Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
NEXT MEETING
Dear HSUWrite Contributors:
Some of us met in January and February to share our writing; but our number was small. We also have not seen much activity here on the blog. So we are thinking about abandoning the blog. We plan to continue to meet once a month and will probably email our writing(s) to each other and/or bring paper copies to the meetings.
If you are interested in joining us: the next meeting will be at my house (4971 Lundblade Drive, Eureka) on Tuesday, March 23 at 7pm. If you can't make it but want to be part of the group, you can contact me at judyand@quik.com.
We would sure like to have more of you join us!
Judy A.
Some of us met in January and February to share our writing; but our number was small. We also have not seen much activity here on the blog. So we are thinking about abandoning the blog. We plan to continue to meet once a month and will probably email our writing(s) to each other and/or bring paper copies to the meetings.
If you are interested in joining us: the next meeting will be at my house (4971 Lundblade Drive, Eureka) on Tuesday, March 23 at 7pm. If you can't make it but want to be part of the group, you can contact me at judyand@quik.com.
We would sure like to have more of you join us!
Judy A.
Monday, February 8, 2010
NEXT MEETING Hi Friends, The next writer's group will meet at my house on Tuesday, February 16th at 7:00. Please e-mail me at judygoucher@suddenlink.net or call 677-0797 to leave a message if you plan to attend. We will be discussing stories written by me and Judy A. at the meeting. Directions to my house are: travel north past McKinleyville to 6th Avenue exit. Turn left at the stop sign onto 6th Avenue. Turn left at the next stop sign onto Westhaven drive. Go about 1/10th mile and turn right onto 8th Avenue. Go about 1/10th mile and the paved road turns to the left. DO NOT TAKE THE PAVED TURN, drive straight onto a gravel road. Go about 1/4 mile and the main gravel road curves to the left. There is a sign that says OX ROAD. Go up a steep hill until it flattens out. You will pass several driveways. Go until the road forks and there is a stump that says 1175 and you turn off of the main road on to my drive way. Turn the corner and you will be at a two story house with shingles and green trim. There are only three houses past mine. If you come to a gate, you went past my driveway. It is not as hard as it sounds. The most common mistake is to take the paved turn and the rest of the directions would not make sense if you did. Hope to see you there. Judy G.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Brothers
BROTHERS
Judy Goucher
Every stormy morning begins before dawn at Chicken Point. The salt rusted trucks line up along the overlook and weather creased faces peer through the gloom. Each man, still warm from his bed, weighs the power of the sea against the lure of the money the crabs will bring to his family. For days the storm has raged and tossed the boats against their moorings like they were but toys. The rains have scoured the river banks and poured silt and debris into the roiling cauldron. As the first rays light the bay below, drowsy eyes widen and the fire in the belly begins again. The first engine starts and nothing moves slow.
The whine of the winch is almost constant as each captain rides his skiff from the dock down to the rolling water. The insignificant skiffs are tossed about as they are rowed the course to the fishing boats. There is plenty to keep a man busy as they wait their turn. Bait, crab boxes, rain gear, water and enough food to keep a man going until all the pots are emptied must be loaded and safely stowed. The captain will not turn back just because a man forgot his lunch. The powerful running lights come on one by one and pierce the water laden air. Each boat carries life jackets and survival suits, but no man will tolerate being hindered by these devices when there is work to be done. The sea is occasionally littered with survival equipment that was meant to save a life, but didn't.
The Second Wind, with captain and two crew, is the first to part the lead colored waters. Each man knows his job and no words are wasted. There is bait to ready and gear to organize before the first pot line is reached. The reassuring drone of the engine joins the never silent sound of the ocean.
As they leave the protection of the bay and round the head, the boat climbs the face of the first wave. The captains judged this a fishable day, but the sea is still angry. The deckhands have long ago learned the captain tolerates no less than top performance despite any residual effects from excessive alcohol the night before. Sam leans over the side and gives the sea his breakfast. No one glances his way. He wipes the debris from his red beard with the back of his left, gloved hand as his right hand reaches toward the box of bait he was preparing in one continuous motion. His thick fingers close around the knife and he pries apart the still frozen bait.
John pushes his dark hair out of his eyes and wishes he had gotten a hair cut while he had the chance. As he moves toward the stern of the boat, his rain pants catch on the corner of a crab box and he stumbles. His mind flashes back to his first year on the boat when a moment of inattention caused a misstep and a fall overboard. He remembers never feeling so cold as the water filled his rain gear and he clawed his way to the surface. Nor, has he ever felt so alone as when he glimpsed the boat pulling away. Luckily, his captain was quick and turned the boat before he was lost from sight behind the swell. He was plucked from the water and flopped onto the deck like he was a big fish. The sea took his courage that day. He still loves running against the wind and the money keeps him coming back. But there is an empty place now that he sometimes has to try to fill where his courage used to ride easy.
Captain Craig drapes his lanky frame against the cabin and steers the boat as he stretches his hip. He used to try to ignore the aches and pains, but his body requires maintenance now. His blue eyes alternate scanning the instruments and the water for his buoys.
"First buoy up", he shouts.
They approach from down current and the human machine turns on. As the captain slows the boat to about 4 knots and coasts toward the buoy, John stands ready to hook the buoy and put the rope in the crab block. The tension is always there as the winch winds the rope up, waiting to see how full the first pot will be. As it breaks surface and the water streams off, the grins stretch wide.
"Money day", the captain hollers.
No time to celebrate, the boat never stops. John and Craig reach down to pull the pot over and the crabs cascade across the deck. The legal sized males are thrown into the fish hold in the center of the deck. The females and undersized males are tossed overboard and any questionable sized males are tossed in a box to measure later when there is more time. The pot is re-baited and plunged back in to sink to the ocean floor. The captain makes a directional correction as the next buoy bobs closer and three pairs of hands keep moving.
