As a child I was often tucked between my mother and father and the canvas lining of the tipi listening to the sound of a water drum and gourd, and prayers from mouths of relatives pouring medicine into a sacred fire.
With steady hands like the drum, my mother taught me my first lesson on a bead loom when I was that child.
When I turned twenty-three I was brought back into that Way. I was brought back to the Fireplace, to the Ribs and to the Moon. And so, with the water drum and gourd beating strong and steadily in my heart, I began to bead again. Remembering what my mother has shown me, I weave my tales much like a spider weaves her web. No knots, just a good path in a good way.