A long time ago, a young man called Crow lived in one of the villages of the Seneca people. His parents had died many years before and he had no one to care for him, or to cook and sew for him.
He lived at the very edge of the village in a small lodge made from bark and branches. His hair was always a tangled mess, and his clothes were old and tattered cast offs he had been given in trade.
The village children were cruel and made fun of him because of the way he looked and because he was an orphan. This was a time when people did not have stories to teach them how to respect and care for others.
Young Crow was an excellent hunter with his bow and arrows. He traded the birds and animals he killed for parched corn, other food and clothes.
As winter drew nearer, Crow had to go further and further into the woods to hunt. One day he went further than he had ever been before. Eventually he came to a clearing where there was a large flat smooth stone with another round stone sitting on top of it.
Crow sat on the flat stone and rested his back against the round one. He laid the birds he had killed next to him. Then he reached into his buckskin pouch for some parched corn, and began to tighten his bowstring.
“Shall I tell you a story?” asked a deep rumbling voice near him.
Crow got such a fright he nearly choked. He jumped up quickly, spitting corn from his mouth and looked around but could see no one.
Sunday 30 November 2008
Friday 28 November 2008
The Storytelling Stone-4
He sat down in front of the stone. Its deep voice told him of a time before this one, how
Sky Woman fell to earth, how Turtle Island was made, and about stone giants. When he
finished one story, the stone told another and then another. On and on he went.
As the sun began to set the stone said, “That’s enough for today. Come back tomorrow and I
will tell you more stories. But don’t tell anyone about what you’ve heard today.”
Crow ran back to the village. He managed to kill a few birds on the way to trade for hot
food and parched corn.
When he traded the birds with a woman in the village she asked him “Why have you brought
back so few birds from your hunting?”
“Winter is getting nearer and it’s harder to find anything to hunt,” answered Crow.
Early the next morning, Crow went into the woods with his bow and arrow. He hunted for birds
and then rushed back to the clearing.
“Grandfather Stone, I’ve brought you more birds as gifts,” said Crow. He put the birds
down on the flat stone. “Please tell me some more stories.”
Crow sat down and the stone started telling one story after another until it was nearly
nightfall. This happened for many days. Crow brought back fewer and fewer birds to the
village. The children of the village were even crueler to him. They made fun of him and told
him that now he wasn’t even a good hunter.
One day Crow came to the clearing, placed his gift on the stone and said, “Grandfather
Stone, please tell me some more stories.”
But the stone answered, “I have no more stories to tell. You have heard all that has
happened before this time. Now you must pass on the knowledge you have learned from the
stories. You will be the first storyteller.
Sky Woman fell to earth, how Turtle Island was made, and about stone giants. When he
finished one story, the stone told another and then another. On and on he went.
As the sun began to set the stone said, “That’s enough for today. Come back tomorrow and I
will tell you more stories. But don’t tell anyone about what you’ve heard today.”
Crow ran back to the village. He managed to kill a few birds on the way to trade for hot
food and parched corn.
When he traded the birds with a woman in the village she asked him “Why have you brought
back so few birds from your hunting?”
“Winter is getting nearer and it’s harder to find anything to hunt,” answered Crow.
Early the next morning, Crow went into the woods with his bow and arrow. He hunted for birds
and then rushed back to the clearing.
“Grandfather Stone, I’ve brought you more birds as gifts,” said Crow. He put the birds
down on the flat stone. “Please tell me some more stories.”
Crow sat down and the stone started telling one story after another until it was nearly
nightfall. This happened for many days. Crow brought back fewer and fewer birds to the
village. The children of the village were even crueler to him. They made fun of him and told
him that now he wasn’t even a good hunter.
One day Crow came to the clearing, placed his gift on the stone and said, “Grandfather
Stone, please tell me some more stories.”
But the stone answered, “I have no more stories to tell. You have heard all that has
happened before this time. Now you must pass on the knowledge you have learned from the
stories. You will be the first storyteller.