Crab history documents that the crabs seem to follow a seven year cycle. After a really good year there is a decline in the number of crab taken, followed by a subsequent increase until at about seven years there is another year to celebrate. No one seems to know where the crabs go or if this is just their normal reproductive cycle. The fishermen just try to follow experience, intuition, and luck to drop their pots where the traveling scavengers are most likely to find them as they crisscross the ocean floor searching for dead things to eat.
As the last buoy slips back into the water, the captain throttles up to and heads for the next line. The questionable sized males are sorted, the deck is cleared, and the bait is made ready for the next line. Plenty of money left in the hold after the sorting is done. The clouds are clearing, the sun hits the deck to warm cold hands, and the sea has calmed. The kind of day that keeps them coming back.
As the boat planes through the swells at about 9 knots, there is a thud and the boat violently stops dead in the water. The captain is thrown against the dash and the surefooted deck hands are sprawled on the deck. The engine continues it's futile roar and water can be heard rushing somewhere into the boat. Blood trickles from the side of Craig's face as he turns and cuts the power. John and Sam struggle to their feet.
"What the hell", can be heard erupting from all mouths.
Sam dives for the survival suits and everyone struggles into the cumbersome gear.
"Get all the pumps going", Craig commands as he reaches for the radio.
"May day, may day, Second Wind at 41 degrees, 10.00 minutes north, 124 degrees 12.00 minutes west, taking on water, require immediate assistance. Repeat, may day, may day, Second Wind at 41, 10.00 north, 124 12.00 west, require immediate assistance."
Then he drops the radio and heads for the hold, eyes scanning the empty sea for what stopped the boat. Already the bow is angled down, heavy in the water. The cabin is filling up fast.
The pumps are up and running, but not keeping up with the water rushing in. Clothes, boots, buckets, lunchboxes, debris of all kinds are swirling around, some of it being sucked toward the intake hoses. Everyone grabbed what they could and tossed it onto the deck. Then the water covered the battery and the pumps stopped. There was nothing to stop the water as the bow of the boat sunk lower and lower. Suddenly the water gushes out of the cabin door and flows overboard. The men grab whatever they can as it floats by and fling it toward the stern or into the crab hold. The outflow from the cabin door diverts enough water to allow the engine compartment and the fish hold thresholds to stay above water. The boat stabilizes and wallows low and uneasy.
Then the chop chop of the Coast Guard helicopter is heard heading their way and all faces turn skyward.
The helicopter hovers off to starboard, and a rescue rope can be seen dangling from the doorway. The man in the doorway motions them to jump into the water for a rescue. Craig shakes his head and makes a pumping motion in the air. The helicopter crewman shakes his head and again motions to jump for rescue. Craig repeats his signals and the crewman disappears. Within a few minutes a second helicopter arrives and hovers above the boat, causing a wash of wind and water to batter the boat and men. A rope lowers and whips violently above the men. Tom grabs the rope and steadies the thrashing as the pump is attached and lowered. The package is ripped open and the pump is soon pouring water over the side, but it's not enough. Craig jumps up and motions for another pump. A second pump is lowered and set up and the water pouring from the cabin starts to ebb. Then, the second pump seizes up and the water gushes forth again. Craig, again, jumps up and signals the failure and for another pump. But, the crewman just shakes his head, shrugs, and disappears.
The captain turns his blood, salt, and water streaked face and surveys the sea around him. There are six boats from the fishing fleet huddled around them as if to hold the waters back a little and two helicopters in the air. His eyes, again, scan the empty sea around the boat and stop at starboard. Moving to the rail, he peers through the dark waters. Something big was down below the surface, as if waiting patiently, for what?
"Hey, Craig, I'm coming aboard".
No time to ponder as Craig twirls around and sees a boat approaching to port. Hands reach across the waters and pull the boats close and a friend jumps the gap.
"What can I do to help"?
"Try to get all that crap out of the cabin where it won't get sucked into the intake hoses and stowed somewhere out of the way."
His crew hollers that a third helicopter is approaching. As the helicopter hovers and readies to lower the pump, the wash of wind and water are so severe that the first pump is flooded, sputters, and stops. The captain signals the chopper to back off. Once again the water surges and pours out the door. The pump is dropped to another boat that is able to come close enough to toss the pump and it is set up. The water slows, but the two pumps are not enough to equalize the constant flood of water. Then one of the pumps clogs and a deckhand wades in to pull a sock off the intake hose. Efforts are renewed to empty the cabin of all debris.
Then John sees the Coast Guard Cutter roaring towards them. They know the cutter will have a big pump and they brace for the bump as the boat comes along side.
"Easy there, it wouldn't take much to sink me," the captain hollers.
"What do you need", asks the fresh faced young Seaman.
"I need a big pump, the little ones are not enough".
Finally, with the big pump going, the water going out starts to exceed the water coming in and the cabin starts to empty. One of the small pumps is diverted to the engine room and water there is mostly emptied. For a moment the frenzy slows as all eyes watch the tilting boat riding a little higher in the water. One of the fishing fleet pulls closer.
"Hey, Craig, I got my wetsuit aboard, I can go down and check it out",
"Let's get going", quickly responds Craig to this unexpected opportunity. "Stay away from starboard, there's something down there."
Despite multiple protests by the Coast Guard, the friend is soon in the water and diving beneath the boat. All eyes watch where the water parted to swallow him, waiting for a clue to the mystery. As his head breaks the surface and he grabs the port side of the boat, everyone crowds forward to hear.
"The hole is about the size of my fist. It was a huge root wad, half the size of the boat. It hit dead center and is still just wallowing around down there off to the starboard side. It's weird. Usually those just slide by the bow and you never see them again. If we had something to plug the hole, I could stuff it in and you could pull from inside."
"I have a nerf football", someone offers.
Within minutes a rope is tied around the football and the diver heads back down to thread the rope through the hole. The deckhands grab the rope and pull the ball into the hole and hold it tight. It held, but water continues to come in around the edges. John grabs some gunny sacks and stuffs them around the ball. Then both men push with their feet as they pull on the rope to keep it tight. The gush slows to a trickle and the pumps gradually empty more water. Though it still rides low, the boat levels out some. Craig heads down to the engine room to check the engine.
