How The Sky Was Lifted Up - Australian According to the aborigines of Australia, the sky at one time in the ages ago was not up high where it is now. It was down so low that a man could not walk upright. Then, no living thing stood erect. Everything either wriggled without legs at all, or crawled like a lizard or a goanna (iguana). The reason that snakes and grubs and such like still crawl, is that the great event of lifting up the sky took place in the winter, and the creeping things were then hibernating. Birds that can fly through the air were most awake, and they followed the sky as it went up. In fact, they clung to it, and it was because of their beauty that they were allowed to sprout wings and soar back through the air. And they did that because of their hunger. There was no food up there. The air itself was that part of the sea that clung to the sky and in falling was powdered, or vaporised, and still floats between the sea and the sky. The wonder to us is that it was not blacks who roamed the beaches and adjacent country that told the tale. It was the tribe that lived on the Murrumbidgee. A great chief had a very beautiful wife. Though we do not really know, I am of opinion that her name must have been Krubi, for was not Krubi always the name of the most beautiful woman? And this wife was the most beautiful in her day. Well, the time for a corroboree had drawn near. Growing young men had not been initiated; that is, they had not been shown what to do in social, industrial, hunting and warlike things. The beautiful wife of the chief was the one who fixed just where the women were to sit. She it was, too, who would give the signal when they were to retire, and she also was to be on the alert to hear the cry that meant they might come back. No white man ever heard that cry. No white man ever saw a real corroboree, unless by accident, or more likely, stealth, and perhaps the aborigines were too finished in their bushcraft to allow that ever to happen. The greatest secrecy was preserved. The keenest watch was kept, and all the whites ever saw was something of a mockery of a corroboree. The dance, even though a ceremonial one, was a different matter. No native races ever kept their most sacred customs more hidden, nor were more cunning in disseminating false impressions of their real desires and real beliefs, than the Australian aborigines. Now the place selected by Krubi (we shall call her Krubi) was condemned by the chief. He chided Krubi, and even threatened to cast her off for making the mistake of choosing an unsuitable spot. Krubi was piqued, and she retired to the gunyah, and there beat her breasts in dudgeon. But her husband was her lord and she had to obey. He ordered her to go out again and find a proper site, though he took care to indicate so pointedly as to practically tell her just where the best place was. The other women of the tribe knew what was wrong, and there were not wanting those who gloated over Krubi's discomfiture. So when one or two would have accompanied her Krubi waved them off. She would go alone. Now it chanced that another chief was not far away. He was a marauder, and he was on the lookout for game belonging to the Murrumbidgee people. Just as Krubi stepped upon a boulder in order to survey the spot this stranger came from behind the tree that hid him. He was a good-looking black. He gave the sign that his intentions were friendly and he walked swiftly towards the woman. He, she knew, was not "tabu." He was very far removed in blood. It was the men of the tribe who would have objected to his presence. The women never concealed themselves from. a member of another tribe. But they were supposed to report his presence. Krubi did not intend to do any such thing. She had been humiliated before her other women. She was now out of tune with her husband. So she spoke to the stranger and asked him from whence he came. He seemed to not quite understand, so as a test of language he picked up a spray of gum-flowers that had fallen from a tree. "Mannen," he said. Now that was just what Krubi called it. It was the flower of the bloodwood or Eucalyptus corymbosa. Then the man tried another. He plucked a waratah and said, "Mewah." The woman nodded. Then said the man in his own rapid tongue: "I have come from far up on the hills," and he pointed up; "and I have not seen your people. Where are they?" The woman, told him, and then she pointed to the creek just below. "We shall go down there," she said. So they went, and all the while the chief, who had gone into the gunyah to await his wife, grew more and more sullen. At last he rose and strode out. Everyone backed out of his way for he had become very angry. He walked to the place he had indicated, and stood on the very stone upon which Krubi had stood to survey the place. He gazed all ways, and of course there was no sign of his wife. He jumped high in the air, and came down crash on dry sticks and leaves. Then he searched for the marks of his wife's feet. They were there. In one spot a displaced leaf, in another a fresh-broken twig. Even the flower of the bloodwood that had been handled he noticed, and he knew it had been picked up and thrown down again. There were broken umbels of the flower where it lay. There were broken stamens where it had been picked up. The chief searched around, and at last his eye lighted upon a little tuft of red fur. This was fur from the rock-wallaby, and Krubi had no such rug. Neither had any of her tribe. Passing quickly on be came across a foot-mark in a patch of soft, clear earth. It was the big imprint of a man's foot. And there were, too, many broken twigs just around the fallen spray of bloodwood blooms. He uttered the cry of battle. All the men of the tribe seized their war weapons and sped to him. Dogs barked, women screamed; children were dumb with terror. This was a sudden call to war! No corroboree so that the young men could be pressed into service! No preparation of any kind! The need must be urgent; the trespass stealthy. The chief gave his orders, and the tribe, relieved to find that no invasion in force had taken place, reassured the women and bade them await their menfolk without anxiety. The chase had commenced. Krubi and her newfound mate had gained a big start. Their tracks were plain at first, but when they knew that they were followed they employed the arts and all the craft of their fathers. They broke off boughs and dragged them on their footprints. That was easily followed, but when they sprang sideways over a ledge of rocks and down into the stream, whether they crossed it or went up it or down it, was not easily determined. As a matter of fact, they went not any of these ways. They sank themselves in a pool and remained motionless, only their noses being above the water. But before doing this they picked up stones and threw them over the other side, each one just a little beyond the other, so that the leaves and twigs were disturbed just as they would have been had they run there. It was some little while before any of the pursuers discovered the trick, and by that time the two had swum under the water and were at the far end of the hole. And when we remember that the sky was so low that a man could not stand upright, but was stooped as low as a wombat, and when we visualise the bloodwood not more than a foot high which measurement was its girth and not height as we know it, we can see that all running, and all searching were infinitely more difficult than they are now. Besides that, it was near to dusk when it began. It was now almost quite dark. The pursuers gave it up. They knew very well that during the night the fugitives would go far, while they had to return to the camp to see their families; so they gave up all thought of ever catching Krubi or finding out with what stranger she went. Not so the chief. He was determined to find his wife, and he was no less determined to punish the man. Therefore, next day he chose one of his sons to act in his place, and he set out to succeed or die. For many days he travelled, and luckily he headed down the stream. Now and then he came across tracks that he felt sure were theirs. One day he bethought him of the spirits, so he kept a good lookout in order not to miss any signs of the clay with which to draw the marks of the mysticism. Also he killed a white wallaby and plucked off all its fur. When he found the clay he drew the lines on his chest and body and legs, and by sticking the white fur in the clay he was in the proper dress. The Spirit came to him, and during the night he found out what lay before him. He had to follow the creek until it joined the river. Then he had to follow the river until it joined the great sheet of water. That sheet was either the sea or a very great lake. How far from the head waters of the Murrumbidgee the sheet of water lay we cannot guess, but from the manner in which the tale was told it seemed a very long way. It seemed to take longer than one man's life to get there. But the blacks believed that the Spirit prolonged the lives at least of the three so that the wrong might be righted and the sky might be lifted up. So the day came when the chief saw the two he was following. They were camped upon the edge of the lake. No bloodwood grew there, but in the ages before other great trees had grown, only instead of standing upright, they grew horizontally. They were still there. And they were covered with age-long dried slime, showing that the water must have submerged them. They were in hundreds, thousands, millions. Lying about them and amongst them were great bones and great skulls, but everything showed that never had any one walked upright. The length of the bones of the arms showed that the animals had reached out and had crawled, and the shape of the feet, too, was such that they must have pushed themselves forward just as the ones written about were doing. The chief did not hurry. He reckoned that he had them both at his mercy. There was plenty of food. Sweet roots abounded. Birds and animals were there, and besides, the lake teemed with fish and with molluscs. The chief knew what was to be done. He chose a sharp stone and set to work hollowing out one of the great logs. At last it was finished. He pushed it into the water. His wife and the other man saw him from where they lived, and guessing his intention to follow them into the water, they tried to escape by running along the shore and climbing in their stooped fashion over the logs. They soon came to an oozy spot. They could go no further along the shore for they sank deep and had hard work to get out, so they took to the water. They could not see across, but they chanced their power to reach the other side. Then the chief launched his log boat. He shoved it with an oar, and he shoved it so hard that the water rushed over the prow and filled it. That he knew would not do. He would have to build something to prevent that, so he placed a frame in front that reached up to the sky (which was not high) and he wove twigs and rushes through and about it until no water could get through. Then he tried again. But still the water got in. It rushed around the sides of his shield. So he retraced his steps to where he had found the clay, and again he marked his body with the mystic signs. He found this time that he had to get a certain rod that lay somewhere in the bottom of the lake. It surely was a rod made of gold, for the blacks say that it was very bright and of the colour of gold. He did not search far before he found it. He lifted it up, and, behold! as it touched the sky, the sky went on and up before it. And the rod grew. What a change took place then! Some water left the main body and went up clinging to the sky. Birds that were accustomed to hanging to what was before the heavens were loth to leave it and they went up also. 'Possums clung for a little while and then let go. They to-day are the flying opossums and flying squirrels. So the sky went on up as far as the rod grew, and for as long as the chief pushed it. He was so awed at what he was doing that he forgot his quest-forgot to build the shield on the prow of the boat any higher, forgot that he only had wanted to rescue his wife and punish the marauder, and return to his tribe. What became of the couple no one knows. Even what became of the chief and the rod no one is sure of. Whether they all died, and the rod, having done its work, sank back into the water, they can only guess at. They say that perhaps he is still somewhere pushing up the sky, and that it is when he grows tired and lets the rod down that the clouds cover the ground and fogs hide the world. Perhaps, they say, that is the sky, and it only changes its colour from blue to white when it is again close to the ground. Anyway, as soon as people found that they could stand upright they did so, and trees grew high and better. The birds fly through the air because they could not go on up with the sky for want of food, and yet they do not wish to remain back on earth. That is the story of the lifting up of the sky as told by the tribe of aborigines who inhabit a part of the head waters of the Murrumbidgee River. Australian Legends by C. W. Peck [1925]. The copyright status of this text is unknown.

