@tailyrirvine

Last night, after my niece and nephews prayed in Salish, my uncle lifted his glass for a toast, “Today we gather not because of the pilgrims but in spite of them. Today is a good day to be Indigenous.” My day began walking with my dad near the bottom of a mountain. My brother and nephew started on the other side. We walked up and around hills through miles of brush along a river until we met in the middle. My dad told me the memories certain trees, mountains and saddles held from times decades earlier with his father. We talked about our relatives we lost this year visiting our dreams. We didn’t talk at all for long stretches. Finally, we chased a buck for a mile before we lost him in the tree line. My dad carried my camera so I could carry his rifle — he wanted me to take the shot. For me, there is no better way to spend this holiday than walking across the land our ancestors died protecting. Whether we celebrate (many do) or not, Native Americans protest this holiday by simply existing. Yesterday and every day our existence is resistance to the genocide that this country was founded on. Thanks for letting me photograph the moments I love the most @nytimes.

Throughout his life, Chief Earl Old Person of the Blackfeet Nation could be found in the Browning High School gym, always seated in the northwest corner of the bleachers and always in his blue, long-sleeved, buttoned shirt, cheering for his alma mater. But for his final trip into the gym, he was not in the stands. Instead, his coffin was placed directly on the court as mourners came to say goodbye. I spent the last week in Blackfeet Country with the chief’s family and friends trying to put into 800 words what it is like when a Nation not only loses their leader but their historian and to many their grandfather figure. A big thank you to the family and the Blackfeet Nation. I say this often, but to allow a stranger with a camera to be present during some of your hardest days to document grief and love is a gift I don’t take lightly. Thank you for allowing me into these spaces and sharing your Earl with myself and the rest of the country. In addition to the photography, this is my first written piece for the @nytimes. Thank you to the editing team for your support and trust from the pitch to the final edit. You can read more about Chief Old Person at the link is in my bio.

The other week I pulled myself out of bed a little before 4am and drove to my baby brother’s. We loaded up his old truck, tucked our nephew in between us, stopped and got gas, coffee and donuts and drove toward the river. But I should have gotten up earlier—or we should have skipped the donuts— because just before sunrise as we were pulling into our little spot, two red brake lights cut across the dark and flashed us. We cussed and turned around to hustle and find a new spot before the sun came up. We were unsuccessful but sharing stories, laughs and donuts with my two favorite guys is the best part of hunting for me. It reminds me of the time I got to spend in the woods with my dad and Síleʔ. I wouldn’t trade in these memories for anything. #flatheadreservation #itsagooddaytobeindigenous #homeland

It is always my favorite to document traditional tribal knowledge restoring the lands Indigenous peoples’ have successfully managed since time immemorial. For this assignment I traveled over to the Fort Belknap Reservation and followed a group of Aaniiih and Nakoda young adults as they work to restore the prairie ecosystems on their reservation. My latest for @highcountrynews with words by @kyliemohr.

Another piece of my Reservation Mathematics: Navigating Love in Native America is on display in New York with @wewomenphoto. Meet Jordynn Paz. Like many in her generation, for her child to be enrolled in her tribe she would need to find an Apsaalooké man to father it. Her tribe has approximately 10,000 members but after removing women, adding age restrictions and removing the large chunk of Apsaalooké she’s already related to, the dating pool is very limited. However, enrolled or not, her child will be Apsaalooké because she is. “My connection to my community comes from my mother. It comes from dancing, my language, my culture. With blood quantum it comes down to a number. That’s where people get confused. They think that number matters but the miss out on everything that makes us Apsaalooké.”

I got to wake up early and photograph some beautiful parts of Montana for my latest with the @nytimes. The drought this summer and extreme heat are threatening Montana trout populations and the nearly $500 million dollars anglers spend in Montana during their fly fishing trips. One big question that can’t be answered is whether this is just a bad year, or a part of a more permanent change in the climate, a long-term aridification of the West. Mr. Arnold, the fly-fishing guide who has worked on the Missouri River for decades, said the decline in trout populations has been occurring over a longer span of time than just this year. “My top guides could put 60 fish in the boat in a day,” he said. “Now half of that would be considered a good day.” “It’s all climate-change related,” Mr. Arnold said. Twenty years ago, nobody fished in November and March because it was so cold, he recalled. Now they do. “It’s starting to feel like a downward spiral.” Go to the @nytimes to read more from Jim Robbins on how climate change is affecting Montana’s rivers and trout.

