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DeerLake Visits the North American Indian Days
in Browning Montana.

On the Northeastern slope of the Rocky Mountains where Chief Mountain drops abruptly into the rolling hills of the eastern plains lies Browning Montana, home of the annual North American Indian Days.

Comprising one of the largest gatherings of United States and Canadian tribes, the celebration is an unforgettable experience.

Tipi's are pitched on the powwow grounds for four days of contest dancing, sporting events and socializing. Once you hear and feel the mystery of the drums, see the traditional and fancy dancing of the many proud Native people, then, you will begin to understand the Blackfeet.

 

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North American Indian Days Powwow

North American Indian Days for young and Old

North American Indian Days Dancers

The Past and the Present

The modern highway cuts through the hill,
While the trail road winds around.
It seems in such a hurry,
To leave this hollowed ground.

Slow down a little as you go though,
Hear the things I see,
Then maybe you will understand
What this land means to me.

The Indian came to God's own land,
Because he needed food,
But what he saw, in his own heart
He knew that it was good.

For Centuries he loved this land,
Used only what he needed.
The buffalo for food and clothes
The corn to be reseeded.

He fished and hunted, played and loved,
Taught the children how to dance,
Gave thanks to the Great Spirit above,
And even sang war chants.

Then the white man wandered in,
Saw much prospect here,
The rolling hills of lush green grass,
Plenty of antelope and deer.

Then the white man brought in more.
The food began to leave,
They built their homes, broke the ground
And the Indian's heart did grieve.

This land was paid for with sweat, blood and tears,
By Indian and white man alike.
Both saw the wonders God had made,
And both claimed the right.

Now modern homes side by side,
Where tepees used to stand,
Tell all who see of the dying past,
In this Dakota Land.

Yet as I look around me,
The past comes rushing near,
The trail road a silent reminder,
In this land I hold so dear.

Chorus Hear the drums a beating
Hear the bugles cry,
Hear the women seeping,
Hear the battle nigh.

Cile Beer



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