The village of Sitsomovi is one of a small cluster of villages on First Mesa, perched 300 feet above the valley floor – a place where people have made their very humble homes for over 1,000 years – perhaps longer.  Families still live in mud and adobe homes – some now fortified by cinder block walls.  Some with running water, many without.   And most inhabited by descendants of the Hopi people who first farmed, hunted and dwelled in this area prior to the Spanish who came to dwell here also – and who did so through attempts to convert and conquer.

A group of us traveled there last week to offer our help – planting corn, chopping firewood, repairing and rebuilding homes, painting an old schoolhouse to protect it’s siding from the damages of the desert sun and doing our best to restore a hundred-year-old cemetery giving rest to scores of young native students buried amongst their veteran relatives and community members.

And then we met Orion.  An 18-month-old living under a roof that barely provided shade, never mind cover from the rains and snows that come to this land even as it is a scorching desert for much of the year.  A beautiful Hopi-born girl, raised of this land.  Brimming with the lessons coming purely from an 18-month-old and also from being born into a community that remembers and lives in the way that they do.
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The Hopi are a matriarchal society -- Orion will inherit the centuries-old home when it is her turn.  As her mother did.  And her grandmother did.  As did her great grandmothers extending back in time for centuries.  The current roof had only been put on less than 50 years ago – beaten and collapsing under the weight of a hundred bodies and feet that run across it, stomp on it and even fall through it as they peer down at the ceremonies that take place in the plaza below throughout the year.  The new one that the volunteers labored over in intense heat and under less than ideal construction circumstances, will last less than 50 years given the conditions.

Initially, the volunteer crew stood on the collapsed roof, looking around at the many other collapsed and failing roofs around the village and wondered what they were being asked to do.  A drop in the bucket.  And a band aid that would not remain waterproof in a decade or two, if we were lucky. And then they looked down at beautiful Orion’s smiling eyes – and they knew.  Orion reminded them every morning as she ran out the door to greet them.  And again, when her mother carefully brought her up the ladder to survey her new roof and she stomped and squealed in delight at what had been built in just a few days.

Orion’s unconditional love of this new invasion of strangers reminded us all.  As did her delight, pure love and ability to energize a crew of teenagers, elders and those in between to sweat and toil way beyond what was being asked for or expected.  Orion moved us all to realize:  That real change is possible on the reservations.  That transformative change is possible.  When we look back at what was accomplished:  the roof, firewood, gardens, new plumbing, a new “tiny home”, school painted.  Not half of that was possible given the limited time, the mixed skill level of volunteers, the lack of financial resources and adequate building materials or tools.  But it happened.  It clearly happened.  When we hear about the power of love and community and service to others, we know now what those all make possible.  
As seen through Orion’s eyes.
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-- Dave

Over the past few months, we’ve had the great privilege of working side-by-side with Isaac, a remarkable young leader and student currently reconnecting with his Indigenous heritage. He is at the forefront of his school's efforts to split firewood for the communities we serve on Pine Ridge, and has been a huge help in moving our programs forward as a Gen7 intern this year! 

Here are his reflections on service, reconnection, and leadership:

“My name is Isaac, I am currently a senior at the Rocky Mountain School of Expeditionary Learning or RMSEL for short, I am of Indigenous descent with no knowledge of what tribe I come from seeking to reconnect myself to the culture and people of Turtle Island. I came to hear about this cool nonprofit organization who worked with Indigenous peoples called The Tipi Raisers from my science teacher Eric Dinkel. He mentioned how RMSEL used to do some activities and services with Tipi Raisers but that connection was lost due to the pandemic. So Eric asked me if I could get that started back up, so I did.

I contacted Dave shortly after and asked him what we could do to help. Firewood is always in need on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, so we started there. It started off as a small operation behind the school playground. We had a few deliveries of uncut wood and we borrowed and bought some mauls and axes and a chainsaw. A few other high schoolers started cutting wood with me and Eric who have been very hardworking, seeking to help a community that they most likely wouldn’t have unless RMSEL and the Tipi Raisers gave the opportunity.

