Buffalo Grass Doll Dancing

     My clearest early memory is of curling my fingers around the tops of long sprigs of buffalo grass. I was upset because Momma had said I was "too young to hold sparklers," like the ones I had seen on T.V.  She had also said, "we aren't getting any fireworks." So, I did what any young child with much more imagination than what was good for them did. I created my own sparklers.The longest stalks of grass with the bushiest tops became glorious sparklers with rainbow colors shooting about me.

     I dashed up and down the pebbled section of the trail Dad drove his blue pick-up truck on when he was going to the back pasture. I giggled with delight and talked to my dog. She was only too glad to indulge my exuberance by giving my face the occasional lick. Soon the whole field of grass was alive and shooting bright flicks of color from their tops in rhythm with the breeze. I looked down at the stalks I had plucked up and knew they where dying because they did not sparkle as bright as the stalks in the ground. Just like real fireworks they had reach the end of the fire. 

     I flung them out of my gummy hands and threw them amongst the other stalks. I followed this action by throwing myself amongst the stalks as well. This is how I spent, what seemed like, the whole day doing. The only evidence of my existence among the grass was the peep of my head and the fluff of my dogs tail waving like a white flag above us.

     When I came inside Momma found forensic proof of my romp among the buffalo grass on my clothes and in my braided hair. 

     "Jennie, you only need a little more grass in your hair and you would look just like your buffalo grass doll," she said. This remark immediately  had my attention. An interrogation ensued, the result of which firmly established the facts for me. Buffalo grass was truly wonderful. It was used to make the doll in my room. It was also called buffalo grass. I was also sure it had some other name. A name like my secret Cherokee name that sounded lovely and musical.   

     After supper, I cradled the doll in my hands. I didn't play with her. She was like the picture of the girl praying by the candle on my wall, just decoration. Unlike the picture, I had always known she was more important. I had always known she had a secret Cherokee name that she would tell me one day. She didn't come with a name like the dolls from the store or even like the dolls from Santa Claus.  Next time I saw Grandma I would ask her because if anyone knew her name it would be Grandma.

     I straightened her bright calico dress covered in small white flowers. I made sure her red yarn bows had the same size loops. I tucked her in the curve of my arm. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of my heart. Then I listened to songs from the stomp dance in my mind and showed the buffalo grass doll dancing.