--part1_0.46404a2.256e9d3d_boundary Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit --part1_0.46404a2.256e9d3d_boundary Content-Type: message/rfc822 Content-Disposition: inline Return-path: AgigageKog@aol.com From: AgigageKog@aol.com Full-name: AgigageKog Message-ID: <0.f751bf21.256e9b1f@aol.com> Date: Thu, 25 Nov 1999 09:01:03 EST Subject: a creek story as told by my greatgrandmother To: Firewalks@aol.com MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Mailer: Windows AOL sub 45 My great grand mother was a small child when this happened, but when she told it there were tears in her old eyes. She lived to be 102 years young and but her stories seemed so new. this is one that I seem to remember the most. For in this story it shows the trust of the natives and the curelty of the whites. But yet in telling the story, we must learn the reason of the hate and not do as they did, HATE. Many years ago the natives lived near the water and enjoyed the simple way of life. Farming, hunting, fishing,and watching the children play. They gathered together at night to listen to the story tellers. What a happy life they had. The white man wanted the land the natives had. They were asked to move off the land. How could they leave the land they so loved. A place where their grandfathers was buried. They said they would not leave. So the whites said they understood. So to show how they wished for peace they would have a big feast. The village was all excited about the evening feast ahead. There was singing and happy laughter among the people. As the day due closer to where they were to meet the whites for peace, they sang louder and was rejoying over it. For there would be peace and they would be able to keep the land by the water. As they got close to where the whites were, they see the see the large amount of food. They talked how nice the whites were to have such a feast. My grand mother can so remember the songs they sang. So happy was the people. Today they would call it thanksgiving. But as the night went on little by little the whites left. So much happiness in the village , they did not see them leave. the whites were all on the surrending hills. They had harge cannons. Each was filled with broken glass, nails, wood, and pieces of iron. Soon the laughter of the village rang with fear, as they shot the cannons in to the people. They ran grabbing the old and the chilkdren. Many laid dead and dying. soon the smoke filled the area where there once was laughter, now only crying filled the air. So this is my story of thankgiving so i never say happy thankgiving i only say happy turkey day love granny --part1_0.46404a2.256e9d3d_boundary--