“I got into wood chopping cause I wanted to help a community I otherwise would never have interacted with and RMSEL afforded me that opportunity. I’ve gained a community of students I don’t normally interact with, and a continued desire to do more” -Senior Arwen Tompkins

I’ve gained a great many skills with the axes and mauls we have obtained and continue to get stronger and able to cut wood faster. Now the once small operation has grown to about 30 high schoolers and volunteering adults, we have produced about 20 cords of LINK CBS NEWS REPORT firewood from chopping wood every Monday after school. A group of wood chopping students have been able to go up to Pine Ridge and do service up there and be able to meet some of the people we’ve been helping since September. Both trips have been incredible eye opening experiences and hopefully the operation continues at RMSEL even after myself and other seniors graduate.

This whole thing is awesome, seeing what the works of few can grow into to help those in need and I am grateful to Dave and the Tipi Raisers for giving us the opportunity to help out.”

Thank you, Isaac, for all your hard work and leadership! You set a powerful example for other young people seeking to make a change in their communities.​

As we gear up for the Indigenous Wisdom Gathering & 4 Directions Ride this summer, we will be highlighting the Gen7 Youth Program through stories like Isaac's. Like all of our year-round activities, the Gathering is centered on youth and their role as the leaders and wisdom-keepers of the next generation.
We want to ensure that as many youth as possible, including Indigenous youth, can take part in the Gathering from June 28 - July 1 in Eagle, CO and all of our events throughout the year - but we can only do so with your help. 
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Your donation today will help cover the cost of transport, lodging, and leadership opportunities for youth at the Indigenous Wisdom Gathering and beyond. We would be so grateful for your support!

Last week, we hosted a “Nagi Circle” in which tribal members, and those from communities living off the reservations, gathered at the request of an elder from Pine Ridge to honor and support a brave young Lakota boy.  As violence erupted in his community, this eight-year-old boy had the courage to shepherd the younger children into a bathroom, hide them in a bathtub and cover them with a blanket while chaos swirled all around them.

Guests and participants in the circle last week were invited to support the boy through words of encouragement, prayers and offers of tangible help.  The Tipi Raisers and tribal members who collaborated to support this youngster will remain steadfast in our commitment to standing with him – and with the others to whom we have pledged help. We will do so having learned the following lessons, after well over a decade of working with our partners and friends the Pine Ridge reservation:

1. Commitments made are commitments that must be upheld until the promise has been kept. It is too often easy to be emotionally moved by a story or a promise made in a moment, and then let the promise of that moment fade. For those of you who stood behind the young boy and promised support in whatever way you can; we will help you, however we can, to honor that promise.
2. Communities that suffer from generational trauma, profound poverty, grievous levels of violence and drug use, racial tension, etc. require intensive support, creative and thoughtful remedies, and a commitment to the long game.  Impatience and naïve hope in short term solutions not only lead to frustration, but also sometimes further harm the community, as support is provided, promised, and then suddenly or prematurely withdrawn.
3. The young people must be engaged, but they must also be carefully and conscientiously mentored and guided by elders who have walked the planet longer. There is an unfortunate refrain from some in the older generation that defers an unreasonable amount of responsibility on the younger generation, while intimating that it is now up to the younger generation to solve the legacy of over a century of harm and poor decisions. In some cases, that deferment feels like a reaction to the adults’ own overwhelm.
4. Finally, for those standing in the circle on that beautiful sunny afternoon, as well as those who have volunteered, supported and donated to The Tipi Raisers for years now: There are many powerful and effective ways to help. One person’s help is not necessarily like the other’s.  Some people have financial resources -- and money is needed to care for, transport, house, feed and otherwise take care of the youth we are helping. Some people have time and expertise – that time is needed to smoothly operate so many parts of our program.  Some people have connections to other communities and networks that ultimately are of service to those we help. Some people have wisdom, time to listen, ideas that might help, prayers to lead with, etc.  All those count.  

For the young boy who hid his siblings when violence threatened . . . who then looked around the circle and saw that there were so many with so much respect for what he did; who wondered if they would have had the strength and courage; and who promised to walk with him in support . . . . for that boy, and all the other youth we have promised to walk with, protect and bring resources to – we want them to know we heard them. Saw them and will continue to support them.

- Dave

In the 1991 film, Grand Canyon, starring Kevin Kline (who plays Mack), Danny Glover plays the role of Simon, an uncle, father, mentor, wizened cultural elder . . . and a tow truck driver who finds himself facing a gang leader with a gun while trying to do his job and tow Kevin Kline’s Lamborghini.  Kline’s character, an immigration lawyer, had left a late-night Laker’s game in his car and is detoured from his normal route by traffic and a series of missed turns.  As it happens, his car breaks down in a dangerous neighborhood patrolled by gangs.  Knowing that he is lost and in trouble, he calls for help from the towing company . . . and from Simon, whom he had never met previously.