The Coast Guard cutter pulls along side again, waiting to organize the tow to port. Then there was the sound of a sputtering and the engine roars to life. Eyes widen all around. The grinning captain appears from below and says, "maybe I won't need that tow after all".
All systems are checked and the return to port is discussed. The radio didn't work, so the Coast Guard tosses aboard a portable unit. The captain quarters the boat to port and turns his face to starboard watch for the root wad. There is a bump and another bump and then the dark shadow can be seen rising a little and sliding along side and behind the boat as many root wads before had done. Soon the shadow disappears and Craig gives a thumbs up to the Coast Guard escort. He throttles up and tests what the low riding boat will handle and begins the five hour journey to dry dock . The adrenaline slows down a bit and the men know they will be tired to the bone that night.
The Trinidad fleet lingers in silent salute. They all know that they have played a part in a small miracle that day. As their thoughts and boats turn to the crab lines yet to be run, more than one captain smiles a little at what it took to ensure that the Second Wind would not bring in the top load of crab that day. It was a rare day, indeed, for the brothers of the sea.
Judy Goucher
Every stormy morning begins before dawn at Chicken Point. The salt rusted trucks line up along the overlook and weather creased faces peer through the gloom. Each man, still warm from his bed, weighs the power of the sea against the lure of the money the crabs will bring to his family. For days the storm has raged and tossed the boats against their moorings like they were but toys. The rains have scoured the river banks and poured silt and debris into the roiling cauldron. As the first rays light the bay below, drowsy eyes widen and the fire in the belly begins again. The first engine starts and nothing moves slow.
The whine of the winch is almost constant as each captain rides his skiff from the dock down to the rolling water. The insignificant skiffs are tossed about as they are rowed the course to the fishing boats. There is plenty to keep a man busy as they wait their turn. Bait, crab boxes, rain gear, water and enough food to keep a man going until all the pots are emptied must be loaded and safely stowed. The captain will not turn back just because a man forgot his lunch. The powerful running lights come on one by one and pierce the water laden air. Each boat carries life jackets and survival suits, but no man will tolerate being hindered by these devices when there is work to be done. The sea is occasionally littered with survival equipment that was meant to save a life, but didn't.
The Second Wind, with captain and two crew, is the first to part the lead colored waters. Each man knows his job and no words are wasted. There is bait to ready and gear to organize before the first pot line is reached. The reassuring drone of the engine joins the never silent sound of the ocean.
As they leave the protection of the bay and round the head, the boat climbs the face of the first wave. The captains judged this a fishable day, but the sea is still angry. The deckhands have long ago learned the captain tolerates no less than top performance despite any residual effects from excessive alcohol the night before. Sam leans over the side and gives the sea his breakfast. No one glances his way. He wipes the debris from his red beard with the back of his left, gloved hand as his right hand reaches toward the box of bait he was preparing in one continuous motion. His thick fingers close around the knife and he pries apart the still frozen bait.
John pushes his dark hair out of his eyes and wishes he had gotten a hair cut while he had the chance. As he moves toward the stern of the boat, his rain pants catch on the corner of a crab box and he stumbles. His mind flashes back to his first year on the boat when a moment of inattention caused a misstep and a fall overboard. He remembers never feeling so cold as the water filled his rain gear and he clawed his way to the surface. Nor, has he ever felt so alone as when he glimpsed the boat pulling away. Luckily, his captain was quick and turned the boat before he was lost from sight behind the swell. He was plucked from the water and flopped onto the deck like he was a big fish. The sea took his courage that day. He still loves running against the wind and the money keeps him coming back. But there is an empty place now that he sometimes has to try to fill where his courage used to ride easy.
Captain Craig drapes his lanky frame against the cabin and steers the boat as he stretches his hip. He used to try to ignore the aches and pains, but his body requires maintenance now. His blue eyes alternate scanning the instruments and the water for his buoys.
"First buoy up", he shouts.
They approach from down current and the human machine turns on. As the captain slows the boat to about 4 knots and coasts toward the buoy, John stands ready to hook the buoy and put the rope in the crab block. The tension is always there as the winch winds the rope up, waiting to see how full the first pot will be. As it breaks surface and the water streams off, the grins stretch wide.
"Money day", the captain hollers.
No time to celebrate, the boat never stops. John and Craig reach down to pull the pot over and the crabs cascade across the deck. The legal sized males are thrown into the fish hold in the center of the deck. The females and undersized males are tossed overboard and any questionable sized males are tossed in a box to measure later when there is more time. The pot is re-baited and plunged back in to sink to the ocean floor. The captain makes a directional correction as the next buoy bobs closer and three pairs of hands keep moving.
Crab history documents that the crabs seem to follow a seven year cycle. After a really good year there is a decline in the number of crab taken, followed by a subsequent increase until at about seven years there is another year to celebrate. No one seems to know where the crabs go or if this is just their normal reproductive cycle. The fishermen just try to follow experience, intuition, and luck to drop their pots where the traveling scavengers are most likely to find them as they crisscross the ocean floor searching for dead things to eat.
As the last buoy slips back into the water, the captain throttles up to and heads for the next line. The questionable sized males are sorted, the deck is cleared, and the bait is made ready for the next line. Plenty of money left in the hold after the sorting is done. The clouds are clearing, the sun hits the deck to warm cold hands, and the sea has calmed. The kind of day that keeps them coming back.
As the boat planes through the swells at about 9 knots, there is a thud and the boat violently stops dead in the water. The captain is thrown against the dash and the surefooted deck hands are sprawled on the deck. The engine continues it's futile roar and water can be heard rushing somewhere into the boat. Blood trickles from the side of Craig's face as he turns and cuts the power. John and Sam struggle to their feet.
"What the hell", can be heard erupting from all mouths.
