We went to Indian Grinding Rock State Park, ancestral grounds of Central Sierra Miwok and where the largest grinding rock in North America lies.
Chaw’se, is the Miwok word for “grinding rock”. The “grinding rock” is marbleized limestone with 1,185 mortar holes, which is the largest collection of bedrock mortars anywhere in North America. The Miwok used the Chaw’se for thousands of years to grind acorns for food.
The land is a living thing. That’s what Miwok believe. When I stood on the ground of Grinding Rock State Park in the Sierra foothill, I can feel it. It’s late September, I heard voices from afar, following the voices I saw a native lady in a long dress walking through the deep field, the grass as high as her dress, with a native American guy.
Then there came a lady with dark skin in a purple dress, with a potted plant in her hands, who greeted me with a big smile and told me there’s still an event going on, where the crowds are. Followed her pointing, I saw a lot of people in their festive outfits, chatting and laughing in the distance.
It’s an annual Indian medicine event; each year will be in a different place. All the Miwok tribal people gather together, celebrate with their traditional food and ceremony, including praying, dance and the sweat ceremony. Their traditional food is made of acorn, ground fine with detailed processing. Just imagine hundreds or thousand years ago, Miwok ladies grounding acorns on those rocks with their kids playing around, waiting for their husbands coming back from hunting or fishing. What a serene landscape at the foothill of the Sierras.
Later on they started a blessing ceremony, everyone stood up, with some native language spoken. I noticed, quite a few kids were standing as well. I’m glad their parents or grandparents made sure the younger generations carry on their language and traditions. Even though I don’t understand what they were saying, I can feel the solemnness, passion and respectful tone. I can imagine a long time ago, before the microphone was invented, how these gatherings and blessings will hold in such an order and honor, echoing through the mountains and meadows. That itself is a blessing for the land they live on.
After the blessing ceremony, people started drifting off, I kept walking toward the Roundhouse, which is their ceremonial gathering place. There is going to be a sweat ceremony held here tonight, where people will dance and sit in high heat (hence the sweat ceremony), in hopes to get their visions. I’ve seen such clips in some Indian movies; always think it’s such a spiritual experience. It’s said only the headman can build the Roundhouse, their sacred place; and when headman dies, the Roundhouse is no longer in use any more.
I peeked in, there’s a fire in the middle, on top of the roof there’s skylight where the natural light shines in and smoke escapes. People sat in a circle around the fire, chatting and enjoying their food. I didn’t want to intrude too much, so quietly walked away.
I yearn to attend their sweat house ceremony one day, I can just imagine in such deep mountains, under the clear night sky, sitting around the scared Roundhouse, holding such a spiritual ceremony, what an experience in life!
With that dream we left the park. It’s a new moon, the crescent shaped moon hanging on the magenta colored night sky, clean like a silhouette, as if hand-painted in the sky. I’ve seen an Indian painting before: under the crescent moon, an elegant Indian girl sitting against the canyon, looking up at the moon, her face glows like the new moon. That image is so deep in my mind that whenever I see the new moon, I would think of the moon-like Indian girl chanting to the moon in the deep canyon, maybe grinding acorns in Fall after the harvest.
