A Jar of Honey and a Cup of Coffee

Awhile back I wrote a blog about how many of my neighbors (and I) feel isolated and alone, even though we could have each other to be neighborly with. I mentioned an Elder who I have often thought of taking a pie to, and never did. Let's call her Mrs. Heints.

Last Friday, my Bee friends graciously shared 12 pints of beautiful honey with me. At Mrs. Heints' yard sale, she mentioned to me that her Dad kept bees, and she had fond memories of him in his Bee suit, puffing plumes of smoke around the hives. So naturally, the first person I thought of to share my honey with was Mrs.Heints. I scoped out her house this afternoon, trying to see if her front door was open. It was. I went into my house, pulled out a nice jar of honey from the Mason jar box, and walked on over.

I pressed the doorbell, and her little dog came barking up to greet me. Mrs. Heints had a big smile on her face when she saw the jar of liquid gold that I was holding. "I brought you some honey from my Bees, the first of the year," I told her. "How wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Say, do you drink coffee? Would you like to come in and have a cup with me?"  "I would love it," I said, and followed her into a tiny, quaint kitchen.  Mrs. Heints filled her Mr. Coffee carafe with water and poured it into the reservoir. She then took a red plastic container of Folgers Coffee from the cupboard, scooped out just the right amount, and placed the dark grounds into the basket. A flip of the switch and the coffee started brewing.

"How long have you lived there?" she asked me.

"I bought the house in December of 2005, and moved in early January of 2006," I said.

"Well I guess it is about time we had coffee then," she replied.

"Yes, it is time," I said.

Once the pot was half full of the dark brew, Mrs. Heints took a couple of coffee cups out of the white cupboard and filled them to the brim. She sat down with a carton of half and half  and for the next hour we shared stories of the Great Depression, my Grandma's life and death, her husband's death, the economy, and pondered why our neighbors don't know each other.

"That Korean couple across the street, I've talked to Mike but I have never spoken to his wife. She must be shy or something, I have never seen her outside. I think it is a cultural thing," she said. "I did see inside their house once, it was a mess. I think it is a cultural thing."

"I would have to disagree," I told her. "My friend Nahnie is half Korean and she keeps the cleanest house I know."

"Well then maybe it is just them," she said, sipping her third cup of coffee. "Hey, let me show you this," and she got up and pulled a maple leaf-shaped glass bottle down from a shelf. "It is maple syrup, a friend gave it to me."

A thin layer of mold floated on top of the syrup, barely noticeable in the narrow neck. "Nice," I said. And I thought of the shredded cheese Grandma put on my salad one day, covered in several shades of green. The eyes are one of the first things to go, you know.  Not wanting to embarrass her, I remained silent.

I said my goodbyes and walked back over to my house, feeling happy. I had an Elder in my life once again. I could travel back in time through her stories, I could take her cookies and give her a hand once in awhile. I could listen to her wisdom, gleaned from living 85 years in this world. I could learn all about the neighborhood, who died when and how, who divorced who and when, what happened to so and so, and on and on.

All because of a jar of honey. Isn't life grand?

Old Folks

Great Aunt Lana, who passed in March, 2010.

The experience of living is the greatest teacher of wisdom, and who has more experience than our Elders. They have lived through decades of long-term change in the world. They hold the stories from their parents and grandparents of times gone by. They have learned to adapt, to handle conflict. They know what is important and what isn't. Their wisdom is packaged in familiar phrases such as "This too shall pass." They are to be treasured.

I have the honor of being involved in Anishinaabek culture because of my work in wild rice conservation and my friendships with some wonderful people. Here, Elders are held in the highest esteem. The Anishinaabek (as do all Tribes) know that the Elders are the wisdom keepers and give them an honored place in society. In many of the Tribal communities I have visited, you can easily find a wall of photos in one of the public buildings. Each photo is one of the Tribe's Elders.

Mother and Daughter at rice camp.

At community feasts, people line up by age with the Elders in the front of the line. Those who have trouble standing in line are served by other people. When decisions need to be made in the Tribe, the Elders are consulted and their words are weighted heavily. Their needs are looked after, they are taken care of. With honor.

Being an Elder is not necessarily defined by age, as my friend Roger explained. It is about how wise you are. So someone who is in their 40's may be considered an Elder if they hold great knowledge and wisdom.

My Elders.

To stand near the front of the line at a feast is a strange experience for someone who comes from outside Tribal culture. It is a foreign thing to be honored for being older. It makes me happy and it makes me sad, all at the same time. I think of my Grandmothers and Grandfathers and all the other Elders in my family who have gone by, and how they never were celebrated for their age and wisdom. They never had that opportunity to be placed at the front of the line.

In mainstream culture, we don't even use the word Elder. We call them senior citizens, seniors, old cronies, old farts. We yell at them for driving slow or taking too much time paying for their purchases at the counter. We make fun of the cars they drive, calling their vehicles "an old lady car". We complain they talk too much.

When they get old and need help, we put them in nursing homes and fight over who has to visit. Or we don't visit at all.

We poke fun at how they look, what they wear, how they smell.

Some in our government are trying to reduce or take away their pensions. They want to dismantle Social Security and Medicare. I bet they are thinking, "Wouldn't it be better if those old folks just disappeared so we didn't have to pay for them?"

Our culture has been attacking the natural process of aging at a feverish pace for a few decades, and it gets worse as medical techniques advance. Anything to do with getting old, or rather fighting getting old, is a big money maker. And to make us purchase these anti-aging creams, facelifts, tummy tucks, etc..they have to make us see ourselves and our aging as ugly, unnatural. All you have to do is watch TV for an hour or pick up a magazine and the media will tell you how horrible it is to grow old.

Even the job market is discriminating against the older worker. Who cares if it is illegal.  You are advised to hide your age on resumes and in interviews. They don't want experience and wisdom, which comes with a higher wage (honoring your wisdom). They want cheap labor. Period.

There is a difference in how Elders hold themselves in these two different cultures. Mainstream Elders have never been honored. And they act like it, how could they not? Tribal Elders act like, well, honored Elders. It is an amazing thing to witness.

I think of these things as I stand fifth in line at our wild rice camp feast in the Round House at the Lac Vieux Desert Traditional Pow Wow Grounds.

I miss the Elders in my family, my Grandparents and Great Aunts. I miss their stories and their food and their laughter and their smell. I miss the softness of their skin and the wisdom in their eyes.

I was always told to respect my Elders. But it was a command, not an honoring. We have much to learn from our Tribal neighbors. They are not told to respect their Elders. They just do.