Simon arrives after the gang has arrived, after Mack had been forced out of his car and just before life was becoming visibly precious and precarious.  Simon steps in between the gang leader and Mack . .  . 

Simon: I've gotta ask you for a favor. Let me go my way here. This truck's my responsibility, and now that the car's hooked up to it, it's my responsibility too.

Rocstar (the gang leader): Do you think I'm stupid? 

Simon: Look, I don't know nothing about you; you don't know nothing about me. I don't know if you're stupid, or some kind of genius. All I know is that I need to get out of here, and you got the gun. So I'm asking you, for the second time, let me go my way here.

Rocstar: I'm gonna grant you that favor, and I'm gonna expect you to remember it if we ever meet again. But tell me this, are you asking me as a sign of respect, or are you asking because I've got the gun?

Simon: Man, the world ain't supposed to work like this. I mean, maybe you don't know that yet. I'm supposed to be able to do my job without having to ask you if I can. That dude is supposed to be able to wait with his car without you ripping him off. Everything is supposed to be different than it is.

I think of Simon’s words often in my role.  I think of those words when the proud Lakota mother calls virtually every morning to see if she can earn money delivering firewood and food to her community.  I think of those words when our 71-year-old firekeeper struggles under the weight of raising six children with less than $750/month.  I think of those words when I hear the brothers share the stories of their sisters being groomed and bribed to leave their home and become prostitutes.  Of how the FBI is aware of the sex ring, but ineffective this time (and so many others) to stop it.  I think of it as I drive by the “Death to the Whiteman” painting in Whiteclay that welcomes, warns, and explains of the landscape ahead.

The world is not supposed to work like this.  Maybe none of us really know that anymore.  Families are supposed to be warm, fed, and safe.  Governments are supposed to be at least moderately able to ensure those same conditions.  And to work with other entities responsible for the health and safety of the people they serve.  In the midst of plenty, there should be (is) enough to feed, warm and keep safe our neighbors and relatives.

Tragically, that is not the way the reservations are though.  I am struck sometimes by how – despite our valiant army of volunteers; and intensely proud, hardworking tribal allies; and generous donors; and well-intentioned efforts – I am struck by how difficult it is to provide enough to ease the suffering.  

Last year, we had several of our long time Lakota friends from Pine Ridge join us on the Hopi and Diné reservations to volunteer rebuilding homes, cutting, and stacking firewood, etc.  On one of the days, a group took a day off from the work to travel for the first time to the Grand Canyon – from South Dakota to one of the seven natural wonders of the world.  That evening, in the circle as we processed our day, one of the Lakota men remarked how stunning the experience of standing on the south rim was . . . and how someday he hoped to bring youth from his reservation down to see what he saw and to experience what he experienced . .  .   He was inspired to someday release red balloons from the rim with his young people who are caught in a world that doesn’t have to be . . . and must change.

In the movie, Simon asks Mack:

You ever been to the Grand Canyon? It's pretty, but that's not the thing of it. You can sit on the edge of that big ol' thing and those rocks... the cliffs and rocks are so old... it took so long for that thing to get like that... and it ain't done either! It happens right there while you’re watching it. Its happening right now as we are sitting here in this ugly town. When you sit on the edge of that thing, you realize that our time here means diddly to those rocks. Just a split second we have been here, the whole lot of us. That's a piece of time so small to even get a name. Those rocks are laughing at me right now, me and my worries... Yeah, it’s real humorous, that Grand Canyon. 

And so, I take comfort in knowing that Simon and the rocks are right. Change is happening. Good and magnificent changes. For all of you who work alongside us in this slow, sometimes painful and frustrating, often tragic and but ultimately beautiful work, I share my heartfelt gratitude.

Thank you. Wopila.  Askwali.  Kwakwhay.  Ahéhee'.

- Dave

Last Friday night, the tipi was packed with the youth of the Seventh Generation.​

Lit up by campfire, dozens of young people sat together as they listened to the wise words of Lakota elder and founding Tipi Raisers board member Ta Oye Wakan Wiŋ (Her Words Are Sacred Woman). People of all ages and backgrounds repeated the sacred words Themíčʼiȟila, and Wakan Tanka. The sparks from the fire seemed to carry these words up and out into the sky.

