The belt's glittery beads winked at me from across the little thrift store. Since I've been suffering from magpie syndrome lately -- an unreasonable attraction to shiny things -- I quickly headed over to check out the possible find.
This wasn't some sparkly 1970s fashion belt. As I quickly inspected it and felt its weight I realized it was handmade. And the beading was an aboriginal design.
It looked like part of a powwow dancer's regalia.
The belt is black with a huge flowery centrepiece that is a burst of red, gold, purple and copper bugle beads. The banding is bordered with rows of black seed beads and filled with a mix of sequins and beads. It would easily take a week of beading to make this belt.
For a minute I got that grey, bunched-up, pit-of-your-stomach kind of feeling I sometimes get when I check out the local pawn shops and spot native art, moccasins or dancers' head-dresses. I feel bad for people so broke they've pawned this stuff and lost it.
Sure, nobody should get too attached to objects, or let objects define them. Enjoy life and live for the day -- they say that's the "Indian way." But I know it wasn't the only way -- we had a long history of saving, too, building up food stocks and planning for the future.
Beads weren't that important. You can't eat beads. But still I wondered about the woman who once wore this belt. From what I know about powwow regalia she might have made this herself or had her mom or kokum make it for her.
I bought the belt for its asking price -- a dollar.
What stories could this belt tell? Where did it travel on the powwow trail?
Back when I was 17 and weeks away from graduating high school, I hatched a plan with my school buddy Roberta to go on the powwow trail. I didn't know how to dance, or even know what the powwow trail was, but Roberta -- a sophisticated 21-year-old single mom -- told me all about it.
She said we could follow a trail of powwows across North America for most of the summer if we wanted to. She had a car and lots of friends in the United States. We could camp at each powwow along the way, and go right down to Albuquerque, N.M. She told me that was where the biggest powwow in the world was. We day-dreamed together about the sights we would see.
I had a lot of dreams that summer -- trips to Oka, to Chile and to travel the powwow circuit across Turtle Island. But in the end, a summer job to save up for university took precedence.
I lost contact with Roberta in the fall and heard she passed away several years later. It's too bad I didn't stay in touch with her because she was a good friend. She taught me powwow wasn't about what you were wearing or your dance moves -- it was more about meeting people and the celebration.
Later that day when I got home I admired the belt again. It's all sewn by hand. Sewn onto the beaded fabric is a nylon belt with plastic buckles; the kind used on fanny packs. It was patched several times with coloured thread. It is adjustable by an inch or two, but basically custom-made for its wearer.
How clever of the belt designer.
It makes me value the belt even more because it is humble proof we are an adaptable race, always have been and always will be. We are a resilient people; able to adjust to survive the many natural and man-made conflicts that come our way.
Adaptation was key to our survival over thousands of years -- why would it stop now?
I take note of its evidence once in a while: the young powwow dancer with part of his headband finery made from a CD. My eagle feather earrings carved out of Popsicle sticks. Now this belt with its modest fanny pack beginnings.
Adaptable, I tell you.
I think I'll take care of this belt for now. Maybe wear it somewhere special.
And who knows, maybe this summer I'll get out there and dance a couple of powwow steps of my own.
colleen.simard@gmail.com
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