HEBER CITY — For Eileen Quintana, an American Indian powwow has power that plugs from the past into a socket in her soul.
Partly, that is ancient past.
"The drum is like the heartbeat of Mother Earth, and when you feel the drumbeat and touch the earth with each footstep, you feel in harmony with the earth," Quintana, Spanish Fork, said Saturday, dressed in traditional women's dance costume of her Navajo people as one of 346 dancers at the 13th Annual Heber Valley Inter-Tribal Powwow.
She especially likes the Heber powwow, which opened Friday and closes with more dancing, arts, crafts and food from 8:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. today on Wasatch County park land at 100 S. 1000 West.
"This is close to home for my husband (Richard Limon Quintana), whose Northern Utes tribe used to roam all through these canyons up here. There are secret memories there — places where people were born and died.
"These mountains all have stories to tell, and we want to teach them to our young ones so they are reminded that this land once belonged to them — and still belongs to them, in a deep sense."
Partly, the powwow tied Eileen Quintana to a more recent past.
She hadn't been coming to powwows much, just doing her work as a Title IX coordinator for Nebo-Juab schools.
"Now I dance because we went through some hard times about four years ago," Quintana said.
Tears began flowing down her cheeks.
"Four of my nieces were shot to death by their father in Dennehotso, Ariz.," Eileen Quintana said. "I felt I needed to get back to the powwows because they are about building family and sharing the support of relatives and old friends — and making new ones.
"The dancing and the drums give me strength and energy I need to go on to do my job and raise our family."
Powwows are very much family affairs for the Quintanas.
Oldest daughter Natasha, 20, usually dances in memory of her four slain cousins.
"They were all such wonderful, beautiful dancers," Eileen Quintana said. "Now they hold the Four Roses Powwow in Dennehotso in honor of them."
Eileen's oldest son, Secadio, 16, dances for veterans' groups in honor of his uncle, Henry Tinhorn, who died in Vietnam.
"Henry can't be here to dance, so Secadio dances for him," Eileen Quintana said.
"My youngest son (Cameron, 13) has Down syndrome, and some of these children can't dance. But Cameron can, and he dances for all handicapped kids.
"Then there's my baby (Tinisha Rosebud). She dances Tiny Tots to learn and carry on our heritage," Eileen Quintana said.
Secadio Quintana, sitting in with one of the eight drums at the Heber powwow — the Salt Lake City Southern Drum — took a long time considering why he comes to powwows.
"I'm a shy person. I don't talk much," he finally said. "At the drum, I can express my feelings. Today, I just want to express the happiness I feel getting out here, doing the singing and the dancing. I haven't been for awhile."
Eileen Quintana sees powwows as great places to keep her kids on the right path.
"There's no drugs or alcohol allowed on the grounds," she said. "That helps teach them correctly and helps them stay out of gangs.
"A powwow is not like white society, where old and young are separate and you have one grandma and one grandpa for each parent. Here, everyone is connected. I come from the 'Near-Water' Navajo people. There are many Near-Water people here, and everyone comes forward as my grandma and grandpa and aunt and uncle and cousin, and they all treat me like a relative."
Such feelings tell partly why attendance has increased each year at the Heber powwow.
"We don't come to put on a show. We come to remind ourselves we are all family," said Harry James, a Navajo from Salt Lake City and Heber powwow committee member. "I've lived in the city since '53 and I love all the things you can do there. But I also need to be here and remember where I came from."
"We come because of the love you experience. Can't you just feel the peace?" said Trisha Aperges, a Teewah Pueblo and Chiricahua Apache from Salt Lake City who, at 34, is the youngest and first woman to chair the Heber powwow.
"When I saw the grand entrance last night (Friday), I cried. I always do at these things," Aperges said.
Nino Reyos, a Pueblo/Ute from Salt Lake City, said he estimated 1,500 attended Friday's first night and Saturday night drew about 2,000 people, watching the dancing, browsing the 25 crafts booths, munching Navajo tacos, fry bread, kettle korn and shaved ice.
"The powwow is so much more than when it first began," said Britt Mathwich, general manager of Homestead Resort and president of the Midway Chamber of Commerce, one of numerous local sponsors. "It's brought in destination travelers and day visitors. But much more than that, it's a part of our Western heritage we all need to remember."
Quintana couldn't agree more.
"Our people have high poverty and high suicide and all sorts of horrendous statistics," she said. "Each person here has stories of tragedies to tell. But I feel we will be here forever because of the traditions we pass on and because of the teaching of our elders.
"Everyone here today has endured and still stands feeling the wind on their faces."