A flurry of yellow-bellied Warblers dances in on the wind. The Old Woman looks up from the deep red Nagoonberries she is harvesting to watch the minute birds. She smiles as one lands on her shoulder, then flies off again. Little Snake watches hungrily from her coil on a sun-warmed rock. The Warblers twitter and drift through a nearby Willow tree. Their greenish yellow bellies blend in perfectly with the Willow’s fading leaves. Summer is halfway on its journey to the Autumn Equinox.
“Where is Raven?” asks Little Snake as she watches the sky. The two listen and hear a Raven croak and a Squirrel scolding in a far off tree.
“There he is,” replies The Old Woman, “pestering that Squirrel.” But then a Jay chides loudly and another Raven croaks on the other side of the meadow where The Old Woman is gathering berries. “Or maybe he is over there,” she says uncertainly.
“He has been awfully quiet for a while,” observes Little Snake. Her tongue flicks. “What’s that taste?”
“Oh no,” whispers The Old Woman as she sniffs the air. She races off through the meadow as fast as her ancient legs will carry her, and down the cliff path.
The acrid scent of burning hair spews from the cave. Inside, the cave floor looks as though it has grown its own flower meadow, covered as it is in multi-colored tufts of wool and unwound skeins of nettle yarn, some of which looked sodden, while others are burning under flickering flames.
“I’m trying my beak at being a summer god!” Raven announces, flapping his wings in the midst of his mess. “Just sing your magic song and all of this will turn into a field of flowers!”
“What magic words?” asks The Old Woman distractedly as she starts putting out the fire closest to the cave entrance. “And why are you burning my wool?”
“You say the magic only works when all of the elements are together, so I was just adding fire,” Raven explains in an unconvincing attempt at childish innocence.
“But what kind of magic were you trying to do?” asks The Old Woman in exasperation as she tosses a pot of water from the waterfall onto the flames deeper in the cave.
“I wanted to make a meadow of flowers!” Raven hops onto one of his stone perches to watch The Old Woman work at putting out his fires, her basket of Nagoonberries bouncing on her chest because she knows Raven will eat them all if she sets it down.
“Why in here, with my tapestry fibers? And why did you have to burn my favorite purple wool? That color takes months to make!”
“Because everywhere else is already covered in green growing things,” shrugs Raven.
The Old Woman wipes sweat and smoke from her eyes and surveys the damage. “Come on,” she sighs. “Let’s go pick berries. I’ll clean this up after it cools.”
She grabs Raven by one black foot and carries him out into the sunlight. He flies off to tell Little Snake all about his trick.
“I have a meadow story, too,” Little Snake announces after The Old Woman returns.
Raven smirks. “I bet it’s not exciting as me setting the cave on fire.”
“Well, if you get bored, you’re welcome to go take your Trickster ways elsewhere,” retorts Little Snake, who has never quite forgiven him for destroying her den. “Otherwise, be quiet and listen.
“The Voles have lived on the same bit of land since the ice melted off and the ocean sunk away, and what once had been tideland grew into a meadow. Not very long ago, families of Mice started to move in. They had a nasty habit of crowding out the Voles, and eating all of the abundant food the meadow had to offer. In spite of the Mice, the Voles persisted, burrowing tenaciously underground, and the two different kin groups lived, while not exactly at war, certainly not in harmony.
“This is the story of a curious Mouse called Calendula, who was born of one of the first Mouse families to arrive at the meadow.”
“Naark!” interrupts Raven. “How do you know a story about a Mouse? Do you always interrogate your food before you eat?”
Little Snake glares scornfully at Raven. “Being a creature of the sky, I don’t expect you to understand how we beings of the underground listen with our bellies to the stories held in roots and stones and soil.”
“I listen to my belly all the time,” retorts Raven. “It says ‘eat, eat eat!’”
Little Snake rolls her eyes and continues with her story. “Calendula had a habit of looking around and asking questions her family had no answers to, and they constantly had to remind her to eat enough so she would not go hungry.”
“One day, Calendula came across a spire of red berries at the edge between the meadow and the forest. She looked up to the sky, wondering where the berries had fallen from, and saw patches of cloud through a thin canopy of glowing green and red berry spears. She did not recognize the broad, veined leaves, nor the thick stem with its skin of thorns, and so the Mouse resolved to solve the mystery of the berries.
“Calendula stepped warily out into the high, pepper-scented grass of the meadow, and presently she came to a stream. As she stopped to sniff and look and ponder which way she should go, Calendula saw a small movement from the corner of her eye. Whiskers twitching, she turned just in time to see a small Vole dash away between the towering blades of meadow grass.
“Calendula ran after the Vole, but the berries weighed her down and kept snagging on the grass. Even so, she managed to keep the Vole just within sight, right up until the moment the Vole slipped down into a hole in the ground and disappeared.
