Renee Osceola was born in a swamp, saved by a medicine man, and raised in a place where people insisted that green things were blue. On a recent Wednesday night, four decades later and twenty miles from her birthplace, she sat under fluorescent lights, ripping two long narrow strips of cloth -- one orange and one dark turquoise -- and feeding them through a buzzing Singer sewing machine. Comfortably attired in Birkenstock sandals, white tights, and a big, untucked, maroon-flannel shirt, she labored late into the evening in this lonely workroom just south of the Tamiami Trail on the Miccosukee reservation. Shelves along one wall were stacked with rolls of fabric in various colors. In front of her, across four rows of vacant sewing tables, a radio in a corner by a large window was tuned to an oldies station. In the next room, a mannequin gazed upon a fabric-filled table and a long row of shelves filled with spools of... More >>>