Moose Hide Mitts
#memoriesofnokom #fromdabantodaban
I made my first pair of moosehide mitts, from start to finish, this December (2024). In the process, I discovered learning pedagogies & philosophies I hadn't realized I lived, I “reconnected”with my grandmother, and I discovered the power of memory.
I beaded flowers that my grandmother used to make (one pattern of many).
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I used to help my grandmother and grandfather with the hide preparation process when I was a kid; from scraping hide with Mama’s bone scrapers to wrestling with the hide -- playing a game of tug o' war with Mama and Baba, to soften the hide. They would fill the house with the glorious smell of wood burning to smoke the hides that were hanging in "tubes", wearing skirts to the floor that Mama had sewn onto them.
Teaching & Learning
'Teaching' and 'learning' come from the same root word in Inninimowin ("Cree") - teaching and learning inextricably linked. I knew that. But going through the process showed me the power of memory.
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As I drew, beaded, cut, sewed, and braided, I remembered the time my grandmother spent with me showing me these steps.
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Nokum taught me how to bead on hide using the 2 needle method when I was 6. We had just recently moved into the new house my grandfather, nemooshoom, had helped build. She drew the flower for me to bead and threaded my needles. I'm sure this was to keep me out of the way while she did her own beadwork. She told me about traditional needles and beads and stories about hide. I believe I finished only one mukluk vamp then. Mama still had that vamp in recent years, stored away in a metal box - actually, that would have been my grandfather's box. My mother has probably thrown it out by now.
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Mama would have me draw flowers some days. Some days she had me trace patterns onto the proper side of the hide. Baba supplied her with the hides from his moose hunts every year. Other hunters would from time to time bring her a hide. And in my teen years, they got hides from some annual MNR program. My grandparents would prepare the hides together - what a process that was. My mother and aunts too would help. More on that some other time... I'm going to end up telling you our whole life stories if I don't get back on track.
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Some days Mama would have me carefully cut out those pieces traced out on the hides. Other days, I would be allowed to cut out the even strands of fringe that decorated the front, back, and sides of the mitts.
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One day, I had the very messy task of cutting fur... I wondered why she would ever let me ruin so much fur. ​I cut welts some days. I watched Mama cut out her diamond shapes and fancy little edgings she'd use for the fringe tops. ​Some days were spent braiding like we were making baby “soothers” out of willow. ​And some days were spent making pom-poms or tassels.
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Never again did I attempt any of this... until this past December.​​ And, now, Mama wasn’t around to answer any questions.
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I never helped Mama with gloves or slippers or wraparounds or mukluks. And it shows! Puckering is not for me. However, I may attempt slippers again - maybe this summer.
"Reconnecting..."
I was flooded with memories as I embarked on this project. This is probably a given. I thought about what Mama must have felt or thought about at every stage of these mitts. I wondered how excited she must have been when she saw Baba bringing moose home. Was the upcoming hard work something she dreaded or something that was just a part of life for her? The whole hide skinning, cleaning, scraping, and tanning is a science. I recognized that as a kid. So much so, that, in my excitement, I asked Baba to help me create doll sized items so that I could enter them in the science fair. He made me a small scale log frame for scraping, with tiny bone scrapers wrapped nicely at each end for my doll's hands. Tiny hides tied to a frame stretcher just like real life, another soft tiny one sewn into a tube with its cloth skirt to touch the ground and a tiny little smudge bowl to hold all the wood for the smoking stage. I wrote out the steps and tacked them all onto the science fair display boards like everyone else did and waited. My teacher never helped me. Not one of the science fair judges even came to my display to ask a question. They just walked on by. I was 9. That lesson stayed with me. The unspoken words the loudest words ever. I never saw any of these mini tools Baba made for me ever again. I believe they were thrown away at the school. I don't think things have changed much.
I wondered how my grandmother felt knowing she'd be able to make my mitts and mukluks for the winter. She stopped making these for me when I was in grade 5. I'm not sure why.
I wondered how she felt knowing she had the materials necessary to make beaded vamps that she would sell at Arctic Arts or at the Cree Cultural Centre across the river. I learned early on that she should sell at the Cree Cultural Centre rather than the tourist shop here. Another lesson I witnessed - the devaluing of such beautiful work - also, something I don't think has changed much today.
I also regretted some things. I left home when I was 17 and wished that I had at least drowned her in beads as soon as I was able. We are isolated here and it wasn't easy to get supplies needed to do these things (before the internet).