Sam dives for the survival suits and everyone struggles into the cumbersome gear.
"Get all the pumps going", Craig commands as he reaches for the radio.
"May day, may day, Second Wind at 41 degrees, 10.00 minutes north, 124 degrees 12.00 minutes west, taking on water, require immediate assistance. Repeat, may day, may day, Second Wind at 41, 10.00 north, 124 12.00 west, require immediate assistance."
Then he drops the radio and heads for the hold, eyes scanning the empty sea for what stopped the boat. Already the bow is angled down, heavy in the water. The cabin is filling up fast.
The pumps are up and running, but not keeping up with the water rushing in. Clothes, boots, buckets, lunchboxes, debris of all kinds are swirling around, some of it being sucked toward the intake hoses. Everyone grabbed what they could and tossed it onto the deck. Then the water covered the battery and the pumps stopped. There was nothing to stop the water as the bow of the boat sunk lower and lower. Suddenly the water gushes out of the cabin door and flows overboard. The men grab whatever they can as it floats by and fling it toward the stern or into the crab hold. The outflow from the cabin door diverts enough water to allow the engine compartment and the fish hold thresholds to stay above water. The boat stabilizes and wallows low and uneasy.
Then the chop chop of the Coast Guard helicopter is heard heading their way and all faces turn skyward.
The helicopter hovers off to starboard, and a rescue rope can be seen dangling from the doorway. The man in the doorway motions them to jump into the water for a rescue. Craig shakes his head and makes a pumping motion in the air. The helicopter crewman shakes his head and again motions to jump for rescue. Craig repeats his signals and the crewman disappears. Within a few minutes a second helicopter arrives and hovers above the boat, causing a wash of wind and water to batter the boat and men. A rope lowers and whips violently above the men. Tom grabs the rope and steadies the thrashing as the pump is attached and lowered. The package is ripped open and the pump is soon pouring water over the side, but it's not enough. Craig jumps up and motions for another pump. A second pump is lowered and set up and the water pouring from the cabin starts to ebb. Then, the second pump seizes up and the water gushes forth again. Craig, again, jumps up and signals the failure and for another pump. But, the crewman just shakes his head, shrugs, and disappears.
The captain turns his blood, salt, and water streaked face and surveys the sea around him. There are six boats from the fishing fleet huddled around them as if to hold the waters back a little and two helicopters in the air. His eyes, again, scan the empty sea around the boat and stop at starboard. Moving to the rail, he peers through the dark waters. Something big was down below the surface, as if waiting patiently, for what?
"Hey, Craig, I'm coming aboard".
No time to ponder as Craig twirls around and sees a boat approaching to port. Hands reach across the waters and pull the boats close and a friend jumps the gap.
"What can I do to help"?
"Try to get all that crap out of the cabin where it won't get sucked into the intake hoses and stowed somewhere out of the way."
His crew hollers that a third helicopter is approaching. As the helicopter hovers and readies to lower the pump, the wash of wind and water are so severe that the first pump is flooded, sputters, and stops. The captain signals the chopper to back off. Once again the water surges and pours out the door. The pump is dropped to another boat that is able to come close enough to toss the pump and it is set up. The water slows, but the two pumps are not enough to equalize the constant flood of water. Then one of the pumps clogs and a deckhand wades in to pull a sock off the intake hose. Efforts are renewed to empty the cabin of all debris.
Then John sees the Coast Guard Cutter roaring towards them. They know the cutter will have a big pump and they brace for the bump as the boat comes along side.
"Easy there, it wouldn't take much to sink me," the captain hollers.
"What do you need", asks the fresh faced young Seaman.
"I need a big pump, the little ones are not enough".
Finally, with the big pump going, the water going out starts to exceed the water coming in and the cabin starts to empty. One of the small pumps is diverted to the engine room and water there is mostly emptied. For a moment the frenzy slows as all eyes watch the tilting boat riding a little higher in the water. One of the fishing fleet pulls closer.
"Hey, Craig, I got my wetsuit aboard, I can go down and check it out",
"Let's get going", quickly responds Craig to this unexpected opportunity. "Stay away from starboard, there's something down there."
Despite multiple protests by the Coast Guard, the friend is soon in the water and diving beneath the boat. All eyes watch where the water parted to swallow him, waiting for a clue to the mystery. As his head breaks the surface and he grabs the port side of the boat, everyone crowds forward to hear.
"The hole is about the size of my fist. It was a huge root wad, half the size of the boat. It hit dead center and is still just wallowing around down there off to the starboard side. It's weird. Usually those just slide by the bow and you never see them again. If we had something to plug the hole, I could stuff it in and you could pull from inside."
"I have a nerf football", someone offers.
Within minutes a rope is tied around the football and the diver heads back down to thread the rope through the hole. The deckhands grab the rope and pull the ball into the hole and hold it tight. It held, but water continues to come in around the edges. John grabs some gunny sacks and stuffs them around the ball. Then both men push with their feet as they pull on the rope to keep it tight. The gush slows to a trickle and the pumps gradually empty more water. Though it still rides low, the boat levels out some. Craig heads down to the engine room to check the engine.
The Coast Guard cutter pulls along side again, waiting to organize the tow to port. Then there was the sound of a sputtering and the engine roars to life. Eyes widen all around. The grinning captain appears from below and says, "maybe I won't need that tow after all".
All systems are checked and the return to port is discussed. The radio didn't work, so the Coast Guard tosses aboard a portable unit. The captain quarters the boat to port and turns his face to starboard watch for the root wad. There is a bump and another bump and then the dark shadow can be seen rising a little and sliding along side and behind the boat as many root wads before had done. Soon the shadow disappears and Craig gives a thumbs up to the Coast Guard escort. He throttles up and tests what the low riding boat will handle and begins the five hour journey to dry dock . The adrenaline slows down a bit and the men know they will be tired to the bone that night.
