Honoring my Grandmothers During Native American Heritage Month - Zady DULAN and Cornelia HORNBEAK Gaines

By Gloria DULAN-Wilson

Hello All:

With so many things going on this month, I had totally overlooked the fact that November has been designated as "Native American Heritage Month."   And, while I pay homage to them year round, I thought this would be a wonderful time to pay tribute to my maternal and paternal Grandmoms - both of whom were of Native American Heritage.

My Mom's mom, CORNELIA HORNBEAK GAINES was of the Cherokee Nation; while my Dad's mom, ZADY WASHINGTON DULAN was of the Creek Nation - both were born and raised in Oklahoma - which literally means "Land Of The Red People."

Though these two beautiful women never met, they had such a wonderful, powerful influence on me and my brothers and sisters.  Not only did they instill wonderful values and qualities in my Mom and Dad respectively, but thru direct input, when my Sister, Brothers and I had the pleasure of spending part of our summer vacation at each of their farms on an alternate basis.

 

Grandmom ZADY DULAN

While these ladies led two distinctly different lifestyles, they were, at heart, the most loving, benign, and down home creative, proud women.  Both my Dad and Mom were raised with a mix of old fashioned and culturally rich values - including respect for their elders, keeping their word, not embarrassing the family in public, honoring their ancestors, and always having something constructive to do, such as helping with the planting, gardening, cooking, harvesting, pickling, preserving, preparation of foods; and never, ever wasting anything.  It was from both my Grandmoms that I learned how to repurpose most things that others would throw out, but find a way to transform them into something beautiful or useful (a habit I still have to this day). 

Both of my Grandmoms placed a high value in land ownership,  preservation and cultivation.  Interestingly enough, both my Grandmoms carried their babies on their backs in "papoose carriers" - which were beautifully shaped birch bark wooden carriers lined with blankets, headbraces and beads attached for the babies to play with.  I actually  used to have the one my Mom's Mom had for her.  It used to hang on my wall in my  Harlem apartment.  I lost it during the move back to New York from California in 1984.  Neither my mom, nor her sisters carried any of their children on their backs because it was frowned upon.  I was the one who revived that tradition with each of my three children - a nod to both my African and Native American heritages.  

 

By the way, my Mom's mom hated being called "Native American." She preferred either Cherokee - or Indian, which she said most of her people had adjusted to the name for centuries.  IJS

They both made everything from scratch, and did everything by hand - sewing beautiful clothes, cooking sumptuous food (especially cakes and pies) from scratch; keeping a well disciplined home, and instiling the love of both tribal cultures in each of my parents.  I will always remember the summers my sister and I spent at Grandma Zady in Luther, Oklahoma - a small, all Black town near Jones, Oklahoma. We had to adjust to using the outhouse, bathing in a galvinized tub, having a pee pot under the bed if you had to go at night; chopping wood for the pot bellied stove that heated the whole cabin, brushing our teeth with baking soda, and sitting and sewing by hand because she wanted to make sure we knew how to make straight stitches.  

One of my favorite memories was when she would fix breakfast for us on that fantastic old wood burning stove - it was green and silver.  There would be stacks of pancakes, or biscuits that would float off the plate, with scrambled eggs, or eggs over easy, and bacon (yes, when I was a kid I ate bacon - stopped eating pork when I was 20 thanks to Muhammad Ali).  She had homemade butter, homemade fresh milk, fresh laid eggs, maple syrup, or Log Cabin syrup poured from a log cabin shaped can.  At dinner it would be chicken, goose, duck, ham or beef, with succotash, stewed tomatoes, or fried green tomatoes and all the fresh greens, watermelon, potatoes, tomatoes, cucumbers, etc you could ever want.  And REAL CORNBREAD - the same cornbread my cousins Gregory and Terry DULAN serve in their restaurants in California (DULAN'S KING OF SOUL FOOD and DULAN'S ON CRENSHAW).

Grandmom Zady also raised corn, and ground it herself to make cornmeal, or make fresh popping corn.