My thoughts then went to how she used items more traditional than glass beads in the past. She and one of her sisters would casually bite intricate patterns on birch bark while they sat watching all the food cooking on sticks over an open fire when we were in the bush - chatting about life and catching up on family news. The bitings would just be left there. I wish I had had the sense to save every single one of them. I suppose that is the danger of taking daily life for granted and thinking your grandparents will live forever.
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Birchbark, berry pits, porcupine quills, bone, caribou hair, clay beads, shells, soapstone, sinew, dreamcatchers, waspasweyans, tikinagans, snowshoes, wood carving. There is so much to do! Yes. But I made mitts.
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The flowers I beaded are one of hers. The mitts with the double flower are the first pair I did - my 'rough draft'. Two flowers were 'too time consuming' so I decided to bead only a larger single flower for each of my daughters' mitts. They turned out awesome.
What My Grandmother Said...
It was while I struggled with my 'rough draft' pair of mitts- those I'd keep for myself, that I began chastising myself for not knowing enough to pay more attention while she was here actively doing these things. I was then overcome with sadness that I had nothing of hers. I spoke out loud to her essence, her spirit, or the portion of her cells within me... "I have nothing of yours Mama, nothing you ever made." Quietly, clearly, and matter-of-fact-ly, I heard her voice ... "I taught you how to bead. Now I get to make mitts for my dabans through you".
So, there we were. Moosehide mitts coming from daban to daban.
The word for my great-grandparent and my great-grandchild is the same (nedahniskodahbahn)
I can't help it. I feel obligated to do the same for all of my grandmother's dabans... I don't know
if this will ever happen. I had to take time off, literally to heal - I kept accidentally shoving my
needle through the hide with my UNthimbled finger. Now, my fingerprint is no longer recognized
y my devices. :)
From daban to daban; my grandmother with my first - her namesake.
So, now, here we are.
I've already had several people 'place orders' for moosehide mitts like these with me - people from opposite ends of the country! (And some at home too). This was a surprise to me. I'm not ready to do this. My daughters' mitts all turned out perfect in my mind - now we just have to time test my stitching (again, theirs have better stitching than mine). Maybe I will try to have some up for sale this summer. I don't believe I can handle the stress of custom orders. In the meantime, now, thoroughly believing that my grandmother, AND my grandfather, continue on through my beading, I will "share" my grandparents through my beaded earrings. I mentioned to someone that I didn't think my earrings were yet good enough to sell, and a dear friend said to me that nothing is ever perfect and that imperfections are a part of all homemade pieces. So, the items below are my start. I hope you enjoy my perfect imperfections.
These are for those who don't do fingernail posts; I will eventually make and post those, but for now, all earrings are on kidney or fish hooks. The size is better for those who can't do supersized bling.
Scroll down to see them.
I ask for your patience for two reasons; i) this is not my means of living, so time to do this is rare, and ii) we have a post office - I can’t pop things in the mail at all hours of the day any day. I will commit to mailing things on Tuesdays (unless there are other days I am able to get to the post office).
All items are pick up only or you pay shipping. Due to cautions that have been shared with me about scammers, the button will take you to an email address: send your mailing address (or arrange for pick up) and we will go from there. I will respond by date and time received.
We begin with 'mini-mitts'....
Mini-Mitts
I was taught (like we all were) not to waste any part of any animal that came into our lives. These are mini mitt earrings made from the moosehide scraps from the mitts I made this winter.
Smaller remnants have become the backing of many of the earrings shown on this page (and yet to come, for awhile). Remnants even smaller than these have yet to become something else. I will share those too when they are ready. :)
Mini-mitts 4 (dark pink) are the only pair left
"Right Back at Ya" ;)
These earrings perform a function similar to the shields of the traditional male dancers at the outer edges of a pow-wow circle... IFYKYK ;)
“Right back at ya's” - sending energy back to where it came from. :)
I will likely make more of these one day if my mirror supplies surface.
Some whimsy...
I remember spending a lot of time laying on my stomach in my grandparents' back yard looking for a lucky charm. Some days, my grandfather would come outside, look at a clump of clover for a little bit, then walk over and pick out the only 4 leaf clover anywhere near. I don't spend any time laying on the ground in search of these anymore - maybe I should. * :) These make me think of purely carefree summer days and a story about 'luck' and 'riches' my grandfather had. Anyhow, wear some for good luck!
