Introduction
the shore of the Missouri River. Her daughter Nona came with her children, and we gathered driftwood logs. We dragged them to the sweat lodge that her son Kevin made of canvas stretched over a bent willow frame. We lit a ³re and laid some good-sized rocks in the heart of the ·ames. After the rocks had baked for about an hour, we carried them into the sweatlodge, where their heat would help purify us. “Mitákuye Oyás’iŋ (we are all related)” Unchi said as we entered. Inside, it was completely dark. Time disappeared. We prayed and sang. Art Davidson
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