Standing on the deck of his home , Louis Adams looks out over his land with a smile on his face.

Louis lives just outside Arlee on the Flathead Indian Reservation in western Montana. A few miles east, the Mission Mountains’ jagged snowy peaks jut into the sky, cutting a sharp line in the horizon. A lone horse dances in the snow-covered field that extends west to the surrounding foothills. His gravel driveway extends a good half-mile before it joins the nearest road. Louis owns more than 400 acres of some of Montana’s most scenic landscape.

Louis is proud of his property, but he calls it his children’s land and points to a trailer that is home to a son, and to houses where his daughters live. His wife Nadine is also buried here. From his deck he can oversee it all. It gives him comfort to have family near.

At 68, Louis is the father of 8, grandfather of 30 and great-grandfather of 11. This is the big family Louis always wanted.

Like many Indian families, the Adams family’s ties to their reservation land have kept family members close and that physical proximity fosters an emotional bond that keeps the family strong.

Louis is a full-blood Salish who served on the Flathead tribal council for 28 years, combining that work with a 35-year career in forestry. He is looked to on the reservation as a keeper of the culture and has a degree in cultural preservation from Salish Kootenai College. The tribal council has honored him several times for his work in cultural preservation and he is an elder who is revered as someone who bestows traditional names on Flathead Reservation children.

His children and grandchildren do their best to follow in his footsteps. Daughter Arleen was one of the first people to earn a degree in Native American studies at the University of Montana. She has taught both Salish and Kootenai languages at Salish Kootenai College and has won service awards from the Polson school district. Other children and grandchildren have achieved academically, and all are committed to their culture. The family’s frequent gatherings, like a recent one at Louis’ house, give them the opportunity to celebrate their achievements.

Inside his house, Louis’ children chat with each other, his grandchildren scurry from one room to the next and his great-grandchildren fuss and fumble in the living room. The house is alive with activity, as it is at least once a month.

The Adamses have been coming together one Sunday every month for decades. They gather to celebrate the birthdays that fall during that month. They eat, play and laugh the day away. It is most often a time of celebration and for seeking counsel but it has also been a time of consolation.

This Sunday, they’re celebrating the birthdays of Arleen, Maxine, Payton and Dia and, as usual, four generations of the Adams family are present. Almost 50 Adamses, of all ages and sizes, shuffle around the house. In the kitchen, women prepare everything from hamburgers to potato salad. The wet socks, sweatshirts and pants of the kids who’ve been playing in the snow all morning hang from the wood stove. Several folding tables are set up in the middle of the kitchen displaying the two dozen or so dishes that have been prepared. Traditional Indian headwear hangs from the walls, next to the pictures of Adams family gatherings of the past. Little room is left on any of the walls.

In the living room the men sink into couches and talk, clutching coffee cups. Their conversations about work, school and family are frequently interrupted by children who run about the living room, feet stomping and voices screaming. Some sit just inches from the television, others wrestle and roll around, thumping each other on the floor and against the walls. Kids constantly run in and out of the house, cold air rushes in, the door slams and their wet feet squeak on the kitchen floor. The laughter and chatter never ceases and the roar in the room continually increases.

"It’s usually like this every time we gather," Louis jokes. "Sometimes it’s noisy."

But at close to 3 p.m. even the little ones are silenced. As he does every time his family comes together, Louis begins the gathering with a prayer and a few words of wisdom. His simple words instantly command the attention of all without the slightest raise of his voice.

"When you talk, share what’s in your heart, because that’s what our gatherings are for," he says.

Louis’ eyes circle the room and slowly his children begin to talk.

His son Jason speaks up first.

"Again we’re blessed with the privilege to gather as a family, as we always are," he says.

As he speaks he pulls his wife closer, glances over at his son and at times his voice wavers.

"I don’t do the right things a lot of the times for my wife and for my kids," he says.

He doesn’t elaborate, but the nods from his sisters, brothers and Louis show an unspoken understanding.

Myrna, Louis' daughter, isn’t as vague. She asks for God’s forgiveness for her actions as tears run down her face. She begins to speak, pauses and then begins to speak again.

"I don’t want to see my cousins die from alcohol and drugs, just as I don’t want to see my brothers and sisters die," she says.

A room that just minutes ago was filled with laughter is now filled with only the sniffle of noses and sighs of sadness.

At the close of the family’s reflections, Louis comments: "When I look around and I see my kids—there’s been times when I’ve visited my kids who have been in a bad way. That’s happened several times."

The little ones begin to fidget, but the older generations, those Adamses who have been through the tough times, sit and listen respectfully. They know what their sisters and brothers have faced. Louis knows better than any because he’s been through it all with them. But he also knows the young Adams family members are still somewhat naive to the tragedies the older generations have seen.

