While hurrying home through an alley during what would become a major snow storm, I
heard meowing coming from . . . somewhere. Seeing nothing, I followed the repeated cries that suggested a very small, desperately fearful cat. Finally it appeared, almost completely covered and shivering.
Leaving it there would have meant certain death. Since there were no houses around from which it could have strayed, I brushed the little guy off and tucked it inside my coat. Its meowing was soon replaced by purring.
Although my wife was taken by its cuteness, our resident cat was displeased by the new arrival. Fearing that it would be harmed by our resentful feline, she gave it away to a young Ojibwe couple that we’d come to know. It fared well in that adoptive setting.
This happened back in probably late autumn 1972. Dates from so long ago are increasingly difficult for me to pinpoint. The two moved out of town some months later. Years would pass before I learned anything more about them.
That would change with a news story that garnered national coverage.
The father of the man in that couple had passed away, and was being held in a non-Native medical facility, pending a likely autopsy.
Since his tribe’s sacred custom prohibits desecration through cutting, the son simply took his deceased dad and carried him out, leading to threatened prosecution.
Twenty-five years pass and a supreme irony occurs.
The dead man’s son, now a beloved spiritual leader of the Mille Lacs Ojibwe tribe in Minnesota, was driving home when his car left the road and hit a utility pole. He died, although the crash wasn’t what killed him. Since he’d had heart trouble for a long while, speculation was that a fatal episode was responsible.
In a repeat of what had happened with his father, the son was kept from the family for an autopsy, slated to be performed at the University of Minnesota-Duluth.
Led by his wife—the woman to whom my wife had handed our found kitten decades earlier—a protest by tribal members was quickly and determinedly mounted, stressing that an autopsy against their wishes would be a violation of the American Indian Religious Freedom Act.
Thankfully, after two days of standing vigil in the snow around a fire that was as much
for warmth as ceremonial purposes, the body was returned, not violated, and then properly prepared so that her husband could go to the “land of everlasting happiness,” as she so poignantly and powerfully said before a television camera.
Winnie LaPrairie remains, to teach Ojibwe traditions and values to the young of her proud people.
Mushkoob is gone, joining his father, George Aubid, who is a hero to his tribe for treaty rights he was instrumental in winning long ago.
From the snow back then to the snow of the past few days, there seems to be a definite, almost palpable spiritual connection.
As the wheel of life keeps turning.
Dennis Rahkonen, from Superior, Wisconsin has written progressive commentary with a Heartland perspective for various outlets since the ’60s.
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The spirit of the blizzard kitten lives on
Posted on February 18, 2015 by Dennis Rahkonen
While hurrying home through an alley during what would become a major snow storm, I
heard meowing coming from . . . somewhere. Seeing nothing, I followed the repeated cries that suggested a very small, desperately fearful cat. Finally it appeared, almost completely covered and shivering.
Leaving it there would have meant certain death. Since there were no houses around from which it could have strayed, I brushed the little guy off and tucked it inside my coat. Its meowing was soon replaced by purring.
Although my wife was taken by its cuteness, our resident cat was displeased by the new arrival. Fearing that it would be harmed by our resentful feline, she gave it away to a young Ojibwe couple that we’d come to know. It fared well in that adoptive setting.
This happened back in probably late autumn 1972. Dates from so long ago are increasingly difficult for me to pinpoint. The two moved out of town some months later. Years would pass before I learned anything more about them.
That would change with a news story that garnered national coverage.
The father of the man in that couple had passed away, and was being held in a non-Native medical facility, pending a likely autopsy.
Since his tribe’s sacred custom prohibits desecration through cutting, the son simply took his deceased dad and carried him out, leading to threatened prosecution.
Twenty-five years pass and a supreme irony occurs.
The dead man’s son, now a beloved spiritual leader of the Mille Lacs Ojibwe tribe in Minnesota, was driving home when his car left the road and hit a utility pole. He died, although the crash wasn’t what killed him. Since he’d had heart trouble for a long while, speculation was that a fatal episode was responsible.
In a repeat of what had happened with his father, the son was kept from the family for an autopsy, slated to be performed at the University of Minnesota-Duluth.
Led by his wife—the woman to whom my wife had handed our found kitten decades earlier—a protest by tribal members was quickly and determinedly mounted, stressing that an autopsy against their wishes would be a violation of the American Indian Religious Freedom Act.
Thankfully, after two days of standing vigil in the snow around a fire that was as much
for warmth as ceremonial purposes, the body was returned, not violated, and then properly prepared so that her husband could go to the “land of everlasting happiness,” as she so poignantly and powerfully said before a television camera.
Winnie LaPrairie remains, to teach Ojibwe traditions and values to the young of her proud people.
Mushkoob is gone, joining his father, George Aubid, who is a hero to his tribe for treaty rights he was instrumental in winning long ago.
From the snow back then to the snow of the past few days, there seems to be a definite, almost palpable spiritual connection.
As the wheel of life keeps turning.
Dennis Rahkonen, from Superior, Wisconsin has written progressive commentary with a Heartland perspective for various outlets since the ’60s.