Weaving a Future: Silver Galleto and the Revival of Pomo Baskets

The founder of the Pomo Weavers Society, Silver Galleto (Cloverdale Ranchería of Pomo Indians) began weaving when two famous weavers from his area passed, Elsie Allen and Laura Somersal.

At that time, only a handful of weavers were working, and Pomo weaving was on the verge of disappearing.

Then, as a teenager, Silver learned from Jeanne Billy, who knew enough to start him on the right path and introduce him to others, each of whom knew a little bit and another little bit. 

“It was just bare basics, and now we’re doing way more.  Much of what is being done now hadn’t been done in, I don’t know how many decades.”  He recently finished a winnowing tray, without ever having seen one being made.

 Without teachers by his side, Silver learned through years of trial and error—boiling, soaking, bending, breaking. Now, he says, new learners have resources he never did: “They’ll catapult forward and take it to the next level. I’ve seen it.”

Basketweaving, central to Pomo identity, once felt intimidating under the reputation of being “the best.” Silver has since let that go: “It won’t look like it used to, but I’m just gonna do it.” He believes the next generation will bridge the gap even further.

Early on, he knew the plants by name but not how to gather or process them. “I’m still learning, every day.”

Where there are similarities with neighboring tribes, styles and materials differ.  “Ours, you have to dig a foot down and you have to find the root, you have to chase it.  It’s the hardest material to harvest.”

“Part of me thinks… that’s why it’s stronger, that’s why it lasts longer, that’s why it doesn’t decompose, that’s why it keeps shape.  That’s why it’s the best in the world, because it’s the hardiest material.”

“We’ve always lived here in our ancestral homelands, we’ve never moved.”  To be in the same area where his parents and grandparents were, where his people were digging the same roots 10,000 years ago, is a huge connection, “the same waters coming down from that mountain, same waters going to that ocean…”

Regarding environment and quality of materials today, Silver says the sticks are short, requiring a lot of switching out sticks.  At the museum, he sees in a burden basket what he never sees in the ground, “just one continuous stick from the very bottom all the way to the top, practically the same diameter the whole way.”

“I’m sure those old weavers would have taken whatever they got, and turned it into gold.”

It is a lot of work.  Without gathering, there’s no weaving.  Without digging, pruning, coppicing, without weeding, sorting, hiking, no weaving.

The heavy lifting for Silver, though, may be less about the demanding nature of the digging than what it turns up.

“We weren’t allowed to practice our culture…to use our language.  We weren’t allowed to sing, dance, weave…It took a long time to see {our culture} in a positive light, and really yearn for…or want to reclaim it.”

“There’s been a little disruption,” he understates, ironically.  “The introduction of non-natives has affected us.  We’re part of that environment, and just like those roots are not as nice as they once were, we’re not as efficient as we once were either, but through proper learning and harvesting and teaching and sharing, we’re gonna get better, just like our sticks are gonna get better, and our roots…”

Silver lights up when speaking of his “weaving family” from the three Pomo counties. Together they experiment, study museum archives, share photos, encourage each other, and show their work.

Exhibiting in a museum brings pride. Silver recalls his mother’s joy at the group’s first show—seeing his baskets beside the old ones, recognizing his role as a teacher. “I was so happy she saw that before she died. I just wish my grandma could have seen it too—me carrying on what past generations could not.”

The group gives back, protecting gathering sites and mentoring others—beginners now teach their children. Members span ages ten to eighty, and Silver reminds elders they’re never too old; famed weaver Elsie Allen only began in her sixties. Many follow that path, weaving to keep tradition alive.

Silver hopes the Community Spirit Award marks a turning point, allowing him to devote more fully to his practice. The call to tradition, once quiet, is now yelling at me.” From piecing together early knowledge to building a community of weavers, his perseverance signals a pivotal moment for his people.

For those at a crossroads, Silver has counsel:  “Don’t be intimidated by not knowing.  Don’t be intimidated by what your work may look like, and don’t let the norms of society…be a barrier to your traditional path.”  It’s easy, he cautions, to “get caught up with getting rich in terms of the dollar, instead of rich in traditional knowledge, which is priceless.”