Nya weñha Skä•noñh

That's what the sign said as we walked through the doors. Welcome.

The warm air smelled of frying meat and bread. Big tables held pottery, woven baskets, handmade jewelry, moccasins and colorful blankets, artwork of all types. Music came from one end of the big room — four men with guitars, a drummer, and an older man who was amazing on the harmonica. Near the band, several little kids were dancing, moving hips and arms with abandon. On the other end of the room, people gathered to eat corn soup, tacos, and fry bread.

We wandered through the tables, examining the jewelry, smelling the baskets and leather goods and lavender soap, and stopping to buy some hot soup. Then when we'd had our fill of the music and crafts, we drove to the school that the kids in the nation attend. I wanted to show Blonde Niece the nature trail behind the school.

We followed the boardwalk that wound through the trees and the puddles, taking us to a muddy stream that flowed by peacefully. We were the only ones on the boardwalk on this overcast spring day. A faint mist of green covered the honeysuckle bushes, leaves just coming out, and the skunk cabbages pushed through the mud and water with bright green leaves. The first green of the season. We walked the paths, chatting quietly and looking at trees that hung over our heads, welcoming spring on this overcast day.