When Morgan arrived, he saw Agawa was bustling with tourists getting in last minute vacations to enjoy the beginnings of the fall color before school started. Morgan got out of his car. He’d let his hair grow once he’d discovered his heritage. It’d been pretty long already as during his circuit of the lake vacation with Nate, he’d not bothered to find a barber. It was now nearly shoulder length.
As he walked across the parking lot to the woodcarver’s shop, a small boy came running up to him.
“Are you a real Indian?” the child asked.
Morgan smiled broadly. “Yep. I’m a real Indian. I’m an Ojibwe.” Morgan’s sense of identity deepened.
“What’s an Obiji?”
“Ojibwe is the name of our tribe.”
“Oh. Okay,” the boy said. Then he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Morgan.”
The little boy scowled. “Th