I don't know but thanks for writing. From the web, I will find pictures of both grasses and let you know. Thanks for the interest and suggestions. Fran Chinkapin On Tue, Apr 22, 2014 at 7:03 AM, R BULLER <hisbride@cableone.net> wrote: > Fran, > Could the grass be either lemon grass or wheat grass? > ======*====== > List archives > http://archiver.rootsweb.ancestry.com/th/index?list=cherokee > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > CHEROKEE-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the > quotes in the subject and the body of the message >

How The Sioux Came To Be - Lakota This story was told by a Santee grandmother. A long time ago, a really long time when the world was still freshly made, Unktehi the water monster fought the people and caused a great flood. Perhaps the Great Spirit, Wakan Tanka, was angry with us for some reason. Maybe he let Unktehi win out because he wanted to make a better kind of human being. Well, the waters got higher and higher. Finally everything was flooded except the hill next to the place where the sacred red pipestone quarry lies today. The people climbed up there to save themselves, but it was no use. The water swept over that hill. Waves tumbled the rocks and pinnacles, smashing them down on the people. Everyone was killed, and all the blood jelled, making one big pool. The blood turned to pipestone and created the pipestone quarry, the grave of those ancient ones. That's why the pipe, made of that red rock, is so sacred to us. Its red bowl is the flesh and blood of our ancestors, its stem is the backbone of those people long dead, the smoke rising from it is their breath. I tell you, that pipe, that chanunpa, comes alive when used in a ceremony; you can feel power flowing from it. Unktehi, the big water monster, was also turned to stone. Maybe Tunkshila, the Grandfather Spirit, punished her for making the flood. Her bones are in the Badlands now. Her back forms a long high ridge, and you can see her vertebrae sticking out in a great row of red and yellow rocks. I have seen them. It scared me when I was on that ridge, for I felt Unktehi. She was moving beneath me, wanting to topple me. Well, when all the people were killed so many generations ago, one girl survived, a beautiful girl. It happened this way: When the water swept over the hill where they tried to seek refuge, a big spotted eagle, Wanblee Galeshka, swept down and let her grab hold of his feet. With her hanging on, he flew to the top of a tall tree which stood on the highest stone pinnacle in the Black Hills. That was the eagle's home. It became the only spot not covered with water. If the people had gotten up there, they would have survived, but it was a needle-like rock as smooth and steep as the skyscrapers you got now in the big cities. My grandfather told me that maybe the rock was not in the Black Hills; maybe it was the Devil's Tower, as white men call it, that place in Wyoming. Both places are sacred. Wanblee kept that beautiful girl with him and made her his wife. There was a closer connection then between people and animals, so he could do it. The eagle's wife became pregnant and bore him twins, a boy and a girl. She was happy, and said: "Now we will have people again. Washtay, it is good." The children were born right there, on top of that cliff. When the waters finally subsided, Wanblee helped the children and their mother down from his rock and put them on the earth, telling them: "Be a nation, become a great Nation, the Lakota Oyate." The boy and girl grew up. He was the only man on earth, she the only woman of child-bearing age. They married; they had children. A nation was born. So we are descended from the eagle. We are an eagle nation. That is good, something to be proud of, because the eagle is the wisest of birds. He is the Great Spirit's messenger; he is a great warrior. That is why we always wore the eagle plume, and still wear it. We are a great nation. It is I, Lame Deer, who said this Told by Lame Deer in Winner, South Dakota, in 1969

How The Redbird Got His Color- Cherokee A Raccoon passing a Wolf one day made several insulting remarks, until at last the Wolf became angry and turned and chased him. The Raccoon ran his best and managed to reach a tree by the river side before the Wolf came up. He climbed the tree and stretched out on a limb overhanging the water. When the Wolf arrived he saw the reflection in the water, and thinking it was the Raccoon he jumped at it and was nearly drowned before he could scramble out again, all wet and dripping. He lay down on the bank to dry and fell asleep. and while he was sleeping the Raccoon came down the tree and plastered his eves with dung. When the Wolf awoke he found he could not open his eyes, and began to whine. Along came a little brown and through the bushes and beard the Wolf crying and asked what was the matter. The Wolf told his story and said, "If you will got my eves open, I will show you where to find some nice red paint to paint yourself." "All right," said the brown bird; so he pecked at the Wolf's eyes until he got off all the plaster. Then the Wolf took him to a rock that had streaks of bright red paint running through it, and the little bird painted himself with it, and has ever since been a Redbird. Myths of the Cherokee by James Mooney. From the Nineteenth Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology 1897-98, Part I. [1900] and is now in the public domain.

