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September 27, 2004

Next: A traditional economy | Theresa Secord Executive director, Maine Indian Basketmakers Alliance, Orono

By Michaela Cavallaro
When the Maine Indian Basketmakers Alliance was formed in 1993, the average basketmaker in the state was 63 years old. That statistic highlighted a major concern among members of Maine's Indian tribes ˆ— the Penobscots, Passamaquoddies, Micmacs and Maliseets ˆ— that the tribes' traditions literally were dying out, as the elders who knew them succumbed to age and younger generations were lured away to what Theresa Secord calls "greener pastures."

Secord, the executive director of MIBA, is pleased with what she, the members of the MIBA board and the roughly 140 members of the alliance have achieved since then ˆ— strikingly, the average age of Maine Indian basketmakers has dropped to 43. MIBA, along with outside donors that include the National Endowment for the Arts, has funded more than 100 basketmaking apprenticeships, in which a master basketmaker receives a small stipend to spend a year teaching a younger person the intricate details of making ash or sweetgrass baskets. It's held dozens of workshops on tribal reservations, demonstrating the basketmaking process "from whole log to finished basket," as Secord puts it, in one weekend.

And nearly three years ago, MIBA opened the Wabanaki Arts Center Gallery on Main Street in Old Town, further developing what has become a growing market for Maine Indian baskets among collectors and souvenir-seekers alike. The gallery had been planned since MIBA's founding, but Secord says the time simply didn't seem right until 2001. That patient, deliberative approach is characteristic of the organization, which works slowly to accomplish its very large goals. "At one point," says Secord, "we were very excited to think about having a big Web presence and making all this money for basketmakers. But that really isn't who we are."

MIBA's strategy ˆ— knowing precisely what its mission is, and working steadfastly to achieve it ˆ— is a model for nonprofits across the state. But, more importantly, MIBA's emphasis on preserving and sustaining the cultural heritage of the state's Indian tribes will become increasingly crucial in years to come, as the forces of homogenization and consumer culture gain ever more influence on Maine's rural traditions. Teaching basketmaking, Secord says, "is about tribal identity and cultural identity, which I think can make a huge difference in a young person's life."

That's why MIBA recently has begun incorporating language preservation in its basketmaking programs, and why it encourages young basketmakers to become teachers themselves. But while the existence of MIBA's gallery and its annual basket shows have helped revive what once had been a flourishing market for Indian baskets, the economics are still troublesome. "Basketmaking is time-consuming for the amount of money you make," says Secord. "It's certainly an issue in getting younger people involved."

Secord herself, now 46, started making baskets in 1988, under the tutelage of master basketmaker Madeleine Shay. At the time, Secord was working as a geologist for the Penobscot Nation, but her interest in the craft grew to the point that she began organizing events to bring basketmakers together. Eventually, those events grew into MIBA. Today, her duties with the organization and her two young sons leave her little time for basketmaking, though she says she'll occasionally order takeout rather than make dinner in order to gain an hour or two in the evening to work on a basket. Her sons have picked up the craft as well, via what she calls "slow, gradual exposure" rather than a concerted effort on her part. That's exactly how she'd like it ˆ— and, she says, how earlier generations passed along basketmaking skills.

MIBA's efforts to strengthen those centuries-old traditions have gained it ˆ— and Secord, as its executive director ˆ— a fair amount of attention in recent years, including awards from the Small Business Administration, state tourism officials and the Women's World Summit Foundation. Being singled out for such attention bothers Secord, who worries that the work of the group gets lost in the media's focus on her. "I'm not the patron saint of basketmaking," she says wryly. "There are 140 of us."

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