Indian Potatoes (Brodiaea)

By Muriel Ammon

It’s great to have a best friend who speaks your language. I mean your Indigenous language. Your heritage language. Your mother language. Your special language.

I have such a friend. Her name is Ky’oh-łiqay – White porcupine. Our friendship sprung up recently. We met through language work – we actually got to know each other in a Hupa immersion setting. Since we only saw each other at the language immersion nest, we only ever spoke to each other in Hupa. We’re both second language learners with growing vocabularies and piecemeal control of the language. That didn’t stop us from joking around or growing closer over shared values. In all my talks about levels of comprehension, literacy, and fluency, it never occured to me that my language goals might include making a new friend.

We didn’t stay exclusive to the language. We’re English speaking friends too now. There’s room for both. But I’ve found that, no matter where we go or what we do, we always end up speaking Hupa.

Mistche’nanya Van Pelt, also known as Ky’oh-łiqay

Most recently, we were out digging Indian potatoes. These ones, with the purple flowers, are called Brodiaea. Yineh-taw in our language. ‘Indian potatoes’ are not really potatoes, but the corms of the geophyte Brodiaea, a traditional food for California Natives. Other geophytes in our diets include camas, tiger lily, and soaproot bulbs.¹ This food practice has been largely disrupted. I had no idea what I was in for. As I was digging, Ky’oh-łiqay was teasing me, “I just want to see the look on your face when you eat it!” I’ve got to say, it just kind of tastes like jicama. Of course, we later learned that one typically cooks them before eating them… It’s always helpful to get a little more information.

Ky’oh-łiqay is my dad’s Hupa language student. He teaches Hupa 1A and 1B at College of the Redwoods. (All are welcome to take his class!) I started crashing class, to see my new friend, just in time to hear about Potato Boy. Well, that’s what I call him. Xa:xowilwa:tł’ is his name. He is Dug Up. There’s a few variations of his story.

Potato Boy’s mother goes out digging for potatoes, when she suddenly decides to stray from her own mother’s advice and dig a potato with two stalks. She hopes to find a large potato, but instead unearths a baby. Though she does her best to get away from him, Xa:xowilwa:tł’ follows her home. Raised by his grandmother, he grows into the most handsome and accomplished young man. Too striking to behold. His adventures lead him many places and his superhuman qualities ultimately bring him rewards. He returns home for his mother and grandmother, bringing them into his new life.

Doc Pete telling of Xa:xowilwa:tł’, translated by Oscar Jarnaghan and Alice Pratt. Written in the Unifon spelling system by Ruth Bennett. Illustrated by Linda Masten. Available online here: http://hdl.handle.net/2148/1290

Storytelling enriches our worldviews and impacts our actions. That feeling you get when being told a story, it follows you. How could I gather potatoes without thinking of Xa:xowilwa:tł’ ? How could I eat a potato without feeling that security and contentment evoked when my dad reads Xa:xowilwa:tł’ to me. That’s the relationship I have with Indian potatoes. And I have to power to grow it. That’s what I call food sovereignty. The food, the land, the stories, the language, the people – we’re restoring it all.

Indian potato teething ring reading “yineh-taw”, Hupa language word for potato. Made and photographed by Karuk language activist Frankie Tripp.

Xosa:k’ and Ky’oh-łiqay yineh-taw xa:ya’k’iwhe

(Xosa:k’ and Ky’oh-łiqay dig for potatoes)

Ła’ading whima:lyo’ whidiwilxit, “Yineh-taw whe whił xa:k’ingwhe me:dindin ung?”

One day my friend asked me, “Do you want to dig wild potatoes with me?”

‘A:de:ne “Diye! Hay mił whinist’e’-xoniwh. Daydi ding na:te:sdiya-te?

My answer: You know it girl! But where?

“Whe ‘owhtsit nahx-i-ding yinehtaw no:k’iwilijich hayo silay. Whi-xonta:w-ch’ing’ ningyahwh yisxun-te! ‘Ił-ch’ing’ na:tesdiya-te.”

There’s a couple spots. Meet me at my house tomorrow. We’ll go together.

“Xa’, yisxun-te niwhtsis-te!”

“Cool! See you tomorrow.”

Hay je:nis, xo-xont:aw ch’ing’ te:se:yay

So I met her at her house.

“Q’ut ung?”

“Ready?” she asked.

“Diye, xa’ ya:ydił.”

“Yup, let’s go.”

Hay no:k’iwiljich-ding xoxonta:w mino:ng’ay-ch’ing’ na:te:sdiyay.

There’s a spot by her house, where she always sees the purple potato flowers.

Whe ‘e:n hay yineh-taw k’iday do:-’o:ylts’it. Duxwe:di nehwa:n… ‘Ahtin-ding te:y’e’n. Daydiwh hay yineh-taw?

I didn’t know about the flowers. I didn’t know what to look for. I looked all around the field. Where could the potatoes be…

“Yeh-heh!” Mistche’ xona xuł’uch’. “De:-xutł’e’ hay yineh-taw digyung sile’n. ‘Iwhtsa:n!” Hayał ‘e:n, do:-’owhtsit daydiwh hayima:n tł’oh diwindzit!”

“What?!” Mistche’ blinked. “They were here this morning I saw them! But oh no! They mowed the grass today!”

“Q’ut do:ng.”

“Oop.”

“Diydi ma:n de:je:nis????”

“Today of all days!”

Hay tł’oh didzit t’e:y’e’n. Hay k’ida:y do:-xohsle. Daywhe’eh da:w.

I looked at the mowed grass. No more flowers anywhere at all.

“Xa:k’iwdwhe-de, yineh-taw silin-te ‘e:n, do:-silin-te ‘e:n.”

“We could dig, but the odds of finding a potato are slim.”

“Jahda ła:n nalte’. ‘Ayniwhsin de:di-ding do:-xoling xa:k’iwidwhe da:w.”

“It’s too much work. I think we won’t be able to dig potatoes here today.”

“Do:-nije:y’-na:wit’a’ni-heh! Yo-ch’ing na:te:sidya-te. Yineh-taw silin-te, ‘isdo’.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll just go to my second spot. Please let there be potatoes…”

Yiduq’ na:te:sdiyay.

We went up the hill.

“‘Ung-gya’! Hay k’ida:y!”

“Look, there the flowers are!”

“Xa’ xa:kingwhe!” Mistche’ ch’ide:ne. Mił-xa’xa:wh whi-ch’ing’ ya’tiwh.

“Get digging,” Mistche’ told me as she handed me the shovel.

Ła’ xa:k’e:whe’. Yineh-taw do:-sile’n.

I dug under one flower. No potato.

Nahx xa:k’e:whe’. Kiye yineh-taw do:-sile’n.

I dug another one. No potato.

Ta:q’ xa:k’e:whe’.

I dug my third one.

“‘Ung-gya’! Hay yineh-ta:w na:whtsa:n!” ‘a:de:ne.

“A potato!”

“Niwho:ng-xw ‘ulleh! Xa’ k’inyung!”

“All right. Eat it!”

…. whije:’-tiltsit’ mine:gits

I was a little nervous.

Sa:y’a:n. Xina:y. Niłchwil. “Hay ‘iwhyo’.”

Refreshing. I like it.

“‘A:yne:se’n ‘ilyo’-de.” Xwa:nło’.

“I thought you would,” she smiled.

1. Anderson, M. Kat; Lake, Frank K. 2016. “Beauty, Bounty, and Biodiversity: The Story of California Indians’ Relationship with Edible Native Geophytes.” Fremontia 44(3): 44-51. 
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