Wednesday 26 November 2008
The Storytelling Stone-2
“Who’s there?” shouted Crow. “Come out and show yourself.”
The clearing was silent. Nothing moved.
“I must be hearing things,” Crow said to himself. “And now I’m talking to myself too.”
With a laugh, he sat down again and rested his back against the round stone.
“Shall I tell you a story?” asked the deep voice again.
Crow sprang to his feet and shouted “Alright, that’s enough. Show yourself now!”
Again, the clearing was silent and nothing moved.
Then Crow looked at the round stone he’d been resting against. He could see a face in it. He realised it was the stone’s voice he’d heard.
“Who are you, and what are you?” asked Crow.
“I am Grandfather Stone. I’ve been here since time began,” answered the stone.
“Shall I tell you a story?” asked the deep rumbling voice.
“What is a story?” asked Crow. “What does it mean to tell a story?”
“Stories tell us of all things that happened before this time,” answered Grandfather Stone. “Give me a gift of your birds a
nd I will tell you how the world came to be.”
The clearing was silent. Nothing moved.
“I must be hearing things,” Crow said to himself. “And now I’m talking to myself too.”
With a laugh, he sat down again and rested his back against the round stone.
“Shall I tell you a story?” asked the deep voice again.
Crow sprang to his feet and shouted “Alright, that’s enough. Show yourself now!”
Again, the clearing was silent and nothing moved.
Then Crow looked at the round stone he’d been resting against. He could see a face in it. He realised it was the stone’s voice he’d heard.
“Who are you, and what are you?” asked Crow.
“I am Grandfather Stone. I’ve been here since time began,” answered the stone.
“Shall I tell you a story?” asked the deep rumbling voice.
“What is a story?” asked Crow. “What does it mean to tell a story?”
“Stories tell us of all things that happened before this time,” answered Grandfather Stone. “Give me a gift of your birds a
nd I will tell you how the world came to be.”
Monday 24 November 2008
my humble opinion
Mooba continued, "For purposes of decorum, tomorrow I will teach you about the Xxlepis." His top feathers suddenly stiffened. "Be forewarned. Although highly evolved intellectually, the Xxlepis are emotionally fragile and quick to perceive imaginary insults if decorum isn't carefully followed. They're quirky that way--easily offended. And if you offend them you will not reap the benefits they can bestow."
"Fair enough" the President aGREed, but his expression was one of puzzlement.
The conversation was over.
DAY TWO
Wednesday, June 16
The next day two soldiers were sent to escort Mooba back to the White House, but he wasn't on the spaceship. Instead, when the President with his staff and secret agents arrived at the meeting room, Mooba was already there. Without anyone noticing, he had left the spaceship, slipped through a ring of military, a mob of reporters and White House staff to find the secured meeting room no one had told him about the day before. It unnerved the President and particularly his secret agents.
Standing at the back of the room Mooba waited for everyone to get settled. Then he abruptly began, "The first thing to do when introduced...is to bow. Some of your human cultures already practice that formality. And the second thing after bowing... is to do nothing." He paused for emphasis. "It's best, Sir President, to allow me to do all the talking, particularly in the beginning. The Xxlepis themselves rarely speak because words to them are sacred. They believe that by saying less, what is said increases in value. So speaking only at the end of a conversation is a sign of respect. Of course, in my humble opinion, that makes for very short conversations." It was hard to tell if Mooba was joking so no one laughed.
"Fair enough" the President aGREed, but his expression was one of puzzlement.
The conversation was over.
DAY TWO
Wednesday, June 16
The next day two soldiers were sent to escort Mooba back to the White House, but he wasn't on the spaceship. Instead, when the President with his staff and secret agents arrived at the meeting room, Mooba was already there. Without anyone noticing, he had left the spaceship, slipped through a ring of military, a mob of reporters and White House staff to find the secured meeting room no one had told him about the day before. It unnerved the President and particularly his secret agents.