The Trinidad fleet lingers in silent salute. They all know that they have played a part in a small miracle that day. As their thoughts and boats turn to the crab lines yet to be run, more than one captain smiles a little at what it took to ensure that the Second Wind would not bring in the top load of crab that day. It was a rare day, indeed, for the brothers of the sea.
Friday, January 8, 2010
The Smallest and the Largest an African tale
By Nicola Moloney
Chapter 1
The Friends
This is a story of friendship. Not the sort that seems to flitter about and never become substantial, but of friendship that had been grounded in the steady rhythm of time, in habits that moved like a well rehearsed dance, in moments of mutuality that echoed permanence.
This friendship had become the fabric of all that was understood to be good in society; a shared waterhole and good news amongst friends, playful competition, laughter and respect. This friendship was in the movement of all as one body when danger threatened. This friendship was found in the smallest and biggest, weakest and strongest, for it is known that without weakness strength could not be displayed, without weakness care could not be extended, without weakness trust would not exist, which was the mortar of friendship.
This is where my story starts. Way back when time was young the many species of antelope moved as one. Antelope were known for their bright energy and intelligence, and because life was young, joy was a natural part of life in the herds.
For this reason many other species such as Zebra and Water buffalo would dwell and move with the antelope and life was rich to all. Zebra was admired for grace and care, a model of community.
Water buffalo…well, Water buffalo made everybody laugh. He was quite self-effacing, but in the nicest way, so the herds were reminded not to take themselves too seriously.
Eland was the largest antelope. He was admired for his agility and strength, for he had the strange ability to jump from a standstill right over a fellow Eland. The antelope relished this, for the ground would reverberate like a giant earthquake and they would all fall to the floor laughing convulsively. Eland grew tall for he used his jumping kills many times to protect the herds, his horns grew to an immense eight feet, and his weight was a mammoth three thousand pounds. Wildebeest was also known for his outstanding speed and was a fast decoy, when predators threatened the safety of the herd. Eland and wildebeest would move in perfect syncopation, running and jumping until the predators in sheer exhaustion would give up their pursuit. If all deterrents failed the herds would stampede, and no predator could ever outlive the herd’s movement as one. This was a magnificent and terrible phenomena, the pounding of the ground could be felt for thousands of miles across the savannah.
It was Dikdik, the smallest antelope that could hear the voice of the earth. Dikdik’s senses were highly tuned to the words of the grasses and seedlings hidden within the earth. Therefore it was the smallest that was known for her listening and understanding of life.
Being the smallest, Dikdik, who was only eighteen inches tall, would observe many things from under the cover of a small bush, and because nobody knew of Dikdik’s presence, they would act without the usual reserve of those being watched. Thus the Dikdik gained much insight as to the nature of the Savannah and it’s population, and , as we know, knowledge and wisdom is always available to the smallest. So therefore Dikdik was the smallest and wisest and when it was time for her to share her insight she would quietly go to the herds of the savannah and the biggest would sit before the smallest and listen.
Therefore a mutual relationship of respect and dependence was evident in the biggest and the smallest, a friendship that all the antelope on the savannah trusted. The herds enjoyed a reasonable and peaceful existence. Young antelope of all species played safely. Death did exist but all never feared old age when they inevitably became slower and more vulnerable. The old were venerated for their life experience and all would look forward to old age as they were treated with love and respect from the herd. As we all know the old were the keepers of a certain wisdom that anchored all to reason. When time slowed the ears of the old would begin to hear the voice of the earth calling them, the gentle rhythms of death would overcome them and their bodies would be left to be used by the cycles of the living creation. Habitually at dusk the herds would mingle quietly, in respect of the closing day, and all would hear the breathing of Creation.
Chapter 2
The Splinter.
One particular dusk, in the middle of an unusually long drought the biggest expressed his fear to the smallest. It was because of Eland’s height that misunderstanding started to plant itself in Eland’s unsuspecting mind. He could not see the succulent grasses available beneath his own feet, and could not hear the voice of the earth. So, when drought threatened the savannah he was sometimes left without grasses to eat and he would get morose.
Eland had not eaten well for quite a while and was becoming overwhelmed at the thought of the responsibility of the herd’s safety. He had no energy to use. The smallest was also hungry and had not been able to concentrate on her listening skills for quite sometime. She had nothing to offer when Eland voiced his discontent, for Dikdik was also tired. She didn’t understand why the drought was so long and she truly felt like everyone expected her to have answers that did not exist.
A strange shift took place in the herd. Things did not run as smoothly and the antelope’s brightness became tarnished. The smallest and the largest lost sight of their mutuality and small sentences of subtle accusation would push its way into the outside. Seeds of discontent set themselves seemingly dormant into the memories of the friends. Of course the rains eventually came and the species found their way back to each other.
But, like a splinter deep in the skin, the seeds of discontent worked their way to the surface, disguised and justified, disfiguring the voice of reason.
Chapter 3
IDEA!
One day it occurred to Eland that he should make sure he would never go hungry again, and so, instead of trusting the unspoken loyalties that existed between the herd, or even discussing the other options of action with his friends, Eland announced that he would not look after anyone who did not give him first choice of the foods they found, “after all” he said wasn’t the safety of the herds dependent on him! An unfamiliar sense of power settled itself into the mind of Eland. A shadow softly brushed his chest and his heart darkened. Many who had been close friends with Eland and had spent hours talking, laughing and crying with him found this proposition offensive. Wildebeest was truly confused, how could he overcome the predators alone, so he negotiated his services to the Eland. The little Dikdik was most hurt as she had done her best to be the eyes on the ground for Eland, but sometimes, there was just no grass. How could she persuade Eland that nobody was with holding good food from him, that it was the nature of the savanna that left species ultimately at it’s mercy. Eland’s darkening heart refused to listen and sadly Dikdik disappeared into the underbrush. One day the animals looked on helplessly as a young one was stolen and savagely slaughtered by the predator . Eland could not here the bleating cries of the young one. His mind had been closed.
