Finding Tamanawas

Have you ever driven on a coastal road so twisty that you feel like a squirrel on espresso? The thing is, those bends and curves force me to slow down. Way down. So much so, I can't help but notice every critter rustling through the ferns and thorns. Suddenly, this isn't just a winding path anymore; the road turns into a tour guide revealing a world teeming with life. The rocks, the trees, the water... they're all part of this vibrant tapestry. And the air? Thick with something intangible. Those who live here call it "tamanawas."

The long windy road to Grand Ronde, Oregon

In Chinook Wawa, 'tamanawas' translates to spirit, but according to their dictionary, it can also be closely related to the word 'tumtum,' meaning heart. Far from mere sentiment, think of it as the driving force that urges us to delve into and appreciate the natural world. Imagine tamanawas as the fusion of heart and spirit, imbuing every rock, tree, and stream with stories that guide and inspire us throughout life.

For the community of Grand Ronde, nature isn't merely a backdrop; it's a revered teacher. The wisdom of the land, from the industrious beaver to the guiding stars, has been a cornerstone for generations. It's as if nature is a venerable mentor, offering time-tested guidance. And the people here? They're not just students; they're stewards, safeguarding this wisdom for future generations.

Living just a stone's throw away from Grand Ronde, the concept of 'tamanawas' has intrigued me ever since I read Evelyn Lampman's 1954 book, "The Witchdoctor's Son." If this word holds such significance for my neighbors, shouldn't it pique my curiosity too? After all, we share the same air, walk the same trails, and marvel at the same tamanawas. It's more than just a term; it's a gateway to understanding this place we share.

And so, my curiosity led me to the doorstep of the Chachalu Museum, a sanctuary of stories and local wisdom.

The Chachalu Museum, Grand Ronde, Oregon

The Keepers of Stories

When I arrived, I met the smile of Joseph at the front desk. We talked about Melville Jacobs, whose journals were being cited in the "Our Ancestor Shimkhin" exhibit. Melville documented tribal history from an outsider's perspective.

You see, the State of Oregon had its own trail of tears saga starting in 1857. Many of the tribal bands in Oregon were forcibly relocated to an extremely small reservation in Grand Ronde.

To make matters even worse, laws and regulations were passed on the reservation that stifled Native American cultural practices. This had a devastating effect on a culture that relies on oral tradition to pass along their cultural identity. If it weren't for people like Melville, important pieces of their history might be lost to us.

This adds another layer of complexity, as Joseph stated, "It's hard to read books and get a sense of culture." Native American elders, who hold an extreme sense of reverence for the stories and traditions they share with the next generation, feel jaded by the gaping holes in their culture. It's like trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle with part of it missing.

Joseph's words got me thinking about the power of storytelling. In a world that's increasingly digital, where our thoughts are being eroded by 280-character tweets, the Grand Ronde community holds onto the oral tradition, a practice that's both ancient and incredibly relevant.

Nothing is Lost Forever

Carl Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist, introduced the idea of the "collective unconscious," a reservoir of shared experiences and knowledge that we all carry within us but aren't always aware of. Jung believed that this collective unconscious is not just a repository of ancient myths and archetypes but also a source of creativity and wisdom that can be tapped into.

During one of my many visits to the Chachalu Museum, I watched Travis, the museum curator, chisel a face from a large piece of cedar. No machinery, just a chisel and his hands. The surface was impeccably smooth, as if the wood itself had guided him. Could it be that the act of engaging in these traditional practices awakens a deeper, collective knowledge? Is it in our blood, passed down through generations, waiting to be awakened by the act of doing?

Coyote Makes Wapato Woman

This brings us back to tamanawas. If Jung's theory holds water, then the essence of tamanawas is not just a cultural concept but a universal truth. It's the process of participating in the culture, of living it, that brings these dormant truths to light.

And the Grand Ronde community is living proof. Recently, they won back some of their fishing and hunting rights. This victory is more than a headline; it's a resurgence of a way of life. Imagine the joy of fishing in the same rivers your ancestors did, of hunting in the same forests. It's like finding a long-lost family album and realizing you're part of something much bigger.

In the end, it's the physical act of engaging with one's culture, whether it's carving a piece of cedar or casting a fishing net into the river, that reawakens our collective history. It's as if the very act of doing stitches together the fabric of time, connecting us with generations past and future.

In this way, we come to realize that nothing is truly lost forever. Instead, it lies dormant, waiting for the right moment to be rediscovered and brought back to life. And in that rediscovery, we find not just our history, but also our future.

This isn't a totem pole. Spirit poles are a common sight in the Pacific Northwest. While their intricate designs may seem mysterious, there's no need for apprehension. These poles are storytellers in wood, marking territories and honoring ancestors.

Your Journey Awaits

The Chachalu Museum is more than a building; it's a living, breathing entity that honors the Elders and celebrates the Tribe's Restoration. Located at 8720 Grand Ronde Road, it's open Tuesday to Saturday, 10:00 a.m. - 4:00 p.m., and entry is free for all ages.

If you're looking for tamanawas, it's here.