Ghost Supper

We started this week off with a wander in a new area, with the goal of familiarizing ourselves with the landscape and resident organisms. Voles were present in plenty, their little feet already having worn long, deep runways in the grass.

Coyote scat greeted us at the road in, but above the entrance road bobcats seemed to reign as the common small predator. We named the owner of this scat and scrape Pointy Butt Paul, to go with his feline neighbor on the Blue House Farm side, Big Butt Bob. Every scat of his contained quite a bit of rabbit fur and bone shards, and was long, ropy and pointy like a coyote scat. But each sat firmly in the V of a bobcat-like scrape, each was coated in a slimy shellac-like layer, and each emanated noxious rotten meat and sour milk stink.


On the plateu of the high lands, we encountered more vole sign and wondered aloud where the badgers were to take advantage of this vole proliferation. We found this big dig quite soon after.


Note the deep scrape marks on the inside walls of the tunnel.


Continuing over the plateu, we found this small, chunky scat composed of what looked like Jerusalem Cricket parts.


Further along, nearer the fire road, we found many little circular digs in the grass. Nearby we found a Jerusalem cricket, and later another.


On our way back we found a downed Monterey Pine and experimented with peeling the bark to make containers. We tried the bark on the trunk first, using our knives to cut down and peel the bark, but found that the craggy parts cracked and the knife kept slipping to pierce the inner bark. We decided that that slab would be food, rather than craft material. We revised our strategy, and tried with the smaller, younger, less craggy branches. We used a lopped-off branchlet with a wedge-shaped end to separate the bark from the limb. It worked beautifully, and we returned to camp with our bark slabs in hand.




That evening we celebrated our first night of Ghost Supper. Like many traditional holidays celebrated at this time of year (Samhain, Dia de los Muertos, and others), Ghost Supper is an ancestor honoring ceremony that invites one's dead relatives to mingle and socialize for one night. Based on an Ottawa tradition, this ceremony employs an all-night sacred fire and copious amounts of food. The fire represents a portal to the ancestors, and is intended to be opened (lit) at dusk, and closed (cooled and out completely) by dawn. The hosts make food for all comers, serving their ancestor's favorite dishes and greeting guests as if the guests were the host's departed relatives. All food must be given away, eaten, or burned as an offering to the fire and the ancestors, and the fire must be cold and out entirely by sunrise the next day.

The instructors feasted us and hosted us at their fire in fine form on Tuesday night. We ate and drank and told stories of our ancestors, of ghosts, and of the season. The fire burned long into the night, and was just cold as the sun crested the Eastern ridge.

After our morning bird sit, we devoted the entire next day to preparing for our turn at hosting a Ghost Supper. We had much organizing to do, and just enough time to do it.

Traditionally, men gather the firewood, light the fire, and tend it. Women carry the water, cook the food, serve food and drink, and beautify the site. I had my own conflicts with this system, but I was willing to give it a try to see what hidden teachings might be passed on in this way of doing things.

I wore my Firekeeper tee shirt as a sort of consolation prize, and to symbolically show my dead grandparents, who I'd be serving their favorite apple pie and cheddar cheese, what I'd been up to lately. Our clan discussed the fire, and determined that at least some of us wanted to keep it going all night. Then when we called for fire tenders, only three people raised their hands. I thought that this couldn't possibly be enough to get us through the night, so I raised my hand and said that I'd be willing to tend fire if we needed another hand.

When the sun dipped low and it was time to light our fire, all others with fire kits were absent. I had my elderberry and cedar hand drill on hand, so another woman, myself, and a man all cooperated to spin up a coal and light the teepee that the men hand made.

The final flurry of preparation came, and I was the only fire tender without final prep to do. I tended fire until we all gathered again to greet our first guests. I asked the other fire tenders if any of them would like to take over, but none of them felt called. They said they would like to take over when I tired. We launched into our serving and stories, and I tended fire while the guests sat and ate and talked.

