The Talking Stick©Regis A. McCannramccann@hvc.rr.comWest Hurley, NY 12491

FORWARD

There is a time for talking and a time for listening. When we speak we can tell others about how we feel and when we listen we can learn about others’ feelings. This is the story about a stick that can neither speak nor feel. If we learn to use this stick it can help to teach us how to be less like sticks and more like people. This stick is a tool that helps humans to express their feelings and to help understand how other people feel.

Most of the problems that we have in our personal relationships can be avoided if we learn to listen and to ask others to listen when we are speaking. If we know how others feel and they understand our feelings there is a greater likelihood that conflict can be avoided and the satisfactory resolution of conflict can actually create a stronger bond. This does not mean that we will always agree, but rather that we can agree to disagree and to compromise. Just knowing that we have been heard is usually enough for us to achieve peace of mind. Once we have peace of mind the stress level is reduced dramatically and relationship can flourish.

Adults and children have the most difficulty expressing their feelings to one another. Much of this difficulty stems from the age difference and the different levels of authority. Children learn not to trust adults and adults don’t always take children seriously. When we speak about feelings, we must understand that the feelings of the child are every bit as important as the feelings of the adult. A child feels fearful about not handing in a report for History class when it is due. This fear of failing can be every bit as important to him or her as the adult that can’t make their mortgage payment on time and fears losing their home. The circumstances are different but the feelings are just as deep and real. It is important to remember that the depth of feeling is what makes us alike not the circumstances of those feelings.

When we are having a discourse with a child we must remember to try and put ourselves in their shoes. Sometimes this means that a fast reply is not always the best reply. Often we need to take the time to reflect on how we felt as a child in a similar situation. For most of us this takes considerable effort because we have pushed the old memories of our childhood and those feeling to the back, less used parts of our minds. Often as children we were dismissed as unimportant and frivolous. If we felt that our feelings were not respected or that we were not understood then we did not take ourselves seriously. It is very important for each of us to get in touch with our own feelings as a child if we are to learn to be able to communicate and respect the feelings of children and ourselves. The child doesn’t have to grow to understand our feelings. We have to go back to our own childhood to understand children and ourselves. Our feelings are not always facts but it is a fact that they are our feelings.

By using the “talking stick” we can request the time to think before we respond. Sometimes we can ask the child to think before they reply. Sometimes, both, the adult and child, would like the option to think about a response before responding. The “talking stick” gives everyone the options we so desperately need to consider what we hear and what we think before we speak. Using this simple but effective device helps to eliminate the constant need to say, “I’m sorry for what I said, I just wasn’t thinking.” Relationship communication can be likened to a railroad crossing. We need to stop, look and listen if we don’t want to be part of the train wreck. Try using the “talking stick” and there is a good chance that you can stay on the tracks.

2

2

THE TALKING STICK ©

Chapter One: We are Going CampingIt was a brisk September evening when my dad came home from work and

announced that the family was going camping this weekend. I live in a crowded neighborhood in Brooklyn, NY. We have a small yard and I can ride my bike everywhere, but we still yearn for the “wilderness”. My dad, Bill, has been promising my sister Sara, my mom Pat and me, Michael, a camping trip since the middle of March. We have made so many plans that were cancelled because of my father’s work that none of us gets excited when he says we are “going camping.” My dad’s a plumber and has his own business. Every weekend there seems to be an emergency or some contract that needs to be completed before Monday. We have heard about flooded basements, toilets overflowing into museums, swimming pools with clogged filters and homes that can’t be built unless dad gets the pipes roughed in. Meanwhile, the plumber’s family has been melting every week in Brooklyn for the entire summer.

I asked my dad when we were going, just to be polite. He said, “We are packing now and leaving in the morning!” My mom said. “Maybe you should sit down and have your warmed over dinner and we can talk about it.” My dad told us that Mr. Riley, his friend, who is also a plumber, would answer all the emergency calls and we are free for the entire weekend. I was beginning to think that just maybe we could really make it out of the city before I graduated from high school. Sara looked up from the television and said,”Are you really serious?” My dad replied, “Pack your socks and forget the clocks, we are going fishing!” My mom, who had packed on several other occasions this summer, had a look on her face of disbelief. She was concerned about getting everything ready to leave be early morning, if we were really going this time.

My father put the canoe on top of the van and began packing our fishing gear. Mom handed dad the rolled up hammock and reminded him to pack the tent and sleeping bags. I was busy collecting my Sky Gazer and star maps while Sara was packing her flower press and wildflower guide. We were only leaving for a weekend and the weather was still pleasant so we packed minimal clothes, our toothbrushes and mom had the cooking and camping gear packed and stored before bedtime. I could hardly believe that we were really going to North Lake. I closed my eyes with my head on the pillow but the excitement that being in the woods by noon the next day made it hard to get sleep.

The next morning we got a 6:00 AM wake-up call from my dad. This was early even for him. He shouted, “Rise and shine, it is time to go fishing.” I certainly wasn’t about to complain and hurried down to the kitchen and gave dad a hand buttering the toast for the scrambled eggs he had whipped up. Mom and Sara descended the stairs rubbing their eyes and asking what was the necessity of getting up so early. Dad in all his playfulness said, “The early bird catches the worm and the worm helps to catch the fish.” No one saw any humor in any of my dad’s corny sayings or ill attempts at humor, but we all put on a smile to let him know we were listening. When my dad didn’t get his way he could be slightly difficult or downright unbearable so we were always conscious of my dad’s moods and we all tried to humor him to keep the peace. After our

3

3

sumptuous meal of scrambled eggs, toast, orange juice and a healthy dose of dad’s enthusiasm and prodding to hurry up we were in the van and backing out the driveway.

As we left Brooklyn behind we crossed the bridge and started up the freeways that would eventually lead us to the mountains and lakes of the North Country, we were all filled with nervous anticipation. We could hardly believe that we were really going on the camping trip that had been postponed so many times this summer. Dad was talking about fishing and how he could almost smell the freshly caught trout frying in the pan. Sara was going on about the hard choices she would have to make concerning which wildflowers would fit in her flower press. Mom expressed her sincere desire to relax in the hammock with a good book and reminded dad to choose a campsite that could accommodate the hammock with a shady spot. I went on about weather and was sure that we would have clear cool nights so that I would be able to see all the stars and planets that were visible to the unaided eye in a clear country sky. I was expecting exciting nights without the excess light from the city that made star gazing so difficult in Brooklyn even on clear nights. We were all talking at once and our individual enthusiasm simply fed into a frenzied car full of excitement. The miles flew by and the weather was perfect. I couldn’t have been happier. This was the perfect family outing I had dreamed of for all these months.

Chapter Two: The CampsiteWe arrived at North Lake State Park before noon and applied for our camping

permit. Dad was all smiles, as he got back into the van, when he boastfully announced, “There are plenty of good spots available now that it is September.” I suppose this was a consolation for not coming in July or August as we had planned. Whatever, we were all delighted to be here and to have great weather and our choice of camping sites.