Standing at the back of the room Mooba waited for everyone to get settled. Then he abruptly began, "The first thing to do when introduced...is to bow. Some of your human cultures already practice that formality. And the second thing after bowing... is to do nothing." He paused for emphasis. "It's best, Sir President, to allow me to do all the talking, particularly in the beginning. The Xxlepis themselves rarely speak because words to them are sacred. They believe that by saying less, what is said increases in value. So speaking only at the end of a conversation is a sign of respect. Of course, in my humble opinion, that makes for very short conversations." It was hard to tell if Mooba was joking so no one laughed.
Saturday 22 November 2008
The Storytelling Stone-3
“Who’s there?” shouted Crow. “Come out and show yourself.”
The clearing was silent. Nothing moved.
“I must be hearing things,” Crow said to himself. “And now I’m talking to myself too.”
With a laugh, he sat down again and rested his back against the round stone.
“Shall I tell you a story?” asked the deep voice again.
Crow sprang to his feet and shouted “Alright, that’s enough. Show yourself now!”
Again, the clearing was silent and nothing moved.
Then Crow looked at the round stone he’d been resting against. He could see a face in it. He realised it was the stone’s voice he’d heard.
“Who are you, and what are you?” asked Crow.
“I am Grandfather Stone. I’ve been here since time began,” answered the stone.
“Shall I tell you a story?” asked the deep rumbling voice.
“What is a story?” asked Crow. “What does it mean to tell a story?”
“Stories tell us of all things that happened before this time,” answered Grandfather Stone. “Give me a gift of your birds a
nd I will tell you how the world came to be.”
“You may have the birds,” said Crow.
The clearing was silent. Nothing moved.
“I must be hearing things,” Crow said to himself. “And now I’m talking to myself too.”
With a laugh, he sat down again and rested his back against the round stone.
“Shall I tell you a story?” asked the deep voice again.
Crow sprang to his feet and shouted “Alright, that’s enough. Show yourself now!”
Again, the clearing was silent and nothing moved.
Then Crow looked at the round stone he’d been resting against. He could see a face in it. He realised it was the stone’s voice he’d heard.
“Who are you, and what are you?” asked Crow.
“I am Grandfather Stone. I’ve been here since time began,” answered the stone.
“Shall I tell you a story?” asked the deep rumbling voice.
“What is a story?” asked Crow. “What does it mean to tell a story?”
“Stories tell us of all things that happened before this time,” answered Grandfather Stone. “Give me a gift of your birds a
nd I will tell you how the world came to be.”
“You may have the birds,” said Crow.
Thursday 20 November 2008
contact on this planet
It paused to scratch the base of a head feather. "I myself am Mooba. My kind are respected throughout the universe as the finest of translators. I must tell you that the Xxlepis ship has been moored at the edge of your solar system for a year now while I've been studying your languages and customs on their behalf. I know all there is to know about all of you, in my humble opinion."
The President smiled halfheartedly, "Should I find that comforting?"
Mooba brightened, "Of course. Because I'm thorough I rarely make mistakes." He shrugged. "I'll admit to a few, but none that wasn't rectified. I'm sorry to in
form you that yours is not the only species I considered for contact on this planet. There are some others more appealing, but yours is the most intelligent. And yours is also the only species believing themselves in charge."
The President's eyebrows lifted at such a statement.
The President smiled halfheartedly, "Should I find that comforting?"
Mooba brightened, "Of course. Because I'm thorough I rarely make mistakes." He shrugged. "I'll admit to a few, but none that wasn't rectified. I'm sorry to in
form you that yours is not the only species I considered for contact on this planet. There are some others more appealing, but yours is the most intelligent. And yours is also the only species believing themselves in charge."
The President's eyebrows lifted at such a statement.
Wednesday 19 November 2008
dog's back
"That was tasty," he said, "in my humble opinion. Now, let me explain more about the Xxlepis. Having mastered the mysteries of science and technology, they have returned to the arts, particularly their poetry. They are on a quest for new forms of expression. For example, the 20 ways an elephant calls to its young or the 59 words the Eskimos use for snow. Whether or not a language is written or spoken is of secondary importance. The Xxlepis take pleasure in converting all manner of creature communication into just the right word with a precise meaning and contextual flavor to be used in their poetry. So they traverse the universe in search of communication to define new words because, to them, only words have true value. Personally, I think it's because words convey emotions."