How the Rattlesnake Learned to Bite - Pima After people and the animals were created, they all lived together. Rattlesnake was there, and was called Soft Child because he was so soft in his motions. The people liked to hear him rattle and little rest did he get because they continually poked and scratched him so that he would shake the rattles in his tail. At last Rattlesnake went to Elder Brother to ask help. Elder Brother pulled a hair from his own lip, cut it in short pieces, and made it into teeth for Soft Child. "If any one bothers you," he said, "bite him." That very evening Ta-api, Rabbit, came to Soft Child as he had done before and scratched him. Soft Child raised his head and bit Rabbit. Rabbit was angry and scratched again. Soft Child bit him again. Then Rabbit ran about saying that Soft Child was angry and had bitten him. Then he went to Rattlesnake again, and twice more he was bitten. The bites made Rabbit very sick. He asked for a bed of cool sea sand. Coyote was sent to the sea for the cool, damp sand. Then Rabbit asked for the shade of bushes that he might feel the cool breeze. But at last Rabbit died. He was the first creature which had died in this new world. Then the people were troubled because they did not know what to do with the body of Rabbit. One said, "If we bury him, Coyote will surely dig him up." Another said, "If we hide him, Coyote will surely find him." And another said, "If we put him in a tree, Coyote will surely climb up." So they decided to burn the body of Rabbit, and yet there was no fire on earth. Blue Fly said, "Go to Sun and get some of the fire which he keeps in his house," So Coyote scampered away, but he was sure the people were trying to get rid of him so he kept looking back. Then Blue Fly made the first fire drill. Taking a stick like an arrow he twirled it in his hands, letting the lower end rest on a flat stick that lay on the ground. Soon smoke began to arise, and then fire came. The people gathered fuel and began their duty. But Coyote, looking back, saw fire ascending. He turned and ran back as fast as he could go. When the people saw him coming, they formed a ring, but he raced around the circle until he saw two short men standing together. He jumped over them, and seized the heart of Rabbit. But he burned his mouth doing it, and it is black to this day. Myths and Legends of California and the Old Southwest Compiled and Edited by Katharine Berry Judson, 1912

How The Rattlesnake Got Its Rattle - Delaware A long time ago there was a young Native American boy named Snek. Snek was part of the Leni Lenape (or Delaware) tribe. The Lenape are separated into three different groups (Munsee, Unami, and Unalaqtgo), symbolized by three totems (the Wolf, Turtle, and Turkey). Snek and his family were from the Munsee section of the Lenape. Snek's favorite toy was a rattle made out of a gourd and a couple nuts. One day a messenger came to Snek's village to tell everyone about a dangerous slithering creature. Moon Owl, the chief of the village gathered all the warriors and hunters. They burned the ceremonial Tobacco as an offering to the Creator. They searched all the forests and woodlands surrounding the village, but they could not find the creature. Meanwhile the slimy creature had come into the village. It headed straight to Snek's wigwam. His father, Sun Hawk, was one of the hunters and had gone with Moon Owl. His mother, Daisy Flower, was at the chief's house along with some other women, planning the victory feast for the warriors and hunters. When the creature slid into the wigwam Snek picked up his precious rattle. The slippery animal came closer and closer. In one swift movement Snek took the animal by surprise and shoved the rattle in its mouth. The creature was taken by surprise and slithered off, rattling all the way. When the warriors came back they saw the animal going away so quickly they couldn't catch it. When it passed them it made that funny rattling noise. When Sun Hawk came home he saw that his son's rattle was missing. He checked everywhere, but he couldn't find it. Then Sun Hawk put two and two together. He realized that his son Snek had foiled the animal, and told Moon Owl. Moon Owl knew that Sun Hawk never told lies, but was nonetheless amazed that such a little boy defeated such a dangerous animal. After that incident, Lenape children were treated more respectfully. The tribe decided to name the creature Rattle Snek, after the young boy who defeated it and the tool he used. After centuries of different accents and languages the name became Rattle Snake. Here our story ends. http://www.ga.k12.pa.us/academics/LS/5th/namyth/01mythh/kwmyth.htm

I so enjoyed this! Thank you for sharing Walks In The Spirit > On Apr 15, 2014, at 11:47 AM, "Alli :\)" <iamcheroke@gmail.com> wrote: > > incredibly

Fran, Could the grass be either lemon grass or wheat grass?

How The Rainbow Worm Bore K'yäk'lu To The Plain Of Kâ''hluëlane - Zuni Now the Rainbow-worm was near, in that land of mists and waters. And when he heard the sacred sounds of the shells he listened. "Ha! these are my grandchildren and they are precious, for they call one to the other with shells of the great world-encircling waters," he said; and so, with one measure of his length, he placed himself near them, saying, Why do you mourn grandchildren, why do you mourn? Give me plumes of the spaces, grandchildren, So that I can be related to the regions, So that I can be uplifted to the cloud-heights, So that my footsteps might be countries and countries; So I will bear you swiftly on my shoulders To the place of your people and country. K'yäk'lu took of his plume- wands the lightest and choicest; and the Duck gave to him her two strong pinion- feathers that he might hang them with the others, making them far reaching and far-seeing. And the Rainbow arched himself and stooped near to them while K'yäk'lu, breathing on the plumes, approached him and fastened them to his heart side. And while with bent head, all white and glistening wet, K'yäk'lu said the sacred words, not turning to one side or to the other, see! the Rainbow shadow gleamed full brightly all his forehead like a little rainbow, (even as the great sky itself gleams little in a tiny dew-drop) and became painted thereon, and í'hlimna. "Thanks this day!" said the Rainbow. "Mount, now, on my shoulders, grandson!" The Rainbow unbent himself lower that K'yäk'lu might mount; then he arched himself high amidst the clouds, bearing K'yäk'lu upward as in the breath a speck of dust is borne, and the Duck spread her wings in flight toward the south. In that direction, like an arrow, the Rainbow-worm straightened himself forward and followed until his face looked into the Lake of the Ancients, the mists which were to him breath and substance. And there in the plain to the north of Kâ''hluëlane, K'yäk'lu descended even before the sun was fully entered, and while it was still light, the Rainbow returned swiftly back. But alas! K'yäk'lu was weary and lame. He could not journey farther, but sat himself down to rest and ponder the way.

How the Rainbow Came to Be – Lakota One bright summer day when all the flowers were out, nodding their heads in the breeze and proudly showing their many beautiful colors, the Mighty Spirit overheard one of the older flowers saying to another: "I wonder where we will go when winter comes and we all must die? It doesn't seem fair. We do our share to make the earth a beautiful place to live in. Should we not also go to a happy hunting ground of our own?" The Mighty Spirit thought about this and decided that they should not die when winter came. So now after a refreshing shower, we may look up in the sky and see all the pretty, colored flowers of the past year making a beautiful rainbow across the heavens.

How The Rabbit Stole The Otter's Coat – Cherokee The animals were of different sizes and wore coats of various colors and patterns. Some wore long fur and others wore short. Some had rings on their tails, and some had no tails at all. Some had coats of brown, others of black or yellow. They were always disputing about their good looks, so at last they agreed to hold a council to decide who had the finest coat. They had heard a great deal about the Otter, who lived so far up the creek that he seldom came down to visit the other animals. It was said that he had the finest coat of all, but no one knew just what it was like, because it was a long time since anyone had seen him. They did not even know exactly where he lived--only the general direction; but they knew he would come to the council when the word got out. Now the Rabbit wanted the verdict for himself, so when it began to look as if it might go to the Otter he studied up a plan to cheat him out of it. He asked a few sly questions until he learned what trail the Otter would take to get to the council place. Then, without saying anything, he went on ahead and after four days' travel he met the Otter and knew him at once by his beautiful coat of soft dark-brown fur. The Otter was glad to see him and asked him where he was going. "O," said the Rabbit, "the animals sent me to bring you to the council; because you live so far away they were afraid you mightn't know the road." The Otter thanked him, and they went on together. They traveled all day toward the council ground, and at night the Rabbit selected the camping place, because the Otter was a stranger in that part of the country, and cut down bushes for beds and fixed everything in good shape. The next morning they started on again. In the afternoon the Rabbit began to pick up wood and bark as they went along and to load it on his back. When the Otter asked what this was for the Rabbit said it was that they might be warm and comfortable at night. After a while, when it was near sunset, they stopped and made their camp. When supper was over the Rabbit got a stick and shaved it down to a paddle. The Otter wondered and asked again what that was for. "I have good dreams when I sleep with a paddle under my head," said the Rabbit. When the paddle was finished the Rabbit began to cut away the bushes so as to make a clean trail down to the river. The Otter wondered more and more and wanted to know what this meant. Said the Rabbit, "This place is called Di'tatlâski'yï [The Place Where it Rains Fire]. Sometimes it rains fire here, and the sky looks a little that way to-night. You go to sleep and I'll sit up and watch, and if the fire does come, a soon as you hear me shout, you run and jump into the river. Better hang your coat on a limb over there, so it won't get burnt." The Otter did as he was told, and they both doubled up to go to sleep, but the Rabbit kept awake. After a while the fire burned down to red coals. The Rabbit called, but the Otter was fast asleep and made no answer. In a little while he called again, but the Otter never stirred. Then the Rabbit filled the paddle with hot coals and threw them up into the air and shouted, "It's raining fire! It's raining fire!" The hot coals fell all around the Otter and he jumped up. "To the water!" cried the Rabbit, and the Otter ran and jumped into the river, and he has lived in the water ever since. The Rabbit took the Otter's coat and put it on, leaving his own instead, and went on to the council. All the animals were there, every one looking out for the Otter. At last they saw him in the distance, and they said one to the other, "The Otter is coming!" and sent one of the small animals to show him the best seat. They were all glad to see him and went up in turn to welcome him, but the Otter kept his head down, with one paw over his face. They wondered that he was so bashful, until the Bear came up and pulled the paw away, and there was the Rabbit with his split nose. He sprang up and started to run, when the Bear struck at him and pulled his tail off, but the Rabbit was too quick for them and got away. Myths of the Cherokee by James Mooney. From the Nineteenth Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology 1897-98, Part I. [1900] and is now in the public domain.