Unrest shot like wildfire throughout the multispecies herd. The water buffalo, whose part it had been to lead the herd to watering holes, became unpredictable, cranky and ill-tempered. Nobody dared go near him. He suffered greatly from depression and his ears dropped down to his cheeks. He was very lonely. Zebra had bravely surrounded and camouflaged the herds, departed into the grasses with her own kind so she could blend even better without the liability of the un-camouflaged animals. It had been her young one that had first perished. The bitter memory went deep.
Hurts and offenses came easily, and old friendships that seemed eternal were lost. The sounds of the playing community silenced and only the sound of the grasshoppers and crickets echoed in the savannah. The knowledge and skills of each species petrified in isolation. The happy spirit of their lives stopped in its tracks. Instead, suspicion, envy and malice grew in the hearts of the friends. Now, in the new order, young and old became liabilities and many were left at the mercy of the carnivores. Oh how the predators smirked and snickered at their growing meat supply.
Chapter 4
Two-footed
One day something new happened on the savannah. All the herds in the land heard a loud crack. Every head lifted in unison, ears and noses nervously twitched, and all tasted a strange acrid smell. It was not the smell of natural fires that were common on the savannah and that caused the earth to replenish itself. But all knew in their heightened senses this was a bad omen.
The smallest one stood under a bush and heard the bush talking to the wind. Because she was the smallest and most insignificant in the new order she had to understand more. She had to survive. So she understood the voice of the wind describing the new danger. The wind was speaking of a strange two-footed species that killed even the predators. The wind had witnessed terrible things, a mother elephant without tusks and feet, her little one standing silently by her body mourning her death: the ravaged body of lion with no claws or teeth. The demise of an alligator, the mightiest and most ancient of predators, it’s powerful jaws tied, it’s belly sliced open.
The smallest was very frightened she wanted to warn everyone, unfortunately only her own kind would listen to her. In her anxiety and terror a cry came from the deepest part of her being, this cry so long and mournful, so filled with frustration and helplessness that the wind echoed it around the savannah. It was carried from herd to herd, but nobody understood, the words of the smallest were lost in the memory of folks tales. Eland was busy trying to look after it’s own, finding grass in the big savannah. Eland was now called common. He had become smaller in the process of evolution for he needed to see the grass in order to eat, of course it was not remembered that Dikdik had once found the best grasses and had kept Eland well informed of their whereabouts. Common Eland was still the largest of the herds and because of this his was the first corpse that the wind spoke of in the Savannahs. The empty sockets on top of his magnificent head bespoke of the last tokens of Eland’s pride. Gone were his mighty horns…
Very few common Eland had the fabled eight foot long spiral horns and in-fairly short order all Elands that had displayed these horns lay rotting on the Savannah floor.
Some among the herds said that it was Eland’s pride that had been his downfall, no longer could one see that Eland had been a loving warrior protecting the herds with Wildebeest. Wildebeest was confused, deep inside something disturbed him, something was missing. The antelope’s cries multiplied as the new predators mutilated the bodies of each species. The wind could no longer carry the weight of the cries of the herds and he sank to the ground under the sorrow of the Savannah.
Chapter 5
Understanding
The IAM caught the wind before he sank to the depths of the molten lava in the earth. Without the wind all would be lost. It was the wind that spread the seeds of the grass and cooled the species of the savannah. IAM had waited for species to call. It had been some time since Species had trapped itself in the game of survival. IAM walked the Savannah and first came to the headless bleached bones of the Eland. IAM knelt by the bones and placed a cheek onto the strong chest of the Eland. IAM talked to Eland’s heart. They spoke of many things, the tears of Eland’s heart fell and became a lake. The lake rose up over the headless bones and the kneeling form of IAM. IAM told Eland of the times before, of the antelope community and how Eland had been a magnificent beloved protector of the multispecies herd. Eland learned how he had forgotten his need for the smallest and that pride in his immense size, his unbelief and fear of hunger had caused him to withhold that strength from the community. IAM whispered of Zebra’s brave camouflage, wildebeest’s competitive playfulness and water buffalo’s humor. Eland began to perceive a lost voice in the wisdom of the smallest, shared in the quiet beauty of the sunsets.
Many moons after the bones of the headless Eland were white, after many deep changes. Eland’s heart cried again “Find water buffalo, wildebeest, zebra and the smallest and tell them of our community”.
IAM loved Eland, SO IAM walked the Savannah and found the headless corpses of the waterbuffalo, zebra, wildebeest and the smallest, and IAM knelt and shared all that had been. Many tears flowed and many were the longing cries for the lost community of friends.
IAM said in wisdom, for without wisdom IAM could not speak “Because I have given choice to all, I cannot use force to change all that transpires, but I will diligently watch over the seeds that species lays and I will jealously guard acts of community in all species. My spirit will whisper enticingly into the hearts’ of species, and if it chooses to listen, species will again restore all to understand the complex beauty of community”.
The End.
(THIS STORY WAS VERBALLY TOLD IN A CLASSroom with the heads of these animals on the wall. It WAS AS IF THEY WERE WATCHING A LISTENING)
IAM gathered the ORIs and said “I will use theirs eyes and ears as portals from which I can watch and hear”
So in wisdom, IAM orchestrated the placement of the ORIs.
But that is another story.
* ORI a head chosen by individuals to represent themselves when they are dwelling on earth. (Yoruba cultural myth)
By Nicola Moloney
Chapter 1
The Friends
This is a story of friendship. Not the sort that seems to flitter about and never become substantial, but of friendship that had been grounded in the steady rhythm of time, in habits that moved like a well rehearsed dance, in moments of mutuality that echoed permanence.
This friendship had become the fabric of all that was understood to be good in society; a shared waterhole and good news amongst friends, playful competition, laughter and respect. This friendship was in the movement of all as one body when danger threatened. This friendship was found in the smallest and biggest, weakest and strongest, for it is known that without weakness strength could not be displayed, without weakness care could not be extended, without weakness trust would not exist, which was the mortar of friendship.
