My name is Luksi Humma, I am Choctaw or, Chahta, our name in reality. I am a builder of people and log cabins. Although, I live in our present time, I talk to many people who come to Historic Prophetstown, in Battle Ground, Indiana, about the way the Old Ones lived, and died.

Misconceptions, are a part of most Americans ideal in regards to Native American People. It is my job to inform the uninformed, about the Love, Respect, Honor, and Dignity the American Indians had for their Families, Lives and the Land.

How did the People live along the Wabash? They lived well, commerce continued to flow throughout the region as our People moved forward into an age that would eventually swallow them up, swirling them into the Great Melting Pot of these United States. This motion inexorably changed the Ways of our People, both, in their thought processess, and in their Hearts.

The Europeans who lived with the Indian People would change significantly, daily movements, personal contacts, language, lifestyles and much more. Pressures of being humans, finding a much easier way to cook, kill, stay warm, communicate, travel and live, ate away at the Traditions of ten thousand generations.

Robust in their spirits, Native People adapted rapidly, and found value in their trapping of Beaver, and other furbearing animals. Trading these hides, for durable goods, gave the Indian People an opportunity to live more comfortably, amidst the French, English, and some Americans, who became their trading partners in this region, for many years.

Log Cabins were abundant in the Village of Kethtipikanuck, about 120 log structures as some writers saw it. Shake roof shingles adorned the cabins, of those lucky folks who knew how to, and, had the man power to build these brutish structures. Forged from the wilderness, these people were powerful and relentless in their will to make life come forth, from a forboding entity, that the wilderness posed. This was, after all, the Northwest Territories. The end of the continent for most people who struck out on their own.

This wonderous village had many Wigwams, smoke filling the air on the flats at the mouth of that river. Trade items coming in, and leaving, in boats of every description, dugouts, birchbark, heavy river tugs. One should try to imagine this commerce, it is pleasing to see it in the mind.

Eleven years of good life came to an end, as the wood of their cabins and wigwams lost their battle with the crucible of fire, which the American Army brought with them, to eradicate their way of life forever.

This is but the beginning of their story, I will write more of this facinating historical drama, played out on the banks of the Wabash. Prophetstown, looming in the future awaits the telling of its story in another time, but now I am tired and must rest.

Luksi Humma messenger of the People.

I am a humble teacher of Indian People, travelling to bring the Ways of our Ancestors to those who can least afford it, and desire it the most. My hands and mind belong to the People who came before us, and it is they whom I serve.

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