How the Rabbit Lost His Tail – Wabanaki You have heard how Glooscap came to rule over the Wabanaki and how he made the animals, and how at first some of them were treacherous and disobedient. In time, however, he gave posts of honor to those whom he could trust, and they were proud to be Glooscap's servants. Two dogs became his watchmen, and the loon his messenger and tale-bearer. And, because the rabbit had the kindest heart of all the animals in the forest, Glooscap made Ableegumooch his forest guide. Now in those days Ableegumooch the Rabbit was a very different animal than he is today. His body was large and round, his legs were straight and even, and he had a long bushy tail. He could run and walk like other animals, not with a hop-hop-hop as he does today. One day in springtime, when the woods were carpeted with star flowers and lilies-of-the-valley, and the ferns were waist-high, Ableegumooch lay resting beside a fallen log. Hearing a rustle on the path, he peered around his log to see who was coming. It was Uskool the Fisher, a large animal of the weasel tribe, and he was weeping. "What is the matter with him," wondered the rabbit, who was inquisitive as well as soft-hearted. He popped his head up over the log and Uskool nearly jumped out of his fur with surprise. "It's only me--Ableegumooch," said the rabbit. "Do you mind telling me why you are crying?" "Oh, greetings, Ableegumooch," sighed Uskool, when he had recovered from his fright. "I'm going to my wedding." "And that makes you cry?" asked the astonished rabbit. "Of course not," said Uskool. "I've lost my way, that's the trouble." "Well, just take your time," said the rabbit sensibly, "and you'll soon find it again." "But I have no time to spare," groaned the fisher. "My future father-in-law has sworn that if I do not arrive for the wedding by sunset today, he will marry his daughter to Kakakooch the Crow. And, look, already the sun is low in the sky!" "In that case," said Ableegumooch, "I'd better show you the way. Where are you going?" "To a village called Wilnech," said Uskool eagerly, "near the bend in the river!" "I know it well," said the rabbit. "Just follow me." "Thanks, Ableegumooch," cried the happy fisher. "Now I shall be sure to arrive in time." So off they went on their journey. Uskool, who was not very quick on the ground, being more accustomed to travel in the trees, moved slowly. "You go ahead," he told the impatient rabbit, "and I'll follow as fast as I can." So Ableegumooch ran ahead, and sometimes all Uskool could see of him was his long bushy tail whisking through the trees. So it was that Uskool, looking far ahead and not watching where he stepped, fell suddenly headfirst into a deep pit. His cries soon brought Ableegumooch running back, and seeing the fisher's trouble, he cried out cheerfully, "Never mind. I'll get you out." He let his long tail hang down inside the pit. "Catch hold, and hang on tight, while I pull." Uskool held on to the rabbit's tail, and Ableegumooch strained mightily to haul him up. Alas, the weight of the fisher was too great. With a loud snap, the rabbit's tail broke off short, within an inch of the root, and there was poor Ableegumooch with hardly any tail at all! Now you would think that this might have discouraged the rabbit from helping Uskool, but not so. When Ableegumooch made up his mind to do something for somebody, he did it. Holding on to a stout tree with his front paws, he lowered his hinder part into the pit. "Take hold of my legs," he cried, "and hang on tight. I'll soon pull you out." Ableegumooch pulled and he pulled until his waist was drawn out thin, and he could feel his hind legs stretching and stretching-- and soon he feared he might lose them too. But at last, just as he thought he must give up, the fisher's head rose above the edge of the pit and he scrambled to safety. "Well!" said the rabbit as he sat down to catch his breath. "My waist isn't so round as it was, and my hind legs seem a good bit longer than they were. I believe it will make walking rather difficult." And sure enough, it did. When the rabbit tried to walk, he tumbled head over heels. Finally, to get along at all, he had to hop. "Oh, well," said the rabbit, "hopping is better than nothing," and after a little practice, he found he could hop quite fast. And so they hurried on through the forest. At last, just before the sun touched the rim of the trees, they arrived at the bride's village. All the fishers were gathered, waiting, and they smiled and cheered at sight of Uskool and his guide--all but Kakakooch the Crow, who was far from glad to see them! In fact, as soon as he saw Uskool take the bride's hand, he flew out of the village in a temper, and never came back again. But nobody cared about him. Ableegumooch was the most welcome guest at the wedding when Uskool told the other fishers what he had done. All was feasting and merriment, and the rabbit danced with the bride so hard she fell into a bramble bush and tore her gown. She was in a dreadful state when she found she was not fit to be seen in company, and ran to hide behind a tree. The rabbit was terribly sorry and wanted to help her, so he hopped away to get a caribou skin he had seen drying in the sun, and made a new dress out of it for the bride. "You must have a fine girdle to go with it," said he, and he cut a thin strip off the end of the skin. Then he put one end of the strip in his mouth and held the other end with his front paws, twisting the strip into a fancy cord. He twisted and twisted, and he twisted it so hard the cord snapped out of his teeth and split his upper lip right up to his nose! And now you see why it is that rabbits are hare lipped! "Never mind," said Ableegumooch, when the bride wept at his mishap, "it can't be helped," and he gave her the cord just as it was, to tie around her waist. "Wait right here," said the bride, and she ran off. In a moment she was back, carrying a lovely white fur coat. "This is for you," she said shyly. "It is the color of the snow, so if you wear it in winter, your enemies will not be able to see you." Ableegumooch was delighted with his present and promised not to put it on till the snow came, as his brown coat would hide him better in summer. The wedding was over now, and he said good-bye to Uskool and the bride, and started for home. Now it happened that before he had gone far, he came to a small pool in the woods, so smooth it was like a mirror. Looking into it, the rabbit saw himself for the first time since his accidents, and was aghast. Was this he--this creature with the split lip, the hind legs stretched out of shape, and a tail like a blob of down? "Oh dear, oh dear," sobbed Ableegumooch, "how can I face my friends looking like this?" Then, in his misery, he remembered Glooscap, his Master. "O Master! See what has happened to your poor guide. I'm not fit to be seen any more, except to laugh at. Please put me back to my former shape." High up on Blomidon, Glooscap heard the rabbit and came striding down from his lodge to see what was wrong. When he saw poor Ableegumooch, all out of shape, he had all he could do to keep from laughing, though of course he kept a sober face so as not to hurt the rabbit's feelings. "Come now," he said, "things may not be as bad as you think. You know how fond you are of clover, Ableegumooch?" The rabbit nodded piteously. "And you know how hard it is to find. Well, with that long cleft in your lip, you will be able to smell clover even when it is miles away!" "That's good," said the rabbit, cheering up a little, "but it's very uncomfortable having to hop everywhere I go." "Perhaps, for a time," said Glooscap, "but have you noticed how much faster you hop than you used to run?" The rabbit did a little hop, and a jump or two, just to see. "Why I believe you're right!" he cried, but then his face fell again. "But my tail, Master! I mind that most of all. I was so proud of it." "It was certainly a handsome tail," admitted the Great Chief, "but recall how it used to catch in thorns and brambles." "That's true!" cried the rabbit, excitedly, "and it was very awkward when Wokwes the Fox was chasing me! Now I can slip through the narrowest places with no trouble at all!" And he laughed with delight. "Why--with my new legs, my cleft lip, and without my long tiresome tail, I'm a better rabbit than I was before!" "So you are!" said Glooscap, and at last he was able to laugh. When Glooscap laughs heartily, the land shakes and the trees bend over, so the rabbit had to hold on tightly to a tree to keep from being knocked over. "So you are indeed!" laughed Glooscap. And that is why the rabbit and the rabbit's children, and his children's children have had, ever since that day, a little white scat of a tail, a cleft lip, and long hind legs on which they can hop all day and never tire. And since then, too, in winter, rabbits wear white coats. And thus, kespeadooksit--the story ends. http://www.ilhawaii.net/~stony/lore94.html

