Ojibwe Love Quotes

There’s an important distinction between writing about trauma and writing a tragedy. I sought to write about identity, loss, and injustice … and also of love, joy, connection, friendship, hope, laughter, and the beauty and strength in my Ojibwe community. It was paramount to share and celebrate what justice and healing looks like in a tribal community: cultural events, language revitalization, ceremonies, traditional teachings, whisper networks, blanket parties, and numerous other ways tribes have shown resilience in the face of adversity. Growing up, none of the books I’d read featured a Native protagonist. With Daunis, I wanted to give Native teens a hero who looks like them, whose greatest strength is her Ojibwe culture and community.

It seemed to Chickadee that those houses held the powers of the world. The ones who built and lived in those houses were making an outsize world. An existence he'd never dreamed of. Almost a spirit world, but one on earth. Chickadee could see that they used up forests of trees in making the houses. He could see that they were pumping up the river and even using up the animals. He thought of the many animals whose dead hides were bound and sold in St. Paul in one day. Everything that the Anishinabeg counted on in life, and loved, was going into this hungry city mouth. This mouth, this city, was wide and insatiable. it would never be satisfied, thought Chickadee dizzily, until everything was gone.

Each of Old Tallow’s feet seemed to take up as much space as a small child, but Omakayas didn’t mind. Warily, but completely, she loved the fierce old woman.

I will give you what is in my heart, Rose of the Ojibwe. This poor heart, this poor, poor heart that has loved so little. I am drowning in his ocean. I am dying, and as I die I know less and less. Yet I believe I am drowning in the mystery of his love. This is my faith. On this my whole life is based.

Perspective. Storytellers tell their own stories. They don't mean to. They let their life experiences and ideas slip in between the bits and pieces of history that have come to them. There are so many versions among us, of this first woman, this mother of Manaboozhou, Nanabush, our goofy, loving, mixed up teacher and hero. They are all valid. They are all real. They are all traditional. None of us knows them all by heart. We take the parts that we need and understand. These are the stories that we share with our children. In a sense, that makes us all a little bit like Winona and Epanigishimoog. We are the creators of the Anishnabe generations who come after us. I like that responsibility.