Mino was a small hidden gorge within a bigger valley. A wide river bordered it on the north and hills all but encircled it, enabling it to remain more protected from the weather than some of the adjacent areas. The local Indians named it “the protected place.” There were only two entrances into the valley; one way was a county road that came in under the train trestle, the other a back way through tribal land along the river. There were also only about eighty families in Mino. Most were ranchers with extended family, living in clusters, who had lived there all their lives.

I’d never been inside the house we’d rented, so was surprised at how nice it was. Only about twenty years old, it was fully carpeted, had five bedrooms, two bathrooms, a dining room, porch with sliding glass doors, and a workroom downstairs. It was perfect for us. By far, the nicest place we had ever lived.

But it had taken all we had to move out and for the first few days we had no money to hook up the electricity. Without electricity, we weren’t able to run the pump and have water. We realized now how vital this utility was when there is nothing at all to drink.

Now that we were living on another reservation, Marcia drove me over to get commodities. What a blessing. The variety of commodities here was more than I’d seen before. And most important, we were given several cans of ready to drink apple, orange, grape and pineapple juice. I also signed the children up for WIC. I wanted all the help we could get. The next day dad’s check for $300 arrived and we got our electricity connected.

In the meantime, Wilson, Elmer, and Elmer’s son Kirk left for Canada. Elmer had been offered a job salmon fishing with a friend and they hoped that Wilson and Kirk would be able to get on the boat, too. Marcia and Kirk’s wife, Susan, cried as the men left. I didn’t.

Within a few days, Kirk and Wilson were back. Unlike Elmer, they weren’t able to get on a boat.
Marcia, apologizing for being such a bother in her loneliness for Elmer, came over almost daily. That was okay. I was lonely for friends and welcomed her visits. With the warm sun and quiet company, I found myself relaxing as I hadn’t been able to do in years. My responsibilities were to the children now and I cuddled and played with them. In fact, my medication from the psychiatrist now went untouched. I had no need for it.

I applied for and got a job with a home health agency, traveling two or three days a week around the valley taking blood pressures and clipping toenails of patients in their homes. Wilson picked up work where he could, plowing fields for our landlord or changing irrigation pipes. He also put an ad in the paper to do upholstery.

Not more than a month after we arrived, word came that Wilson’s brother Charles had been stabbed to death in the park while drinking. I watched Wilson as he walked out onto our porch. With his back to us, his head hung down and his shoulders shook with sobs.

Marcia called the Coast Guard to let Elmer know his cousin had died. The next day, because Marcia didn’t have a phone, Elmer called Wilson.

“What’s wrong? Is Marcia and Lyndi all right?” he asked anxiously, ‘The Coast Guard came out to get me and said someone in the family had died.”

“Oh, Elmer, it was Charlie Hunter.”

“Oh,” Elmer said, almost relieved. “Well, I’ll be home in a day or so.”

“You don’t have to come home. We just wanted to let you know.”

“Well, it’s too late now. They took me off the boat. I can’t get back out there.”

We couldn’t afford to go back for the funeral, but a few days later, Elmer and Marcia came over to help us hold our own funeral and dinner for Bobbie. Although Wilson felt some guilt for having pulled Elmer off his boat, he felt comfort having his cousin next to him.

In a farming area like Mino, it’s not easy to just drop in on people for coffee. Farmers and ranchers are busy. Sure, they’ll stop and chat with people for a little while if they’ve got some time. They’re not rude. But they are busy. What with the whole family working crops and cattle and many women weeding their vegetable gardens and baking home-made bread, they certainly didn’t have time for entertaining strangers from out-of-state.

I still didn’t want anything to do with Christianity, but starved for company and because the Dovetail’s were the only people I knew, I went along with Wilson when he attended their prayer meetings or revivals. Sitting on someone’s living room floor one evening, I watched as the roomful of people burst into what they called “speaking in tongues.” With their eyes closed and heads lifted, they rambled incoherent syllables. Beside me, one woman, seemingly lost more in thought than prayer, recited her syllables in lazy fashion while staring at her fingers.

Another evening at a friend’s we were shown the film ”Thief in the Night.” It was a pretty dumb, poorly made movie…but at the same time, I identified with the heroine. It was a seventy’s movie – and she was a blond, middle class girl who, like me, believed that she was already a “good person” with no need for Christianity. Unfortunately, the movie went on to show how wrong she was and how she suffered for it.