But my favorite memory was her homemade Ice cream.  My sister, Brenda, and I used to "help" her make it - just like I "helped" churn the butter.  She had an old fashioned wooden hand cranked ice cream maker.  We would take turns turning the crank while the ice and the salt did its thing to turn some fresh cream, eggs and fruit into the most fantastic ice cream on the planet! The other thing I remember was the fact that they had their own well water, with the sweetest, coldest water in Oklahoma.  She would draw the water up, put it in a galvanized pail, and take it into the house - put it into handmade clay pots to keep it clean and cold.  Oklahoma is known for its sweet water - and she and granddaddy had their own private source. 

My Grandmom Zady's birthday is December 13 (don't know the year).   She was the quietest Sagittarius I have ever known in my life.  Because of the culture of the Creek nation, women were taught to be very quiet,  so Grandmom could sit in a room full of people who could all be talking, making merry, and she would never say a word.  Maybe once in every half hour she might say something, like "Nice day, isn't it?" We'd always politely respond, "Yes, Grandmom," and then go back to doing whatever it was we were doing.  My Grandmom's quiet nature ran in the family -  my Aunt Zethel, my Dad, my sister Brenda, and my brother Warner Jr. all tend to have that quiet nature; while  my Uncle Adolf, my Aunt Alene, my Cousin LaMonte, and myself were more like my loquacious Granddaddy Silas,  would be all over the place!  You couldn't outtalk us.  The only time I remember my Grandmom Zady saying more than a few words was when she was asking me about my cooking.  Everybody in the family cooked - at least they were supposed to.  I was a pretty good cook, but couldn't bake worth beans.  All my pie crusts and biscuits came out hard as concrete.  Those were the times when I wished she would return to that quiet being.  I couldn't lie to her, so I tried to figure out ways to get around dealing with the topic.  That never worked, because those deep black eyes could see right through anything or any excuse I tried to effect. 

As quiet as she was, Grandmom Zady was a stickler for education and obedience, and you didn't dare defy her.  She had no problem in applying some physical back up to her orders.  And, of course, anything she couldn't handle, Granddaddy was there for back up.  She raised four children of her own, and ten of her  younger inlaws who were orphaned when her father in law, and later, her mother in law died within months of each other.  She was 16 when she and my grandfather married - but because of her culture, was raised from an early age to assume responsibility.  Between my grandmother and grandfather, thirteen of the twenty attended and graduated from college to become doctors, educators and one entrepreneur/millionaire (my Uncle Adolf DULAN, the youngest).  The only one who did not attend college was my dad, who was drafted during WWII, and married my mom while he was in the service. 

As the first born grandchild of the first born son of Silas and Zady DULAN, I became well aware that there was a lot expected of me.  Unfortunately, I was also a brat with brains and a lot of mouth, and a lot of rebellion, so I was constantly breaking tradition (I was also an Aries, that was as much tomboy as anything else Black then).   When I would get out of line - which was quite often - my dad would drag me over to his mom and make me stay there for punishment - which meant a round of chores - and don't you dare talk back.  Grandmom Zady's dad was a Black man whose last name was Washington.  Her brothers and sisters were raised by a beautiful Creek woman, on tribal lands in another part of the state.   I met her brother, Uncle Booker, when he was quite advanced in age - who was just as quiet as she was.  Like Grandmom, he married a woman who talked non-stop, just like my Grandfather.  They both seemed to take delight in their constant chatter.  If she had other siblings,  I never knew them - or rather, I remember very little about them, except the fact that one of her sisters used to make dolls and pipes out of corn husks and corn cobs.