How The Rabbit Lost His Tail – Lakota Once upon a time there were two brothers, one a great Genie and the other a rabbit. Like all genie, the older could change himself into any kind of an animal, bird, fish, cloud, thunder and lightning, or in fact anything that he desired. The younger brother (the rabbit) was very mischievous and was continually getting into all kinds of trouble. His older brother was kept busy getting Rabbit out of all kinds of scrapes. When Rabbit had attained his full growth he wanted to travel around and see something of the world. When he told his brother what he intended to do, the brother said: "Now, Rabbit, you are Witkotko (mischievous, so be very careful, and keep out of trouble as much as possible. In case you get into any serious trouble, and can't get out by yourself, just call on me for assistance, and no matter where you are, I will come to you." Rabbit started out and the first day he came to a very high house, outside of which stood a very high pine tree. So high was the tree that Rabbit could hardly see the top. Outside the door, on an enormous stool, sat a very large giant fast asleep. Rabbit (having his bow and arrows with him) strung up his bow, and, taking an arrow from his quiver, said: "I want to see how big this man is, so I guess I will wake him up." So saying he moved over to one side and took good aim, and shot the giant upon the nose. This stung like fire and awoke the giant, who jumped up, crying: "Who had the audacity to shoot me on the nose?" "I did," said Rabbit. The giant, hearing a voice, looked all around, but saw nothing, until he looked down at the corner of the house, and there sat a rabbit. "I had hiccoughs this morning and thought that I was going to have a good big meal, and here is nothing but a toothful." "I guess you won't make a toothful of me," said Rabbit, "I am as strong as you, though I am little." "We will see," said the giant. He went into the house and came out, bringing a hammer that weighed many tons. "Now, Mr. Rabbit, we will see who can throw this hammer over the top of that tree." "Get something harder to do," said Rabbit. "Well, we will try this first," said the giant. With that he grasped the hammer in both hands, swung it three times around his head and sent it spinning thru the air. Up, up, it went, skimming the top of the tree, and came down, shaking the ground and burying itself deep into the earth. "Now," said the giant, "if you don't accomplish this same feat, I am going to swallow you at one mouthful." Rabbit said, "I always sing to my brother before I attempt things like this." So he commenced singing and calling his brother. "Cinye! Cinye!" (brother, brother) he sang. The giant grew nervous, and said: "Boy, why do you call your brother?" Pointing to a small black cloud that was approaching very swiftly, Rabbit said: "That is my brother; be can destroy you, your house, and pine tree in one breath." "Stop him and you can go free," said the giant. Rabbit waved his paws and the cloud disappeared. >From this place Rabbit continued on his trip towards the west. The next day, while passing thru a deep forest, he thought he heard some one moaning, as though in pain. He stopped and listened; soon the wind blew and the moaning grew louder. Following the direction from whence came the sound, he soon discovered a man stripped of his clothing, and caught between two limbs of a tall elm tree. When the wind blew the limbs would rub together and squeeze the man, who would give forth the mournful groans. "My, you have a fine place up there. Let us change. You can come down and I will take your place." (Now this man had been placed up there for punishment, by Rabbit's brother, and he could not get down unless some one came along and proposed to take his place on the tree). "Very well," said the man. "Take off your clothes and come up. I will fasten you in the limbs and you can have all the fun you want." Rabbit disrobed and climbed up. The man placed him between the limbs and slid down the tree. He hurriedly got into Rabbit's clothes, and just as he had completed his toilet, the wind blew very hard. Rabbit was nearly crazy with pain, and screamed and cried. Then he began to cry "Cinye, Cinye" (brother, brother). "Call your brother as much as you like, he can never find me." So saying the man disappeared in the forest. Scarcely had he disappeared, when the brother arrived, and seeing Rabbit in the tree, said: "Which way did he go?" Rabbit pointed the direction taken by the man. The brother flew over the top of the trees, soon found the man and brought him back, making him take his old place between the limbs, and causing a heavy wind to blow and continue all afternoon and night, for punishment to the man for having placed his brother up there. After Rabbit got his clothes back on, his brother gave him a good scolding, and wound up by saying: "I want you to be more careful in the future. I have plenty of work to keep me as busy as I want to be, and I can't be stopping every little while to be making trips to get you out of some foolish scrape. It was only yesterday that I came five hundred miles to help you from the giant, and today I have had to come a thousand miles, so be more careful from this on." Several days after this the Rabbit was traveling along the banks of a small river, when he came to a small clearing in the woods, and in the center of the clearing stood a nice little log hut. Rabbit was wondering who could be living here when the door slowly opened and an old man appeared in the doorway, bearing a tripe water pail in his right hand. In his left hand he held a string which was fastened to the inside of the house. He kept hold of the string and came slowly down to the river. When he got to the water he stooped down and dipped the pail into it and returned to the house, still holding the string for guidance. Soon he reappeared holding on to another string, and, following this one, went to a large pile of wood and returned to the house with it. Rabbit wanted to see if the old man would come out again, but he came out no more. Seeing smoke ascending from the mud chimney, he thought he would go over and see what the old man was doing. He knocked at the door, and a weak voice bade him enter. He noticed that the old man was cooking dinner. "Hello Tunkasina (grandfather), you must have a nice time, living here alone. I see that you have everything handy. You can get wood and water, and that is all you have to do. How do you get your provisions?" "The wolves bring my meat, the mice my rice and ground beans, and the birds bring me the cherry leaves for my tea. Yet it is a hard life, as I am all alone most of the time and have no one to talk to, and besides, I am blind." "Say, grandfather," said Rabbit, "let us change places. I think I would like to live here." "If we exchange clothes," said the other, "you will become old and blind, while I will assume your youth and good looks." (Now, this old man was placed here for punishment by Rabbit's brother. He had killed his wife, so the genie made him old and blind, and he would remain so until some one came who would exchange places with him). "I don't care for youth and good looks," said Rabbit, "let us make the change." They changed clothes, and Rabbit became old and blind, whilst the old man became young and handsome. "Well, I must go," said the man. He went out and cutting the strings close to the door, ran off laughing. "You will get enough of your living alone, you crazy boy," and saying this he ran into the woods. Rabbit thought he would like to get some fresh water and try the string paths so that he would get accustomed to it. He bumped around the room and finally found the tripe water bucket. He took hold of the string and started out. When he had gotten a short distance from the door he came to the end of the string so suddenly, that he lost the end which he had in his hand, and he wandered about, bumping against the trees, and tangling himself up in plum bushes and thorns, scratching his face and hands so badly that the blood ran from them. Then it was that he commenced again to cry, "Cinye! Cinye!" (brother, brother). Soon his brother arrived, and asked which way the old man had gone. "I don't know," said Rabbit, "I couldn't see which path he took, as I was blind." The genie called the birds, and they came flying from every direction. As fast as they arrived the brother asked them if they had seen the man whom he had placed here for punishment, but none had seen him. The owl came last, and when asked if he had seen the man, he said "hoo-hoo." "The man who lived here," said the brother. "Last night I was hunting mice in the woods south of here and I saw a man sleeping beneath a plum tree. I thought it was your brother, Rabbit, so I didn't awaken him," said the owl. "Good for you, owl," said the brother, "for this good news, you shall hereafter roam around only at night, and I will fix your eyes, so the darker the night the better you will be able to see. You will always have the fine cool nights to hunt your food. You other birds can hunt your food during the hot daylight." (Since then the owl has been the night bird). The brother flew to the woods and brought the man back and cut the strings short, and said to him: "Now you can get a taste of what you gave my brother." To Rabbit he said: "I ought not to have helped you this time. Any one who is so crazy as to change places with a blind man should be left without help, so be careful, as I am getting tired of your foolishness, and will not help you again if you do anything as foolish as you did this time." Rabbit started to return to his home. When he had nearly completed his journey he came to a little creek, and being thirsty took a good long drink. While he was drinking he heard a noise as though a wolf or cat was scratching the earth. Looking up to a hill which overhung the creek, he saw four wolves, with their tails intertwined, pulling with all their might. As Rabbit came up to them one pulled loose, and Rabbit saw that his tail was broken. "Let me pull tails with you. My tail is long and strong," said Rabbit, and the wolves assenting, Rabbit interlocked his long tail with those of the three wolves and commenced pulling and the wolves pulled so hard that they pulled Rabbit's tail off at the second joint. The wolves disappeared. "Cinye! Cinye! (Brother, brother.) I have lost my tail," cried Rabbit. The genie came and seeing his brother Rabbit's tail missing, said: "You look better without a tail anyway." >From that time on rabbits have had no tails. Myths and legends of the Sioux, , by Mrs. Marie L. McLaughlin, Bismarck N.D. : Bismarck Tribune Co., 1916, and is now in the public domain. [Lakota]

