I used to spend my summers going to pow wow almost every weekend. My mom was into making baskets and pottery, and she thought this was the best way to sell her stuff. She would pack my brother and I into the family van and we were off.
There was this one summer we spent a whole month, traveling from pow wow to pow wow. There was this one time it was on an island, and the only way we could get there was this barge that you would drive your car onto. It would only take one car at a time. I remember the guy was telling my mom to back up, but we were on the barge and it moving forward already. My mom forgot this and we almost back right off the barge. My brother was just tiny at the time, still in diapers. I'd help set up the booth, unpacking and unwrapping all the different sized pots and vases my mom had made.
To escape the boredom, I would take my brother and we would walk around the grounds looking at all the other vendor booths.
At the time I though it was the worst summer ever, but now looking back, whenever I look at a piece of pottery or quill basket, I remember my indian summer. But that doesn't make someone indian! Anyone can spin a pottery wheel and read a book about