@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.