~Wtt&1 - - Hoover Library

WITHTHE BEAVERSby WilliamR. RidingtonDuring the summer vacation Mrs. Ridington and [drove to British Columbia, Canada, to visit our son andhis wife, who are anthropologists. It turned out to benot just a family visit, but a week of living with theBeaver Indians whom they are studying, and a chanceto see at first hand Indian conditions and problemswhich we could never have had without our son's involvement.He and his wife will be living with themduring the entire coming winter.This particular Indian group is located on the AlaskaHighway 200 miles north of Dawson Creek, BritishColumbia. This summer was the third summer that myson had spent in part, at least, with the group, and bynow he and his wife are accepted; and for this reasonwe as his parents were automatically accepted into thegroup there, since the idea of the family is very strong.The friendliness, dignity, acceptance, and often silentbut obvious courtesies we were shown we did not expectand can never forget.The particular group we were with was living in fourtents barely into the woods off the highway, and four tentssimilarly located four or five hundred yards away. Whenwe arrived we had no clear idea of the extent to whichour son was actually living with the Indians in connectionwith the anthropological study. Soon after our arrivalour son said that it was time for dinner, and wefollowed him to the tent of the patriarch of the group.As the patriarch's tent it boasted a small sheet-metalstove in front of the open tent, instead of the openwood fire which the other tents all kept burning continuously,with water constantly hot over it.The tent was skillfully constructed of forked saplings,bound with cord or moose hide thongs and covered withpatches of canvas, and a commercial type of canvas tenthack of this. The floor was covered with small evergreenbranches, making an attractive and soft cover forsitting at any point. A small piece of plywood coveredthis in the front center of the area, and was covered withwhite oilcloth-the dining table. I had not realized thatwe were to eat there till we found ourselves squatted infront of the oilcloth; and this was the only time in ourweek's stay when I suddenly felt as if I just could nottake the situation and would have to find a quick excusefor not eating.We knew that it is characteristic of this Indian groupto have had TB sometime in their lives, and now I wassitting down with them and about to eat from theirutensils. One woman of the group had very large andT~e tent where Dr. and Mrs. Ridington had meals is'pIctured above with Mrs. Ridinl:,Ttonat the left.ugly scars across the neck, below the jaw, which hadbeen caused by TB not too long ago, since she was cer~tainly only about 25 years old. The water to drink wasdistinctly discolored, and I already knew that it ha1come from a murky brook about 60 yards away wit~a volume about as large as that of a water faucet, anwith some trash in the stream. Dishes had been washed,but by the very nature of the camp living, the dishtowel obviously had had contact with the tent floor.This was the place my son and his wife ate regularly,and she helped with the cooking. I had either to jointhe eating or not, with no reasonable middle course. I~l left we would merely have a visit with our son anlearn nothing about the Indians, so after a brief mentalstruggle I began to eat.The patriarch had shot a moose that clay and broughtback the best cuts with him. The meat was as fine asany I have ever eaten, and 1 would never have knownthat it was not beef. There was a huge kettle of te.afrom which we could dip to our hearts content, and Ithad been bailing. We enjoyed the meal, but did notrealize that we were to have three meals a day of moose