How The Pö'okongs Destroyed Cóoyoko And His Wife - Hopi Halíksai! In Oraíbi the people were living, but there were a great many people at that time living there, and it frequently happened that when the men or women would get wood, some of them did not return, and the people were thinking about it and wondering what became of these people, whether they had gone away or whether they had been killed. They were worried about it. So one time a man again went after wood. He took his straps, tied them around his body and went to Hótvâla (a spring about five miles northwest of Oraíbi). North of this spring he gathered some wood, made the usual frame-work of wooded sticks into which he piled the wood, put the wood on his back, and went to the path leading to Oraíbi, when he heard a voice. Somebody was singing the following song: Iya yahina kilicina hanaa, Iya yahina kilicina hanaa, Honayish pichiya cakicta, Koovna ahinahina, Toyâshkakolita Cooyokooo. [These words are archaic and are not understood by the Hopi.] It was the Cóoyoko. When he saw that somebody came with wood, he said: "Now then, I shall feast upon that one." The man carrying the wood, however, quickly threw down his large burden of wood and crawled under it. When the Cóoyoko arrived at the place he could not find the man, and thought he had escaped. ''Let me go on farther, I may find some one else," he said, and so proceeded to another place in the woods singing the same song again. Here he found a woman getting a burden of wood ready. "Now then, I shall feast upon that one," he said again. When the woman saw him she was very much afraid and ran and climbed a juniper-tree, micturating as she did so. When the Cóoyoko arrived at the tree he noticed some moisture on the ground and said: "There must be clouds somewhere, it has been raining." So he left the place and went westward saying: "I shall hunt somebody else," and as he went along he sang the same song again. The man whom he had met first, had in the meanwhile escaped, and the woman also climbed down, when the Cóoyoko had left her, and ran away to the village. These two informed the people in the village that it was Cóoyoko who killed the Oraíbi people. When the village chief heard this he was very sorry and was thinking. He was thinking in the night who could help him. So the next morning he went over to the shrine of Achámali (about one- eighth of a mile north of Oraíbi), where the Pö'okongs (Pöokónghoya and Balö'ongawhoya) lived with their grandmother, Spider Woman. Spider Woman told him to come in and sit down. The two brothers were playing with their ball and did not hear the chief enter. The woman told them to stop, as some one had come in, but they would not listen, so she struck one over the back. "What Is It?" he said, but continued to play. She finally grasped him by both arms and told him to stop as somebody had come in. So they stopped their playing. Hereupon she said to the chief: "Now, what is it? You certainly have come for some reason." "Yes," he said; "these, my children here in Oraíbi when they get wood they are killed, and it is Cóoyoko who kills them, and I want you to take revenge on him. That is the reason why I have come here.'' "Yes," they said, "he does it. He is our uncle and he is bad, but we shall help you. We shall go there." Hereupon the chief asked them what they would want for it. They said that he should make some of those balls, when they had killed him, because those were what they wanted. The chief hereupon returned to the village. The next morning the two brothers took their bow, their arrows, which consisted of lightning, and their ball. As they went along they kept striking their ball before them. One of them struck it forward, and the other one backward, and in this way they slowly proceeded. They finally arrived at the Cóoyoko's house. This was located at Muñaovi on top of the mesa, a short distance east of Oraíbi (about four miles). When they came here they looked into the house, but Cóoyoko was gone. His wife, Cóoyok Wuhti, had also gone away. They followed the tracks of the latter westward, and found her at a place sitting and killing white lice in her dress. "There is somebody sitting," they said to each other, and laughed at her. "Now let us do something to her," the elder brother said, "because she does not notice us." Hereupon they both shot a lightning arrow at her, which shattered 'her to pieces. "Now, let, us go to the house," they said, which they did. When they arrived there Cóoyoko had not yet returned, so they went in and looked around. They found in one of the rooms still fresh human flesh that had just been fried, and they found hanging on the wall a great many beads, clothing, and scalps that had been taken from the Hopi whom the Cóoyoko had killed. Here they now waited for the return of Cóoyoko. Soon they heard him come. He was singing the same song that he had been singing before. "He is coming now," the youths said to each other, and when he carne upon the roof of the house or kiva they heard him throw down some, thing. "He has killed somebody again, because he is throwing down something," they said to each other. When Cóoyoko came into the kiva he found no one there, and said to himself: ''She has not yet returned," referring to his wife, "because there is no fire at the fireplace." He laid down his bow and arrows and his stone axe, and hunted for something to eat. The Pöokónghoyas had hidden themselves behind the mealingbin. When they saw him walking around there they said to each other: "Now let us kill him." So each one shot lightning arrows at him and he was killed. The Pöokónghoyas hereupon took his knife, scalped him, and then took many beads and a great many other things that they found in the house, and returned to their home. So they were now very wealthy. Going home they did not strike their ball before them because they had so many things to carry. When they had arrived in their home they had a dance, swinging the scalp of the Cóoyoko while they were dancing and singing the following song: Aynikohinahina, Aynikohinahina, Aynikohinahina, Hataina, hataina, Aynikohinahina Pöokonghoyo, Cooyoyoko (The) Pöokongs, (the) Cooyoko. Taalcha, hataina hataina Aynikohina hina. The words are archaic and no longer understood except the two proper names and the word taalcha. The last word is said to be the Navaho word for kill. When the village chief heard that they had returned he cut two round pieces out of a large buckskin and made two nice balls of these two pieces. He also made a ball stick for each one. These he took and went to the house of the Pö'okongs. What have you found out?" he asked them. "We have killed them." they replied. "Thanks," he said, "that you have killed them." Hereupon he handed them the balls and sticks. After that the Hopi always returned when they went after wood.

