Just before sunset on Saturday, as dozens settled onto a grassy lawn at the University of the Pacific, Magaly Reyes gathered herself, incense smoke pooling at her feet.
There, surrounded by members of other tribal nations, she carried the incense across the space, acknowledging each of the four directions as a Mexica traditional dance group opened their ceremony.
Then, the drums started. Holding her ayacaxtli, a handheld rattle, in one hand, Reyes said it felt as if the energy of those around her came together, as dancers and spectators shared the space.
“I like to do it because I get to share my danza, my prayer, with other people, whether they’re Mexica, native (or) not native,” Reyes said. “I get to share that with them, and I get to introduce something that maybe they haven’t seen before.”
It’s a tradition Reyes regularly shares at powwows like Stockton’s. Every Labor Day Weekend the Native American Indian Center, operated by the Stockton Unified School District, hosts Stockton’s Community Pow Wow, bringing together tribal nations from across California for a weekend to gather with family and pass along cultural traditions.
“It’s a family event. It really is. Generations come together,” said Destiny Rivas, who chairs the event, now in its 46th year. “You’re sitting with your grandmas and aunties and your cousins, watching and being part of it. It’s about connection.”
For some the event — which continues on Sunday from noon to 6 p.m. — is a showcase, where young dancers perform everything from fancy and traditional shawl styles to jingle dancing. It’s a chance to show how far they’ve come, said Rivas.
Born and raised in Stockton, Rivas said she grew up going to the Native center. But she felt out of place, at first, struggling to find a sense of belonging as her cultural traditions differed from others there.
It was during a class making medicine bags that Rivas found herself sitting outside of the group. When her instructor asked why, she told her she didn’t feel like she belonged there.
Patting her on the shoulder, her instructor reassured her: “You’re Native enough. Come sit down and learn with us, and then you’ll teach the next generation.”
Rivas said those words stuck with her, eventually leading her to become the powwow’s chair. Now, working with a small committee, she said they hope to bring generations together and give Native youth a place to connect with their culture.
“My big goal is to make sure that none of these kids feel like they’re isolated and alone,” said Rivas as she watched younger attendees pass by or perform on the lawn in traditional regalia, some adorned with intricate beadwork.
Kyla Miller, 15, was crowned Stockton’s pow wow princess Saturday, a role that will take her to pow wows across California and the United States to represent the city.
Dressed in deep green regalia, Miller wore her mother’s first ever beadwork, including on the pieces attached to the ends of her ribboned hair. Her godmother, Frances Rocha, also helped make some of her attire, including the sash Miller wears as the event’s princess.
At powwows like this one, Miller performs a style she learned from YouTube, which started when she was around age 5.
“I grew up dancing fancy,” said Miller, describing a style of dance that is fast-paced with rapid footwork. “I want to stick with that until I grow up.”
For Rocha, pow wow traditions take different forms in her family. Raised with Pasqua-Yaqui and Apache traditions, Rocha has watched her daughters become powwow princesses for other regions. Her sons, in turn, took up drumming, taking up after her brothers.
While her family has gone to powwows all over (recently returning from one in Oklahoma), there’s something special about the one in her hometown.
“It’s in my backyard,” Rocha said. “I literally live right down the street. Why would I want to go anywhere else when [it’s] right here?”
Later, as Miller led the other princesses in a dancing procession around the lawn, Breanna Castro took a seat overlooking the gathering. Pregnant with her first child, Castro recalled what she had been told when her mother was pregnant with her; placing headphones to her belly, her mother would play the sounds of drums and powwow music.
Since she was little, Castro remembers going to powwows as much as she could. That fell away for a bit during middle and high school, she said, when she was more involved in sports. But just about two years ago, Castro started dancing again, now going to a powwow almost every weekend when she can.
She does the jingle dance each time she’s in the circle, hand-rolled Copenhagen lids attached to her golden-yellow regalia rattling as she moves.
“The feeling you get when you’re in the area, dancing — hearing and seeing everybody around you. (It’s) like medicine,” Castro, 24, said.
The regalia she wears also resonates with her as she moves. Much of it is gifted, like feathers from her uncles and a beadwork set from her aunt. When she wears them, Castro said she treats it as if those family members are watching her.
“When I’m gifted something, I feel like they did it for a reason,” Castro said. “So I’m gonna do it for them. I’m gonna dance for them … even if they’re not here. When I dance, that’s what I think about.”