Grandmom CORNELIA GAINES

My Mom's mother, Cornelia Hornbeak Gaines was held captive (they called it educated) in a missionary school.  A severe form of detribalization was perpetrated on her and her sisters and other members of the FIVE CIVILIZED TRIBES.  They literally tried to beat the culture out of her.  Oklahoma had been opened up to caucasoid invasion in 1889 - they called it The Oklahoma Run; I call it the Oklahoma RUIN) -  where they quickly tried to deprive all the Tribes of their freedom, run them off their lands, and exact laws to deprive them of their autonomy.  My grandfather, ENOCH GAINES, literally rescued my grandmother from some e-vile missionaries who were trying to cut her hair off - they claimed she was tempting the men, and therefore evil.  My grandfather, a Fine, deep dark chocolate Black man, was riding through when he came upon the struggle - two caucasoids were holding her down,  another had scissors - they had already managed to cut off a lock when he rode up, pulled his gun (which he carried til the day he died), and made them back up off her.  He pulled her up on his horse, and off they rode - true story folks!!  He literally didn't stop until they got to Burneyville, Oklahoma - an All Black Town just north of the Oklahoma/Texas Border.  My Granddaddy owned 180 acres of land that he cultivated, along with some of his relatives whom he allowed to live on the land as sharecroppers.  My understanding is though my grandmother was 7 years older than my grandfather, it didn't matter to them.  They married, had 6 beautiful children - one son, five daughters - of which my mom was the youngest and stayed together for 48 years until my Grandmom died in 1957. 

Unlike my paternal grandmother Zady,  Cornelia Gaines - also affectionately known as Aint Boosie - loved to talk, loved entertaining, loved to sing in that distinct high pitched Indian trill, and was always making or designing something.  She was an expert fisherman, could cook like anything, and made enough food to feed an army.  She was as strict as my grandmother Zady, when it came to her daughters, but was waaaay too lenient when it came to her one son - Uncle Buddy (sadly, to his detriment).  She lost her first born son during childbirth, and so wanted to make up for it by giving Uncle Buddy more privileges.

Did I mention that my Grandmom Cornelia and I were the only two ARIES on both sides of the family line?  I think that was why I was so drawn to her.  I felt she understood me more than most.  She certainly intervened enough times when I was about to get a behind whipping for getting into something I had been distinctly told not to do.  She got a kick out of seeing me follow my curiosity wherever it took me.

She had  beautiful long hair way down past her waist that she would sit and braid and unbraid then when she was thinking.  Later in life she got it cut short because she wanted to "be in style" and my grandfather nearly had a heart attack.  Three of my aunts and my sister Brenda inherited that long, flowing hair; my Mom and her sister Eula, and I inherited the African Grade - which "required" a hot comb to make it "presentable. (PS:  I'm the kid who you would have to chase down to sit still for that dreaded comb.  In 1965 I finally let my hair go natural and have kept it that way ever since).  My brothers have what is called "wavy or curly" hair that is a result of the Afro/Indian genepool. 

I totally loved going down home to visit my Grandmom.  We would leave the house at 5:00AM before the sun came up.  It was a 5 hour drive from Oklahoma City to Burneyville - through the Arbuckle Mountains, and through some relatively dangerously racist areas.  My mother used to cringe whenever we drove through certain towns - and tried to get my dad to hurry through them.  He would always want to stop in Stuckeys and get a pecan log roll, or at the Dairy Queen to get us all some ice cream -something totally not done during the bad old days; but Daddy was a quiet riot, always silently daring the caucasoids to say something to him.  They never did.

Both my grandparents owned their own land and homes - 86 acres in my Dad's family, and 180 in my Mom's.  But, unlike my dad's family home, my mom's parents had electricity, hot and cold running water, a radio, and other amenities from as far back as the early 1920s.  In fact, they were pretty much the only family - Black or white  - that had electricity, indoor plumbing, and hot and cold running water in a rural, all Black part of Oklahoma.  My Granddaddy, Enoch Gaines, built the house himself for his new wife, and for his mom, Aint Susie - a former slave.  It had a wrap around porch and a porch swing, and a lot of  big rooms with fun things to get into.  Grandmom  Cornelia had a cactus garden that you would see as soon as you came through the gate; a chinaberry tree, and several different fruit trees.  She was always making something sweet - and you could see that it had begun to cause her to gain weight - plums, pears, apples, peaches, cherries, blackberries, blueberries, boysenberries - and she would have jars set aside to send home with us. 

There was a big gulley in front of the house where we kids would play with our cousins and other neighbors from around the area.  They were always told when we were coming down home to visit, and would come over to "keep us company."   I loved that gulley!  It had a pond and a dozen places to hide. We kids would follow the path down into it, play hide and seek, cowboys and Indians; do weenie roasts, camp out - as long as we were back up before the sun went down.  It was also the place where my Granddad had his whiskey still.