As we drove through the campground the park ranger was right, there were mostly empty campsites. Dad immediately took a right turn and headed for the sites closest to the lake. I asked why he went that way and he said, “Where else should we camp? I want to sleep with the fishes tonight!” I explained that I wanted to be closer to the wide open RV spaces so I would have an open sight to the complete sky tonight. I explained that the trees near the lake would make it impossible for me to study the heavens. Dad just laughed and said that I wouldn’t have much time to look at the night sky if we were to get to bed early and wake up a first dawn to go after the early feeding lake trout. I tried to explain that I really wanted to study the stars on this trip and that fishing was not my priority this weekend. Dad said that he had loaded the canoe and all the fishing gear so that we could spend the weekend fishing together. I could tell dad was starting to brood so I just kept quiet and sat with my resentment.

Mom pointed to several sites that she thought were perfect, but dad selected a site he preferred. As we pulled into the site, mom said that it wouldn’t work because there were no suitable locations for hanging her hammock. Dad said, “Did we come here to sleep or to camp and fish?” Well I don’t need to tell you that my mom was visibly angry. She said,”I came here for a little rest and relaxation and I’m not about to have you ruin my much deserved break.” Dad backed out of the site and told mom that she could pick a site. She said that she had already suggested two or three. Dad put the van in reverse and backed halfway down the road. “Where exactly would you like to spend the weekend sleeping my dear?” asked my father, sarcastically. My mom wasn’t about to be intimidated by my dad. She said, “Site number 139 looks perfect.” At this suggestion, Sara and I let out a sigh of disappointment. My father said, “Now what is

4

4

the problem?” Sara said, “Michael and I wanted to have a campsite on the upper level next to the Magic Meadow. I want to be able to collect and study the wildflowers in the meadow while Michael needs an open area to watch the heavens in the night. Down here by the lake neither of us will be near the area we want to study.”

Dad was at the end of his short fuse. He was red faced and my mother had a frown set at the corners of her mouth. My dad said, “Look, we will camp here where your mother can set up the hammock and I can easily launch the canoe. You kids can walk up to the meadow when you want to collect flowers or look at the stars.” So we all agreed and pitched in to set up our camp. When we finished mom had lunch ready and we all ate cheese sandwiches, potato chips and drank lemonade with ice. None of us said much of anything and our mood remained somber. How was it possible that the four of us who were so cheerful just one hour earlier could become so gloomy over a campsite selection? What went wrong with our much-awaited weekend before it even got started?

Dad put the canoe in the lake and picked-up his fishing gear. I didn’t want dad to feel bad, so I grabbed my fishing rod and tagged along. Sara stayed behind and gave mom a hand cleaning up after lunch. While I was out in the canoe with dad I could see clearly that he was still upset with the way he had acted towards mom. I asked him if everything was okay and he just forced a smile and said things would be better if the fish started biting. Dad and I came back to camp in a few hours without any fish and mom had dozed off in the hammock with a paperback book open on her lap. Sara was not in camp so I went off towards the meadow to try and see what she was doing. I figured dad needed a little privacy to apologize to mom, if she would give him the chance.

Sara was in the middle of the meadow with an arm full of cut wildflowers. She waved at me and yelled, “Come on over Michael and give me some help.” When I reached her she was full of excitement and enthusiasm. She had found dozens of flowers that all needed to be identified, pressed and made part of her permanent collection. We laid down in the meadow and looked up at the clear blue sky with the big puffy white clouds. We began to describe different objects that we imagined were made up by the clouds. We enjoyed this idle time with each other for at least an hour. At home in Brooklyn we almost never gave each other an hour to just hang out together and daydream. It was nice to think of Sara as a younger friend instead of a pesky little sister. We picked up the wildflowers and headed back to camp to see if it was time for dinner. Mom and dad were all smiles and were being especially nice to each other. I’m not sure what dad said or did, but it certainly seemed as though all had been forgotten or forgiven. Dad had made a fire in the barbecue pit and mom was setting the picnic table with paper plates. A large mixed green salad was on the table and dad was grilling the hamburgers. Once again our idyllic weekend seemed to have gotten back on track.

Chapter Three: Making PlansAfter clearing the table and arranging our tents we sat around the campfire and

started to discuss what we were planning for the next day. I made a declaration that I would be staying up quite late to observe the moonless sky. My dad was a little surprised that I was planning on staying up late when I should have known that he likes to get a very early start for lake trout fishing. My mom exclaimed that,”Michael may be more interested in watching the night sky then getting up early for fishing. After all, star

5

5

gazing is new for Michael and he been fishing dozens of times.” My dad just had a blank stare on his face and seemed shocked that I might be more interested in the night sky than the early morning fishing. Finally he just said, “That’s fine,” and went off to their tent by himself. Sara asked our mom if she could stay up and look at the stars with me. My mom said okay, but we both were expected to be in our tent no later than 15 minutes after midnight. We gathered up some hot cocoa in a thermos that mom had prepared and got my star gazing gear and headed off to the meadow with a blanket and a flashlight.

Sara and I were in a whole new world, as the night grew darker and the millions of stars became visible. It was hard to believe that the sky in the mountains was the same sky I looked at in Brooklyn. The Milky Way looked like a silvery carpet glistening in the dark black sky. How could I have not noticed this absolutely star filled sky on our other trips to the lake? Sara and I stayed close on our thick blanket and gazed upward until my wristwatch beeped midnight. We packed-up all of our gear and went back to our tent. We were both soundly sleeping in ten minutes after we brushed our teeth and put our heads on the pillows.

The next morning at daybreak, when the sun is not quite visible my dad began assembling his gear for fishing. He made enough noise to be sure that we all knew he was getting ready to go fishing. At 6:11am he poked his head in our tent and said, “Michael, are you coming fishing?” I barely opened one eye and told him that I would help him clean the fish when he returned. He let the tent flap slap shut and without a word left for the lake. I buried my head in my pillow and went back to sleep.

Much later that same morning I woke up to the smell of frying bacon and conversation between Sara and Mom. I crawled out of the tent and announced,”I’m starving!” Sara and Mom laughed and continued setting the table and pouring orange juice. We all sat down to a breakfast feast of scrambled eggs, fried bacon, fresh muffins and boiled potatoes. I asked if anyone had seen Dad and related the incident at 6:00am when I told Dad I wasn’t going fishing with him. My Mom said that his feelings were probably hurt and that if we wanted to have a pleasant day that we should try a little extra hard today to placate him. As we were cleaning the breakfast dishes Dad came into camp with his rods and two fish. One was just a little longer than twelve inches and the other looked like his little brother. It took all my strength to keep from laughing at his “catch.” With a stern look on his face he handed the two fish to my mom and said, “Please clean and cook these, I want them for breakfast.” Mom got indignant and replied, “Dear, breakfast was over 30 minutes ago and I’m not cleaning fish this trip, the filet knife is in the box with the utensils. You can help yourself.” My dad’s jaw dropped open and his eyes got very big. He started to say something and then stopped, dropped the two fish on the breakfast table and went off to find the filet knife with a red face that looked ready to explode.

