It seems like the whole world stops on Thanksgiving except for hard- core truckers like me who elect to run through the holidays. Rolling down the highway on this frosty Thanksgiving morning, we passed homes with smoking chimneys and driveways full of cars, and I felt a pang of melancholy for family and friends and belonging. My co-driver and I rolled on as the Pennsylvania countryside blazed by in its many winter colors and like the mail we would not be deterred by weather or dark of night or even Thanksgiving. We pulled into the Cargill plant in Hazleton and idled up to the guard shack and cut the engine.

The security guard greeted us with a warm smile and informed us that we could not drop our load until 2200 hrs. I hoped that he was joking, but he was not. As the security guard stepped closer to the truck and climbed up on the side steps, I could see that he was a human being. I took in the big smile and long black hair and the medicine wheel earrings that dangled from each lobe of his ears and smiled back. Reaching through the window, he extended his hand and introduced himself as Richard Lunging Bear, but you can just call me “Bear” he said. Richard then asked, “Where you guys from?” We shook hands and exchanged names, and places that we were from and the three of us enjoyed some great conversation as the stillness of the Thanksgiving morning stood guard.

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Bear then asked if I had ever heard of the Renapepahatan Indians (pronounced Raw-naw-pay Pa-Ha-Tan) to which I answered that I had not. Richard told us that he was a seven year sun dance leader and story teller of his tribe and that he was very involved in Pow-wows and tribal affairs and drug and alcohol prevention programs. The spirit moved this man to share some great stories with us and we drank from his wisdom and were moved by his passion for who he was and the energy he had for his mission.

Bear then asked us what we would be doing for Thanksgiving, my co-driver and I looked at each other and shrugged. Bear cut between our look like a sharp knife and said, “You will be coming to my house for dinner” and we did not argue. Bear said, “I will pick you up at three at the little truck stop up the road” and we agreed.

Bear picked us up as promised bringing along another driver from the truck stop and a worker from the Cargill plant and away we went to the “Bear Den” as he called his home. This is one of the great things about being a trucker I thought as we rolled down the road listening to Bear telling his Indian stories in a voice that made me feel like we were in a scene from Dances With Wolves. The pangs of melancholy I had felt earlier were swept away by the breeze of his words and suddenly all was right with the world.

We arrived at the Bear Den and were introduced to Bear’s wife, Hawk eye and his beautiful daughter Jolene. The den was warm and inviting with the aroma of roasting turkey and pumpkin pies baking in the oven. Leaving the women, we were taken into “Bear’s” shop and shown his artwork, drums and other crafts and Bear beat his drum in a steady rhythm and sang a welcoming song to us in his native language.

The women finally came for us and we went back to the house and filled our plates with roasted turkey, corn, stuffing, cranberries and sweet potato casserole of which I had 4 servings. Bears family trickled in and it was a blessed Thanksgiving for 3 truckers who would never have believed that on Thanksgiving we pilgrims would be invited to dinner by a Lunging Bear of the Renapepahatan tribe.

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After dinner, we men returned to the shop and Bear told us that he was going to cleanse our spirits. Bear gathered his tools, a beautiful eagle leg and talon that supported an eagle feather fan and a shell full of sage and sweet grass. I went first. Bear instructed me to stand facing east and close my eyes. The smoke from the sage and sweet grass swirled and filled the room with its spicy earth aroma. Bear began to chant in his native language and then the eagle fan slapped my chest. A spiritual shock-wave flooded my body and rocked me back on my heels, and in that instant I felt changed. Bear swept all parts of my body with the eagle fan and sage smoke driving the bad spirits away with hard commands in his native language. When it was over, I truly felt changed and inspired.

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This was in turn done to my fellow pilgrims who felt the same calm and peace and spiritual change that I experienced when the ceremony was complete. This ceremony was followed by the smoking of the peace pipe. Bear pinched Indian tobacco into the pipe, blessing it to the four corners, the earth and sky and to his heart and we smoked and passed the pipe four times. The pipe ceremony over, Bear brought out the talking feather, “He who holds the feather may speak” he said, and others must hold their tongue. In his native words Bear spoke to us, then in English he said, “I am Lunging Bear can you not see I am your brother?” Bear then looked each and every one of us straight and right into our eyes, leaving no room to escape his gaze or his truth as he told us that he loved us and to each individual pilgrim he gave a specific truth for that man, a blessing or a hope or a promise. Each of us in turn held the talking feather and spoke our peace.  This is how the Thanksgiving with Lunging Bear ended and out into the dark we went. Bear drove us back to our trucks weaving fine stories about the trees, spirits and snakes and left us with clean spirits and full bellies and warm hearts on a sparkling cold Thanksgiving night in Pennsylvania refreshed and renewed and we slept the sleep of dreamers with Indian words and drum beats drifting softly in our minds. I will never forget this Thanks giving or Lunging Bear, my brother.

Written by Karl Wiggins, Prime Driver since 2006

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