegetables, dip. Wholesome and healthy. But for this event, Jescia’s mother brought  several trays of cookies, breads, baklava, brownies, and bars. As you might imagine, we have lots of left over celery today.

Baked goods. One of several trays.

Cool people:  Association member Rena Mehlhoff was there. She happened to mention that she has just  joined a local roller derby team.  She said she’s doing it for the exercise. Yes, her mother knows. In fact, her mother tells me Rena is trying to recruit her sister into the rink with her.

Melhoff wins my most surprising conversation of the party award.

No. This isn't Rena. This is Mary Quintus, MAA president. She's recently brought several new paintings to the gallery.

Interesting banter and fantastic art: Besides roller derby talk, I had a pretty good convo about mythology with Jescia. She gets the humor in Ovid, and it often shows in her works.

Jescia at her reception. Both works in this photo sold last night.

Now a word for the “what party” crowd:

You’re too late for the party and some of Hoffman’s work has already sold. But the good news is that the gallery will still have her work on display and for sale until Nov. 26.

The other good news is that the Amigos agreed to return and Jescia’s mom has promised another batch of baked goods for the Dec. 10 Wine and Cheese Tasting event.

There are two things about the exhibit that stand out for me:

First, there is the story of Mink, the granddaughter of Sakakawea, who modeled for the statue.  I think this is Mink in this photo.  Clearly the artist confused Mink with the Land O’ Lakes Indian girl. That’s nice, but I think Mink would have made for a more artistic and interesting beauty had the sculpture been a little truer to the actual model.

Second, there is, as always, a long discussion of the proper way to pronounce Sakakawea’s name. Several spellings exist in the L&C journals. Clark just called her Janie–no help at all there.

I prefer the name the children of North Dakota give her as they crowd in the Heritage Center for the penny-crushing machine. In fact I can’t even look at her any more and not hear the local kids’ Madonna-like name for her. To them, she’s not Sakagawea or Sakajawea. She’s  just:  ”That lady with a baby.”

Republican candidate Berg takes advantage of the gathering

I went to a Tea Party rally at the capitol yesterday. If you’ve never been to one of these things, think of it as tent revival karaoke. Well-meaning amateurs saying whatever they can to get a rise from the audience. Nobody is ever quite as good at it as your own minister, but still,  they’re all very supportive of each other.

The president is an illegal alien. There is this train that’s moving too fast, and we have to slow it down, no we have to stop it, because the bridge…..is….OUT!!!!

Speaker's lectern with Ron Paul supporters in back.

I don’t know what that means either. But I was intrigued by the guys behind the lectern with the Ron Paul sign.

I thought Ron Paul and the tea party were disconnected. For starters, Ron Paul always opposed the Iraq War. That’s not a Tea Party value, judging by its candidates.

Del and Don

Del and Don agreed.  They even allowed that Ron Paul’s original Tea Party was  co-opted by Republicans, and if you could get Tea Partiers to commit to a position, it would probably not be the same as that of Ron Paul.

But that was their point.

“Are you baiting Tea Party patriots with your big Ron Paul sign?” I asked.

Don smiled and didn’t disagree. He told me about being boo’d at Tea Parties past.

Chris Stevens, Field Coordinator, John Birch Society

I also met Chris, the new state coordinator for the John Birch Society. He was staffing a table full of literature about States Rights.

We looked at the 10th amendment together, and I asked, “If California legalizes marijuana next month, will you support its right to do that? Because the Federal Government just said that it will NOT.”

Chris said, “Yes. California has the right to legalize marijuana.”

Both Chris and the Ron Paulers agreed that the Middle East wars were unconstitutional, too.

We had plenty to disagree about , don’t get me wrong. I’m finding that most people don’t really understand the history of social welfare and civil rights in this country, and why they exist in the form we have today. I don’t agree for a minute that the markets would have corrected racism or poor houses.

But what I applaud about the crazy fringe guys at the Tea Party (and I say that affectionately Don and Chris) was that they had a solid position and stood for it even when it put them at odds with the madding crowd.

It’s far easier to have a conversation with someone who lives by guiding principles than with someone who just wants to stop someone else’s train.

Martinson grave. Click for better view of luminous orbs.

I found Henry Martinson’s grave. I’ve been meaning to find it for months. But I finally got around to really looking for him when a friend sent me an old book of his poems last week.

If you follow 20^th century North Dakota history at all, you probably already know about Martinson.

Martinson was a Norwegian homesteader, Socialist, early organizer for the Non-Partisan League, editor for the Socialist paper Iconoclast, poet, fiddle player. Lived in Fargo, Mandan, Minot. Born 1883; died 1981. He’s probably best remembered, however, because he survived long enough to tell the story of those days to filmmakers in the 1978 film Northern Lights.

He haunts me. Or maybe I haunt him. First because he played the fiddle, and I feel kinship to most fiddle players. Second because I miss his unapologetic voice warning us against corporations and letting others profit from our labor. But at the same time, I love that his NPL ran the Wobblies off when they tried to latch on to the NPL in North Dakota. He was a Socialist, but he was no Bolshevik.

Yeah. I found his grave.  But to my surprise, when I got there,  I felt like a gawker. I don’t know Henry Martinson. And I don’t think I have anything to say to him. I couldn’t even remember why I wanted to see his grave. Am I just stalking a dead man?

Maybe. Or maybe a dead man is stalking me. Maybe he wants me to tell you his story again, in case you missed it the first and second time. Maybe he wants me to tell you his poems. Or maybe he just wants someone to put his picture on the internet.

I looked up from his head stone when I visited and looked south. And you know what? I could see my house.

He’s been watching me all this time.

FAITH

Grassy buttes and green clad hills

Revive in the Souls of men

The abiding faith of the pioneers

To sow and to hope again

The only photo I have of Henry, from the cover of Prairie Trilogy

All photos taken Sept. 17 and 18, 2010, Mandan, N.D.