Dad came back with his knife and grabbed the fish. He looked at mom and said, “We need to have a talk, now!” Mom replied, “I am off to the hammock with my book and I would rather not be disturbed, unless it is an emergency.” Dad stormed off towards the lake to clean his fish. My mom asked me to go to the meadow with Sara while she searched for her flora. I wanted to stay at the lake but was told that I was not being requested to accompany my sister, but rather ordered to go with Sara. I grumbled about life not being fair and headed off with Sara.

As we entered the meadow, Sara tried to share here excitement with me about the tremendous variety of flowers in bloom. “Look Michael, there must be 20 different

6

6

wildflowers in bloom!” I just sulked and acted like I was bored, while looking sideways at the immense show of fantastic blooms and marveling at my sister’s appreciation for something I had overlooked until she pointed them out to me. Being the older brother is not always the easiest of jobs. Sometimes you need to be a very astute actor. I soon forgot about Sara and started to edge my way down towards the lake. I was sitting at the water’s edge and skipping stones when Sara tapped me on the shoulder. “Why do family things always seem to go bad when we all wanted them to go so good?” I spoke without looking at her, “We don’t know how to have a good time without being mean to each other.” Sara replied, “Why are we not so nice to each other?” I said, “Because we don’t get enough practice.” This seemed to slow down Sara’s questions while I gazed out onto the lake with no particular object in sight and Sara sat sorting and pressing her flowers.

Chapter Four: The StrangerThe sun was getting lower in the sky as late afternoon drew near and someone

approaching us with the bright sun at his back distracted me. The silhouette was of a tall man and I remained sitting as he came nearer. For a minute, I was a little apprehensive as the man got closer. There were many people at the lake within earshot and visible so I relaxed a little. When the man reached us he sat on a rock a few yards from me and began to skip stones. He was a good skipper and had obviously had some practice. Twenty or more skips were not uncommon. The man was older then I thought by his silhouette since he walked so tall and straight. As he sat on the stone I stole a sideways glance and saw that he had white hair that culminated in a long ponytail. I said, “You are a good skipper.” Just then he threw another stone that sailed sideways and quickly sank as it sliced into the water’s surface. Without looking at me he said, “Skipping stones reminds me of the days of my life, everyone is different and some bring unexpected surprises.” Then he looked directly into my eyes and said, “How is your day unfolding?” His face was a reddish brown, like copper, and his white hair made him seem even tanner. His eyes were black and surrounded by a series of wrinkles. I thought that he was rather handsome for an older man and looked fitter than my two grandfathers. He was wearing blue jeans and a red plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the middle of his forearm. He had on western boots with pointy toes and a large turquoise ring was on his left hand along with a silver bracelet on his right wrist.

I felt a little uneasy speaking with him, since he was a stranger, but we were in the park and there were many people within shouting distance. Besides, when he looked into my eyes I felt that I had to answer him. I said rather quietly and without much assurance, “My day is unfolding just fine.” He looked back at the lake and after half a minute or so said, “What do you mean by just fine?” I said, “Exactly what I said, just fine.” The old man sat their and didn’t say a word. There was an uncomfortable silence for a minute or so until Sara said, “He means we are having a so so kind of day. You know what I mean, a day with it’s up and downs.” I concluded that what Sara meant was that the day was not exactly as we had planned it. The old man skipped another stone and this time it hovered over the glassy lake for a second and then began its descent to the surface and lightly skipped at least twenty times before quietly sinking into the water after an almost imperceptible final skip. He then uttered the following almost as a pronouncement, “Most days don’t unfold exactly as we had planned, and in fact, none do. The best part is that the days all unfold exactly like we make them unfold. You see, we are all in the process of making our own story. It is not the events

7

7

that decide what kind of a day we are having but rather how we react to those events that decide our feelings about ourselves and the outcome.”

I didn’t want to say anything but I couldn’t stop myself, “That is easy for you to say because you are an adult, but if you could remember what it was like to be a kid you wouldn’t say that we have any control over our day. For instance, on this trip, our parents make the rules. If they are having a bad day then we are having a bad day!” The old man now turned to Sara and me and gave us his total awareness. I can’t explain it but I felt like he was there just to give us his complete attention to us. It felt unusual but something about it felt warm and comfortable. Sara blurted out, “We came to the lake to have a fun family time and it seems like we just can’t get it right. Mom and dad can’t seem to agree on anything and Michael and I are somehow in the middle. This doesn’t feel like fun.” The old man’s eyes slightly squinted while he nodded his head like he knew what Sara meant. Again there was the silence. Finally, I added, “No one seems to care about what we want or how we feel. It is always about adults being right.” The old man waited a minute and then he said, “Why don’t you start your day over?” I said, “It is a little late for that it is almost lunch-time.” The man said, “You can start your day over whenever you like, you can even do it right before you close your eyes with your head on your pillow. What would it take to start this day over?”

I said, “We need to have a family that can be nice to each other even when we disagree. Can I start my day over with a new family?” The old man said that it was not so much about what we do but more about how we do it. He went on to say that people always have conflicting ideas but that did not mean that our different ideas should create conflict. He said, “Maybe you need to examine your methods more than your desires?” He went on to explain that most families had relationship problems not because they didn’t love each other but that they just had communication weaknesses that created fear and in turn the fear escalated into aggression. The aggression could be either active or passive. He said, “Once the stone starts skipping it is only a matter of time before it sinks.” The old man went on to say that every problem has a resolution, sometimes you just have to calmly wait for it. The idea is to live in the solution not in the problem. There were those who have gone before us that have led the way, these are our wise people and our teachers or masters.”

Chapter Five: The Wise People I asked him to tell me about these wise people while Sara looked on with

curiosity. I wanted to know who he was and where he had come from. He said that he

8

8

came from a long line of people that had first lived in this country. He said, “We have passed on the wisdom of our tribe from long ago. Each new generation is told the stories of their tribe and stories of their fathers and of their fathers. These are the old ways. The ways of the first humans to settle in this land, these are the red people, the Native Americans.

I asked the old man what his name was and he replied, “The name given to me at birth by my parents is John Stillwater. You and Sara can call me John if you like. No one has ever called me Mr. Stillwater, so please just use John.”

Sara then asked, “John, are you saying that we can have a happy family that doesn’t disagree?” John responded immediately, “You can have a much more peaceful family once you can make room to agree to disagree and find resolution through mutual respect and compromise. No one is saying that we will ever all be of the same mind. The point is that we need a method where we all feel respected and that when a compromise is reached we all need to become horses pulling the wagon in the same direction with peace and love in our hearts.”

Sara and I glanced at one another and we both knew what the other was thinking. I said, “You don’t know our parents! They both have strong minds and they don’t like it when one does not agree with the other. Even when one gives in they still seem to be angry inside.” Sara added, “The only time they really seem happy is when they have had a good night’s sleep or they have had a time out and privately worked out their feelings. Even this happiness seems like a dream because it only lasts for a few hours until the next situation comes up that they disagree about.”

John said, “In order for parents to love each other they need to first respect each other. In fact, this is true for everyone. Respect and acceptance for what makes all of us different from each other is what makes it possible to love everyone. We may not like what another says or believes, but it is their truth. My tribe tells a story about finding the middle way or the middle path. This is where we avoid extremes of all forms and strive for the common good through compromise and resolution. The story illustrates the connectedness of us all and that respect, acceptance and love are the bonds that connect us to each other and everything in and around the universe.”