This is where my story starts. Way back when time was young the many species of antelope moved as one. Antelope were known for their bright energy and intelligence, and because life was young, joy was a natural part of life in the herds.
For this reason many other species such as Zebra and Water buffalo would dwell and move with the antelope and life was rich to all. Zebra was admired for grace and care, a model of community.
Water buffalo…well, Water buffalo made everybody laugh. He was quite self-effacing, but in the nicest way, so the herds were reminded not to take themselves too seriously.
Eland was the largest antelope. He was admired for his agility and strength, for he had the strange ability to jump from a standstill right over a fellow Eland. The antelope relished this, for the ground would reverberate like a giant earthquake and they would all fall to the floor laughing convulsively. Eland grew tall for he used his jumping kills many times to protect the herds, his horns grew to an immense eight feet, and his weight was a mammoth three thousand pounds. Wildebeest was also known for his outstanding speed and was a fast decoy, when predators threatened the safety of the herd. Eland and wildebeest would move in perfect syncopation, running and jumping until the predators in sheer exhaustion would give up their pursuit. If all deterrents failed the herds would stampede, and no predator could ever outlive the herd’s movement as one. This was a magnificent and terrible phenomena, the pounding of the ground could be felt for thousands of miles across the savannah.
It was Dikdik, the smallest antelope that could hear the voice of the earth. Dikdik’s senses were highly tuned to the words of the grasses and seedlings hidden within the earth. Therefore it was the smallest that was known for her listening and understanding of life.
Being the smallest, Dikdik, who was only eighteen inches tall, would observe many things from under the cover of a small bush, and because nobody knew of Dikdik’s presence, they would act without the usual reserve of those being watched. Thus the Dikdik gained much insight as to the nature of the Savannah and it’s population, and , as we know, knowledge and wisdom is always available to the smallest. So therefore Dikdik was the smallest and wisest and when it was time for her to share her insight she would quietly go to the herds of the savannah and the biggest would sit before the smallest and listen.
Therefore a mutual relationship of respect and dependence was evident in the biggest and the smallest, a friendship that all the antelope on the savannah trusted. The herds enjoyed a reasonable and peaceful existence. Young antelope of all species played safely. Death did exist but all never feared old age when they inevitably became slower and more vulnerable. The old were venerated for their life experience and all would look forward to old age as they were treated with love and respect from the herd. As we all know the old were the keepers of a certain wisdom that anchored all to reason. When time slowed the ears of the old would begin to hear the voice of the earth calling them, the gentle rhythms of death would overcome them and their bodies would be left to be used by the cycles of the living creation. Habitually at dusk the herds would mingle quietly, in respect of the closing day, and all would hear the breathing of Creation.
Chapter 2
The Splinter.
One particular dusk, in the middle of an unusually long drought the biggest expressed his fear to the smallest. It was because of Eland’s height that misunderstanding started to plant itself in Eland’s unsuspecting mind. He could not see the succulent grasses available beneath his own feet, and could not hear the voice of the earth. So, when drought threatened the savannah he was sometimes left without grasses to eat and he would get morose.
Eland had not eaten well for quite a while and was becoming overwhelmed at the thought of the responsibility of the herd’s safety. He had no energy to use. The smallest was also hungry and had not been able to concentrate on her listening skills for quite sometime. She had nothing to offer when Eland voiced his discontent, for Dikdik was also tired. She didn’t understand why the drought was so long and she truly felt like everyone expected her to have answers that did not exist.
A strange shift took place in the herd. Things did not run as smoothly and the antelope’s brightness became tarnished. The smallest and the largest lost sight of their mutuality and small sentences of subtle accusation would push its way into the outside. Seeds of discontent set themselves seemingly dormant into the memories of the friends. Of course the rains eventually came and the species found their way back to each other.
But, like a splinter deep in the skin, the seeds of discontent worked their way to the surface, disguised and justified, disfiguring the voice of reason.
Chapter 3
IDEA!
One day it occurred to Eland that he should make sure he would never go hungry again, and so, instead of trusting the unspoken loyalties that existed between the herd, or even discussing the other options of action with his friends, Eland announced that he would not look after anyone who did not give him first choice of the foods they found, “after all” he said wasn’t the safety of the herds dependent on him! An unfamiliar sense of power settled itself into the mind of Eland. A shadow softly brushed his chest and his heart darkened. Many who had been close friends with Eland and had spent hours talking, laughing and crying with him found this proposition offensive. Wildebeest was truly confused, how could he overcome the predators alone, so he negotiated his services to the Eland. The little Dikdik was most hurt as she had done her best to be the eyes on the ground for Eland, but sometimes, there was just no grass. How could she persuade Eland that nobody was with holding good food from him, that it was the nature of the savanna that left species ultimately at it’s mercy. Eland’s darkening heart refused to listen and sadly Dikdik disappeared into the underbrush. One day the animals looked on helplessly as a young one was stolen and savagely slaughtered by the predator . Eland could not here the bleating cries of the young one. His mind had been closed.
Unrest shot like wildfire throughout the multispecies herd. The water buffalo, whose part it had been to lead the herd to watering holes, became unpredictable, cranky and ill-tempered. Nobody dared go near him. He suffered greatly from depression and his ears dropped down to his cheeks. He was very lonely. Zebra had bravely surrounded and camouflaged the herds, departed into the grasses with her own kind so she could blend even better without the liability of the un-camouflaged animals. It had been her young one that had first perished. The bitter memory went deep.
Hurts and offenses came easily, and old friendships that seemed eternal were lost. The sounds of the playing community silenced and only the sound of the grasshoppers and crickets echoed in the savannah. The knowledge and skills of each species petrified in isolation. The happy spirit of their lives stopped in its tracks. Instead, suspicion, envy and malice grew in the hearts of the friends. Now, in the new order, young and old became liabilities and many were left at the mercy of the carnivores. Oh how the predators smirked and snickered at their growing meat supply.