“The Mouse poked her nose into the opening of the den. ‘Hello? Is anybody home?’
“The same round, little Vole scampered up and poked her nose out into the light. Spotting Calendula sitting there with the spire of red berries, she sighed and said, ‘You had better come in.’ Along the corridor, the Vole introduced herself as Chocolate Lily. Around a bend and down a little into the den, they came upon two elders: Grandmother Iris and Great-grandmother Cottongrass. The first had bright black eyes, sharp and wise, while the second wore a wide smile full of love.
“Shy in the presence of the Voles, Calendula asked quietly, ‘I found these berries and I wondered if they were any good to eat?’
“Chocolate Lily and Grandmother Iris exchanged a sigh and a look that said, ‘Oh, these newcomers: we must teach them everything, mustn’t we?’
“Grandmother Iris spoke slowly, with reverence to her words. “As they are now, these S’áxt berries are not fit to eat. They would tear apart your insides and make you quite sick. Listen closely to what you must do. First, mash the berries in an empty seed pod. Then, pull hot stones from a Human’s fire and drop them into the seed pod so that they cook the berries as you stir them with a stick. Keep replacing the hot stones until the berries have cooked down into a jam. Before it cools, scoop the jam into fresh seed pods and bring one to me. For, the Vole way is the sharing way, and we always feed our elders first.’
“As Chocolate Lily led Calendula back out of the den, she whispered, ‘Just don’t let the other Voles see your mistake; they might take offense.’
“Back out in the meadow, Calendula set about gathering seedpods, emptying them of their contents. She was a little concerned how she was supposed to find a fire to cook the berries, for she had not seen a Human all day. But, she needn’t have worried, because it was a fine evening in late summer and sure enough, smoke was on the breeze. The Mouse hung her empty seedpods over the berries on the spire and hauled her load through the meadow, following the scent of smoke.
“Along the way, she found a patch of low-growing blueberries. Now, normally, Calendula would stuff her mouth with any food she came upon, but having met the Voles, she decided to pick a couple of the sweet, powdery blueberries and nestle them carefully on her spire of red S’áxt berries. This made her load heavier, but she thought the Voles would prefer if she shared her find with them.
“Calendula continued on until she came to a patch of Fireweed a Porcupine had just munched through. Some of the flowers had fallen to the ground where the Mouse could reach them. Sniffing their nectar scent of summer sun, she decided to bring a few of the flowers with her.
“Calendula could see the Humans and the warm glow of their fire when she came upon a sprig of Yarrow they must have trampled. The flowers smelled so delicious, Mouse decided to add some of them to her jam as well.
“Wearily, Calendula dropped her load beside the fire. She longed to rest her tired feet and aching back, but she had work to do. So, she set up her seed pods, and one by one, she dropped the berries into the largest seedpod and stamped on them with her little foot. When that didn’t work, she pounded them with rocks until they burst and their juice oozed out. She was determined to follow Grandmother Iris’s every instruction, for she knew she was in the Voles’ meadow now and while their ways might be different than the Mice’s, they had invited her in and answered her question.
“The Humans were talking and laughing, and nobody paid any attention to the wee little Mouse snitching hot pebbles from the edge of their fire. As Calendula worked diligently, tired though she was, she wondered whether the Voles’ way - ‘the sharing way’ - wasn’t perhaps better than the Mice’s way of stuffing oneself with as much as one can, always worried there would never be enough.
“Calendula worked long into the night, mashing and stirring and rolling hot pebbles into her jam. Though she had never known any Mouse to sing as they gorged themselves, a little song popped into her mouth, as if from the berries and flowers themselves.
‘S’áxt berries, like anger,
must be simmered to eat
Blueberries to add
a taste that is sweet
Fireweed from ashes,
new life grows from old
And Yarrow for upholding
the truths we are told’
“Finally, when the first pale glow of morning faded the eastern stars, and the last of the fire’s embers cooled, Calendula’s work was complete. She had made enough jam to fill four seedpods. With the last of her strength, she made a nest in the tall grass and curled up around her warm jams. As she drifted off to sleep, dew settled around her, collecting on her fur, and cooling the jams.
“The next day, the clever little Mouse devised a way to carry those seedpods of jam on her back without spilling a drop. With her load in place, she headed back to the den of the Voles to offer her gift.
“Grandmother Iris held Calendula’s jam out for Great-Grandmother Cottongrass to taste. The latter dipped her old paw into the seedpod and pulled it out, all covered in sticky, burgundy jam. Her smile broadened as she licked her paw clean.
“‘Tastes sweet!’ she remarked. Grandmother Iris flashed Mouse a discerning look and dipped her own paw into the jam.