I asked John to tell us the story of his tribe. He said, “Do you have time for a long story? I tend to keep talking once I start telling a tribal story. We call it our oral tradition. Once we start with a story we go on until it is completed.”

It was still early afternoon so we had plenty of time. Besides, who wants to go back to camp to feel the cold war? I said, “We have lots of time. Tell us the story of your tribe.” John said, “This is not the story just one of many stories but I think it might help with your family’s communication methods.”

John then stopped and looked off in the distance into the white clouds that were slowly drifting above the lake. He didn’t speak for what seemed like a long time but what was probably only a minute. Then he turned slowly to look at Sara and me. He began in a slow deep voice that seemed to almost hypnotize me.

“This is the story called ‘The Winter Time’. There was a time, long ago, that our tribe could not agree on where it would be best to spend the winter. Some of the tribe wanted to go to the west and stay in the mountains where the big game hunting might prove to be the best. Others thought that the land in the south with the gentle waters would be better because it would be warmer and gathering and hunting small game might be more plentiful. The remainder of the tribe thought that they should remain

9

9

where they were because they already had good shelter and instead of spending time traveling they could just stock up for the winter.

The elders did not want the tribe to split off in different directions because it would feel like having their heart broken into pieces and scattered. This tribe was their family and the source of their joy.

The braves and native women stayed up half of the night arguing and raising their voices while they all either talked at once of fell silent and sulking. The elders became tired and asked everyone to go to their teepees to sleep. They said, “We will seek guidance from the Great Spirit in our dreams and look for signs as to what we should do.”

A few hours later when the sky began to show the first signs of light, the old chief, his name was Painted Bear, left his teepee and looked to the sky and after a moment he looked down at the ground. He slowly bent down and picked up a small tree branch that was still green. He slowly walked over to the last of the burning embers of the evening’s campfire and sat facing east and seem to await the first rays of the morning sun. He then took out his knife and began to shave the light bark off of the stick.” Sara and I watched as old John picked up a stick from near where we were sitting. As we all sat by the lake John began to whittle the stick as we waited for him to continue with the story.

For a few minutes or so we watched as John carefully shaped the stick with his pocket knife. Finally Sara’s impatience got the best of her when she blurted out, “What happens next?” John said, without looking up, “Painted Bear was praying for patience to deal fairly with his family.” Sara didn’t say another word and I smiled to myself as I looked over at Sara. John continued shaping the stick until it was roughly the size of a cigar and then he placed it in his shirt breast pocket.

John lightly cleared his throat and resumed his story to us. “As the chief finishes whittling his stick the tribe begins to stir from their teepees and one by one they start to walk over by the smoldering campfire. When several of the braves, native women and their children had assembled, someone asked what the old chief had seen in his dreams. Another asked where Painted Bear was going to spend his winter. Painted Bear just sat and remained silent looking in a downward motion. Soon speculation began and everyone was talking at once and tempers began to flare. Finally the old chief rose to his feet and held the carved stick to the sky and in a strong but soft voice said, “Thank you Mothers and Fathers.” Hearing the chief everyone became silent. They all stared at the old chief until one brave said, “Speak to us Painted Bear. Where will you spend this winter?”

Painted Bear paused for a moment and then held up his carved stick and in a very kind but stern voice said that his dreams told him that all of the tribe must winter together in the place that this stick takes them.”

“But what does that mean?” Sara blurted out without hesitation. “This is exactly what one of the native women said,” old John replied.

John went on with the story, “The chief told everyone that they should speak no more about this subject for the rest of this day. It was his desire that every member of the tribe should enjoy this beautiful fall day. “Tonight,” he said, “We will make a powwow fire and have a feast and we will give thanks to the spirits of our ancestors. Later when the fire has gone low and our stomachs are full and we have time to feel the shelter of our family, then will I tell you of my dream and how we shall decide the fate of

10

10

our people?” A brave spoke out, “But what is the meaning of the stick?” The chief said, “Tonight all will become clear.”

Painted Bear went off to hunt and fish with the other braves. The whole tribe became busy with the preparations for tonight’s feast. As the men left camp the native women began to gather edible nuts, roots and vegetables. The older children began to gather firewood. Only the very young stayed in camp and rested and played.

The chief saw the harmony and a united sense of purpose return to his family and this brought joy and peace to his heart. He returned back to camp early with a brace of rabbits and had time play with the little ones and exchanged stories with the elders.

That evening they had a splendid feast. When their bellies were full and the fire began to settle and they felt that they were in the shelter of their family the chief slowly rose to his feet and began to speak. “My deceased father and mother their fathers and mothers have asked me to offer to you, my family, this simple stick, so that you may know where it is best to spend this winter. It may be very cold and food might be scarce and some of us will suffer but we will know the comfort and shelter of our family. It was told to me that it is the wisdom of those that have gone before us that we should all go to the same winter ground. Our tribe has survived the most terrible of winters. We have survived each and everyone to see the snow melt and the first flowers peak through the snow. When there was sickness and no food we comforted each other and we sheltered each other. We have always remained as one family and cared for each other. This is as it has always been and it is the wish of those that have gone before us that we remain true to the old ways. Our family gives us strength. Without the family we will parish from the earth. Not only will we vanish but all that is sacred to us will vanish.”

Many of the strongest braves began to look at the ground. The old chief had reminded them that the welfare of all of their tribe was more important than the strong wills of the few.” Sara and I were also looking at the ground. Then I looked up and said, “What about the stick?”

Old John took the stick from his pocket and handed it to Michael as he said, “The talking stick was given to our tribe many years before the young braves were born.” Sara said, “Tell us about the stick.”

That evening the stick was passed from one tribe member to the next and each had their say as to where they thought it best to spend this coming winter. After everyone had had their opinion aired that took a vote and the collective consciousness elected to stay where they were encamped for the winter. Hunting and fishing were good and they were at the edge of the forest not far from the mountains. There was much food to gather from the forest and dried berries and roots on the mountain.

Chapter Six: The New ChiefOld John went on, “The old chief was a brave hunter and had the respect of all of

the elders. Yet everyone knew that it was soon time to have a new chief. During the shortening days of summer a young brave, White Feather, was summoned to the elders’ powwow for a meeting. The old and wise men and women told him that many of the gray hairs would not survive the coming winter for it was known that this coming winter would be very severe. All of the signs were present. The animals had grown thick coats of fur, the squirrels were working feverishly to fill their nests with nuts and seeds and the black fuzzy caterpillars wore very thin orange belts. This was going to be a winter that was both very long and cold with exceptionally large amounts of snow.

11

11

They told the young brave that many in the tribe might not survive this harsh winter. They went on to say that at difficult times like these that the old would skip meals so that the young would stay healthy for the coming spring.”

John took a long breath and paused after this last sentence. Then I said, “What happened next?” John looked at us kindly through his wrinkled eyes and began to smile as he said, “You know that nearly every old person would gladly suffer and even die if it meant that their children and their children would survive and prosper.” Sara chimed in, “Is that like when grandma gives Michael a second dessert even if it means she will not have a piece of apple pie for herself?” The old man just laughed and said, “That is exactly what I mean.”