Chapter 4
Two-footed
One day something new happened on the savannah. All the herds in the land heard a loud crack. Every head lifted in unison, ears and noses nervously twitched, and all tasted a strange acrid smell. It was not the smell of natural fires that were common on the savannah and that caused the earth to replenish itself. But all knew in their heightened senses this was a bad omen.
The smallest one stood under a bush and heard the bush talking to the wind. Because she was the smallest and most insignificant in the new order she had to understand more. She had to survive. So she understood the voice of the wind describing the new danger. The wind was speaking of a strange two-footed species that killed even the predators. The wind had witnessed terrible things, a mother elephant without tusks and feet, her little one standing silently by her body mourning her death: the ravaged body of lion with no claws or teeth. The demise of an alligator, the mightiest and most ancient of predators, it’s powerful jaws tied, it’s belly sliced open.
The smallest was very frightened she wanted to warn everyone, unfortunately only her own kind would listen to her. In her anxiety and terror a cry came from the deepest part of her being, this cry so long and mournful, so filled with frustration and helplessness that the wind echoed it around the savannah. It was carried from herd to herd, but nobody understood, the words of the smallest were lost in the memory of folks tales. Eland was busy trying to look after it’s own, finding grass in the big savannah. Eland was now called common. He had become smaller in the process of evolution for he needed to see the grass in order to eat, of course it was not remembered that Dikdik had once found the best grasses and had kept Eland well informed of their whereabouts. Common Eland was still the largest of the herds and because of this his was the first corpse that the wind spoke of in the Savannahs. The empty sockets on top of his magnificent head bespoke of the last tokens of Eland’s pride. Gone were his mighty horns…
Very few common Eland had the fabled eight foot long spiral horns and in-fairly short order all Elands that had displayed these horns lay rotting on the Savannah floor.
Some among the herds said that it was Eland’s pride that had been his downfall, no longer could one see that Eland had been a loving warrior protecting the herds with Wildebeest. Wildebeest was confused, deep inside something disturbed him, something was missing. The antelope’s cries multiplied as the new predators mutilated the bodies of each species. The wind could no longer carry the weight of the cries of the herds and he sank to the ground under the sorrow of the Savannah.
Chapter 5
Understanding
The IAM caught the wind before he sank to the depths of the molten lava in the earth. Without the wind all would be lost. It was the wind that spread the seeds of the grass and cooled the species of the savannah. IAM had waited for species to call. It had been some time since Species had trapped itself in the game of survival. IAM walked the Savannah and first came to the headless bleached bones of the Eland. IAM knelt by the bones and placed a cheek onto the strong chest of the Eland. IAM talked to Eland’s heart. They spoke of many things, the tears of Eland’s heart fell and became a lake. The lake rose up over the headless bones and the kneeling form of IAM. IAM told Eland of the times before, of the antelope community and how Eland had been a magnificent beloved protector of the multispecies herd. Eland learned how he had forgotten his need for the smallest and that pride in his immense size, his unbelief and fear of hunger had caused him to withhold that strength from the community. IAM whispered of Zebra’s brave camouflage, wildebeest’s competitive playfulness and water buffalo’s humor. Eland began to perceive a lost voice in the wisdom of the smallest, shared in the quiet beauty of the sunsets.
Many moons after the bones of the headless Eland were white, after many deep changes. Eland’s heart cried again “Find water buffalo, wildebeest, zebra and the smallest and tell them of our community”.
IAM loved Eland, SO IAM walked the Savannah and found the headless corpses of the waterbuffalo, zebra, wildebeest and the smallest, and IAM knelt and shared all that had been. Many tears flowed and many were the longing cries for the lost community of friends.
IAM said in wisdom, for without wisdom IAM could not speak “Because I have given choice to all, I cannot use force to change all that transpires, but I will diligently watch over the seeds that species lays and I will jealously guard acts of community in all species. My spirit will whisper enticingly into the hearts’ of species, and if it chooses to listen, species will again restore all to understand the complex beauty of community”.
The End.
(THIS STORY WAS VERBALLY TOLD IN A CLASSroom with the heads of these animals on the wall. It WAS AS IF THEY WERE WATCHING A LISTENING)
IAM gathered the ORIs and said “I will use theirs eyes and ears as portals from which I can watch and hear”
So in wisdom, IAM orchestrated the placement of the ORIs.
But that is another story.
* ORI a head chosen by individuals to represent themselves when they are dwelling on earth. (Yoruba cultural myth)
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Hello All...
This is Jesse in Portland...
I am glad you folks are having a writers group meeting on Jan 19...I am still excited about the blog...I plan to put the first chapter of a children's chapter book on the blog in the next day or so...
Sunny, mild tempts here...But the apartment I thought I was going to rent is not suitable...I'm looking for other housing here...
I got caught several days ago in a whiteout when I was cross-country skiing on the back (East) side of Mt Hood...Managed to crawl into a snow covered hillside cave...No light, but I was at least out of the storm...I pulled my glove off and felt around in the dark...Then I discovered there was another traveler in the cave with me!...But it was not a skiier, because my fingers touched heavy fur...Turns out is was a bear, deep asleep...I curled up next to him (or her) and snoozed off and on until I was rescued the next morning...
Cheers, Jesse...
I am glad you folks are having a writers group meeting on Jan 19...I am still excited about the blog...I plan to put the first chapter of a children's chapter book on the blog in the next day or so...
Sunny, mild tempts here...But the apartment I thought I was going to rent is not suitable...I'm looking for other housing here...
I got caught several days ago in a whiteout when I was cross-country skiing on the back (East) side of Mt Hood...Managed to crawl into a snow covered hillside cave...No light, but I was at least out of the storm...I pulled my glove off and felt around in the dark...Then I discovered there was another traveler in the cave with me!...But it was not a skiier, because my fingers touched heavy fur...Turns out is was a bear, deep asleep...I curled up next to him (or her) and snoozed off and on until I was rescued the next morning...
Cheers, Jesse...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)