A sunset across the street - two miles from Punta Rassa.
Last week I caught part of an interview on local TV. A woman was talking about Lake Okeechobee - how she feels the spirits of the place and the lake must be honored and protected.
I admired her courage. Most of the time, we're afraid to talk about these things.
The first place I lived among the spirits was in Algonac, Michigan. My old victorian cottage was on the river, on a great international waterway - the St. Clair River broke into North and South Channels and smaller inlets.
There was native land across from me - and native land beneath. I felt welcome and wanted.
There was an old bar/restaurant 9 houses down from mine - also on the river. I think it was built in the 30s - maybe earlier.
I used to love going there because my grandfather hung out there before I was born. He fished with the natives on Walpole, went duck hunting with friends and probably got peeks at the earliest Chris Crafts that came out of the local factory. I could imagine him swapping tall tales at that very bar.
Henry's was a wonderful old place that had never been remodeled - only added onto. The walls seemed to speak.
The new owner renamed it, but she left it as it was. One night she told me she thought Henry (long since deceased) was still hanging out. It was nearly midnight and she asked if I wanted to see what she was talking about; I did. Despite the fact that some of her employees were afraid of the place after dark.
She took me back through the kitchen. The stainless of the stoves gleamed, but the floor was uneven with age.
In a dark hallway she opened the door of a big storage closet and asked if I felt anything. I didn't. She dared me to go inside; I did and she turned off the light. Alone in the darkness with paper towels and tomato paste - I started feeling stupid.
We walked out into the back portion of a dining area - she only opened that when she had big crowds. That hadn't happened in a while. I walked towards the big glass windows closest to the river. There was some natural light from the moon over the river.
Still nothing. She walked back towards an interior wall and said "try this way."
As I approached I could feel electricity tingle up my fingertips, into my fingers, up my arms and shoulders to the top of my scalp - which positively crawled. I received a visual impression of a native warrior, feet towards the river. I received the emotional impression of a warrior priest. This was a sacred space.
It was like he was still very much alive; he was a potent psychic force. My scalp crawls just describing it.
I told my friend "it's not Henry you're feeling." Then I told her what I saw.
Later other customers told her the old-timers talked about "hearing horses" and "seeing an Indian."
I started sneaking off to light a candle when I was there on quiet nights.
I told a knowledgeable native man from Walpole's cultural center about the experience and he said I'd had a vision many full blooded natives spent a lifetime in sweat lodges trying to achieve. He asked if I had native blood and I said my family thinks we do.
He said I needed to find out who from, which tribe. He wanted me to abandon Buddhism to explore native spirituality, but I saw no reason why I couldn't do both. Truth is truth.
That space in the back room of that darkened restaurant was sacred. My home had a connection to the spirits. I expected I would be taken out the day I died.
But it didn't happen that way. I lost my home along with everything else due to Lyme Disease. I remember gathering the last of my things and kissing my doorway goodbye; I cried all the way to my boyfriend's house.
Fast forward five years.
Somehow I wound up in this quirky little area of Florida. This condo fairly leaped out at me from the ads. It's the only one I clicked with, the only one I saw.
Oddly enough, I have that same sense of peace and protection I had in Algonac. I always wondered about that. I am one mile from the Caloosahatchee River, three miles from Bunche Beach and five miles from Fort Myers Beach. Of course these were all native land at one time - but I had no idea to what degree.
The Sanibel Causeway meets the mainland in a place known as Punta Rassa. It's walking distance.
I'm broke, I have something like six watchable channels left. Last night I happened on a local history program and learned how important this area was to the natives and those who came after.
The Calusa Indians used this area as a central location for tribe members who lived on Estero and those who lived up the Caloosahatchee River.
Pirates docked at Punta Rassa. Cubans came in the winter to fish for Mullet for lent. Crackers came with cattle for Cuba; they were paid in Spanish dubloons and celebrated payday ... here.
Union troops - including two colored divisions - set up camp here. There was even a fort, which was totally washed away in the Hurricane of 1840 (?). Historical fiction author Bob Macomber is an expert on local Civil War history. He says back then the people gathered at Punta Rassa couldn't understand each other. Soldiers included ex-slaves from the south, some from Georgia, white troops from New York - and Crackers.
I don't think they ever had any battles here. An acquaintance lives on the Caloosahatchee on the site of another fort; he said there were little skirmishes, but nothing serious.
Some ancient places have a horrible vibe. I did not do well in Sedona (I believe the new agers are pissing off the spirits) and I could not wait to leave the Coloseum in Rome; you can still feel the violence.
But here ... this land feels good. It was nice to catch the program and know why. Once again, I live in an area that was home to ancient native peoples.
(I believe it was WGCU Program 122 on Punta Rassa; I'm going to buy it when I get a chance:-)
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