Chapter 7
The hot late summer sun beamed down on the powwow grounds of the Reservation, inciting sweat beads on spectators and dancers alike.
It wasn’t even noon yet and that level of heat did not bode well for the next several hours of dancing, singing, vending, eating, and socializing.
Grand entry for the powwow was set to begin in half an hour.
As time ticked down to when dancers would enter the dancing circle to the beat of several rounds of songs from drum groups and singers to officially kick off the powwow, a mad dash of final preparation also ensued.
As usual, dancers were scrambling to put their dance regalia on, get their moccasins tied up, and adjust their feathers and accessories.
Every weekend, everyone claimed this would be their last time being late for grand entry.
Yet weekend after weekend, no one was ever on time, despite all of those repeated declarations.
Each drum group sat around their own large drum and were arranged in a line under the large arbor that stretched across the back of the dancing circle. They all rattled their drumsticks at the emcee’s call, and singers warmed up their vocals for the first singing leads of the day.
Down the hill from the dancing circle, children were being wrangled in by their mothers, aunties, and older siblings to get their hair braided.
Sitting still for that long when surrounded by all the buzzing energy of your family and community, and the barely organized chaos of the last half-hour before a powwow, was always difficult for the little and older ones alike who were ready to get the action of the day started.
Even though Anita ran the most popular powwow food truck, serving bison chili, cornbread, strawberry drink, and everyone’s favorite Indian tacos, she always made sure she had someone cover for her at the truck during this time so that her children – all of them, whether her own through birth, blood, or other kinship ties – had their hair braided perfectly.
Everyone knew the professionally managed braiding assembly line she kept at the back of her old van in the parking area of the grounds.
She was known just as well for her tight braids as she was for her secret recipe frybread.
“Junie,” she yelled across the group of antsy children, “come sit by Rowan. You’re next.”
Juniper skipped over to her mom, the gold, rolled-up tobacco lid cones sewn onto her vibrant pink, lilac, and sage green jingle dance dress shaking and clinking with each bounding step.
Juniper had always had a flair for the very dramatic, at this tender age of 11, and most in the family would agree from birth.
And she made sure she had final say on the colors and fabrics her mother chose for each new version of her dance regalia as she outgrew the last.
Juniper had been totally captivated watching a group of older teenage girls get ready for the powwow.
She watched as they primped and preened together, taking turns doing each other’s eyeliner, picking out which lip gloss to apply, and fighting over who they thought was cuter.
Some members of the Backstreet Boys and Usher were the top contenders, she learned.
She felt it was almost ceremonial the way they interacted with each other, the way they braided each other’s hair and added bright, colorful, and very feminine accessories, the way it was girls-only.
She couldn’t wait for the day that that would be her too.
She happily plopped down by her best friend, Rowan Birdsong, who was in the middle of having her waist-long jet black hair braided into two tight French braids.
Juniper and Rowan both danced in the jingle dress style having been mentored at the same time by Juniper’s aunt in the ways and importance of how to dance this dance style properly.
The origins of the dance were intended to bring about healing for those afflicted by illness and would still be called upon by the community for these purposes from time to time.
Since the dance had also recently become widely popular in contemporary powwow dancing competitions, Juniper and Rowan often found themselves competing for the top spot in their age bracket at powwows.
One weekend would go to Juniper. The next would go to Rowan.
Neither girl took that too seriously. They just enjoyed dancing together, practicing new moves, and getting to spend their small earnings at the vending booths on candy and snacks or getting their faces painted.
“Ro, no offense, but your dress is kind of plain. You should get my mom to make you a new one, and I can help pick out some new colors and fabric.”
“Junie,” Anita quickly shot her daughter a side eye glare, “you better leave this sweet girl alone. When she’s ready for a new dress, she’ll let me know.”
Anita kissed the top of Rowan’s braided head and patted her shoulders, letting her know she was done and ready to dance.
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Rowan looked down at her dress. She didn’t think Juniper was necessarily wrong, but she felt like the plainer dress suited her better.
She had fewer rows of jingle cones, less ribbon and appliqué pattern, but she preferred it that way.
She had never been particularly drawn to girlish style the way Juniper was and would almost always rather be wearing basketball shorts, high tops, and a t-shirt.
Rowan was decidedly not looking forward to one day doing anything the older girls had been up to.
Rowan had always tended to be a very shy and reserved young girl, often found with her nose in a science book borrowed from the mobile library that traveled around the Reservation encouraging kids to read more.
Anita, seeing the minutes dwindle before grand entry was called, quickly put Juniper’s hair into two braids, attached her beaded hair pins and feather fluffs and plumes, and kicked the girls out of their camp chairs to make room for the last two smaller children in her assembly line.
Juniper, with an ever-present mischievous glint in her eye, linked her pinky finger to Rowan’s pinky finger, something they had started doing when they needed each other near, or before they were about to get into a little bit of trouble.
Or more likely, when Juniper was about to get Rowan involved in trouble of her own making.
She looked over to Rowan and taunted, “Last one to the dancer line buys the other a fried fish platter.” Before Juniper could finish her sentence, Rowan sprinted past her and through the lines of parked cars. “Hey wait!” Juniper called out as they raced each other up the hill to the powwow grounds.