Alli, thank you! If able to keep my memory, tell it as it did happen, then, hopefully, it will be of interest. I am most grateful for you and your feedback. Walk in beauty. Fran Chinquapin On Tue, Apr 15, 2014 at 12:47 PM, Alli :) <iamcheroke@gmail.com> wrote: > Its very interesting. > Thank you for sharing it Fran. > > Your story's would be a great "Life Story" to be passed down to your family > > -----Original Message----- > From: cherokee-bounces@rootsweb.com [mailto:cherokee-bounces@rootsweb.com] > On Behalf Of Fran West-Powe > Sent: Tuesday, April 15, 2014 9:10 AM > To: CHEROKEE@rootsweb.com > Subject: [Cherokee Circle] work done by our folks > > For as long as Granny could remember, some of our men-folks worked for the > "guv-mint", doing tracking. The state of GA had a prison system called GA > chain gang, and it was for this branch of government that my kin/ancestors > worked as trackers. They found escaped convicts who had managed to survive > in the swamps and for this work were paid in dollars. > > Quite interesting to remember what our men did with the dollars: they dug > holes and buried them! LOL----our folks did not go into town, needed > nothing > from the town so they buried the money. It was their belief that it was > incredibly wasteful to pay with dollars as one could do nothing with it. > Now, given good knives or a flat-bottom boat; some snakes to skin, some > gators to cut up, a large fish for the village---that would have been > perceived as adequate compensation. > > One day, the guv-mint officials told my folks/ancestors they now had to use > tracking dogs, Bloodhounds, to find the escaped convicts. Seems our men > took > umbrage at this suggestion their tracking was not adequate, and there ended > their work for the guv-mint. > > Note: The above applies to our Village only; Granny was born mid-1800's, > her > Mama early 1800's, so this imparted information was not of recent > occurrence; just thought some might find it of interest. > > Fran > Chinquapin > ======*====== > List archives > http://archiver.rootsweb.ancestry.com/th/index?list=cherokee > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > CHEROKEE-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the > quotes > in the subject and the body of the message > > ======*====== > List archives > http://archiver.rootsweb.ancestry.com/th/index?list=cherokee > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > CHEROKEE-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the > quotes in the subject and the body of the message >

How The Pistils Of The Waratah Became Firm – Australian Of all the flowers in our Austra one which was most revered by the blacks (in fact the only one so far as we know) was the watarah. No other flower was ever sufficiently noticed by them to be plucked and given, or shown, to whites, with a sense of gratitude for a good done to them. There was a time, say the natives of the Burragorang Valley, when the waratah was not as we see it to-day. The pistils were soft and downy, and when the wind blew they fell off and floated away like the thistledown. It all happened at a corroboree. Wantaba and Wirrawaa were rivals for a maiden. Both men knew that he who sprang the highest in play, he who wielded the longest spear, and above all, he who went out alone into the dark and brought back the finest 'possum or the prettiest flower plucked in the dark of night, would win the girl. The hated and feared tribe that came over the hills from the swampy country at the base of the great unscalable mountain had twice been seen trespassing on the Burragorang side of the waterfall, and two corroborees had been held so that the young men who had never had a fight might be shown how to hurl a spear and how to crouch, and how to wield the millah, and dodge a blow, and also how to feign death if the enemy hit hard enough and proved to be too strong. The warriors, old and new, sallied out, and climbed to the top of the Dividing Range. There they sat around little pools of rain water that the tiny basins in the rocks held, and rubbed and rubbed their stone axes and spearheads, and chanted song after song, deriding the wrongdoers of the other tribe, until at last one of them yelled to know what all the din was about. The answer was a hurled spear. Wantaba was anxious to show what he could do, and he threw the spear that had taken him many days to fashion. Wirrawaa was more cautious. Plucking a waratah, which was then only a soft cluster of pollen like a wattle, he held it before his face while he took a careful aim at the seeming valiant enemy. He moved carefully forward, crouching the while just as old Wollayabba had done at the corroboree in which he was the teacher of the warlike arts, and knowing that by the time he was near enough to be sure of killing the foe and recovering, too, the spear that he would soon fling, many others of the opposing force would be collected at the spot. He drew nearer the edge of the ridge, step by step, and then came a puff of wind. The fluff of the flower blew back into his eyes, and just then came a spear from the throwing stick of one of the foes. Crack! It caught Wirrawaa fairly on the forehead, and down be went like a stone. That was the signal for a rush. Fighting men of both sides had clustered in rear of their companions, and now came the deciding clash. Down below on the sides of the ridge and on the top of another the women and children waited and watched and listened. Some could see the battle, some were too frightened to look, and some were not allowed to see what was going on. They could all know by the nearness of the noise which side was giving way, and the Burragorang women grew much afraid. They gathered up their mats and bags, for the sound of the fighting grew ever louder. Their men were being fought back. There were some bark shields lying handy, and two or three of the girls who had lovers fighting up on the hill grabbed them and rushed nearer to the fray. Wantaba, who had thrown the first spear was still in the battle line. Just as the girls with the shields came in sight, Wantaba received a mighty blow from a kurri, as the knobbed fighting-club was called. He turned and fled. Catching sight of the young woman for whom he and the fallen Wirrawaa strove he saw that she was holding out a bark shield for him, and he sped to her. But she asked for Wirrawaa. Wantaba pointed to his own head and then to a point in the midst of the struggling warriors and returned to the fray. The girl was afraid now that he would be killed like Wirrawaa, so calling to Wantaba she too rushed into the fight, and just in time. Many of her people had thrown down their clubs. Most of them were either killed or badly injured. But when the survivors saw a woman laying about her with an old stick, and warding off blows with a man's huge bark shield, they picked up their weapons again and fought more determinedly than ever. They won, and the trespassing blacks were driven far into their own territory. Upon the return of the pursuers to the scene of the fight a procession was formed in which were a few young women, and this was an unprecedented thing. There was a triumphal march back to the camp and the place was cleared for another corroboree. Wantaba was asked to tell his story and, dressed for the part in his proper war colours, he acted it and pointed out the girl who had fought and acclaimed her the real conqueror. Then at the end of this recital and this portrayal the women were all sent into thick scrub, and Wantaba was inducted into the mysteries of the marriage state. But the ceremony had to be postponed for the girl was not to be found. She had disappeared and no one had seen her going. When daylight came the whole tribe engaged in the search, for it was believed that she could not possibly have gone far, and it was feared that she had received some hurt. She had entered again into the domain of man, for she had communed with the god of her totem. She had asked that Wirrawaa be allowed to come back from the spirit world to her. She had taken a waratah and had shown how the fluffy bloom had succumbed to the blowing of the wind and had proved no protection to a fighting man. And her prayer was answered. Wirrawaa came back, though a much changed man. His skin was white and the eyes that before were nearly black were now sightless and blue. And he had a strange power. He could alter the form of trees and change their flowers. As a protection to any other fighting men who might pluck a flower or a plant when going into battle, he caused spikes and thorns to grow upon many trees and he changed many soft flowers into hard ones. The waratah became the firmest of all. The prickly hakea now prevents any one from pushing through it. Smilax and many other vines produced such thorns and prickles that they were a sufficient guard to any lands. For a long time it was believed that no spear would go through a waratah flower, and many blacks would ask white men to put one up and let someone hurl a dart or a spear and it would not go through. So much faith was placed in that, that many men would not go into battle without a waratah if they were in flower at the time of the quarrel. Australian Legends by C. W. Peck [1925]. The copyright status of this text is unknown.