“I guess it can’t hurt to be a Christian,” I decided, after viewing the movie. After all, “If it’s not true, it won’t matter that I called myself a Christian. But if it is true, I’ll be protected.”

That fall, we enrolled Andrew in kindergarten at the public school and Mickey in the local Indian school. If the Indian school had had a kindergarten, I would have enrolled Andrew there, too. I’d heard a rumor the public school was racist. But the Indian school didn’t have elementary grades, and the other was our only option if we wanted bus service.

Well, bus service in the morning anyway. Being a rural school, there was no money in the budget for a noon kindergarten bus. Fortunately, there were five other families with kindergartners in Mino that year - a real fluke in this small valley. The six families, including us, got together and organized a noon carpool. This was fortunate not just in that it relieved the daily pressure of driving, but it also allowed Wilson and me to get to know several families - very nice families, not racist at all.

Living in Mino was fascinating. Huge irrigation pipes crossed the fields and sprayed water in every direction, creating misty splendor and enchanting rainbows. Ranchers hired people to move those lines twice a day all summer. If a pipe mover was lucky, his line was on wheels and could be moved by simply starting a motor. Other pipelines were flat on the ground though, and had to be taken apart and moved section by section. This was demanding, exhausting work.

Sheep and cattle were also all over the place. We learned quickly that barbed wire fence and cattle grates aren’t perfect answers to keeping livestock penned. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any such thing as an impenetrable fence. Looking out the window one morning before school, I saw the road was crowded with a couple hundred cattle all moving east. At first I thought it was the largest group of escapees I’d seen yet, but then I saw several people herding them on horses. It was a beautiful sight. I had no idea people still herded cattle.

“Look, Mom,” said Andrew. “It’s Kenny on that horse!”

Looking closer, I could see he was right. Kenny, a tribal member, was one of Andrew’s classmates and only six-years-old! How could he be riding a horse let alone herding cattle! But watching him, it was easy to see he knew just what he was doing.

“Wow, he must have got up pretty early to be working like this before catching the bus for school.”

“Kyle and his sister work, too,” Andrew told me, ‘They change irrigation pipe before school. Sometimes Kyle comes to school smelling like cow poop.”

I was amazed. Kyle, a non-Indian, was also Andrew’s classmate. Kenny and Kyle were both really nice kids, happy and full of energy. Kyle’s mom said he loved helping out on the dairy farm so much that he hated to waste time sitting in front of the TV. He didn’t even know who the cartoon character “He-Man” was. That was hard to digest. A kid who would rather work than watch TV? I was so used to fighting teenagers over such minor jobs as dishes and taking out the garbage, it was hard to believe kindergartners could be so happy with these heavy jobs. But this was something I began noticing in kids of all ages all over Mino, from the dairy family to the ranching family to the potato growers. The families all seemed to work hard and happily together, even the teenagers.

Friends!

We have 30 days to get 25,000 signatures in order for our petition to be reviewed by the White House.

November is National Adoption Month - Let's do this Petition as our part in helping children this month. We need 6250 signatures a week to meet that goal. Let's pray for God's help and get started.

On Nov 19, Nat'l Adoption Day, families, adoption advocates, policymakers, judges and volunteers will come together and celebrate adoption in communities across the nation. We are setting a goal of 10,000 signatures by that date.

Please Sign the Petition and Use every method you have to share this link - http://wh.gov/bvZ - If everyone could get just 10 people to sign the petition and share it with at least 3 of their friends, we'll have it made!

Thank you friends!

TEXT OF PETITION:

We petition the Obama Administration to:

Ensure that Children of tribal heritage are guaranteed protection equal to that of any other child in the United States

Across America, children who had never been near a reservation nor involved in tribal customs have been taken from homes they know and love and placed with strangers chosen by tribal social services. This includes MULTI-racial children with minimal heritage.

Because of poorly thought out law called the 'Indian Child Welfare Act';

1) Kids have been removed from safe, loving homes and placed in dangerous ones.
2) Some families, Indian and non-Indian, have felt threatened by tribal gov't and have had no money to get legal help.
3) Equal opportunities for adoption, safety and stability are not always allowed to children of all heritages.
4) Constitutional right of parents to make choices for their families is being interfered with. Some tribal families don't want to be on the reservation.

SIGN AT http://wh.gov/bvZ

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