I remember grandmother telling us stories from legends about her people.  There were some things she was not supposed to talk about because of detribalization brainwashing - some things she never got over.  Sometimes she would talk in a whisper as if she half expected the e-vile missionaries to show up and punish her.  I always tried to find out what it was like for her growing up.  She never ever mentioned the missionary school, though. I only found out about that during my 4th grade class when my teacher, Ms. Cannon, talked about what had happened to Blacks and Indians in Oklahoma.   In the local country church I noticed that she knew practically every song - no doubt a result of the missionary school indoctrination - and sang them with that characteristic Indian trill. 

My Grandmom was a member of the HORNBEAK CLAN - a relatively large family located throughout the Southern part of Oklahoma, just north of the Texas/Oklahoma border.  I have several relatives scattered throughout Oklahoma and the US who are likewise members of the Hornbeak Clan.  She was the youngest of the seven daughters and two sons in her family. Her father, Squire Hornbeak, lived to be 123 years old and was still lucid and active.

She could crochet, make quilts, and cook dishes that were generally thought to be part of the caucasoid cuisine.  But she also had a way of jazzing it up with Southwestern food flavors -  plenty of spices and laced with her culture - like cho-cho, a peppery hot sauce that we used on our greens.  She set such a beautiful table, and made sure everyone had more than enough to eat.  And she always had a dessert with every meal, despite the fact that everything she did was from scratch.  Whenever we visited, she and mom would head straight to the kitchen, where they would silently choreograph working together as though my mother had never left home.  It was also always marvelous to be there when all my aunts, my Grandmom and my Uncle Buddy were home for a mini-reunion - you could see that each one easily fell into the role they were raised up in.  Mother, being the baby of the family, was basically overruled by her older sisters.  She was grandmother's treasure because she was the youngest and the last to leave the nest, so they treated her like she was still a baby.  Mom was also the only one who continued to live in Oklahoma - all my aunts had either relocated to Detroit or California; so Grandmom would spend more time in Oklahoma City, visiting with us when we were not able to go down home to visit her.  I didn't realize that when you mix Black and Indian genes together, we mostly resemble our Puerto Rican brothers and sisters, until I looked at a young family portrait of my Mom and her sisters. 

I vividly remember two beautifully framed sepia pictures of Grandmom with her braids down her shoulders and Granddaddy with his hair parted to the right. They were mounted high up on the walls so little fingers like mine couldn't reach them.   I would stare at those pictures for hours and hours - especially my Granddad's.  He was so handsome when he was younger.  He had lost most of his hair, and had wrinkles in skin.  I always tried to figure out how he went from that Fine Black man on the wall, to the way he looked when he grew up.  When Grandmom died in1957, that wonderful portrait was stolen - I found out later that it was Cousin Maudie who stole it.

I was convinced that my Grandmom could do anything, and was always fascinated when she made furniture, crocheted animal shapes and doilies, made beautiful quilts, or dolls from scratch.  At the same time she was a consummate fisher woman, who could catch some of the biggest fish on the planet - especially our favorite buffalo fish.  I used to watch her gut them, dress them, fillet them and have them ready in time for dinner.  When she removed the gills, Brenda and I would jump on them and make them pop - they were full of air.  Grandmom would always remove the fish head and bury it in the garden to help fertilize the plants.  She had approximately 30 cats  that lived all over the place that would follow the fish heads, but never dig them up because she'd pour little drops of ammonia around them.  But the cats would keep rodents away, so she had the biggest, broadest collard greens, turnips, curly mustards, snap beans, onions, okra, etc.  She also had a pecan grove, a black walnut tree, plus every fruit tree known to man.  Anything she touched would grow - whether edible or just for the beauty.  Like my Grandmom, Mother would always have a garden growing in our backyard in Oklahoma City.  My Grandmom was both the family herbalist and the midwife for the communities of Burneyville, Marietta and Ardmore.  She had become well known and loved as a result of this.

