Post by Okwes on Apr 9, 2008 16:02:57 GMT -5
Fourth Moon - The Mouse - Arapahoe
When the moon of ice breaking in the river [Apri] came, Grandpa Iron told us
kids a story about the moose.
My sister Betty and I had been playing in the woods by the Wind River,
throwing big rocks at the pieces of ice coming downstream, when we heard
Grandpa Iron calling us. He was standing on the road that ran along the
river, his wagon and team of horses close by. We sat on the back of the
wagon, swinging our legs and watching the place we'd been get smaller and
smaller.
Back home. Grandpa unharnessed the team and put them into our ramshackle
corral. While Grandpa fed and watered them, we reached through the cracks in
the fence to rub their legs and feel the soft hair on their bellies. Tufts
of hair fell out and stuck to our fingers. The weather had been unusually
warm, and the horses were beginning to shed already.
Later we ate our supper of beans and fry bread, looking outside at the full
moon lighting up the misty Wyoming plains. We knew it was time for another
story and hurried to help Grandma do the dishes and sweep the cabin floor.
Grandpa Iron cedared us off with smoke and motioned for us to sit down. Then
he laid his hat on the bed and began telling us a story about the moose.
Long ago, a band of our people was camped in a spot with lots of hothingyer
springs and natural fountains called geysers. Today that land is called
Yellowstone National Park.
The chief of the band was a woman called White Wolf. White Wolf was good and
kind at heart but given to fits of bad temper and loud yelling for even the
slightest wrong. The people were beginning to wonder if they'd chosen the
right person to be their leader. Some of the council began to meet secretly
without her to talk about choosing a new chief.
The head of the council was a man called Small Bear. He had been struck by
lightning some years before and had strong medicine powers as a result. One
day Small Bear was out alone, walking by a big lake that stretched halfway
across the valley. He saw a bull moose in the crystal-clear water, grazing
on the lake's bottom. A cow moose and her calf were standing on the shore
watching the bull. Small Bear stopped behind a tree to observe. The big bull
would graze on the lake's bottom for a few minutes, then wade out to stand
by the cow and calf, then wade back in again to graze on the water plants.
The bull was teaching the young calf how to obtain food.
Small Bear could not but admire the graceful, intelligent moose family and
the gentle, patient way they communicated as they searched for food. When
Small Bear returned to his village, he called a special council meeting with
White Wolf present. There he told the story of the three moose and what he
had learned from them. White Wolf listened without her usual bad manners.
Small Bear's medicine powers worked within him, and White Wolf realized the
moose story was directed at her. She apologized to the council for her past
rudeness, and her apology was accepted.
After that meeting, White Wolf was a different person. She was polite and
considerate and always set a good example for her people. She remained chief
until she died, an old woman.
Grandma scolded Grandpa for telling such a long story and he laughed out
loud, like he always did when she scolded him. Then he hung his hat back on
the wall. Grandma passed the leftover fry bread around and we sprinkled
sugar on it so it tasted almost like doughnuts.
Grandma tucked us into bed with a good-night pat on the head for each of us,
and Grandpa Iron blew out the coal-oil lamp.
We slept and dreamed of how good it must have been when we were wild and
free.
And the Earth stayed young.
Full Moon Written by Eagle Walking Turtle, 1997 - Arapahoe
["When I was a boy I lived with my grandparents on the Northern Arapahoe
Indian Reservation in Wyoming. Grandpa Iron was always happy and full of
life's joy. Grandma Iron was much more serious. They both taught me, along
with my brothers and sisters, that all of nature should be listened to,
loved, and respected. Each time a full moon came, Grandpa Iron would tell us
a story. First he'd burn cedar needles, and we would fan the sweet-smelling
smoke over our heads to purify our bodies before Grandpa's story. He always
took his hat from the wall and placed it on the bed before he began his
telling. I suppose this goes back to the time when warriors hung their
medicine bags on the tipi pole behind them before speaking. The following
stories are among those that Grandpa told us about the love and respect our
people have for our animal brothers and sisters - the four-leggeds, the ones
that fly, the ones that slither in the grasses, and the ones that swim in
the waters." -- Eagle Walking Turtle]
When the moon of ice breaking in the river [Apri] came, Grandpa Iron told us
kids a story about the moose.
