Mabel McKay. Greg Sarris

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      Mabel McKay

      Mabel McKay

      WEAVING THE DREAM

      Greg Sarris

      With a New Preface

      UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS

      BERKELEYLOS ANGELESLONDON

      University of California Press, one of the most distinguished university presses in the United States, enriches lives around the world by advancing scholarship in the humanities, social sciences, and natural sciences. Its activities are supported by the UC Press Foundation and by philanthropic contributions from individuals and institutions. For more information, visit www.ucpress.edu.

      University of California Press

      Berkeley and Los Angeles, California

      University of California Press, Ltd.

      London, England

      © 1994, 2013 by The Regents of the University of California

      First Paperback Printing 1997

      ISBN: 978-0-520-27588-1

      eISBN: 9780520955226

      The Library of Congress has catalogued an earlier edition as follows:

      Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

      Sarris, Greg.

      Mabel McKay: weaving the

      dream/Greg Sarris.

      p. cm.—(Portraits of American genius; 1)

      ISBN 978-0-520-20968-8

      1. McKay, Mabel, 1907–1993.2. Pomo women—Biography.3. Pomo Indians—Basket making.4. Pomo Indians—Religion and mythology.I. Title.II. Series.

      E99.P65S29 1994

      973’.04975—dc2093-38188

      CIP

      Manufactured in the United States of America

      22 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13

      10 9 8 7 6 4 3 2 1

      In keeping with a commitment to support environmentally responsible and sustainable printing practices, UC Press has printed this book on Rolland Enviro100, a 100% post-consumer fiber paper that is FSC certified, deinked, processed chlorine-free, and manufactured with renewable biopas energy. It is acid-free and EcoLogo certified.

      The strip design used throughout the book is drawn from Mabel’s mother’s last basket, which Mabel finished in 1971. (By permission of Pacific Western Traders)

      I was born in Nice, Lake County, California. 1907, January 12. My mother, Daisy Hansen. My father, Yanta Boone. Grandma raised me. Her name, Sarah Taylor. I followed everywhere with her. I marry once in Sulphur Bank. Second time I marry Charlie McKay. We live in Lake County, then Ukiah, then Santa Rosa. I weave baskets, and show them different places. Have son, Marshall. Now grandkids, too. My tribe, Pomo.

      There, how’s that? That’s how I can tell my life for the white people’s way. Is that what you want? It’s more, my life. It’s not only the one thing. It’s many. You have to listen. You have to know me to know what I’m talking about.

      MABEL MCKAY

      CONTENTS

      Preface

      Sarah Taylor’s Granddaughter

      Carnivals, Madams, and Mixed-Up Indian Doctors

      Medicine Woman

      Prayer Basket

      PREFACE

      “Everything’s going to burn,” Mabel said. “That’s what I see now.”

      She was looking at the very dry, late September hills near Highway 80, just east of Fairfield. We were on our way back to the Rumsey Wintun Reservation, where Mabel was living at the time, after she’d given a talk to several students and faculty at Stanford University about her doctoring and basket-weaving. It was late in the day, early evening, and the thick autumn light had turned the hills ocher red. The ocher red color no doubt called up her Dream. She’d talked a lot about her Dream lately, and I knew enough to know what she was referencing: her vision of what would happen near the end of the world as we know it.

      “‘Everything’s going to go dry,’ Spirit said. ‘No water going to be anywhere.’”

      “What can we do?” I asked. “How do we live?”

      Mabel began laughing, chuckling to herself out loud. “That’s cute,” she said, then, mocking me, repeated, “What can we do? How do we live?”

      I was used to her making fun of me, of my countless questions—as used as I was to her talk of Dreaming.

      “No, seriously,” I countered. “If the world’s going to dry up and burn, what do we do?”

      She turned to me, took a moment to make sure she had my attention, then she answered plainly, “You live the best way you know how, what else?”

      As I write today, some twenty-five years after that autumn afternoon with Mabel, the signs of global warming are everywhere; daily we hear frightening prognostics from the scientific community regarding global warming worldwide. The United States is experiencing its worst drought since the 1930s. Lake County, where Mabel was born, is suffering two major fires, and smoke and ashes from those fires can be seen from my home on Sonoma Mountain, in Sonoma County fifty miles away. Among the Pomo Indians of Northern California—Mabel was the last surviving member of the Cache Creek Pomo Nation—there were many prophets, locally often referred to as Dreamers, and Mabel McKay was certainly one of them. According to many people, she was the last of them. Her great-uncle Richard Taylor saw “roads into the sky, people going to the moon.” Essie Parrish, the late Kashaya Pomo Dreamer, seeing pitch suddenly dripping from one of her baskets in the 1950s, predicted “a horrible sickness thirty years hence, first seen in young men then in multitudes.”

      Like Mrs. Parrish, Mabel McKay was also a medicine woman, as it would turn out, the last of the sucking doctors among the Pomo, doctors who extract pain and disease through sucking. She was a world-renowned basketweaver—the Pomo are considered among the finest weavers anywhere, and Mabel was often thought of as the best among them. But what remains for me, and I think for many readers of this book over the years, isn’t only the remarkable enough attributes and accomplishments of Mabel’s life, but her uncanny, if not at times jarring, ability—in conversation, in stories, in responses to questions—to open up the world such that we come to see ourselves fully in the world with her, and long after. We not only get glimpses into her worldview but, in do-ing so, become more conscious of our own. What is she then, in my experience of her, in the pages of this book, but the best of life teachers, whose stories and lessons become indelible in memory?

      To illustrate Mabel’s unique ability as an interlocutor, I have often told to friends and written about Mabel’s telling a colleague from Stanford about “the woman who loved a snake.” I had taken this colleague, a fellow graduate student, to visit Mabel, whereupon Mabel began talking about a woman she once knew who lived with her husband in the hills above Nice, in Lake County. The husband worked nights, tending cows and young calves, and one night after he left the house, as the woman was finishing the dishes, she heard a knock on the door. The woman was alarmed; she sensed something peculiar, even wrong. Against better judgment, she opened the door and found, to her surprise, a handsome man, quite tall and dressed in black. She let him in.

      As Mabel put it, I guess one thing led to another. When the husband returned in the morning, he found a small black snake coiled up at the bottom of the