I took the book The White Indian Boy, a gift to me when I had just turned seven, to the January Yuki Teikei Haiku Society Meeting, where we all shared a long-loved book.
So naturally, yesterday I read it again. And I loved it still. In one place, he and some others hunt a buffalo and shoot so many arrows into him that they spoil the hide. But his Indian mother sewed up the holes and it served him as a warm sleeping robe for a long time thereafter.
Then I was reminded of my buffalo, a highlight of this summer's cross-country trip. Here he is in another view. You can see how he prefers the short mown grasses by the path. Everybody was taking pictures (quietly) like crazy, But we kept well back and no one had arrows.
The adventures of the author took place in the 1860s and 1870s, and it is slightly different from other Indian Captivity stories, in that he wasn't captured, he decided to go and live with Washakie's tribe when they offered him a pinto pony! He sneaked away and met them at night and lived with them for a couple of years before returning home. They wanted him because the chief's mother had lost all her children (except Washakie) and was deeply depressed.
I also finished Day 13 of the 15 day art challenge given to me by a friend. I have done something every evening, but nothing has really caught fire. I have been using 4x6 watercolor postcards, so I haven't had to work up a sweat; now I think I need to do it earlier in the day.
So we go along. And along. It's very pleasant, really. But I always thought I might accomplish something. I guess a life is really an accomplishment.