John continued, “The old and wise elders had told White Feather that the elders had chosen him to lead their people as chief and to take the tribe onward after snow had melted and the spring began to give birth after this most difficult of winters. The young brave blurted out, “This can not be true, for it is you, the elders that have always lead our people!” Painted Bear said, “We will always be with you, in your dreams and our spirits will be with your spirit.” He continued more slowly, “All of the decisions will not fall on your head alone for we will counsel you through all the members of the tribe.” This was puzzlement for the young brave. He asked, “How is it that I will lead while you give direction when you may not be here to hear my questions?”

Another elder replied, “We will speak to you through the collective will of all of the tribe. These are our children and our grandchildren and therefore they are us. When the collective voice of all of the tribe speaks it is we that you will hear. When we speak you will hear the collective wisdom of all that is or ever will be. White Feather asked, “How will I know the collective will of our people?” One of the women elders spoke up in a soft voice, “You will use the talking stick again to know the will of our tribe.” “Why do I need talking stick?” asked the young brave.

I asked John, “How can a stick talk to the young chief? Is it a magic stick?” Sara added, “Michael there is no such thing as magic sticks, isn’t that right?” We both looked at old John for some answers. The old man said, “I don’t know if there are magic sticks or not, but the stick that the elders gave to the young brave looked and acted very much like the stick that I handed to you Michael.” I swiveled the stick in my hand and asked, “Is this stick magic?” I handed the carved stick back to the old man. John accepted the stick while saying, “No, this stick is just one of your regular forest floor variety sticks. It doesn’t have magic, it doesn’t feel or think and it has ceased to have life once it parted from the tree that produced it. Let me finish the story and you will understand how any stick can become a talking stick.

The elders began to explain their plan for how White Feather was to lead their tribe. “When the time comes to make a decision, you will use this stick as a tool that will open your mind and spirit to the will of our tribe. This stick will give every person in the tribe a chance to speak their thoughts and release their spirit while all of the tribe listens quietly and think on the words of the person speaking.

When there is a decision to be made that will affect many or all of the tribe then you will call a powwow and after all have eaten and their bellies are full and their minds are clear you will all sit around the fire in a circle. The circle is important because no position in a circle is more or less important than any other position. The circle also signifies that there is no beginning and no end and that we are all part of the cycle of birth, life, death and afterlife or rebirth. In the family of life we are all equal in the eyes of the Great Spirit and Mother Earth. You will pass this stick around the circle and all

12

12

will have a chance to hold the stick. We call this a talking stick because only the one that is holding the stick may speak and all the others must listen. There are no exceptions to this rule. After all have had a chance to speak their mind on this subject the stick is passed around several more times so that the one that is holding the stick may ask a question of any other member of the tribe. Once all have had their chance to speak and ask questions it is the time to make a collective decision or a compromise based on the group conscience.”

Sara spoke up, “Does this mean that it is time to vote?” I said, “Don’t be silly Sara, Native Americans don’t vote.” The old man laughed out loud. He looked at Sara and said, “Sara, you are exactly right. Michael, you should know that many of the tribes of Native Americans used a form of the democratic act of voting long before the Europeans came to the Americas. I said, “I wish my parents were Native Americans, and then maybe Sara and I could have a vote in how things work in our family.”

The old man continued, “In this story the voting didn’t happen until some time later. The young brave listened to the elders very carefully and then said, “You mean that I will not be the chief that makes the decisions for our tribe?” One of the oldest and wisest chiefs said, “No, you will not make the decisions that affect the lives of all of our people. No one man should have to make the heavy decisions that can change the life of all of the tribe. This is too heavy of a burden for one man.” The young brave then asked, “Then why did you bring me here this night?”

A wise woman spoke next, “Your job is the most important in the tribe. You are a chief and you have been chosen to carry out our will and to be the keeper of the tradition of the talking stick. It is your responsibility to remind the tribe that when they can not agree on a path that will affect the whole tribe that they must honor this tradition and use the talking stick to make a collective decision that will be honored by all the tribe.”

Another wise woman spoke and said, “It is time we leave the teepee and begin to prepare for this harsh winter that is quickly approaching. No more will be spoken of what we said here tonight. We will tell the tribe that in the spring, if we are not well enough to lead the tribe that they must look to you, White Feather, as their new chief. It is your responsibility to instruct and maintain the tribe in the tradition of the talking stick.” The eldest chief, Painted Bear, handed White Feather a small stick that was roughly carved in the shape of a person and worn shinny from the many hands. White Water said, “Please take this stick and know that you hold the fate of our children in your hand.”

Chapter Seven: The Bitter WinterWhite Feather took the old stick, smooth and dark from use and placed it in his

pouch as he said, “I will do as you ask of me, but I believe that you will all be here in the spring to lead our people to our summer encampment.” White Feather bowed his head in respect to the elders and quickly left the tent. He was young and considered the bravest of all the young men in the tribe. He retreated to his own teepee and took the stick from his pouch as he sat down and crossed his legs. He unconsciously rubbed the stick while he thought of the day when he would lead the tribe. He said out loud, “Someday I will be the head chief and I will lead my people and I do not think that this stick will make my decisions for me.” Later that night he sat alone by the glowing embers of the fire and thought about the day when, as chief of all his people, he would make the all the decisions. He slowly reached into his pouch and took out the worn

13

13

stick. He looked at it carefully before throwing it into the glowing coals of the dying campfire. In an instant the stick caught fire and burned brightly for a few minutes and then disappeared. He whispered out loud to himself, “I will be chief and I alone will know what is best for my people and I will make the right decisions.”

“Why did White Feather throw the stick into the fire?” asked a surprised Sara. “That was a bad thing to do after the elders had trusted him,” added Sara. Mike blurted out,” Because he wants the power to do things the way he wants to do them.” The old man said that Mike was right. “Many times in our lives we are tempted to do things to satisfy our egos even if it means that we dishonor ourselves with those whom most trusted in us.” “What happened after White Feather burned the talking stick?” asked Sara

The old man said, “Here Mike, take the stick and I will finish telling you the story.” John handed me the stick. He continued, “The next day the elders called all the tribe together and told them of the long harsh winter which was on its way. They told the tribe that they must hurry and store all the food that they could gather before the snow started to fall. They told the tribe that most of them had never felt the cold and harsh conditions that this winter promised. An old chief, Rain Cloud, went on to say, “The snow will cover our teepees and we will not be able to find fire wood or kindling to warm us and cook our food. For two full moons we will live like the squirrels in our dens. When we have eaten our food storage it will be difficult to hunt the rabbit or the deer in the deep snow.” They went on telling of all the difficulties that this winter could bring. They also mentioned that there would be much suffering, sickness and possible starvation before the days were again long enough to bring the spring. A woman elder said, “The river will be almost frozen for many weeks and fishing on the lake will be nearly impossible because of thick ice, deep snow and frigid winds.”Many of the women of the tribe began to tremble and to shed tears because they had heard stories from the old ones about such winters when many of the tribe had passed away before the snow had melted.