Others took over while I visited other fires, but late into the night most people wanted to snooze or chill, and I was enjoying tending fire. Orion rose in the East, announcing the early hours of the morning. The half moon set in the West, and in the deepening darkness Orion's bow shone in a sparkling arc. I tended and waited for my clan member who had wanted to tend fire into dawn. As I waited I stared at the coals and began to see a vortex spiraling down into the earth. I fed the ancestor's food to the fire, and saw it go up in spirals of smoke to Orion and the shooting stars that peppered the night.

Finally, I decided that I'd stayed up long enough. My clan member wasn't coming back. I let the fire die down to a coal bed, got up to fetch my sleeping gear, and nearly stepped in my pie. I'd forgotten to burn all the food.

Another clan member woke up to help me stoke the fire again and burn the food. We finally managed to burn it all, but the fire was now big and blazing, and my stamina had run out. I passed the fire stick to my clanmate and fell into heavy sleep.

I woke up well after dawn, next to a still red-hot and smoldering pile of mostly-burnt wood, and felt pretty disappointed in myself for not fulfilling the tradition. But I figure that for most of the night the ancestors got a first-rate comedic performance, so it wasn't all bad.

The experience has left me with many questions, and put a sharper edge on one of my sacred questions that RDNA has thus far been honing to keenness. My question, though not entirely articulated in words, has to do with novel practices and traditions, and when one is appropriate over the other. In this ceremony, we chose to alter the tradition and bring in the novel practice of fluidity in roles. Would it have gone more smoothly, with more labor shared more equally, if we had abided by the Ottawa traditional gender roles? Would the fire tenders have been more organized, and would the fire have been put to bed at the right time? Would I have been able to see the twin spirals in the fire? Would I have experienced the on-point in-the-moment awareness brought about by seriving others with vital light and heat that I experienced as a fire tender, had I kept myself to the traditional female role?

Feast of the Ancestors

For this class we journeyed down south to Tunitas Creek Ranch. I was sick with a cold, gummed up sinuses and the sore throat from Hell, but I came along anyway – this would be our celebration of the Feast of the Ancestors (an Odawa or Ottawa tradition whose real name I can’t pronounce, much less spell, brought to us by Peacemaker Paul Raphael from the Grand Traverse Band of Ottawa and Chippewa Indians), and I didn’t want to miss it. The Feast of the Ancestors had never really been explained, just mentioned briefly, along with the phrase “I ate soooooo much” and similar comments. We arrived, as always, in the evening, just ahead of the oncoming fog.

We lit a sacred fire, made and tended by the men only, and made a circle for the celebrants around it. The Cultural Mentors had set a special section for “moon women,” women who are menstruating, to stay out of the circle but still participate. I’ve heard that the theory behind such separation in other ceremonies is that menstruating women’s energy is too powerful, and will drive away the spirits that the ceremony is intended to propitiate. I don’t know the significance of separation here, but I suspect it has to do, at the very least, with respect for the Odawa origins of the ceremony and their traditions. Men tend the sacred fire for a similar reason.

Tonight it was the staff’s turn to feast us, the students. They had all come with their ancestor’s favorite foods, and greeted us and feasted us like family. As the tradition goes, any one of the guests may truly be the host’s ancestor, returned to feast with the family for the night, so all who come are welcomed as relatives. By the end of the night everyone’s sides were aching with laughter. Coyote yips and wails echoed the human revelry longer into the night – they probably smelled all our good food. Or perhaps our teachers really are part Coyote, and their ancestors had returned to join the feasting.

The next morning, we rose before the sun for a bird sit. As we found our spots, Robins and Flickers called continuously in mild alarm, high in the trees and mostly toward the North and East. Flocks of small birds moved West, or South, but never toward the Flickers and Robins. Lone birds also moved in a general Southwesterly migration. The birds sang very little – only Black Phoebes, the most agile flyers, and Bushtits, well hidden in their thickets, sang unheeding of the “Tseep!” and “Clear!” of the Robins and Flickers to the Northeast. Partway through the sit, Robins and some Flickers moved further up slope, south, toward us and continued their alarming. In the thicket behind me, Juncos, Golden Crowned Sparrows, Bewick’s Wrens, and Wrentits started up an alarm as well, perhaps 10 or 12 feet high in general, and continued for at least 15 minutes. Then the Robins and Flickers moved on a little ways South, and the smaller birds quieted, giving companion calls or feeding.


