A True Healer
In my memories of childhood are the many things that we did for our elders.
One of the things was to wash and rub their feet. Both my Great-grandparents seemed to enjoy the simple pleasure of soaking their feet in hot Epson salt water at the end of the day.
It was always a pleasure to help them with this simple chore just to see the smile it put on their face. Besides there were many perks to this, many stories were told and they always showed their appreciation in some small way.
Humsa (my Great-grandfather) was a doctor, not just a healer of the people, but a certified doctor. But he was a doctor of the likes that shall never be seen these days. Rubbing his feet always awoke in me a sense of awe, for he had no toes only one big toe on his left foot.
The story of how he lost those toes was one that he could not repeat enough to that small five year old at the time, but the full meaning of that story really didn’t hit me until later in life.
It seemed that my Humsa used to walk everywhere he went, he said he could never afford a horse. But he made his rounds for almost twenty-five miles around on foot regularly. He knew where almost all the old ones lived hidden away back in the woods and made regular visits. It was during the big flu epidemic back in 1918 or 1919 that he was called upon to go help some sick elders in the woods almost thirty miles away. It was in the winter and there was a fierce storm brewing, but he walked the entire distance. But when he got there his feet had frozen inside his boots and when he removed the boots his toes stayed in them. He told of staying there at those old people’s place for nearly two weeks not only healing them, but him. And when the old couple asked him what they owed him, he told them just to give his toes a good burial when the ground thawed. He always chuckled when telling this, but knowing him as I did, it wasn’t far from the truth.
When I knew him though, he always rode his mule, I only wish I could remember his name now, I think it was Pohokan or Hohokam, or something like that, anyway it was the Lenape word for mortar. I remember asking him one day what the word meant and he told me this. He said he called him Mortar because his gait was so bad that it made his butt feel like a pestle grinding corn. I can vouch for his crazy gait for I could barely stay on his back when Humsa let me ride him.
That old mule was really something though despite its terrible gait. It knew my Great-grandfather’s circuit by heart and Humsa said all he had to do was say go and he could sleep in the saddle all the way without once touching the reins.
I can’t recall too much about my life with them as far as his trips and such. But I have heard much about his exploits later from those who knew him. People say that he treated the people as though each was his responsibility and never asked for anything in return for his services. The people would repay him by dropping off some sort of food or what not whenever they passed by and had something available. I do remember people dropping off sacks of corn and chickens or hams. It is hard to imagine any doctor today doing as he did. But then, what is there in this modern day that makes sense?
Just some fond thoughts of yesteryear with hopes you enjoy them.
Peace, love and harmony be yours;
Muxumsa Blue Turtle
