While my friend braided her hair, we knew not to interrupt her. 

She was preparing to serve as lead female dancer at the Chippewas of the Thames First Nation 49th Annual Competition Pow Wow, and she was praying as she braided. Watching her get ready, I began to understand something that would stay with me throughout my first pow wow: very little of what I was about to experience seemed to be without intention. 

Every piece of her regalia had meaning. There was meaning I could see, meaning that was explained to me, and undoubtedly much more that I was only beginning to appreciate. 

I grew up Highland dancing, so parts of the day felt strangely familiar while being entirely new. I know the nerves of performing and the significance of traditional dress. But here, I was outside my own traditions and very conscious of how much I didn’t know. And yet, I felt incredibly welcome. There was room to learn, ask questions, and at times, participate. My friend’s partner even made strawberry drink from scratch for us to bring along for the day – a delicious pow wow staple I didn’t know existed. 

When an announcement asked everyone to stand while the elder women danced, I stood. The same request wasn’t made during the men’s category, and I later asked about the distinction. It was explained to me that women, as life bearers, hold a particular place of respect within the community. 

I was moved by the power of standing together and seeing this honour expressed so collectively. 

At other times, the invitation was more literal. When my friend brought me into an intertribal dance, I initially felt self-conscious, like an intruder in a space that wasn’t mine. But she stayed with me and showed me what to do, explaining the importance of keeping my steps with the beat of the drum. As we moved around the circle, I relaxed. I wasn’t expected to know. I was being given the opportunity to learn. 

The drums, singing, and dancing was remarkable. I found myself completely absorbed in the movement of the dancers and the regalia, each person expressing something distinctly individual while participating in traditions much larger than themselves. 

When my friend brought me into an intertribal dance, I initially felt self-conscious, like an intruder in a space that wasn’t mine. But she stayed with me and showed me what to do, explaining the importance of keeping my steps with the beat of the drum. 

The beauty first caught my attention, but by the end of the day, I found myself thinking more about what existed beneath it: the preparation, the protocols, and the ways ancestry was honoured. 

This month, I’m hoping to take my children to the pow wow at Curve Lake First Nation. I’m grateful they’ll have an opportunity to experience Indigenous culture as something living and present in the communities around them. 

I hope they’ll ask questions, although there will be plenty I won’t know how to answer. Maybe that’s what I’m looking forward to most: experiencing it again and continuing to learn with them.