Backwoods Blog

WINTER SWEAT LODGE

Backwoods Blog;

in the woods and on the road…

In my six decade lifetime I have experienced thousands of campfires, hundreds of saunas but only a handful of traditional sweat lodges. In mid-January I attended my third sweat lodge, but this was the first that occurred in the dead of winter and the first on my home property. Starting out, I’d like to say that nothing went according to the initial plan (or perhaps that was the plan). Two weeks ahead of the sweat lodge we still had little snow cover, mildish temperatures and the road was still open to the cabin. This advantageous window gave us a chance to gather materials and haul gear we would need to construct the lodge and ready ourselves for the event. The poles of choice for a northern Maine sweat lodge are young alders; they are flexible even in cold temperatures and readily available on recently cleared land and along the edges of fields. My father used to call them “weed trees” because they were so prolific and bothersome. This was the first time I had ever actively sought them out as a valued resource. We also needed white cedar boughs to cover the floor of the lodge and to burn during the ceremony. Just downstream from the cabin I came across the largest cedar I had ever seen (I don’t know why I had never noticed it before). It measured nine feet around at the base and seven feet around the main trunk. It was perfectly straight to the sky and that one tree provided all the boughs we would need. The lodge was located just in front of the cabin next to the fire pit. The soil where we constructed the lodge was only partially frozen, consisting of layer and layer of composted pine and fir needles. We were able to use a simple crow bar and spade to dig holes and insert the poles. The lodge measured nine feet in diameter and three feet high, which is modest in size, but makes it even easier to turn up the heat. Friends donated wool blankets and woolen materials to cover the frame and I purchased a couple of modern tarps at Mardens to skirt around the base. Leading up to the sweat lodge we agreed to fast for 72 hours in preparation for the ceremony. Normally this would have been fine, but in the middle of winter, at a remote location (and the extra effort required to do everything) this proved to be a challenge.

The night before the day of the sweat lodge we got seven inches of wet, heavy snow. On Friday morning I surveyed the situation and our list of possible options; attempt to drive my 4-wheel drive truck part way to the cabin and park at the top of the hill and boot-it the rest of the way, borrow a snow-mobile from a friend, rent a snow-mobile from a local sport vehicle dealer or haul everything in on my manual pulk-sled with snow shoes or skis. None of the options looked good at 11 AM Friday morning. One of the participants, a geologist originally from western Maine, had rented a car and was driving up from Bangor (very slowly) as the storm was now steady rain with slushy roads. He arrived around mid-day with seven rocks in his car, turmaline mined from Black Mountain, which had made its way to Blue Hill years ago and was now in Northern Maine as the western gate of our winter sweat lodge. We unloaded the rocks, washed them off and presented them one by one to the Maliseet medicine woman who was leading our sweat lodge. She held each stone (sometimes for a very long time) and welcomed each one to the north land. Three of the guys loaded the truck and we decided to go for the “drive the 4X4 option.” It was ill-fated. We made it to the top of the hill, but we couldn’t make the turn around. We spent the next two hours shoveling, pushing and shoveling some more trying to make it back out. By the time we reached black top we were exhausted (remember the fasting idea?), soaked from the rain and wet snow and now it was starting to get dark. We decided to re-group, dry off and figure out plan B. 

The geologist planned to stay at the cabin all week-end so he packed his gear on my pulk-sled and he booted it in while I skied ahead to get a fire going. Our new plan involved moving the time of the sweat lodge to Sunday afternoon, which allowed us to dig out from the storm and get everything ready. With the wheel tracks we had just made, with my truck going back and forth across the field, I was confident I could do it again (I just wouldn’t try to go as far this time). I would drive our 70 year old shaman to the top of the hill tonight and then the two of us would haul her to the cabin in the pulk-sled! She would stay at the cabin in preparation for the sweat lodge for the rest of the week-end. That is just what we did, and we have video footage capturing the transit.

 I can’t say much about the ceremony itself, but I will say that it was an experience I will carry with me for the days and years to come. There were only three of us in the sweat lodge; the geologist, the Maliseet medicine woman and myself, but there were many people supporting us and connected to the lodge. For me, having the sweat lodge on this particular parcel of land was a significant part of the event. While the property has been in the Hutchinson and Cowperthwaite families since 1870, the Original Peoples of this area have resided on its soils back to pre-history periods. The ancient fires were rekindled for the winter sweat lodge. Early on Monday morning I hauled the seven rocks in my pulk-sled, pulling it back up the hill and across the field and loaded then on the truck as they will continue their journey in this enduring time-stream. Great appreciation to all.

In the woods,

Dave

January 25, 2023