Long before there was a town at Post Falls, spring changed the address of the people who lived along this river. In the account the Coeur d'Alene Tribe has shared of its own history, the winter villages along the shores of Lake Coeur d'Alene and the banks of the St. Joe, Coeur d'Alene, and Spokane Rivers emptied when spring arrived. Family groups left the riverbanks, including the ground we now call Black Bay, and traveled to the prairie country to the east and south for the root gathering season.
More than sixteen species of roots were traditionally relied upon, and among the most important were bitterroot, cous, and camas, known to botanists as Camassia quamash. It was the women of the families who did this work, using their knowledge and skills to gather, prepare, and store the harvest. Together with the berries gathered later in the year, these plant foods made up well over a third of the traditional Schitsu'umsh diet, alongside fish and game.
The digging began with prayer. Before any camas or bitterroot was dug, prayer was first offered to the Creator and to the plant itself, asking permission to begin and asking for success. The digging stick, called a pitse', loosened the soil, and when the first camas bulb came up, its blue flowers were placed back into the earth, along with an offering of tobacco or qhasqhs, a medicine root. The teaching that ran through the work was simple and strict: take only what the family needed, and never take too much.
Camas demanded patience after the harvest as well as care during it. Raw camas was called Sqha'wlutqhwe', while the baked food was Itqhwe', and baking was the essential step. A special pit was dug and heated with rock and wood coals, then layered with particular leaves and grasses. The skinned bulbs were placed inside, earth was piled over the pit, and logs were kept burning above the earthen oven. Only after days of baking was the camas ready to be uncovered and eaten.
Camas is no longer part of the daily diet of the Schitsu'umsh, but the Tribe's account makes clear that it has not faded into the past. It remains an important cultural food, served at birthday celebrations, powwows, memorials, and winter ceremonial dances, or simply whenever a grandmother has a desire for some. For Black Bay readers, that is a useful reminder this fall: the prairies that turned blue with camas each spring were not empty land waiting for a town. They were a tended pantry, worked with prayer, skill, and restraint by the first people of this river.
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