I don’t know that we’d want to hear them (because they’re likely heartbreaking), but it is clear to me that these people have many stories to tell.
Please, please click to keep zooming on this one to view an amazing mix off traditional indian homes and early settler structures.
Korbel is just a few miles from Blue Lake and is still home to an old Simpson Mill (now California Redwood Company) and a few homes.
Unfortunately, this grand old hotel no longer exists.
In December of 2007, we drove to Oregon to pick up my husband’s 10 year old half-brother. He’d been living in Washington with his dad (also my husband’s father), but that wasn’t going to work anymore. Jay was coming home to live with us.
To be honest, I had the hardest time adjusting. My kids were older and pretty independent, but Jay was only ten. He was amazingly resilient and bright and adaptable but still needed to be reminded to wash his hands before he ate and couldn’t be left home alone. He was a great kid, though. He adjusted well to our family, and (after a few grumpy days) I adjusted as well.
Jay is Hupa and when he came to live with us I was already familiar with the historic practice of kidnapping and indenturing Native American children. Painfully aware. Yet I distinctly remember looking at him one night as he stood in a doorway in his little boxer shorts looking cute and vulnerable, and thinking that I could see why someone would steal such a child. I am embarrassed to admit it, but I could. He was a beautiful Indian child and 150 years ago, people killed to possess them.
Oh, what to do with that? To know that. It hurts me to know and yet here I sit. And share.
And move on to the point of my story which is, weirdly enough, about genealogy.