The Art of Resilience

By Heather Caro

Photography by Andy Sawyer

With the ease of an old friend, HollyAnna “Cougar Tracks” DeCoteau Pinkham, 42, sidles up to a table laden with colorful beadwork at her Wapato home. And soon, stories as colorful as the beads she weaves with begin to flow. The artist and Yakama tribal member’s tales are punctuated with laughter and told in Pinkham’s characteristic style, a fusion of stubborn confidence and glee. She tells of camping trips, of lessons learned, legends and fables — some recent, others historical.

One story begins with an heirloom: her great-great grandmother’s antique, plateau-style saddle. It was a saddle that had been captured in time by the famous Western photographer Edward S. Curtis, and passed down through generations.

Though she appreciated its beauty, Pinkham felt there was something not right with the saddle — it creaked and clicked under the weight of a rider.

Pinkham, who always has been interested in figuring out how things work, had never repaired a saddle. But, she thought, “I can fix this.”

She knew permission would never be granted for such an ambitious task. So, when her parents left town to visit relatives in North Dakota, Pinkham took advantage of their absence.

With a scalpel, Pinkham carefully peeled away the leather covering. Her efforts revealed a cracked saddletree — the wooden “backbone” of the saddle.

Pinkham set to work. Soon, pieces of the priceless family heirloom were dissected and lined up along her basement workbench — “So I would remember exactly what order to put them back,” explains Pinkham.

It was then that her parents made an unexpected early return home.

“She was not happy,” Pinkham grimaces as she recalls her mother’s response to the scene. “She didn’t speak to me for a while.”

Despite the silence, Pinkham persisted with her repairs, crafting a new rawhide covering and inlaying wood into the damaged tree frame. She finished the saddle in time for the family’s annual trip to the Pendleton Roundup, though Pinkham had not gained her mother’s forgiveness.

As roundup preparations were being attended to, one of the event’s assistants noticed the repairs. With Pinkham’s family within earshot the attendant asked, “Who fixed the saddle?” No one responded to his question — including Pinkham, who admits, “I was scared I had ruined it.” But after careful inspection the man responded, “This is some of the best work I have seen.”

“I just smiled and walked away, never saying a word,” says Pinkham.

Soon, she was filling repair requests from family and friends back home. But Pinkham had grander aspirations: to create a saddle from start to finish, using traditional plateau methods.

So, one step at a time, Pinkham began.

She cut down trees whose wood was strong enough that it could cure through the winter without cracking, and then carefully crafted saddletrees. She hunted deer and elk to make their hides into buckskin, which she used to create sturdy saddle coverings. The labor-intensive process took up to two years to complete, with some saddles taking much longer depending on available natural resources. Finally, Pinkham hand-finished each saddle with intricate beading, using the leftover leather pieces to craft bridals and regalia to complete her vision.

This year, Pinkham is in the process of completing what will be her fourth double-horn women’s plateau saddle, made — as she says — “from scratch.”

Her work, and the fact that she is one of few within the tribe who still creates using traditional methods, has earned Pinkham widespread praise. Her saddles and elaborate beadwork have been showcased at Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture in Seattle, Yakima’s Larson Gallery and the Yakima Valley Museum, among others.

But as one tale ends and the next begins, Pinkham’s tone sombers. She begins another story … one without an ending.

In 1993, just before her 23^rd birthday, Pinkham was diagnosed with cancer. Pinkham’s Native American culture (her heritage includes Yakama, Nez Perce, Cayuse, Umatilla, Grand Ronde and Cree) consider thought and language to have the power to influence reality. It is believed that even speaking the word “cancer” has the power to bring the disease into being. Because of this, Pinkham (who, because of her beliefs, still prefers not to reveal the type of cancer she had) told no one of the diagnosis or the yearlong treatment that followed. Not her mother, sister or husband.

“I worked 24-hour shifts (as a structural and wildland firefighter), so it wasn’t uncommon for me to be tired or not eat,” says Pinkham of her efforts to conceal the nausea and fatigue the treatment caused.

Pinkham completed the oral treatments and was in remission for 10 years. But in 2003, she was diagnosed with melanoma again. This time Pinkham picked up the phone to tell her sister about the challenge she faced. “She told me, ‘You must not have done something the first time that you need to do.’”

