Representatives from dozens of tribes participated in September’s Mount Juliet Powwow and October’s Native American Indian Association of Tennessee Powwow. These men, women and children travel across the country and internationally (Canadian First Nations tribes also join in).
The masters of ceremonies often come from Oklahoma, older men who fill space between dances with voice that remain regal even when reading off college football games or musing about staying awake past their bedtimes.
We could join the circuit, watch the dancers of many tribes in new venues. While I hope to someday witness the tipi city formed by Crow Fair, the massive August powwow on the Crow Reservation in Southern Montana, Middle Tennessee’s powwow possess their own allure. These dancers take the smaller powwows of Middle Tennessee every bit as seriously.
The vendors become known quantities after a few visits – turquoise jewelry, Indian art and dozens of others. We never leave without a meal on fry bread, usually an Indian taco with bison meat. One vendor at Long Hunter sold tamales, which we cannot skip. Then we settled into the arena seating for the dancing.
Whenever the urge to wail along with the drummers nearly catches me, I remember my place in the powwow as respectful observer. Any act that could be misinterpreted as mockery or appropriation must be avoided. We applaud for every group of dancers, stand for prayers and the grand entry. It also means leaving the expensive camera at home and keeping photos to a minimum.
Not everyone abides – one master of ceremonies criticized the president for presenting a wreath at the grave of Andrew Jackson, Native Americans’ least-favorite president. People behind us, who did not respect the no alcohol policy either, began shouting for him not be political. These attempted participants didn’t seem to understand that Native Americans can speak however they want at their powwow.
Both powwows took place a short distance from the Hermitage, Jackson's home, so the visiting Indians have every right to throw shade at the man hellbent on their removal from the southeast. While these Indians might speak fondly of their Oklahoma roots, their culture will never forget how squatters and soldiers pried away their ancestral lands, place they now visit at powwows.
As for the powwow setup, the arenas are simple. In Mount Juliet, haystacks rimmed the modest circle with two groups of drummers, while the NAIA powwow’s larger arena had planks on buckets, providing as easy spot for dancers to rest or set their headdresses and dancing accessories. At Long Hunter, a third drum group sits at the center of the circle beneath a wooden pavilion topped with fresh-cut cedar boughs.
The Mount Juliet powwow added a gourd dancing category for 2017, a men's dance. The dancers hold a metal rattle in one hand and a feathered fan in the other. Feathered fans are frequently featured in other dances, with the eagle feathers commonly used in their construction (Native Americans can legally use eagle feathers for traditional purposes).
Lighting changes the feel of the arena. The Mount Juliet powwow is city in a city park, with bright athletic field lights to cast brightly illuminate the entire festival. A different mood settled above the NAIA powwow. Burnt sage and tobacco wafted around the arena. The temperature dropped steeply as the twilight waned. Lightpoles mounted on generators cast the proceedings in a dim, intimate light.
Throughout the proceedings, I can imagine dancing by bonfire and torches. This atmosphere did not reach that level of darkness, but definitely imparted of feel of intimacy.
The visual spectacle of the dance competitions is only challenged by the grand entry. With the entire crowd on its feet, an honor guard enters with the flags, followed by dignitaries, then the entire field of dancers. Then their dancing fills the arena, what could blossom into chaos swirls in organic beauty.
If you want a crash course in fancy-dancing, I would not suggest Sherman Alexie’s poem The Business of Fancydancing. You need to see these men twirling in their complex regalia with multiple feathered bustles and headdresses with stalks that flash like candles in the arena light. They spin faster, then spin faster, as fancy-dancing draws the young and fit.Teenage fancy-dancers dedicate themselves early. The movements threaten to turn violent but never sacrifice grace. The groupings sometimes span a huge field with a few competitors. We felt sorry for the junior boy competitors, upstaged by a 3 or 4-year-old dancer who easily qualified as the NAIA powwow’s cutest contestant. By not falling down – his bustle served as ballast – he won the crowd as he circled the central drum circle and the two other boys spun. After the littlest dancer left, half the crowded evaporated.
By the men’s traditional, maybe 100 people stuck with the dancing. Surrounding the central drum circle, men in the traditional style dance were hypnotic, a dozen twirling nimbly and spinning without ever contacting each other. Their regalia included various animal skins,
The audience for the final women’s competitions dribbled down to the earlier participants, a few stragglers and us. That’s a shame, because the women’s competitions deserve the same prominence as the men. Several women’s dances are described by materials of the regalia – buckskin and cloth are typical. The jingle dance takes its name from a dress with dozens of small tin cylinders that serve as percussion while its wearer dances.
The fancy shawl competition dispels any belief that the women’s dances are more restrained. The evening ended on two women in the fancy shawl competition, easily equaling the men’s fancydancing. Only two women danced, both moving their feet conservatively as they swung their arms, the fringed shawls evoking eagle wings as they worked across the arena.
When the chicken dancers enter the arena, its best to scrub that damned novelty song from the mind. The prairie chicken dance is among the oldest Native American dances and important for many tribes.
Beyond the dancers and the emcee, the drummers tie the powwow together. Two or three circles trade off songs. They pound the drum as one singer starts the song before the rest join his voice. Members float and in out of the circle. The circle closest to us, comprised mainly of young men, depleted when the men’s traditional competition loomed and half the circle donned their fully regalia.
The circles’ chants and cries thrive on nuance, both universal and immersed in secrecy. I don’t know what they’re saying, and I don’t think I should know. But I will listen anytime they strike the drum.
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