Powwow Trail Reflections

This summer I spent most weekends on the road, setting up at powwows all across Alberta. It was hard work, sometimes harder than people realize. The days started early and ended late, often with rain or wind blowing through the tents. There were long drives between events, loading and unloading in the heat, finding food wherever we could, and hoping the weather would hold long enough for people to come out.

But through all of that, the kindness of people stood out. Families who brought food over just because they saw we had been working all day. Friends who helped hold down the tent in a storm. Customers who came back year after year to say hello. The drum always made it worth it. The sound carries something ancient, something that reminds you that even when it is difficult, you are still part of something much bigger.

Still, this year had more drama than usual. Some powwows had organizers who disappeared once things started. Others told us where to set up and then the next day our tents were moved without anyone saying a word. At one event, we were kicked out of a space we had already built because another vendor, who happened to be close friends with the coordinator, wanted it. It was frustrating, but we stayed calm, packed up, and found another place. These things happen, but it wears on you when you are just trying to represent your people and your work in a good way.

The rain around Calgary hurt sales at a few events, but we added some new ones to make up for it. Despite everything, the season ended ahead of last year. That felt good, because it showed that the people who support us still show up no matter what. I am grateful for that.

What has been harder to swallow is what I am seeing more and more at these gatherings. Powwows are meant to be about celebrating our people, our songs, our craft, and our connection to the land. But more and more vendor rows are filled with foreign, non-Indigenous sellers. Some are even selling goods that copy Indigenous designs (even from my business), beadwork patterns, and motifs that clearly do not belong to them. They take up space, they sell cheaply made knockoffs, and they draw money away from Indigenous families trying to make a living in a respectful way.

It feels wrong to see this happening on reserves, at events that are supposed to uplift Indigenous economies. There are so many Indigenous artists, families, and entrepreneurs who rely on powwow season to help support their homes. Yet more and more, the space that should belong to them is being given away to outsiders who have no connection to the culture or the people. It makes me wonder where the line is between inclusion and exploitation, and whether some committees have lost sight of what powwows are meant to protect.

I have nothing against people from outside our Nations who want to learn, support, and walk beside us. But there is a difference between coming to learn and coming to profit. Allowing vendors who sell copied beadwork and printed patterns that belong to Indigenous artists is not supporting reconciliation. It is taking advantage of it. It sends a message that profit matters more than protecting the integrity of our traditions.

After this summer, I am not sure if I will do the circuit again next year. The fees keep going up. Accommodations are getting harder to find. And it is discouraging to watch committees allow so many outsiders in while the people who carry the culture are squeezed to the margins. I have thought a lot about what it means to keep showing up in spaces that do not always protect us.

Even with all that, there were still moments that filled my spirit. The laughter between vendors. The smell of sweetgrass in the morning air. The kids dancing their hearts out. The beat of the drum echoing across the grounds at sunset. Those are the things that stay with me and keep me believing in the goodness of our people.

So maybe I will do it again. Maybe not. I have not decided yet. But I do know that wherever I go, I will keep showing up in the same way my ancestors did: proud, honest, and committed to keeping our stories alive through our work.