Pinkham, who was working as a federally certified law enforcement officer in Oregon, took her sister’s words to heart. “I quit my job,” she says, “and hit the ground at a full sprint.”

Having discovered firsthand the challenges of receiving cancer treatment while living in a rural area, Pinkham decided to help others in the same position.

After first getting permission from her tribe to speak out about cancer, Pinkham sewed a jingle dress with the initials LAF (Lance Armstrong Foundation) on the sleeve.

Armstrong’s Tour de France comeback and unprecedented winning streak after his own cancer battle created a wave of media attention, and Pinkham felt a connection to the cyclist who never seemed to quit. At each tribal dance, Pinkham used her dress as a conversation starter to talk about the foundation, which supports people affected by cancer, as well as the importance of early cancer screenings.

Pinkham was elected to the Yakama board of Native Cancer Survivorship and soon began lobbying for health care reform and cancer research in Washington, D.C., and Olympia — even crafting a black jingle dress for a formal lobbying soiree.

And as she dipped her toes into political waters and continued her own cancer treatments, others began to take notice of her efforts to bring adequate cancer care to rural areas.

Pinkham was elected as Washington state co-chairperson for the National Patient Advocate Foundation, which works with officials to outline legislative priorities. She was asked to serve as an advocate for the American Cancer Society. And she also began working closely with the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center, the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance, Seattle Children’s Hospital and her long-admired Lance Armstrong Foundation.

“When I started cancer work, (my focus) was ‘cancer in Indian country,’” says Pinkham. “But now it’s about cancer in rural America.”

Her simple but firm message was clear. Everyone “deserves the same treatment as the next person, with respect to their individual beliefs.”

As she continued to lobby, however, a scheduled check-up brought disheartening news: another cancer site had been found. “I had it again,” sighs Pinkham.

Pinkham, who counts among her ancestors a long line of warriors, never lost her fighting spirit. “I can’t say I was ever scared — to die.” She pauses at this statement and then begins to laugh.  “I was mad. It was annoying. You can’t run from it — it follows you.”

Remission after this round of treatment lasted for nearly four years. But on June 4, 2008, Pinkham was diagnosed with cancer for the fourth time, with new primary sites including her vocal cords. She was also diagnosed with several autoimmune disorders, including polymorphous light eruption (PMLE), a rare allergy to sunlight that was slowly causing her to lose her vision.

The news hit Pinkham hard.

“I called my mom and just bawled ‘How (expletive) strong do I have to be?’ Then I laid in bed for two days and stared at the TV.”

On the third day, Pinkham was ready to fight once again. “(I said) that’s over now. I’m not going to let (cancer) govern my life.”

Pinkham once again underwent treatment that included five surgeries over 10 weeks. After speaking with her oncologist, she began supplementing the prescribed western medicine with native herbal medicines and as many “sweats,” powwows and dances as she could attend.

“My traditions and culture taught me to adapt,” says Pinkham, who in March was declared clear of all cancer.

Throughout her own trials with cancer, Pinkham has remained clear in her mission to improve care for others as well.

“It’s not just my story, it’s the story of every single person who has walked a similar path and faced the challenge called cancer … they are why I lobby. I speak for those who can’t or don’t know how to speak.”

And as she looks toward her future, Pinkham remains cautiously optimistic.

“After working in public safety for most of my life I’ve learned to prepare for the worst, hope for the best and pray you get something in the middle,” says Pinkham. “At 36, they said I wouldn’t live to be 38,” she adds, grinning triumphantly. “I consider myself to be 3 (years old) — it’s all about perspective. Today is a good day.”

Pinkham now has more than enough to fill her days. Between her artwork, lobbying for cancer care, working as a Yakama Nation homeland security emergency management planner and even going back to school — she’s pursuing a degree in social justice — the vivacious Pinkham continues to add chapters to her already remarkable life.

“Cancer taught me a lot of things,” she says. “I don’t like to waste any time. There’s always something that needs to be done.”

Hear HollyAnna Pinkham’s “How We Got the Fringe on the Heel of Our Moccasins” in this Turtle Island Storyteller Network recording.

http://www.turtleislandstorytellers.net/tis_washington/mp3/h_pinkhamj.mp3