The Cradleboard Story

It's very peaceful this summer. A few days ago, a friend and I were de-cluttering my basement. Everything moldy or mildewy worth keeping came up and we wiped it down with vinegar and sat it in the sun. We rescued the children's old toys and games, and a toy from my childhood - a cradleboard - and a toy from Paolo's childhood, a purple velveteen frog stuffed with millet.

The cradleboard had been a gift from Mr Bird after my father died when I was seven. Mr Bird, who we knew from church, could see my passion for all things Native American and thought I should have a toy that a father would make. He took brown vinyl from Hancock Fabrics and sewed it to a wooden backing with leather lace. He tacked the front pieces down with tiny nails, and stapled two straps to the back. It used to have a little leather belt to go around my waist. The wood looks like yellow cedar.

My daughter never showed an interest in my cradleboard. I suppose the wood feels to stiff on a back used to the flexibility of a nylon pack. And so it got tossed around the playroom for years, and finally ended up mildewy and gritty with sand on a basement shelf. I didn't know what to do with it, but my friend Susan told me: 'make it your's. Add beads and strips of fur and make it pretty and keep it in your room.'

We're going to a pow wow soon and I think I'll follow her advice. Buy a strip of beading, some fur, a few animal effigies and decorate the cradleboard for myself.

Mr Bird died of a stroke shortly after making the cradleboard for me. But I've always kept it, remembering the kindness he showed.