*Interview and Photo by Julie Trimingham
Since Time Immemorial is a recurring series featuring community members whose families have been here since time immemorial. The ancestral knowledge carried by Lhaq’temish, Nooksack, and other Coast Salish peoples is knowledge about how to live in our shared home in a good, life-sustaining way. We live in a time when we need to restore our relationship with Mother Earth and with one another. We are grateful for these stories, told in the words of each featured individual.
I am tsi sq̓ʷal?alq̓ʷal Lora Pennington, from Upper Skagit. I grew up in Seattle, feral, a punk rocker, a bookworm. I moved out when I was 16 and made my own way. I ended up at UW through one of my jobs.
On Lushootseed:
taqʷšəblu Vi Hibert is my grandmother, first cousin to my biological grandmother Eva Joe, they were raised as sisters, and in tribal country, that means a lot. Grandma Vi taught Lushootseed at UW, and I started learning the language when I took her class and, on the very first day, she told us the story of Lady Louse. Lady Louse Cleans House, originally as told by Elizabeth Krise of Tulalip.
?əsɬaɬlil kʷsi bəsč̓ad al tə hikʷ ?al?al. dayay? xʷi? kʷi gʷəsyaya?s. huy gʷəl, kʷədadəxʷ. gʷəl ?u?ik̓ʷidəxʷ ti?ə? hikʷ ?al?al. qa sč̓iq̓ʷil. x̌ʷul̕ ?u?uudəgʷiǰiləxʷ ?al ti ? al?al. huy, x̌ʷil̕əxʷ. šəbšub bəsč̓ad. [diɬ shuys.]
Lady Louse lived there in this great big house, all alone. She had no friends, she had no relatives. In that great big house, one day she took and she swept it, this great big house. It was very dirty. When she got to the middle, she got lost. And that was the end of Lady Louse. I wrote it down by sounding the Lushootseed out, so that I could remember these words forever. That story hit me like it should. It was huge.
Lushootseed provides, Grandma would say. Lushootseed is the language, and also the culture, the people, the way of being. There’s a very Colonial sense where we have to isolate every single thing. But in Lushootseed, the language itself is about relationships. It’s not about this cup or this table. It’s about the relationship between cup and table. Our whole language is about relationships, and it shows in everything we do. When you say, Lushootseed provides, it’s not the words and the phrases and the grammar and all that. It’s being able to see beautiful smiles and hearts every time you close your eyes. We’re human beings. We didn’t start off on this planet one human on the ice rift, all alone, like Lady Louse. That’s not the way. It’s not our way. Why would you have that beautiful house and be alone in there?
On cedar weaving:
You have to be able to see the stitches in your mind. You have to be able to feel the tension in your hands, because all weaving is about pattern and tension. The most important thing is that the stitches aren’t the weaving. The relationship we have with our cedar, with our teachers, with each other—this is the weaving. The way you learn the culture through the weaving, through the carving, or through the language. It isn’t the stitches. The things you create have a life of their own, and if you don’t respect that, it shows. It shows in your heV.
As a weaver, you’re always a learner. At one point we were at this festival, and Grandma Ch’optie and Uncle T’silxw—Fran and Bill James—were there. Uncle says, What you got there? Let me see. I hand over a Tiny Tot cedar crown I made for the powwow. He looks at it, and he says, Alright. Now make 1000. You give your first one away. But now that you have the stitch, you need to make 1000, until you’re ready. You need to make sure that you’re learning the lessons the cedar has to teach. You have a lifetime to weave. Don’t rush it. Yes, we are in this modern world, and there are things that are time-delineated, but your relationship with cedar is not. It never was. It never will be.
On what matters:
You don’t matter. I don’t matter. What matters is this beautiful canoe of our culture, our language, and our traditions that we’re portaging to the next generations. We’re receiving it from time immemorial, and we pass it on. We pass it on whole and with love. We just get to be a part of it, that is the most amazing thing. Grandma Vi, Uncle Tsilixw, my ancestors—they’re here with me. Sometimes those feelings of being small come back, you know, from childhood, and you literally start shaking. It’s inside shakes, from your heV. Then you remember that your ancestors have given you all the tools to handle this, and if you need more tools, just reach up into that canoe we’re all portaging.
I told you I grew up in Seattle, but I actually grew up for a part of the time in the projects of Seattle, some of the worst areas, the low income housing of Seattle. My uncle Cisco Pastores, my mom’s brother, said, If you have to fight, you may not win but I want them to know your name tomorrow. And I love that, because here I am carrying the name tsi sq̓ʷal?alq̓ʷal. One of my grandchildren or grandchildren’s grandchildren will have this name, and so yes, the name I carry will be known tomorrow. Amazing. We are so lucky to be in this culture. Thanks to my relatives, I’m a very lucky, rich old Skagit.
həc̓, pronounced something like “hutch,” has many meanings, but might be described as the heart or soul or sacred intelligence or the part of you that sits next to Creator.
Julie Trimingham Julie Trimingham is a mother, writer, and non-tribal member of the Sacred Lands Conservancy (SacredSea.org), a Lhaq’temish-led non-profit dedicated to protecting Native sovereignty, treaty rights, sacred sites, and the life and waters of Xw’ullemy (the Salish Sea bioregion). Her heart is filled by the work to protect and promote ancestral place-based knowledge so that we can all learn to live here, with one another, and with Mother Earth, in a good way.