The oldest chief then pointed to White Feather and told the tribe that the elders had selected him to lead them from this place of sorrow in the spring after they have said goodbye to those that did not survive the winter. He told them that many or possibly all of the elders may not be here to give counsel and lead the tribe but that they will speak through White Feather and that all must heed his judgment. They made no mention of the talking stick. White Feather was relieved that the elders had not asked him to produce the talking stick which he burned the night before. When the powwow was over, all of the tribe began to make preparations for the winter. Some went hunting with White Feather while others began to collect all the firewood that they could carry. The children collected dry berries, roots and all the edible plants that they could find. Some men and women fished in the river with nets while others smoked and salted the fish and the meat to preserve it for the months to come.

Just ten days after the powwow the snow began to fall late one night. The ground had become slightly frozen and the snow accumulated quickly. When the tribe woke at first light the ground was completely covered and the snow continued fall throughout the day. Many of the tribe were pleased that the snowfall had come because they were weary from all the work they had been doing over the last ten days from sun up until the last bit of light in the evening. To stay in their warm teepees under the heavy fur blankets was a much needed rest from the many days of hunting and

14

14

gathering. The old chief warned, “It is not the time to rest because there is much preparation left undone.”

The tribe resisted and said that they would resume their toil when the snow stopped falling. The elders were also weary and so they retired to their family’s teepees to spend time with their children and grandchildren. As the snow continued to fall all that day, everyone stayed in their teepees and the only sounds audible were those of the muffled laughter of children and the crackling of the cooking fires. The next morning the snow was still falling in large flakes and the forest evergreens were covered with several inches of snow. As the braves made their way out of the teepees they had to kick the snow from in front of openings so that they could more easily exit.

The snow continued to fall for several more hours until the snow had accumulated as high as a man’s knee. This was more snow in one fall than many of the tribe had ever seen. Still, the temperature was not very cold and the snow was a little wet when the sun went behind the mountain that night.

Later that night the north wind began to howl. The sound of that winter wind brought fear to many older members of the tribe. The winds got stronger as the moonless night progressed and the temperature began to drop quickly. In the teepees they put more wood on their fires and pulled all of the furs over their huddled bodies. Even the dogs huddled close to the children to keep warm. That frigid and windy night passed without incident and all were glad to see the beginning of the new day.

White Feather was the first to look out of his teepee. The wind had brought more snow and it had blown drifts against the north side of all of the teepees and the trees. Everything was covered with a think blanket of snow. The river had ice on both sides and only a small trickle of running water was visible. This was the earliest in the winter season that White Feather could remember seeing ice and so much snow. He was considering what the elders had told him and began to consider the possibility that this would be a winter that would end lives. He was pleased that the tribe had worked so hard to prepare for this storm. He had no idea of what lay ahead.

The rest of the tribe began to stir from their winter slumber. The older children began to laugh and shout as they discovered the deep snow. Their outbursts of excitement could be heard all around the encampment. The woman began to uncover firewood and place it on their smoldering cooking fires. The young braves dressed in furs and snowshoes so they could go among the trees with hopes of finding fresh game tracks. The drifts were waist high and a light fine snow continued to fill the air. All was well with the tribe. Between the sounds of the tribe there was a sense of quiet and stillness that prevailed the atmosphere. This was the stillness of a newly snow covered landscape. When you walked away from the encampment you could feel the silence and the peace of the moment. It was a good day to be with your tribe. As the sun set over the mountains the temperature began to fall quickly and the snow began to fall in ever larger flakes. Thankfully, the wind had stopped and everyone settled in for a peaceful night.

As dawn’s first light appeared the insides of the teepees remained darkened. More snow had fallen all during the night and when White Feather tried to open the flap on his teepee he could hardly believe that the snow was now higher than the opening. As he dug the snow away from the opening and stood outside he measured the snow and found it to be midway up his thigh. There would be no hunting or gathering of firewood on this day. Most of the day was spent clearing the snow from the encampment so that access to the gathered wood and the horses was possible. The

15

15

horses needed watering and to be able to nose beneath the snow for grass and grain stubble. The horses were kept among the trees to afford them some protection from the wind and snow. The sun came out for a few hours or so and the snow stopped long enough for the tribe to catch its collective breath and resume some semblance of normalcy. The snow continued to fall sporadically over the next few days and the forest was becoming more inaccessible. The temperature remained cold but the river continued to flow freely.

As the tribe began to relax and resume normal winter activities the temperature began to plummet and the north winds started to howl. In just two days time the braves were forced to cut holes in the ice on the river to obtain water for themselves and the animals. The icy winds continued and each day the ice grew thicker on the lake and the river began to trickle under a thick sheet of blue ice. It took several braves several hours to clear the ice from a small section of the river using crude tools. While the braves smashed through the ice the women and children carried the precious water to their teepees and the horses. Before very long they were forced to melt snow and use up more of the precious firewood. The winter had become excessively severe and this was only the first moon. There were still two full moons to endure this harsh winter weather.

The next moon brought more frigid winds, snow and ice continued to be a problem for the tribe. After this onslaught of wickedly difficult weather the tribes’ hastily gathered provisions were nearly exhausted. The young braves continued to hunt but they were forced to go higher on the mountain each day to find game. Each day they came back exhausted and had little to show for their efforts. They tried cutting holes in the ice on the lake but after a whole day there was little to feed the tribe. When a few fish were caught they would melt snow and cook the fish in the boiling water and each tribe member would receive a half scoop of the weak tasting broth. The dried fruits, berries, nuts, fish and root vegetables were quickly disappearing. Due to the frigid temperatures all of the tribe needed more to eat and there was less and less to feed them.

White Feather now recognized that the elders were right when they told him of the severity of this winter. He still didn’t want to believe that some of the tribe might starve before spring. He sat still in his teepee at night and quietly asked his spirits for a change it the weather. His prayers went unanswered.

There were few days that were warm enough for the children to go out in the snow and play for more than a half an hour. They became restless and demanded more food. Now all the men and women of the tribe began to eat much less so that the children could continue with almost normal portions. Among the adults only the hunters would eat meat and larger portions so that they would have strength to go out another day looking for food for the tribe.

Chapter Eight: The Elders’ DecisionSeven days before the second full moon of winter the elders all met in the largest

teepee where many of the young braves shared sleeping quarters. Only the elders were invited to be present for the powwow. The eldest of the chiefs, Painted Bear, spoke to his elder tribal brothers and sisters. In a soft voice he began, “We are the white hairs of our tribe. All of us have experienced this kind of winter in the past and we know what we must do. The braves have begun to slaughter the oldest horses for food and the tribe goes to sleep hungry every night so that we may eat. Life has been good

16

16

these many years and there are many of us white hairs. There is yet another full moon of this dreadful winter and there will not be enough food to sustain all of the tribe. It is time for us to do what our ancestors have always done in times of serious shortages. We will do what is required and then we will return to this place in seven days when the moon is full and we will talk of what action we must take.” An older woman spoke next, “Our fast has begun, let us sing to our fathers and mothers so that they will know of our sadness and listen to our songs. They sang songs of joy and sorrow long into the night. Their fast had begun and none of the elders would eat for the next seven days so that there would be more food for the rest of the tribe.

