Hulda and I

When Hulda Garborg received a travel grant to the United States and sent ten lengthy articles back to Morgenbladet describing her impressions, one of them focused on her encounters with Native Americans. Titled “A Murdered People. A Visit to an Indian Reservation,” the article sets a somber tone. Garborg observed with sorrow the many injustices committed against Indigenous peoples: they had been killed in conflicts over land rights, with little or no respect for their traditions or ways of life.

Yet she was deeply impressed by their craftsmanship and understanding of gender roles—two areas of particular interest to her. She investigated, she observed. In her own words:

“The buffalo, once grazing in massive herds across the endless prairies, gave them food and clothing. With its hide they covered their wigwams and their canoes, slept upon it, and their children played on it. And from that same magnificent hide, they crafted royal cloaks, trimmed with ermine and adorned with images of their deeds in beautiful picture writing.”

She went on to describe stunning beadwork and decorative uses of shells and porcupine quills, noting that many of the patterns were universal. For example, the eight-petaled rose motif appeared repeatedly—just as it does in Norwegian embroidery such as Hardangersøm, where she found the same basic design.

Regarding women’s rights, another of Garborg’s passionate causes, she noted:

“Among the Indians, inheritance follows the maternal line. When a missionary once reproached a young Indian man for letting his father suffer hardship, the man replied, ‘Let him go to his own people.’ The speaker explained that the father belonged to another tribe.”

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Garborg also described traditional women’s clothing:

“The old garments of the women—soft goatskin dresses with long fringes, adorned with beads and shells—were beautiful as well; but today, they are just as rare as our finest old folk costumes.”

Over a century ago, Hulda Garborg portrayed the Indigenous peoples of North America as carriers of culture—peoples whom “civilization” was in the process of destroying.

When I had the opportunity to visit the Rosebud Indian Reservation in South Dakota in the early 1990s—two or three generations after Garborg—I was struck in much the same way by the beauty of their traditional crafts, with their universal base patterns. I recognized eight-petaled roses and zigzag motifs (which my mother called “lightning borders”) from Hardangersøm and woven textiles.

Though the prairie materials were different—leather and hides, porcupine quills, and shells—there were similarities, too. Glass beads, for example, formed the basis of stunning decorations, either sewn onto hides or strung together for bracelets and earrings. In the Hardanger costume, these same beads are used in breast cloths and belts. Like in Norway, glass beads were imported; in America, they arrived with missionaries and traders, who used them as barter items.

The women's regalia Garborg described were still in use in the 1990s, though mostly for celebrations and ceremonial occasions, similar to how we use national costumes in Norway. During dance ceremonies, women wore what they call regalia (not “costumes,” a term they view as dismissive). In addition to shells and porcupine quills, their outfits sometimes featured sewn-on pieces of metal from soda cans, which produced soft jingling sounds as they danced. Not exactly precious metals, perhaps, but a creative use of available materials to achieve the effect they wanted.

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