Zeedman
Garden Master
A lot of people that I've spoken to over the years have some Native American ancestry. I may have some as well; my maternal grandfather appeared to be American Indian, but was very evasive about that even with my mother. Another relative claimed to know more about his history & wanted to show me, but passed away before I could see them. My grandfather also took that secret with him when he passed, so short of genetic testing (which I won't do) I'll probably never know. His almost complete lack of facial hair resurfaced in my sons.Yes, @Dirtmechanic , it would probably be best for all of us to stay outdoors, sit quietly in the shade, not travel, not gather in large groups ...
I'm only a part European American - if humans can be parted out. My father's father was described as "Indian on both sides," by family who should know (his wife). Cherokee, they seemed to have a philosophy of lead, follow or get the heck out of the way. Of course, with westward expansion of the European American, the advent of the cotton gin, and the resultant spread of upland cotton production, getting the heck out of the way appears to have been the best route for many.
I was recently reading about the Cherokee diaspora. The author of the book began by recounting the immigration of a Cherokee family from the United States to Australia over 100 years ago. Ironic isn't it - Native Americans leaving North America for the "Land Down Under" after being displaced? This seemed to inspire the author to write the book.
As best as I can determine, Grandpa's family got out of the way about 10-15 years before the "Trail of Tears." They first went to eastern Pennsylvania, as did many Native Americans trying to avoid conflict and, somewhat, under the protection of the Quakers. A generation or two later, they were in Shawneetown Illinois, at the very southern end of the state and where some of the generation of Dad's grandparents were born, including my grandfather's aunt. She was described as "full-blooded Indian" by my oldest uncle, whatever that meant. It was just a hop and skip from there before they arrived in the capital of the Choctaws in Oklahoma.
That was Dad's hometown until, as his older brother recounted it, the children were old enough to pick cotton. That work made it possible for them to migrate to the West. Irony, again. My grandfather didn't grow cotton. He grew alfalfa until he was an olde guy, retired, and move to live with one of his sons. And then, he taught me how to play dominoes.
Steve
Never have to worry
About what is worst or what is best
Oh oh Domino (it's all right)
Roll me over, Romeo, there you go
Lord, have mercy
I said oh-oh, Domino ~ Van Morrison