After breakfasting and bird-mapping, we set off to do some Cybertracking along the creek. We had no particular objective, but we knew that cougar sign had recently been found in the creek, and were excited to search for more. The first thing we came upon was an unmistakable cat sign – a scratching post. However, it was tiny for cougar, so our major suspects were bobcat or housecat. The slivers of the outer claw sheath that I found embedded in the shredded bark could have been the right size for either. The urine spot near the scratches was equally inconclusive.






Our next find was on a log stretched across the creekbed. It had been scoured clean of bark by the passage of water and animals, and on it’s smooth face, though there was no visible mark to show it, was a smudge of odoriferous deer musk. Apparently Blacktail and Mule bucks have scent glands on the insides of their hind legs that exude musk when the deer is in rut, and at this time of year the smell gets on everything the buck passes. A good sign to look – or scent – for.

We also came upon a very old carcass of a deer, mostly melted away into the creek bank. The skull was gone and the limbs twisted and haphazard, and no hide remained to show the method of the kill or the scavenging. One sign that was still present, though, was the ribcage with one side sheared clean off, like with a giant pair of scissors. Perhaps our cougar sign?

Under an overhanging clay embankment, we also found some unidentified rodent tracks. We discussed the gait, and length of the toes, the straddle and size, and the placement in the landscape. It was a toss-up between Norway rat (for the splay and shape of the toes and footpads) and chipmunk (for the size of the print and straddle, and the gait) What do you think? (Apologies for the blurry photos, it was an awkward spot.)

We continued up the mostly dry creek, until we came to a flock of Juncos fluttering and bathing in a still pool, and decided that instead of disturbing their afternoon bath we would stop for lunch and let the Juncos finish. As I ate, I watched a male dunk himself up to his neck in water and flutter wildly, spraying his flockmates and everything else in a two-foot radius, then hop out, his spiked feathers the envy of punkrockers everywhere, and with rapid wingbeats rise to the canopy to sun himself.

After the Juncos had all gone up to dry their feathers in the sun, and we had finished our lunches, we continued walking up the creek. Our next find was a small diameter tree covered with fairly fresh, long scratches, some on one side more vertical and some on the other side tending toward the horizontal, in sets of four or five that were about two and a half inches wide. Conversation ensued about whether the animal was climbing up or lowering itself down, and why such a large critter had gone up into such a small tree in the first place.

We came to a culvert, and climbed out of the creekbed. We headed upslope, to find the area where the coyotes had been calling the previous night, but got waylaid on the path discussing a track. Some thought it was more likely a cat (with somewhat long toes) some said it was the track of a “long-toed coyote” and others had other ideas. Eventually we found another track in the set, a far more obscure, but obviously five-fingered, left front track exactly next to the right hind track that we’d been discussing. The feint heel impression in the right hind track became clear, showing a five-toed plantigrade print with long fingers and short sharp nails. We also recognized this animal’s signature 2x2 gait, with right-hind foot placed next to left-front foot and left-hind foot placed next to right-front foot, and we had to revise our suspect list. With most of our group convinced finally of the animal’s identity, one still has to wonder… was it actually a long-toed coyote?



Jon was at the fire circle when we returned, ready to debrief our bird sit from that morning.
We discussed the patterns and various predator signatures. From now on, when we hear intense bird language like the junco-sparrow-wren cluster in the thicket that morning, we’ll get to go into thicket and find the creature that the birds were talking about.

Wednesday night was the second night of the Feast of the Ancestors. Each RDNA clan had a separate fire, where they were serving the favorite foods of the ancestors to all visitors. We were invited to join the instructor’s group walking from fire to fire, and were greeted and feasted, again, as family. The food provided was delicious, made most nourishing and flavorful by the family stories that seasoned each dish. By the end I couldn’t eat anything more, but I still went to the last fire to hear my classmates share their roots.