My Grandmom Cornelia Gaines absolutely loved beautiful jewelry - especially turquoise and garnets.   She had bracelets, necklaces, earrings (pierced), that would just overflow the trunk she kept them in - too much for a mere jewelry case.  When I was five,  I used to push a chair up to her dresser, take several bracelets and necklaces; put them on, and parade around the house wearing them, while clunking around in my Mom's high heels, and trying to wear one of her gorgeous dresses.  Grandmom is where I got my love of costume jewelry from.  She also had a beautiful set of brandy snifters which would sit in her Whatnot Cabinet - which held such a beautiful collection of fine Blue Willow ware china, hand blown glass, and other fabulous items.  We could look at the items, but were warned to not touch them unless she was present.  (Mom got the Blue Willow ware).

I remember my Grandmom putting the mosquito net around our beds, rocking and singing us to sleep, making dresses out of flour sacks, letting us pull the grey hairs out of her head so they wouldn't come back - she would burn them so the birds wouldn't try to pluck them for their nests.  I remember her making us wear straw hats in summer to keep us from getting sunstroke, and warning us to stay away from toads because they would spit on us and give us warts; I remember her telling us to watch were we walked in the back 40 because we might step on cow puckey.  I remember that my Grandmom loved brandy - and made peach brandy using Granddaddy's whiskey still.  She would pour them into the brandy snifters.  Unlike my Uncle Buddy who would be looped at the very smell of alcohol, she could handle her liquor - which was cool since Granddaddy had two whiskey stills - one for sales and one for guests and relatives.  (Dad's family was teetotalers and only drank a slight bit of Mogen David Wine for New Years).

Unlike Grandmom, Zady, who was rather reticent,  Grandmom Cornelia was very outgoing and a big hugger - she would pick us up and rock us, let us slide down her knees, let us sit in her lap and swing us in the porch swing. She, mom and the rest of us would pop huge bags of fresh popcorn that she grew in the back of the cornfield - separate from the regular corn. 

Though it was never openly discussed, both our families took a great deal of pride in being both Black and Indian.  We would visit Anadarko, OK every year for the American Indian Exposition.  Just being there you had a great sense of belonging and community.  All the colors, the music, the dancers, beautiful doeskin beaded boots (Grandmom Cornelia made those too).  Mother had a fierce distrust of caucasoids - and would cut loose with some serious epitaphs for those who perpetrated harm, lies, trickery, deceit and evil on both Blacks and Native Americans.  She would often say of caucasoids that she didn't trust them as far as she could throw them - and that they were not to be believed under any circumstances.  So she would make sure that we spent time getting to know something about her people.  

A lot of what I learned of our heritage I learned in school - from the pushing of the tribes off their lands in Georgia, Florida, North Carolina, through the Trail of Tears; I learned about Sequoia who invented the Cherokee Alphabet, and wrote books in their original language; about all the heroic things Geronomo did, and how they locked him up in Fort Sill, Lawton Oklahoma to prevent him from liberating his people; I watched as they built Frontier City, a tribute to the caucasoid cowboys, totally ignoring the fact that Oklahoma originally belonged to, and was developed by the combined efforts of Blacks and Indians (Native Americans).  I also remember my grandmom's sister Aunt Lydie - who would try to fill me in on things most didn't know about Black Indians.  She would say that both sides - "Black and white - want you to forget who you are.  Don't ever forget.  Your ancestors - the ancient ones - are with you." Sadly, there were some members of the Five Civilized Tribe who likewise later tried to have us excised from our heritage.  So glad Lydie wasn't here to witness that. 

So, in tribute to Native American Heritage Month - I love and salute the two beautiful women of Black and Native American Heritage who gave life to the people who gave life to me:

I honor the memories and spirits of my beloved Grandmothers Zady Washington-DULAN and Cornelia HORNBEAK Gaines, and the two Fine Black Men - Silas Sylvester DULAN and Enoch Gaines -  who had the deep love and good sense to marry them.  And all the members of the Creek and Cherokee clans, and the Five Civilized Tribes and Indian Freedmen of Oklahoma.

Stay Blessed &

ECLECTICALLY BLACK 

Gloria DULAN-Wilson