A Place To Begin

Walking through the door I was immediately embraced in the warmth, the smell and sound of heart connected community. My eyes were unable to rest on any one point within the kaleidoscope of color and patterns. I stopped, closed my eyes and smelled into the room.  Before me was a Grand Mother, golden brown skin alive with the map of her life, deeply grey hair and hands calling the cedar bark into its new home in her weaving. To the left, a Grand Father, sitting with his bead worked belts and buckles sparkling their invitation to be worn.  Around the circle I walked from one table to another encouraged with the delight of sharing with the artists and their families.

A young man, presenting his simple art without pretense or grand design. Colors vibrant within their gentle lines.  His first attempt to bring his world to others.  Tender in his joining within such a group of masters.

Laughter and children. Mothers and fathers. Crocheted hat's with diverse textures and colors crowning them in mohawk design. Perfect hobby for a sick woman healing.

The smell of salmon, fresh smoked and soft, offered to Elders passing by. Shining beckoning of buttons and shells in necklaces, bracelets and earrings. Women twining yarn to weave into hats of intricate design.

A Christmas Bazaar, a cultural renaissance