"Speaking of value..." Mooba stopped mid-thought. "Ah... could I have more coffee?"
"Sir, there's no more coffee," said one of the agents addressing the President.
The President waved his hand. "Well then, please get another carafe. It'll only take a minute."
The agent left the room. Through the door, which had not fully closed, squeezed a short, rotund Basset Hound. It went immediately to the President wagging its tail while casting side-glances at Mooba.
"Hi there, Sally," the President gently stroked the dog's back. "Mooba, this is my dog. She just had puppies four weeks ago. What do you think of her?"
Mooba was quite interested, particularly when Sally left the President to approach him, her tail still wagging. He bent over so that his face was almost level with the dog's and she licked the sugar off his chin. His head feathers danced wildly. "I like her," he said and then made a noise somewhere between a bark and a whine. It startled everyone in the room, but Sally woofed in response.
"Speaking of value..." Mooba stopped mid-thought. "Ah... could I have more coffee?"
"Sir, there's no more coffee," said one of the agents addressing the President.
The President waved his hand. "Well then, please get another carafe. It'll only take a minute."
The agent left the room. Through the door, which had not fully closed, squeezed a short, rotund Basset Hound. It went immediately to the President wagging its tail while casting side-glances at Mooba.
"Hi there, Sally," the President gently stroked the dog's back. "Mooba, this is my dog. She just had puppies four weeks ago. What do you think of her?"
Mooba was quite interested, particularly when Sally left the President to approach him, her tail still wagging. He bent over so that his face was almost level with the dog's and she licked the sugar off his chin. His head feathers danced wildly. "I like her," he said and then made a noise somewhere between a bark and a whine. It startled everyone in the room, but Sally woofed in response.
Tuesday 18 November 2008
The Storytelling Stone-5
You must tell others what you have heard, and also add stories of what happens from now on.
The people you tell will remember your stories. Some will remember better than others. Some
will tell different versions when they pass them on. It doesn’t matter. The truths and
lessons from the stories will be remembered.”
“Thank you Grandfather Stone,” said Crow. “I will make sure the stories are not
forgotten.”
Crow went back to the village. He knew it was time to move on. The people here didn’t
respect him and wouldn’t listen. He collected his few belongings and left the village
without telling anyone. No one missed him.
Crow travelled far and eventually came to another village. The people welcomed him warmly.
They invited him to come in out of the cold wind, sit by the fire and share their food.
After he had finished eating Crow said, “You have been so kind I’d like to
share something with you.”
He began to tell the stories he had learned from Grandfather Stone. He told them of the time
when animals could speak, and when the turtle raced the bear.
That night the lodge house seemed warmer and the sound of the first storyteller’s voice
could be heard above the howling wind outside. People went to sleep dreaming of the stories
they had heard.
The people you tell will remember your stories. Some will remember better than others. Some
will tell different versions when they pass them on. It doesn’t matter. The truths and
lessons from the stories will be remembered.”
“Thank you Grandfather Stone,” said Crow. “I will make sure the stories are not
forgotten.”
Crow went back to the village. He knew it was time to move on. The people here didn’t
respect him and wouldn’t listen. He collected his few belongings and left the village
without telling anyone. No one missed him.
Crow travelled far and eventually came to another village. The people welcomed him warmly.
They invited him to come in out of the cold wind, sit by the fire and share their food.
After he had finished eating Crow said, “You have been so kind I’d like to
share something with you.”
He began to tell the stories he had learned from Grandfather Stone. He told them of the time
when animals could speak, and when the turtle raced the bear.
That night the lodge house seemed warmer and the sound of the first storyteller’s voice
could be heard above the howling wind outside. People went to sleep dreaming of the stories
they had heard.