"Someday they’ll know what I’m talking about," Louis says.

One of the tragedies Louis is talking about occurred 18 years ago when Louis’ daughter Arleen was in a car accident. She was drunk and driving from Mission to Ronan, when she drove off the road, into a culvert and rolled her truck.

"Man, when I saw her pickup the next day I don’t know how she lived," Louis recalls. "I didn’t even have hopes."

Years later Louis’ son Ray was also in a car accident in the Mission Valley. Ray was also drinking when he hit another car head on and killed the other driver.

Then, just a few years ago, Leah and Geraline, both granddaughters of Louis, were on their way home late one night from a powwow in Billings. They were riding in the bed of a pickup when the driver fell asleep and rolled the truck. The girls survived, but the close friend who was the driver died.

And just over a year ago, a son of Maxine’s, Louis’ daughter, was shot seven times. He survived, but his recovery was slow and he ultimately lost the use of one arm.

Tragedy struck the Adamses most recently when Brendan, the oldest son of Louis’ daughter Andrea, was in a car accident in February that left him in the hospital with doctors unsure about whether he would survive.

Brendan admits he had been drinking, but told him mom he flipped the car when he tried to pick up a dropped cigarette. He and others were thrown from the car.

At St.Patrick Hospital he was treated for a fractured pelvis and neck injuries. He and his two passengers were in critical condition for a time and the family didn’t know if Brendan would survive.

"It was the scariest thing, driving from Mission to Missoula, not knowing what condition my son was in, whether he was going to be alive or not," Andrea recalls.

Andrea’s family arrived and filled the hospital waiting room.

"Sometimes I think they get sick of seeing Indian families because they know it’s not just one of them," jokes Louis’ daughter Brenda.

In the Adams family, humor is as important as family in times of tragedy. In the hospital’s waiting room, they joke constantly and laugh out loud. It is a way to try to deflect worry, not a sign of detachment from the crisis.

Brendan survived, but had to be hospitalized again in March for an operation to repair a spinal cord problem. This time family members filled a fifth floor waiting room.

For Andrea, who is a single mother, having her sisters, nieces, nephews and children there made a difference.

"It just feels good to know that you don’t have to go through it alone," Andrea says. "If you need to rest there’s someone there who will be awake and there with Brendan. It’s always good to have a shoulder to cry on or a hand to hold when stuff like this goes on."

And when emotions have settled there’s always a story to tell and a lesson to learn and teach.

At an Easter gathering, Ray cautions others not to make the mistakes he did. He served time in prison for the manslaughter charges brought as a result of his car accident.

"The things Ray’s been through he doesn’t want anyone to go through that," Louis says.

It’s no short list, what the Adams family has endured. The tragedies extend back to Louis’ childhood and have characterized much of the Adams family history. Louis says he’s trying to change the pattern.

"I’ve told my daughters the greatest battles you’ll ever have is with yourself," Louis says. "I mean I was no angel, but if there’s any way I can help them not go through these things, that’s a plus." He hopes the gatherings will give the family strength and reinforce that alcohol is a danger. He says the family doesn’t shy away from discussing personal troubles when they come together.

The younger generation believes so strongly in the importance of a family dynamic that they have started gatherings of their own.

On Sunday nights they get together at the home of Geraline, the oldest grandchild, for dinner. She cooks, they all catch up and, as always, simply enjoy each other’s company. The gatherings may be a bit more rowdy than the once-a-month extended family affairs, but the outcome is the same: reinforcing a strong sense of family.

On the Flathead Reservation and throughout Indian culture this type of family dynamic is not uncommon.

Lucy Vanderburg, director of the People’s Center in Pablo, grew up with a family much like the Adamses and says many a family on the reservation functions much the same.

"Growing up with such a large extended family, which to me was immediate family, is how a lot of the Indian families are," Vanderburg says.

Vanderburg says that large extended families help to maintain tribal culture and family traditions, but above all else they serve as a support system.

Indian family members often live close to one another. In white culture families tend to be more mobile. But on reservations, people are tied more closely to the land that was declared theirs by the federal government. Close proximity of individuals helps foster close, extended families.

Louis’ daughters Myrna and Brenda live on his property, a little more than a stone’s throw away, and Ray, Maxine, Arleen, Andrea and Jason all live in Arlee and St. Ignatius. They say they’ve learned that the support of loving family can carry them through even the tough times.

"We have to maintain that love so when (Louis) leaves us we’re still a family," Myrna says. "We still have a place; we’re still the Adams family."

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