The older adults of the tribe had heard of difficult and distressing times in the past when the elders had fasted until the shortage of food had passed and they had also heard of times when the shortage of provisions was so acute that many of the oldest members had volunteered to go off by themselves and they were never seen again. The braves and the younger woman hoped that the winter would be over soon before the old ones got sick or left the tribe forever. Everyone knew that once the gray hairs met in council and sang songs together that there was no way to reverse their resolve.

The harsh winter showed no sign of ending anytime soon. The frigid temperatures and the wind driven snow continued all of that week. When the seven days had passed and the moon was full, the gray hairs went back to the largest teepee for another powwow. The stars were bright overhead even with the bright full moon for the sky was without a trace of cloud cover. The temperature was very cold as the moon shown off the white snow and reflected throughout the encampment. The tribe was beginning to reveal signs of deprivation. Everyone was losing weight and few were not showing the signs of the cruel winter. A few of the weaker members had fallen ill and one sickly child had died. Firewood and food shortages adversely affected everyone. They had been forced to eat horse flesh and there was a fear that many of the tribe could not survive on the meager provisions that remained. The hunters and trappers came home exhausted and sometimes with frostbitten toes and fingers. The game had practically vanished as the braves had depleted almost all of the game within several miles of the encampment. The elders met that last night singing and chanting to their Great Spirit. They knew that if the tribe were to survive that they could not and would not use any of the remaining resources of the tribe. That night the tribe went to sleep under the full moon listening to the gray hairs singing and chanting their prayers in muted tones.

In the morning the tribe awoke to see a fresh covering of new snow on the ground. It was a sunny morning but it remained frigid. One of the younger women noticed that her grandmother had not returned after last night’s meeting of the elders. She sent her daughter to the lodge teepee to check on the whereabouts of her grandmother. The child returned quickly to tell her mother that there were no elders in the lodge. The mother thought that her mother had retired to one of her friends teepees and did not begin to worry until several of the other members of the tribe began to come looking for their elders. When White Feather heard that the old ones were missing he felt shame. He had burned the talking stick which had been entrusted to him for the day when the elders would no longer be with them.

White Feather called his people together in the center of the encampment. He asked four other braves to help him search for the gray hairs. The new fallen snow left no trace of which direction the old ones had left the camp. White Feather knew that the

17

17

old ones could not have survived the frigid night without shelter and a fire. He and his braves dressed warmly and with a little food of nuts and dried berries headed in the direction to the west. His tribe believed that after this life the Great Spirit would receive everyone in the land of the setting sun. After an hour of brisk walking in the deep snow White Feather saw fresh bear tracks. They cautiously tracked the bear prints until they saw two large brown bears clawing at a mound of snow. This was as far as the old ones had walked before the cold had overcome them. The braves drew their weapons and attacked the two large bears which were taken completely by surprise. In a few minutes both bears had stopped breathing. White Feather inspected the mounds of snow and knew that this would not be the last time he would see the elders. For the they were covered with snow and all of them had passed away in the night. In their dying they had provided the tribe with these two fine bears, enough to feed the whole tribe the much need fat and meet to fight off the cold for many days. White Feather and the braves said prayers over the gray hairs. They thanked the elders and the two bears for their unselfish passing and for the gift of life for the tribe.

White Feather and the four braves dragged the two bears back to camp. They told the others of what they had found and there was much crying and sorrow as the tribe prepared the bears for food. That night in every teepee there were prayers of gratitude before eating the fine meal as always, but there was also a prolonged moment of silence while everyone thought about the elders. Tonight there were tears in everyone’s eyes as they gave thanks and remembered the gray hairs. The parents would have to find their own words to describe to the young ones how and why the elders had left the tribe.

White Feather and the same four braves visited the elders several more times that winter. Every time they found game. The tribe ate wolf and coyote many times in the remaining moon of winter. Each time they visited the elders mounds of snow had grown smaller. As the land had sustained these people for all of their lives, now they were becoming part of the land. Every time White Feather returned to this place he prayed and gave thanks to the elders and their higher spirit on behalf of all of the tribe. He prayed that if the need should arise that he would have the courage and selfless attitude of his elders and be able to lay down his life so that the tribe might survive.

The tribe did survive that horribly difficult winter. When White Feather visited the elders for the last time in the first new moon of the spring he went by himself. There was little left in the meadow at the edge of the tree line for anyone to know what had happened here two moons past. The animals, both large and small, had made the bodies of the elders’ one with the Earth. Their bodies had disorganized and then reintegrated with the Earth while their spirits had gone to meld with the Great Spirit. He said his last prayers over the resting place of the elders and declared it a sacred place. He gathered all that remained of the old ones and covered their place with stones that he carried from the edge of the forest. Finally, he gave thanks to the Great Spirit that this winter had passed.

Chapter Nine: A New Beginning On the way back to the encampment that evening as the sun was setting in the

west he came upon a small heard of deer that must have recently returned from the mountain. These were the first deer he had seen since the first heavy snowfall. He carefully aimed his arrow and fell a fine large doe. She fell immediately as his arrow pierced her heart. He knelt over her and gave thanks before putting her over his

18

18

shoulders and walking back to camp. As he entered the camp he saw a large cooking fire and could smell the pungent aroma of roasting fish. The river had begun to thaw and the fishing must have been good this day.

As the tribe saw him enter the camp with the big doe on his shoulders they all shouted his name and called him chief. He dropped to one knee and slid the deer off his shoulders on to the ground. White Feather told them that this fine deer was a gift from the elders and that he was only being used to deliver it to the tribe. He quietly left the fire and went to his teepee.

That evening the tribe rejoiced and gave thanks to their Great Spirit for the feast and for maintaining them through this most difficult of winters in their collective memory. When the meal was underway one of the young woman noticed that White Feather had not yet joined them for their meal. Her name was Quiet Ways and she went to White Feather’s teepee to tell him to join the others for the fresh fish and venison. When she reached White Feather’s teepee she heard hushed weeping coming from the tent flap. She asked, “Are you alright White Feather?” She opened the flap and saw him kneeling on the ground with red eyes. She said, “What is the matter White Feather, this is a time to celebrate. We now have fresh food and the winter has spared us to see another spring.” White Feather answered her in a husky voice, “I am not worthy to share in this joy with my family. I have disgraced myself by not honoring the elders and I was not worthy of their trust.”

Quiet Ways entered the teepee as she let the flap down behind her. She walked over to White Feather and sat next to him on the bear skin robe. She spoke even more softly, “You were made chief by the elders before they left us and you have brought us food and cared for all of us this winter. You, of all the tribe, have the most to celebrate this evening.” White Feather continued to look towards the ground and said, “If the tribe knew how I have let myself be lured by my own thoughts of greatness and how I have dishonored the trust the elders placed in me, they would shun me from the tribe.”