One can imagine similar scenes hundreds - perhaps thousands - of years ago, each time Lakota elders would gather with the next generation in a talking circle, sharing the vital wisdom that will carry them towards a balanced relationship with the land, and with one another. This age-old tradition seemed alive and well as we sat in the tipi together for the January Nagi Circle Gathering.
And one does not have to look far to see the way youth continue, in the modern day, to bring communities into balance through connection and service:

Half a dozen Lakota youth worked side-by-side with students from the Rocky Mountain School of Expeditionary Learning (RMSEL) as part of Friday's gathering to help prepare and transport firewood, blankets, space heaters, and needed supplies for families across the reservation.

Check out the photo below of RMSEL students after a long day of work at our firewood distribution site on Pine Ridge, where they spent time with local elder, Tokala, and Keeper of the Firewood, Nobby Bell!

“Mommy? This isn’t just a normal night. This is the specialest night. I’ve been waiting for this night for a long, long time.”​

These are the words a Lakota wakanyeja (sacred little one) shared with her mother this past Friday following a powerful evening of reconciliation at our Lafayette, CO hub.

By chance or by Spiritual appointment, the visit of our dear friend Tom Hollow Horn for our monthly Nagi Circle Gathering coincided with the arrival of a new friend to our community - one with an ancestral connection that led him our way.

You see, Tom’s great-great grandfather Toka Kokipapi (Enemy Fears Him) was a survivor of the Wounded Knee Massacre of 1890, in which 300 unarmed Lakota men, women, and children were killed by the US Army’s 7th Cavalry. With three bullets lodged in his body and the image of gunned-down family members still burning in his mind, Toka Kokipapi fled to a nearby canyon, and lived to pass down the harrowing story to the generations that succeeded him.

And as fate or Spirit would have it, Brad, the new friend who reached out to join us for Friday’s Gathering, is descended from an ancestor who stood on the other side of the cavalry’s Hotchkiss guns on that bitterly cold day in 1890: Colonel James Forsyth.

Tom has heard family stories of Wounded Knee since his childhood, and lives each day above the very ground upon which his ancestors were slain. For him, December 29th, 1890 is a living reality. The trauma and discord sown by the massacre continue to underpin daily life in his community on the Pine Ridge Reservation.

Brad has spent years learning about his own familial connection to Wounded Knee. In a spirit of prayer, reconciliation, and truth, he has dedicated himself to the redress of his ancestor’s crimes, and has made great efforts to be in relationship with Lakota tribal members and spiritual leaders.

And so, as these two fated friends came face-to-face on Friday, with so much going on under the surface of their DNA, their hearts, their spirits - reconciliation began to organically take shape.

“It’s among our ancestors now, brother,” Tom said as he softly smiled and clasped Brad’s hand.

“Wašté yelo.” Brad replied, before bringing his new brother into an embrace.

Later that evening, Brad and Tom continued down the road of reconciliation. There, in the tipi, they shared their stories with one another and with the group gathered before them. Tom passed around pictures of his ancestors who survived the massacre. Brad spoke on the return of items his ancestor’s troops had taken from the site.

Tears flowing. Deep breaths taken. Something heavy but warm in the air around us. Spirit.

Two brothers, one Lakota and one not, held one another with a tenderness and kindness that may never have seemed possible in the days following the 1890 slaughter.

On the prayers uttered and dialogue had, Tom later shared: "Our spirits became alive with one another, made a special prayer for the Tokata Wakanyeja (Future Sacred Children), and reflected on the past with a warm heart - Ihanni wokiksuye canté wašté."

As I continue to reflect on Friday's events, I find myself equally moved by the healing that took place and haunted by the questions: How late is too late? Is it ever too late?​

For some, it is. For 300 Lakota men, women and children at Wounded Knee, it is. For thousands in Palestine and in Israel, it is. But for those who remain, for our humanity, for our shared future, for the inescapable fact that we can and must live together, perhaps it is not too late. And I think, given love, honesty, self-reflection, and no small amount of courage, we will soon find that there is a better way forward - one that we can walk together. I have to believe this is true.

Tom and Brad - kolas (friends, brothers) - proved that to us on Friday night.

Mitakuye Oyasin.

- Mackenzie