“‘Did you add Blueberries?’ she asked in surprise.
“Calendula affirmed that she did and repeated her rhyme:
‘S’áxt berries, like anger,
must be simmered to eat
Blueberries to add
a taste that is sweet
Fireweed from ashes,
new life grows from old
And Yarrow for upholding
the truths we are told’
“The Voles all looked at each other, conversing in silence with their bright, black eyes.
“‘I did not realize the Mice still remembered their old ways,’ said Grandmother Iris.
“‘What old ways?’ asked Calendula.
“‘The Mice used to be excellent rhymers. I didn’t realize the grandmothers still sang their old songs and passed down their cunning lore.’
“‘Oh, my grandmother didn’t teach me that song,’ Calendula told her. ‘It just popped in my head as I was cooking down the berries and flowers the way you told me to.’
“‘The Mice may have forgotten in their minds, but their bones still remember, and so does the land. When they stop to listen, they will recall.” Great-Grandmother Cottongrass smiled at Calendula and patted the Mouse’s paw with her own sticky one.
“What did Calendula do with the rest of her jams?” asks The Old Woman.
“The Voles told her that the meadow had started to teach her because she was ready to learn. They told her to carry her jams and the wisdom that they had shared with her back to her family and the rest of the Mice. The second seedpod of jam, she gave to her grandparents. Her grandfather swiped it all into his mouth.”
“Kruk! Kruk!” laughs Raven. “He was listening to his belly, too!” Little Snake ignores him and continues her story.
“‘No, Grandfather!’ cried Calendula. ‘That was for both of you to share.’ To illustrate, she took a pawful of jam from the next seedpod and fed her grandmother. But her grandmother was not satisfied.
“‘He got a whole podful, so why don’t I?’ she demanded.
“‘Because this is for sharing, not taking,’ Calendula tried to explain. She dipped her paw in again and fed both of her other grandparents, then her parents, and then each of her siblings. However, she finished the last of the jam in the last seedpod before she reached her youngest brother.
“He cried because he did not get any, but Calendula held his paw and said, ‘Let’s go make some more jam. You can help this time.’ She showed her little brother where to find the berries and the flowers, and though he fell asleep during the nighttime cooking, he was bright eyed in the morning when they shared their first seedpod of jam with the Voles again.
“Did the rest of the Mice learn from Calendula?” asks The Old Woman.
“Most of them did not,” replies Little Snake. “She tried to teach them that ‘the meadow way is the sharing way,’ but the older generations had a hard time changing their ways. She found that, like her littlest brother, the younger Mice were more open to exploring how the different approaches affected life in the meadow. Calendula spent more time with the Voles, who taught her how to leave a few seeds behind, rather than eating every last one, so that more plants would grow the next year. They taught her how, by limiting herself now, she helped ensure that there would be more for everyone later on. The Mice were too short-sighted to want to limit themselves, and there was a particularly long winter in which many of them starved. We Snakes feasted well that spring, but overall, the return to balance came at a high cost to the meadow.”
“I don’t see why you’re complaining,” says Raven. “You got to gorge yourself on all those dead Mice.”
“Yes, but the trouble with feasts like that is, once they are over, famine follows. We all preferred the Voles’ way. We Snakes never feasted, but we always had enough to eat.”
“Did Calendula survive that winter?” asks The Old Woman, standing up to stretch.
“I don’t know,” muses Little Snake. “I don’t recall hearing about her after that.”
“That’s because catastrophes don’t discriminate between who lives and who dies,” Raven explains. “Maybe you ate her! That’s why your belly knows her story!” He puffs out his neck feathers and croaks in laughter.
“The Trickster is right,” agrees The Old Woman. “If only one Mouse is living ‘the sharing way,’ she is just as likely to perish as all the others. Communities who listen to the land and adapt to the changes are the ones most prepared to survive. How did the Voles fare?”
“Better than the Mice, but many of them died because the Mice had already taken so much of the food in the meadow.”
“Well, hopefully enough survived to learn from their mistakes,” comments The Old Woman as she drops another Nagoonberry into the basket slung around her neck.
*S’áxt is the Tlingit name for the plant, Devil’s Club, a sacred medicinal plant for all of the tribes along the southern coast of Alaska and into the Pacific Northwest. Even cooked down, the berries are NOT edible for humans, so please do not attempt to make and eat Calendula’s jam recipe. This story was inspired by a dream, so I invite you to explore the metaphor of what it means to cook down something raw and potentially harmful (emotions, thoughts, information) into something palatable and nourishing. How can we turn anger into invitation, fear into hope, statistics into stories?
Very wise and insightful! Loved this quote: “‘The Mice may have forgotten in their minds, but their bones still remember, and so does the land. When they stop to listen, they will recall.”