Quiet Way stood and left the teepee without saying a word. In a few minutes she returned with a generous portion of food and sat next to White Feather again. “Now you should eat with me and tell me why you are so gloomy, said Quiet Ways. White Feather was pleased to have someone to speak with concerning the burning of the talking stick and all that it meant to him. He told her the whole story from the beginning and as he continued his appetite returned. As he smelled the freshly roasted venison his mouth began to water and he shared the food as he spoke to Quiet Ways. He finished his meal and the story at the same time. Quiet ways had not said a word while he told the story. When he finished speaking, he glanced at Quiet Ways. Her eyes were full and almost round and they twinkled in the soft firelight like black pearls. He had noticed her before but she had appeared as a child to him. Now when he looked at here it was as if she had grown up as he told his story.

Quiet Ways again stood up and without saying a word, removed the remains of their meal and calmly left the teepee. White Feather was more than a little confused by the actions of this young woman. White Feather continued to sit crossed legged and silenced his thoughts with his stomach full and let go of his despondent thoughts of having failed the gray hairs.

Quite Ways came back to the young brave’s teepee and lifted the flap as she entered with a hardwood branch in her right hand. She picked up White Feather’s knife, which was lying by the fire after their meal, and offered the branch and the knife to White Feather. Softly, in a whisper, she said, “Can you carve me this branch so that it

19

19

will look like the talking stick that you threw on the fire?” White Feather said nothing and began to whittle the branch while she tended the small fire and hummed under her breath. In a few minutes, White Feather handed the carved stick back to Quiet Ways. He said rather confused, “This is similar to the stick with which the elders had entrusted the leadership of the tribe to me.” Quiet Ways smiled with her eyes and said, “Good, now everything is as it should be.” White Feather looked at her with a puzzled expression, “What do you mean? I burned the talking stick and with that boastful action I have broken faith with the elders.”

Quiet Ways reached for the stick and he handed it to her. She smiled and said, “All you did was burn an old stick, now you have a new talking stick. Up until now, you have done everything that the elders could have expected from you and now it is time to speak to our family and tell them the story of the talking stick.” She handed the stick back to White Feather. He said, “But what will the tribe think when I tell them that I have burned the talking stick? Surly they can not trust me to be their chief!” Quiet Ways said in a firm voice, “That is not your concern. What others think of you is not worth your thoughts, for their thoughts are their concern. Your obligation is to fulfill your covenant with the elders and to be true to yourself. Everything else will be as it is meant to be.” White Feather stared into the shinning eyes of Quiet Ways and said, “How did you become so wise at such a tender age?” She responded,” We are all part of the whole, we are our ancestors and we all live in the wisdom of the Great Spirit. Wisdom is often the same as simplicity. If you think I am wise it is only because I am simple.” White Feather laughed for the first time in many moons. He spoke to her lovely face, “So, simple and wise one, what is it you would have me do now?” Quiet Ways hesitated for just a moment and then said, “Chief, it is time to go and speak to your tribe, their bellies are full, they are warm and the fire burns bright. I think that they are ready for your story and to learn of your fine new talking stick.”

White Feather stood up and took Quiet Ways’ hand and helped her to her feet. She ran out of the teepee and as she reached the large camp fire and the circle of the tribe she announced in her small voice that White Feather, their brother and their chief, was going to tell a story. The tribe roared with approval as White Feather approached the circle. Story telling was the tribe’s principal form of entertainment once the sun had gone to rest. The frigid weather had not permitted the tribe to gather outside their teepees since the first snow fall several moons past.

White Feather began by telling them of the powwow he had attended with all the gray hairs. He spoke to them of the talking stick and how in the absence of the old ones that they should all have a say in all matters affecting the tribe. He also told them that the elders wanted them to remain together in all ways, as a family and that both their survival and joy would on their mutual respect and love for one another. White Feather felt the warmth of the fire on his face and the warmth of his family as he began to tell the tribe how he had thrown the talking stick into the fiery coals that autumn night just before the first snow. When he finished speaking all of the tribe was silent.

As the silence started to become uncomfortable, Quiet Ways stood up and walked over to White Feather and removed the talking stick from his hand. She held up the stick and said, “White Feather, our chief, has made a new talking stick for us. The old stick is gone as are most of our elders. Now is the time to begin our new era. We will pass around this stick and each of us will have a chance to speak all of the thoughts that have remained trapped in our hearts this long and dreadful winter. Quiet Ways would be the first to hold the talking stick. She spoke in solemn tones, “I am grateful for

20

20

our elders for picking the brave White Feather to help lead us from this place of sorrow. I am also grateful for all of the tribe for helping us survive this winter. I am grateful that our old ones are with the Great Spirit and watching over us. Most of all I am grateful to be part of this brave and courageous family.” The tribe stomped their moccasins in loud approval as Quiet Ways passed the talking stick to the brave on her left. Each of the tribal members had a chance to express their thoughts and most of then echoed the voice of Quiet Ways. The last speaker was a young child to White Feather’s right. He took the stick and before he handed it to White Feather he just said one word, “Good!” The tribe laughed and agreed with the child’s approval.

White Feather took the stick and began to tell the story he had heard many times while sitting around the fire like this, he said “This is the story of the Big White Bear.” This story always held the children in suspense and brought many good memories to the ears of the adult members.

Old John stopped speaking. Mike and Sara waited for the story of the Big White Bear. Mike could not hold back his enthusiasm, “Well, what about the big white bear?” John looked towards the west where the sun was getting low and approaching the mountain. The near setting sun seemed to create a warm glow over everything. John said, “That is another story. It is getting late and it is time for you to join your parents at the campfire and you can tell them about the talking stick. Sara blurted out, “But what should we say?” The old man said slowly, “Just take turns passing the stick from one to the next and always speak from your heart. Remember that you need to always speak honestly but there is no need to be brutally honest. Speak only of your thoughts and feelings. If you are not pleased with the way your vacation is going then tell them that you are disappointed. There is only one rule. Only the person holding the talking stick has the right to speak. The others must just be willing to listen. Once you have finished speaking, you must pass the talking stick to the next person. This process continues until all have passed the stick and no one wishes to add anything to the discussion.” Old John handed the newly carved stick to Sara and said, “Tonight you can be in the comfort of your family.” John began to walk away in the direction from where he had first approached them. Sara called after him, “I forgot your name.” He looked back at them and winked his eye and said, “John Stillwater but some call me John of Many Stories.”

Mike put the stick in his pocket and the children rushed off to their camp to be with their parents. “Where have you children been?” asked their father as he was straightening his fishing tackle gear. “They were down by the lake talking with an older gentleman,” said their mother. She added, “I was keeping an eye on the two of you.”

There was an attitude of cooperation and good spirits as all the family helped prepare the evening meal. After the delicious meal the children helped clean and organize the campsite and the tents while their mother and father put away the food supplies and washed the dishes. When they finished, Mike added some firewood to the fire and Sara asked if they could all sit around the fire and have a family conversation. Mike pulled the carved stick from his pocket as Sara and he explained the talking stick and they all learned to listen and to speak to their family.

When the fire had gone to coals and the stars became visible. Mike said quietly to Sara. “This might be the best family vacation, ever.”

The End is the Beginning

21

21

DISCLAIMER

None of what you read is based on historical accuracy, anthropological record or any other form of authenticity. The story is told merely for the enjoyment and entertainment of those that chose to read it.

Copyright: Regis A. McCann

22

22