My sister Betty and I had been playing in the woods by the Wind River,
throwing big rocks at the pieces of ice coming downstream, when we heard
Grandpa Iron calling us. He was standing on the road that ran along the
river, his wagon and team of horses close by. We sat on the back of the
wagon, swinging our legs and watching the place we'd been get smaller and
smaller.
Back home. Grandpa unharnessed the team and put them into our ramshackle
corral. While Grandpa fed and watered them, we reached through the cracks in
the fence to rub their legs and feel the soft hair on their bellies. Tufts
of hair fell out and stuck to our fingers. The weather had been unusually
warm, and the horses were beginning to shed already.
Later we ate our supper of beans and fry bread, looking outside at the full
moon lighting up the misty Wyoming plains. We knew it was time for another
story and hurried to help Grandma do the dishes and sweep the cabin floor.
Grandpa Iron cedared us off with smoke and motioned for us to sit down. Then
he laid his hat on the bed and began telling us a story about the moose.
Long ago, a band of our people was camped in a spot with lots of hothingyer
springs and natural fountains called geysers. Today that land is called
Yellowstone National Park.
The chief of the band was a woman called White Wolf. White Wolf was good and
kind at heart but given to fits of bad temper and loud yelling for even the
slightest wrong. The people were beginning to wonder if they'd chosen the
right person to be their leader. Some of the council began to meet secretly
without her to talk about choosing a new chief.
The head of the council was a man called Small Bear. He had been struck by
lightning some years before and had strong medicine powers as a result. One
day Small Bear was out alone, walking by a big lake that stretched halfway
across the valley. He saw a bull moose in the crystal-clear water, grazing
on the lake's bottom. A cow moose and her calf were standing on the shore
watching the bull. Small Bear stopped behind a tree to observe. The big bull
would graze on the lake's bottom for a few minutes, then wade out to stand
by the cow and calf, then wade back in again to graze on the water plants.
The bull was teaching the young calf how to obtain food.
Small Bear could not but admire the graceful, intelligent moose family and
the gentle, patient way they communicated as they searched for food. When
Small Bear returned to his village, he called a special council meeting with
White Wolf present. There he told the story of the three moose and what he
had learned from them. White Wolf listened without her usual bad manners.
Small Bear's medicine powers worked within him, and White Wolf realized the
moose story was directed at her. She apologized to the council for her past
rudeness, and her apology was accepted.
After that meeting, White Wolf was a different person. She was polite and
considerate and always set a good example for her people. She remained chief
until she died, an old woman.
Grandma scolded Grandpa for telling such a long story and he laughed out
loud, like he always did when she scolded him. Then he hung his hat back on
the wall. Grandma passed the leftover fry bread around and we sprinkled
sugar on it so it tasted almost like doughnuts.
Grandma tucked us into bed with a good-night pat on the head for each of us,
and Grandpa Iron blew out the coal-oil lamp.
We slept and dreamed of how good it must have been when we were wild and
free.
And the Earth stayed young.
Full Moon Written by Eagle Walking Turtle, 1997 - Arapahoe
["When I was a boy I lived with my grandparents on the Northern Arapahoe
Indian Reservation in Wyoming. Grandpa Iron was always happy and full of
life's joy. Grandma Iron was much more serious. They both taught me, along
with my brothers and sisters, that all of nature should be listened to,
loved, and respected. Each time a full moon came, Grandpa Iron would tell us
a story. First he'd burn cedar needles, and we would fan the sweet-smelling
smoke over our heads to purify our bodies before Grandpa's story. He always
took his hat from the wall and placed it on the bed before he began his
telling. I suppose this goes back to the time when warriors hung their
medicine bags on the tipi pole behind them before speaking. The following
stories are among those that Grandpa told us about the love and respect our
people have for our animal brothers and sisters - the four-leggeds, the ones
that fly, the ones that slither in the grasses, and the ones that swim in
the waters." -- Eagle Walking Turtle]