![]() ![]() Revelation prophetically tells of a changing of worlds. Don’t forget to schedule cultivation (and procreation. PRO TIP: Spontaneity is hot but disaster is time-consuming. The fruits are the descendants of the sole survivors and we are about to eat! All head to the kitchen to taste these gifts of goodness. In this underground hideout, we encircle to learn the craft of planting, growing, harvesting, and preserving. Some were emancipated from dusty university coffers. Others were carefully cultivated throughout generations. Some seeds were sewn into garment hems as they crossed Trails of Tears. Seed Keepers share how these tiny relatives pulled through. We are the descendants of the sole survivors and we are about to eat!īack in Detroit, I bunker down in the basement of our urban Indian centre to pass around traditional seeds. Like clockwork, we break out in song with as many harmonies as there are family members. Around the table, no matter how many show up, there is always enough food. Papa thoroughly enjoys the roar of laughter, chopping, and snapping. PRO TIP: Catastrophic devastation is tough, don’t be constipated. I believe survivalists call this “prepping.” On the stovetop bubbles a large pot of greens, grown and freshly picked by my cousin. ![]() Each member is shucking corn, snapping beans, and sweating over the stove. My grandfather’s garden is in full glory: corn tall and proud with its tasseled headdress, seed pods shaking like ceremonial gourd rattles, and potatoes hiding in secret underground sweat lodges. POST-APOCALYPTIC PRO TIP: Ditch the Native American costume.Īfter our “Old World” tour, we travel through the wastelands to the reservation. Take that, appropriated Halloween costumes! Many people believe all Natives are dead. Ask a Native about their plans for the end of the world and we will tell you that the apocalypse has already occurred. Jamestown is where the colonial bomb went off: a nuclear explosion with cancerous results. ![]() “A great danger would arise from the Chesapeake Bay and destroy the Powhatan Confederacy,” warned a Powhatan priest’s doomsday prophecy. My Father, a white American, my mother, a copper-toned Mattaponi, and I, an expression of the two, stood quietly reading a plaque at the Jamestown Museum. ![]() Prophesies feel like fiction until you are on the other side of them. ![]()
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