Deer Dance / For Your Return
“If this
will hasten your return
then I will hold myself above you all night
blowing softly
down-feathered clouds
that drift above the spruce
and hide your eyes
as you are born back
to the mountain.”
Leslie Marmon Silko
Evidence of this season’s resident turkey vultures (Cathartes aura) are scattered across my front lawn. Large brownish feathers, slightly iridescent in the low slant of an autumnal sun, intermingle with the soft gray feathers of mourning doves (Zenaida macroura), which have gently landed near a northern flicker’s (Colaptes auratus) orange and black wing feather.
All but the doves, spiritual symbols of peace, love and hope, have flown off to warmer, southern climates.
As random feathers drift through the air with a flurry of cascading leaves, I am enchanted by their delicate beauty. It is easy to understand why feathers appear prominently in the regalia of Native American ceremonies. Avian adornments are spiritual symbols, as are the natural ornaments or polished horns of mule deer (Odocoileus hemionus) and elk (Cervus canadensis), revered in the tribal rituals of indigenous cultures across America’s southwest and beyond.
In stark contrast are vainglorious displays, symbols of white man’s domination over beast. A monetized lust, rather than a demonstrated respect for the antlers of deer, elk and moose (Alces alces), lure unethical hunters and outfitters to poach, collect or sell such prized trophies. The preserved heads of North America’s wild animals mounted with racks, fangs or feathers and displayed in public buildings, private homes and vacation lodges feel shamelessly hollow.
The antlers of living male deer, elk and moose are needed for their reproductive survival and more.
Moose antlers — which can have a 6-foot spread — attract mates while warning other males to stay away.
Because the healthiest elk have the largest sets of antlers, dominant males (bulls) intimidate rivals fighting for territory and mates during the fall breeding season, or rut. The blood vessels beneath the velvety skin of an elk’s antlers help to regulate the animal’s body temperature.
A mule deer’s unique forked-shaped antlers deter predators and fill an ecological role. Once they are shed, their antlers become an important source of calcium, providing minerals to a variety of small animals like squirrels, mice and porcupines.
In Utah, shed hunting is regulated by the Division of Wildlife Resources. Disturbing or removing sheds or “dead heads” — animal skulls — from public or private land is legally restrictive, requiring notification of the state agency.
During a holiday excursion to Santa Fe, New Mexico, some years ago, we learned about an unknown treasure. The dogs and I left our hotel early Christmas morning in search of a holiday pastry, but not before inquiring about any local activities from the hotel concierge. He said something may be happening at the Tesuque Pueblo.
Just as their license plates claimed, New Mexico genuinely felt like the Land of Enchantment that morning. The open sky was crystalline blue and the vast desert air sublime. Not a breath of wind disturbed our winter solstice journey to the desert southwest.
Breakfast diners were all closed for the holiday, so we ended up selecting from a menu at a fast-food chain. After devouring our cheese burgers (no bun for the dogs), we headed to the remote and unfamiliar pueblo.
Tesuque Pueblo, known as Tetsugeh Oweengeh in the Tewa language, is one of the oldest — 1200 A.D. — continuously inhabited communities in the United States and is listed in the National Register of Historic Places.
The tribal home of 800 residents is one of 19 pueblos in New Mexico and rests in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. I stood quietly on the perimeter of the quaint open air plaza encircled by adobe buildings. Only a handful of visitors shared the courtyard as we patiently waited … for something. Then I heard it.
A faint “chink, chink, chink.” The sound was brisk and light, like the cold on our faces. Then again, from a short distance, “chink, chink, chink.” A joyous song, an organic jingle, from thousands of tiny seashells pierced the clear air. “Chink, chink, chink.”
A stream of Native American men, 40 strong, pranced from the pueblo’s adobe walls into the plaza before us. Clad in white buckskin leggings, intricate beaded chest plates and moccasins sewn with shells, the dancers were elegantly adorned with headdresses of glazed deer antlers, pine boughs and wild bird feathers. Their regal procession mirrored the agile grace and beauty of deer.
The Dance of the Deer is a traditional ceremony emphasizing respect and harmony with nature. The dance pays homage to the deer, which plays a crucial role in the pueblo’s communal bonds, sustenance and way of life.
The rhythmic beat of drummers and chants of gratitude echoed in native song. And as the music offered thanks to honor the deer’s sacrifice, we were drawn together in reverence.
The Dance of the Deer reflects a spiritual belief symbolizing the connection between our human and animal worlds. On that faraway morning at the Tesuque Pueblo, the world felt suspended as we were transported to a space reserved for the spirit of the animals.
“While others are sleeping
I tie feathers on antlers
whisper close to you
we have missed you
I have longed for you.”
Leslie Marmon Silko
Editor’s note: the quotes above are taken from Leslie Marmon Silko’s poem, “Deer Dance / For Your Return.“
Leslie Miller is the co-editor of “Reimagining A Place for the Wild” and a former, long-time resident of Park City who now lives in Midway.