Day 10 — 9/26/12
We woke up in Claremore to grey skies and drizzle, then started the day at the Will Rogers Memorial & Museum. We got the appetizer part of a morning downpour entering the museum. An excellent movie traced his life from birth to fame to death, a beloved American for his humorous wisdom and living right. Plenty of movie memorabilia, his recreated writing/family room, countless photos and portraits of Will, and his collection of Western art, especially by his close friend Charles Russell, equally famous for his paintings and bronze sculptures of cowboys and animals in action. The museum presents it all well and tastefully. As I left to get the car, a Claremore local handed me an umbrella so I wouldn’t get soaked. A small gesture, so appreciated, and just the kind of thing Will himself would have done.
Just down the hill, we ate lunch at Hammett House, a Claremore institution. As soon as you sit, the waitress delivers a homemade fist-sized cinnamon roll. Good soup, good food, good way to start our drive south to Tallaquah, a good hour off Rt. 66.
Tallaquah, pronounced Towel-uh-quah, is the heart of the Cherokee Nation. For years I have wanted to visit Tallaquah, a tiny step toward exploring family stories that my maternal great-great-grandmother was one-quarter Cherokee. I have a hand-painted portrait of her, and my next youngest sister is the spitting image of my ancestor, both with dark hair and eyes, olive brown skin and high cheekbones.
We arrived in Tallaquah mid-afternoon and headed straight for the Cherokee Heritage Center, set in a deep woods of tall trees. We started with the museum. Its excellent film and exhibits provided a solid background, tracing the Eastern Cherokee who lost their lands in Florida, Georgia, Tennessee and Virginia and were marched west to Oklahoma, known as the Trail of Tears for the thousands who died along the way. One gallery, in semi-shadow, held white plaster of Paris figures, here a family, there a woman holding her baby. It was a mournful room, and compelling.
The museum’s adjacent gallery was brimming with its semi-annual arts competition…every art medium: oils, pastels, watercolor, mixed media, sculpture, pottery, weaving and baskets. Baskets are a personal favorite, and one in particular really appealed to me, a large round mustard yellow basket with a lid holding a trio of intricately woven green corns. The basket was for sale, at a great price, actually under-priced for its expert workmanship. I decided to sleep on buying it.
Throughout the day my psyche and spirit waited for the aha Cherokee connection moment. It didn’t really happen. I have always felt a connection when visiting other tribes, pueblos or reservations , what the Japanese call “hara” or gut. I felt the hara for Tallaquah as a Native American site and people, but not the “I belong here feeling” I hoped for.
Tomorrow maybe.