Aiyanna Highwolf, one of Allison Highwolf’s four daughters, tends to her mother’s grave in Busby, Montana, a town on the Northern Cheyenne Reservation. Allison Highwolf’s body was found alone in a motel room in February 2015. She died at 26 years old of smoke inhalation from a fire of unclear origin. Six years later, the circumstances of Ms. Highwolf’s death remain a mystery, one of many involving Native women who disappear or meet violent ends with alarming regularity. Her family and the local authorities agree that the case was shoddily handled and the initial investigation haphazard, as is often the case for Native Americans. “They put her in the category of ‘just another drunken Indian,’” said one of Ms. Highwolf’s sisters, Rhea New Holy. “But she wasn’t.” Today, under pressure from her family and an advocacy group in California, Ms. Highwolf’s case is under review. Pauline Highwolf is relieved it has been reopened, but she says a six-year effort to get there underscores the need for change in the way such cases are handled. “We want to keep fighting, until we are heard,” she said. “And we want everyone who lost someone to keep fighting and know they’re not alone.” My latest work for the @nytimes. Head over to read more words from Elizabeth Williamson on #MMIW and the Highwolf family.

Last month Northern Cheyenne Tribal Council member Silver Little Eagle was beaten and robbed inside a Billings hotel room. In the month since Little Eagle said she had been bullied and harassed. To some, her story has become an example of the shame and indifference Indigenous women confront as victims of violence, even from their own communities. “It’s so pervasive that it even happens to our elected tribal leaders, and there’s no recourse,” said Desi Small-Rodriguez, a demographer and sociologist at the University of California, Los Angeles, and a Northern Cheyenne citizen. “In Montana, Indian women are not safe. We’re not even safe among our own people.” My latest for the @nytimes.

Forever on that Buffalo beat. Got to hang out with Ervin Carlson, manager of the Blackfeet Nation's Buffalo Restoration Project, while he worked his herd of about 800 buffalo. In the early 1700s, North America was home to an estimated 20 million to 30 million bison. By 1886 there were fewer than 300. The United States’ war on bison, the main food source for many plains’ tribes, began in effort to starve Native Nations into submission. Now Indigenous nations are leading the bison restoration efforts. Images for the @sierraclub. #montana

My uncle died the day I was supposed to leave for this assignment. I pushed it back a couple days and I made my way across Montana shortly after the funeral to hear stories of their lost loved ones. My grief danced with their grief as they told the stories of their children and siblings’ life and death. I could never express the amount of respect I have for the families and individuals who let me, or a reporter, photograph and write about the worst moments of their lives for public consumption. As I grieved privately in my car and hotel room, they mourned openly in front of my lens knowing many eyes across the country would see them at their most vulnerable. Their stories breath life into statistics and allow readers to, like I did, connect with their grief. They are invaluable to our work. In pieces like this, I hope the families find some solace in sharing their loved ones with the world but what I hope for more than anything is that we eventually reach a place where marginalized groups are no longer forced to display their pain to the public to hold institutions accountable. Some families were unable to get information on their relatives death until this reporting began. A mother lost her baby boy on Mother’s Day at a jail blocks from their home. She now places flowers on the fence of that jail every Sunday. To hear her story and the others please listen in this important piece about Native Americans dying in jails due to negligence with exceptional, in-depth reporting from @natehegyi and some powerful work from @sharonchischillyphoto, whose haunting image of the hand I included at the end. I hope you let the words and images sit with you for a long time. Thank you @npr and @emilybogle for the assignment.

May 5 is Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women National Day of Awareness. As of April, in Montana, there were 166 active missing persons cases. Indigenous people account for 48 of these, or about 29%, despite comprising only 6% of the state’s population. But prosecuting crimes involving acts of violence — including murder, rape and kidnapping — committed against Indigenous people is difficult. More than 96% of such crimes are committed by non-Indigenous people, but because of the complex web of federal, state and tribal laws and jurisdictions, tribes have long lacked the authority to prosecute non-Indigenous perpetrators who commit crimes on tribal land. Instead, it’s up to federal prosecutors, who often decline to prosecute: In 2017, 37% of the cases presented to federal prosecutors in Indian Country were declined. This leaves many Indigenous victims and survivors faced with a wide disparity in justice. Read more @highcountrynews. #mmiw #montana

Reopening photos for the @nytimes. Little League Baseball in my hometown Ronan, Montana on the beautiful Flathead Reservation. Missed these mountains. It feels good to be home for a minute. #reopening #montana #itsagooddaytobeindigenous