Connecting with my ancestors through the water
A view across the Delaware River from Abbott Marshlands situated in Lenapehoking, the ancestral homeland of the Lenape, near Trenton, New Jersey
“During that day, and every fishing experience since, I have felt a special kind of peace and connectedness to my Lenape ancestors as I sit at the water’s edge and wait for a catch.”
by Trinity Norwood
When I was 10, I went on my first fishing excursion. My family was on our annual summer camping trip and although fishing was typically for the boys, something in my spirit wanted to go with them this time. And so, in the spirit of supporting his little princess in every endeavor she feels inspired to pursue-my father got up early, found the nearest Wal-Mart and purchased me a pretty pink fishing pole. As my father baited my hook with a simple corn kernel our fellow fishmen warned us that the lake had been quiet all day and to not allow my hopes to get too high; but I was too excited for this new adventure to be deterred.
I dropped my line into the dark abyss of the lake and got comfortable on the dock. As I got lost in the rhythm of my legs swinging over the edge of the dock, bubbles in increasing sizes began to float up to the surface of the water and the line on my fishing rod began to click-I had a catch! As I squealed in excitement, my father prepared to walk me through bringing up what he assumed must be a sunny or some other small fish. As my rod started to bend in half we both realized that whatever was on the other end of my hook was certainly something much larger either one of us was prepared for. Our excitement and nervous inexperience caught the attention of the fishermen at the other end of the dock and after about 10 mins of tense negotiations with my rod there was a full audience standing around to see what the little pigtailed girl had caught. Out of the depths, my father pulled a snapping turtle about the size of a beach ball but as heavy as a medicine ball up onto the shore next to the dock while my fellow fishermen jumped back in shock. I can vividly remember him-his pointy nose, the muck and algae covering his shell from the bottom of the lake. And before my father could think of grabbing the camera, Turk the turtle-as I ended up naming him, snapped the line with his sharp beak and backed himself into the depths of the lake.
As we packed up at the end of the day my father joked that my ancestors would be proud of their little girl, surprising everyone on the dock with a simple piece of corn. And although it was a joke, I like to think that he was right. During that day, and every fishing experience since, I have felt a special kind of peace and connectedness to my Lenape ancestors as I sit at the water’s edge and wait for a catch.
Previous to first contact, my Lenape ancestors would spend the warmer months by the shore enjoying the plentiful fish and shellfish. There are records from some of the first Europeans to reach Lenapehoking of fish being so plentiful they could be caught with just a basket during spawning season. Lenape people had access to many different bodies of water for fishing and travel: The Atlantic ocean to the east, Lenape Whittuck-also known as the Delaware river and its watershed, and even part of the Hudson River in what is New York state today. Like many indigenous fishing communities across turtle island one of our most common fishing techniques was using a simple hook and line to catch fish like shad and bass. Fish hooks were made out of bone and shell while lines were most commonly made out of plant fibers. Three pronged spears and even harpoons with hooks made of bone were used for catching large fish like Sturgeon.
Another common fishing practice by my ancestors was the use of a weir. A weir is a fence-like structure in a stream or lake that would allow fishermen on canoes to funnel the fish into a smaller area to make catching them easier. There are accounts of Lenape weir fishing being so successful one could stand in the water and fish by hand. Similar to the process of a weir, there are historical accounts from early settlers of stone walls created by Lenape villages as a more permanent structure to dam a stream during spawning season.
Like modern fishermen, Lenape people would use nets made of plant fibers that could be up to 100 feet long. Rocks would be used as sinkers to stretch the nets across a body of water. Shellfish like clams, oysters, and mussels were also a large part of a Lenape person's diet in pre-colonial times.
Staying true to our traditional values, fishing and foraging for shellfish would only be done out of necessity, not excess. My ancestors would fish for what they needed to survive and respect the circle of life by using every part of the animal possible. Shells were used in the creation of tools, clothing, and to make wampum- a sacred item used for honor gifts and in treaty agreements. To prepare for winter, fish were dried on rack structures as many villages traveled inland during the colder months.
Today, my people honor our ancestors by still fishing to feed their families and even our community at large for Tribal Gatherings. During our spring and fall gatherings there is a morning fishing trip to provide for the evening potluck. Although more modern tools are used, the principle continues to be passed down through generations on how to honor the animals’ sacrifice for our sustenance and only taking from the water what we need.
My first fishing experience is one of my most vivid memories of my childhood and as I have grown older the significance of it isn’t lost on me. I was fishing in Lenapehoking, using one of our traditional foods as bait, and I caught an animal that is sacred not only to Lenape people but to many Indigenous People all over North and South America. Our traditional creation story revolves around a turtle who sacrificed for mankind to always stay afloat and allow us to live upon his shell, that's why we call where we are today, Turtle Island.
By Trinity Norwood
