It’s not something we get often — rain here at this time of year. Normally, we’re unusually lucky to get any precipitation at all in october, and if we do, it generally takes the form of an early snow near month’s end.
This year, I have felt as though I’m back in the land of my own people, where there are as many cloudy days as sunny ones, and rain coming off the big lakes is simply the norm. For me personally, this has been a particular gift, having had certain links to some of those lands forcibly and irreparably broken in recent months. It feels as though the spirits have tried to soften that blow a bit by giving me the gift of a birth month like those I knew as a child.
It’s a beautiful thing.
A couple of weeks ago, all of us here were given the gift of five consecutive nights of soft, steady, unseasonal rains. When the skies cleared, our ordinary October light spilled around us: bright as yellow diamonds, air pure crystal and world aflame. It has been that way for more than a week now, and I had assumed that the month had settled into its usual routine.
Two days ago, the forecast changed.
The air was still perfectly, brilliantly clear. But the experts suggested that we would have rain by Friday. Sure enough, the weather altered its spirit yesterday, ushering in high thin clouds that nevertheless brought purple to the skies and an edge to the air. Today was a repeat, with a few scattered drops by late morning.
Now, you can feel winter’s edge just around the corner, see it in the skies: high dove-gray cover that masks darker accumulations. The weather map shows looming storms, bright green enormities across a gray desert background, spiraling and shifting as they move slowly in our direction.
It appears that the weekend forecast will prove accurate, and that is a blessing.
In this part of Indian Country, we have the katsinam to thank, spirits like the Longhair, whose own waist-length locks and beard represent the rain coursing downward in dense sheets.
I had made the decision a full week ago, long before this forecast was in place, to feature our resident Longhair today. He is one of my favorites among the spirit beings, mask the color of the sky, kirtle and sash holding the images of the beings that dwell within it.
As I wrote last winter about Longhair’s role:
The photos at top and immediately above demonstrate the visual relevance of the term “Longhair”: You can clearly see the spirit being’s long, straight locks cascading down its back, enfolding its shoulders like a second blanket; and, in the front, its beard falling from the chin of its case mask. It’s Native hair in its most basic, iconic form, long and luxuriant.
Here, it has specialized symbolic significance, as well.
We talk a lot here about the challenges of living in this arid high-desert climate. It’s a daily striving for survival, one that, in human terms, is as old as time itself. In places like Hopi, it’s especially acute: At an elevation of roughly 5,000 feet, Hopi regularly averages summer temperatures in the 90s, yet the entire area gets fewer than ten inches of annual rainfall, on average.
To call rain a blessing is a masterpiece of understatement.
And this is the Longhair’s role. He is a Bringer of Rain, and, indeed, his long locks symbolize the blessed water cascading from the sky.
In Josh’s version, his identity is buttressed by the traditional symbols carved and painted on his blanket, many in cool green and blue shades the color of water.
Look at the photo at the top, showing the front of the Longhair: On the front of his robe, Father Sun peers out above stormclouds gathering in a monsoonal sky; traditional thunderhead symbols accent his sash. On the reverse, shown immediately above and in close-up, below, the thunderheads on his sash are visible, flanking a single falling-rain symbol rendered in traditional colors. The stormy sky encircles the whole blanket, great pregnant clouds towering over the ancient roofs of the Pueblo itself.
It is not, typically, a spirit I associate with this season in this place: Here, the world is normally clear and dry, one last fiery golden dance before the snow flies. In years past, I would, at most, have linked Longhair with, perhaps, Indian Summer, those final few days before Fall’s official arrival when Father Sun has not yet resigned himself to a lesser glow, when the air is just a bit too hot and the world a bit too bright. From its description in the Other Artists: Katsinam gallery:
Master carver Josh Aragon (Hopi/Laguna) coaxes the Longhair from this slender piece of cottonwood root. Carved in the traditional fashion, the katsina is hand-carved and then hand-painted with a variety of natural dyes, in patterns reflecting his role in Pueblo life as the Bringer of Rain. His blanket tells a story of daily life, with thunderheads scudding across the sky over the traditional Pueblo home, pine ladder propped against one wall. Stands 13.75″ from bottom of base to tip of feather (dimensions approximate). Reverse shown below, followed by a close-up of the detailed artwork on the blanket.
Cottonwood root; natural-dye paints
$585 + shipping, handling, and insurance
Requires special handling; extra shipping charges apply
But climate change has taught us well and fast that the old patterns no longer hold. About all we can expect is that we do not know what we can expect.
This year, Longhair has stayed late, well past his usual time. It appears that he will pay us another personal visit in the days to come.
It is a blessing for us all . . . and for me, a very special gift.
~ Aji
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