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whistling—you name it.
    The southern canoes circled past the main area where the Cowichan leaders and elders stood on a raised platform. In front of the platform, closer to the water, was a large groupof singers who belted out a Salish honoring song. Several used hand drums to pound out the beat of the song.
    Mr. Franks helped me to stand in the bow of the Raven. Leaning on my aluminum crutch, I stood as proudly as my broken body would allow.
    I sang our arrival song as loudly as I could. In that moment I felt the power and emotion of thousands of people all focused on one joyful celebration. We were all celebrating what was once banned. We were celebrating the rebirth of our identity as Salish people, the rebirth of our ancient culture.
    I’m embarrassed to admit that tears rolled down my cheeks as this feeling overwhelmed me. I quickly recovered my cool and dried my eyes, hoping that no one had noticed.
    The only word I could think of to describe what was happening was “spectacle.” This was certainly a spectacle. Several TV news crews were filming the event. Many personal cameras also recorded the arrivals.
    An M.C. on shore described the scene over loud speakers. “Canoes have been coming into the bay for quite some time now. More are coming. I can’t see the end of the line. Can anyone see the end?”
    The canoes from the east were the first ones invited to come to shore. Ten or twelve canoes from that group lined up side by side in the water. As a unit, they moved toward the shore until their bows touched land. One by one, a dignitary from each canoe introduced the canoe and announced where the people in it were from.
    The chairman of the Cowichan tribe welcomed each canoe to their shores. All were invited to come ashore for feasting and Protocols. As soon as one line of canoes finished, another line of ten or twelve pulled in beside them.
    While these canoes were performing their arrival duties, other canoes continued to enter the bay and circle the area.
    Finally, it came time for the southern canoes to approach the shore. Our grouplined up side by side and drifted in. I was still leaning on my crutch, with Mr. Franks standing behind me.
    Our turn came. “Mr. Chairman, we are the Raven Canoe from the proud Duwamish Nation,” Mr. Franks announced. “We are members of the Raven Canoe Family. Standing in our bow is a young Duwamish man of great courage, Jason Morgan. He overcame many obstacles to be a part of this journey. We present him to you as our most outstanding member. We are honored by your invitation to come to your shores. We have traveled more than two hundred miles.”
    The Cowichan chairman spoke. “Mr. Franks, this young man needs no introduction to us. His story has traveled ahead of you. It has become almost a legend among the people of the canoe. We are honored to have you come to our shores.”
    Mr. Franks proudly patted me on the shoulder. I was speechless. I sat down to rest.
    After all the canoes had lined the shores and performed their arrival ceremonies,an honor song began among the northern canoes. They used the handles of their paddles to pound out the rhythm on the floor of their canoes.
    The song and the beat spread to all the canoes. It then spread across the shoreline like a wildfire spreading across a field of grass. As the sound grew, a kind of tingling spread through my body. I didn’t know what it was. I was vibrating from head to foot.
    To my surprise, I even felt it in my dead leg. For the first time since my accident, I felt something in that leg. It didn’t last long, and the effect wasn’t permanent. But that brief experience gave me new hope.
    When the song ended, the M.C. said, “We’ve done a count and there are 109 tribal canoes here today. Can you believe it?”
    The crowd roared, clapped, and cheered even louder than before.
    The M.C. invited all the canoe families to participate in the Protocols that