How The Pipe Came To The Lenapé – Lenape Long ago, when Kukna, the Earth Mother, was young and the Native people were all one people, there arose a great dispute among them concerning a sacred medicine, the tooth of a certain monster bear. A council fire burned for many days and many nights, but no agreement could be reached concerning this, and the people found it impossible to settle their differences or to come to a compromise. After countless debates and meetings, it was finally decided to seperate into different groups. So it was, that many clans and families went their seperate ways. In time, many new tribes came into being, speaking new and different tongues and living in different ways. Now it was that a certain gifted being, called Nanapush, a Spirit helper on this Earth to Kishelamàkânk, the Creator, the Grandfather of human beings and all living creatures, saw that his grandchildren, the Lenapé, the Grandfathers of men, were in great distress, that they were quarreling and drifting apart, and he felt a deep and sincere compassion for them. So he asked Kishelamàkânk, the Creator of all things: "Kishelamìlenk, oh great Creator, I ask of your council. My Lenapé grandchildren need help, for they are deeply troubled." The Creator relied, "Your father, Wunchènewànk, Spirit of the West, once gave you a pipe, symbolizing the peace that came between you two after a settling of your differences. Make such a pipe for the Lenapé that they too through its power might come to find the same peace and understanding, and instruct them in its power and use." Shortly thereafter, one beautiful day, the great and wise Nanapush was seen standing upon the top of a high mountain, sending up signals of smoke, calling upon all of his Lenapé grandchildren, our ancestors, to Council. After they were all gathered together in one great assembly in the valley below, Nanapush, the great and gifted, broke off a piece of stone at his feet and he fashioned the first pipe that was ever seen by our Lenape'wàk. When it was finished, he filled the bowl with leaves which he pulled off a certain plant, smudged the pipe with winke'màsk (sweetgrass), and he blessed it. Then he made a fire of cedar logs and he named it, Tinde Wulankuntowa'kàn - The Fire of Peace. And from this sacred fire he lit this pipe, and he smoked it before all the people. While he smoked the pipe, he talk with them, instructing them in the meaning and the use of the pipe. As he smoked, a great peace, a great feeling of understanding, fell upon them. Indeed, their hearts became filled with a new kind of joy, good feelings and comfort. So, Nanapush, the strong and wise one, gave his Lenapé grandchildren that pipe as a gift, and he told them that the Creator had instructed them to go to a certain place where they would find a sacred plant growing there shich they should smoke in the pipe. This plant was the sacred tobacco, which we call ksha'te. So it was that the Creator, through Nanapush, gave four sacred gifts to the people: Tinde Wulankuntowa'kàn, the Fire of Peace; hupa'kàn, the pipe; ksha'te, the sacred tobacco; and winke'màsk, sweetgrass. Nanapush said, "My grandchildren, my Lenapè people, you are given these four gifts, that through their use you might send your thoughts and prayers to Kishelamàkânk, the Creator, and he will hear. Whenever you are in great trouble or need, whenever you are in Council, build such a fire, bring a pipe into your midst, and the spiritual power of the pipe will immediately begin to cleanse your eyes, throats, hearts, minds, and Spirits, of all trouble and evil. As the smoke from the pipe rises to the sky, your thoughts and prayers will be heard by the Creator. Peace and order, and good thinking will be restored among the people. And so it was, from that day long ago, when Nanapush, the sacred and gifted being, Grandfather of all men and every living being, stood upon the top of the Great Mountain and lit the first pipe from the Fire of Peace, that the pipe has been held as sacred and holy, upheld and respected among the people, at all times and all places. So ends the story of the coming of the pipe to the Lenapé people. From:The Grandfathers Speak, by: Hìtakonanu'laxk Used by permission

For as long as Granny could remember, some of our men-folks worked for the "guv-mint", doing tracking. The state of GA had a prison system called GA chain gang, and it was for this branch of government that my kin/ancestors worked as trackers. They found escaped convicts who had managed to survive in the swamps and for this work were paid in dollars. Quite interesting to remember what our men did with the dollars: they dug holes and buried them! LOL----our folks did not go into town, needed nothing from the town so they buried the money. It was their belief that it was incredibly wasteful to pay with dollars as one could do nothing with it. Now, given good knives or a flat-bottom boat; some snakes to skin, some gators to cut up, a large fish for the village---that would have been perceived as adequate compensation. One day, the guv-mint officials told my folks/ancestors they now had to use tracking dogs, Bloodhounds, to find the escaped convicts. Seems our men took umbrage at this suggestion their tracking was not adequate, and there ended their work for the guv-mint. Note: The above applies to our Village only; Granny was born mid-1800's, her Mama early 1800's, so this imparted information was not of recent occurrence; just thought some might find it of interest. Fran Chinquapin

Its very interesting. Thank you for sharing it Fran. Your story's would be a great "Life Story" to be passed down to your family -----Original Message----- From: cherokee-bounces@rootsweb.com [mailto:cherokee-bounces@rootsweb.com] On Behalf Of Fran West-Powe Sent: Tuesday, April 15, 2014 9:10 AM To: CHEROKEE@rootsweb.com Subject: [Cherokee Circle] work done by our folks For as long as Granny could remember, some of our men-folks worked for the "guv-mint", doing tracking. The state of GA had a prison system called GA chain gang, and it was for this branch of government that my kin/ancestors worked as trackers. They found escaped convicts who had managed to survive in the swamps and for this work were paid in dollars. Quite interesting to remember what our men did with the dollars: they dug holes and buried them! LOL----our folks did not go into town, needed nothing from the town so they buried the money. It was their belief that it was incredibly wasteful to pay with dollars as one could do nothing with it. Now, given good knives or a flat-bottom boat; some snakes to skin, some gators to cut up, a large fish for the village---that would have been perceived as adequate compensation. One day, the guv-mint officials told my folks/ancestors they now had to use tracking dogs, Bloodhounds, to find the escaped convicts. Seems our men took umbrage at this suggestion their tracking was not adequate, and there ended their work for the guv-mint. Note: The above applies to our Village only; Granny was born mid-1800's, her Mama early 1800's, so this imparted information was not of recent occurrence; just thought some might find it of interest. Fran Chinquapin ======*====== List archives http://archiver.rootsweb.ancestry.com/th/index?list=cherokee ------------------------------- To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to CHEROKEE-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message

How the People Hunted the Moose - Cree One night, a family of moose was sitting in their lodge. As they sat around the fire, a very strange thing happened. A pipe came floating through their door! Sweet-smelling smoke came from the long pipe and it made a circle around their lodge, passing close to the Moose People. The old bull moose saw the pipe, but said nothing, so it passed by him. The cow moose said nothing, so the pipe passed by her, too. The pipe passed each of the Moose People until it reached the youngest bull moose who was near the door, of the lodge. "You've come to me," he said to the pipe. Then, he reached out, took the pipe, and started to smoke it. "Oh, my son," said the old bull moose, "now you have killed us! This is a pipe from the Human People. They're smoking this pipe now and asking for success in tomorrow's hunt. They will find us now. Because you smoked their pipe, they will find us." "I'm not afraid," said the young bull moose. "I can run faster than any of those Human People. They can't catch me." The old bull moose said nothing else. When it was morning, the Moose People left their lodge. They went across the land looking for food. But, as soon as they got to the edge of the forest, they smelled the hunters. It was the time of year when there is a thin crust on the snow, and it made it hard for the Moose People to move quickly. "These Human People will catch us!" said the cow moose. Their feet have feathers, like the grouse. They can walk on top of the snow." Then, the Moose People started to run as the Human People followed them. The young bull moose who had smoked from the pipe ran away from the others. He was still sure that he could outrun the hunters. But, the hunters had on snowshoes, and the young moose's feet sank into the snow. The Human People followed him until he was tired, and then they shot and killed him. After they killed him, they thanked him for smoking their pipe and for giving himself to them so that they could survive. They treated his body with care, and they soothed his spirit. That night, the young bull moose woke up in his lodge surrounded by his Moose People. Next to his bed was a present that the Human People had given to him. He showed it to the others. "See," he said. "It wasn't such a bad thing for me to accept the long pipe that the Human People sent us. Those hunters treated me respectfully. So, it is right for us to let the Human People catch us." And, so it is to this day. Hunters who show respect to the moose, and other animals, are always the ones who have successful hunt. Adapted from The Native Stories from Keepers of the Animals, by Joseph Bruchac