Sunday 16 November 2008
Warreen planned revenge
"H'mmph" snorted Warreen. "Well, sleep over there - in the corner. You're all wet and I don't want cold rainwater dripping on me." Wombat stretched out near the fire again and went back to sleep.
Mirram lay down in the corner, but there was a hole in the wall of the hut and the wind and rain came in. He couldn't dry himself or get warm. The fire went out, but Warreen didn't notice. He snored as he slept and laughed every now and again, enjoying a nice dream. This made Mirram more angry.In the morning his body was stiff and sore. He hobbled outside and picked up a large rock. When he came back, Warreen was stretching and yawning as he woke up. Mirram dropped the rock on Warreen's head, flattening his forehead and making his nose curl around
"This is for not helping me get warm and dry" said Mirram. "And from now on, you will always live in a damp hole. Your flattened forehead and cold home will remind you of last night."
After that, Warreen and Mirram didn't speak to each other or play together and Warreen planned revenge.
He made a big spear and waited until Mirram was busy washing himself.
Then he threw the spear with all his strength and it hit the kangaroo at the base of his spine. Mirram yelled in pain and tried to pull the spear out, but it was stuck.
"From now on, that will be your long tail" yelled Warreen, "and you'll never have a home to live in!"
That is why wombats now have flat foreheads and live in dark, damp burrows underground and why kangaroos have long tails and always sleep outside, under the stars.
Mirram lay down in the corner, but there was a hole in the wall of the hut and the wind and rain came in. He couldn't dry himself or get warm. The fire went out, but Warreen didn't notice. He snored as he slept and laughed every now and again, enjoying a nice dream. This made Mirram more angry.In the morning his body was stiff and sore. He hobbled outside and picked up a large rock. When he came back, Warreen was stretching and yawning as he woke up. Mirram dropped the rock on Warreen's head, flattening his forehead and making his nose curl around
"This is for not helping me get warm and dry" said Mirram. "And from now on, you will always live in a damp hole. Your flattened forehead and cold home will remind you of last night."
After that, Warreen and Mirram didn't speak to each other or play together and Warreen planned revenge.
He made a big spear and waited until Mirram was busy washing himself.
Then he threw the spear with all his strength and it hit the kangaroo at the base of his spine. Mirram yelled in pain and tried to pull the spear out, but it was stuck.
"From now on, that will be your long tail" yelled Warreen, "and you'll never have a home to live in!"
That is why wombats now have flat foreheads and live in dark, damp burrows underground and why kangaroos have long tails and always sleep outside, under the stars.
Saturday 15 November 2008
culture values
Suddenly, the agent with the coffee appeared. "Here's the coffee, Sir."
At that point Sally was let out of the room. Mooba drank more coffee, after which he continued instructing the President.
"As I was saying, concerning value it's things that have no price that are worth the most to the Xxlepis. Things such as honor or knowledge or joy. That's because emotions, or the intangible, offer infinite possibilities for new words of shading and intensity. When a thing has a price, its value is already set, defined and limited according to the Xxlepis. So instead of price, value for them is in how many words a thing inspires."
"But as for emotions...the Xxlepis fell in love with the Drugans on the planet Phizell because they're always laughing. They have 32 words for 'giggle'. The Xxlepis were so thrilled with this that they made fools of themselves, showering them with half our gifts." He frowned. "I had an awful time convincing them to leave that planet."
Rolling his eyes, the little alien continued.
"Unfortunately, your culture values things more than words. That's what I learned from your television and radio signals. For example, when a commercial says a car has a soul, where does that leave a man? In order to add value to a thing, you've stolen a word meant only for living beings and devalued it. And in devaluing that word you've devalued yourselves. The Xxlepis would never understand and it's better that they not know about it. In my humble opinion."
At that point Sally was let out of the room. Mooba drank more coffee, after which he continued instructing the President.
"As I was saying, concerning value it's things that have no price that are worth the most to the Xxlepis. Things such as honor or knowledge or joy. That's because emotions, or the intangible, offer infinite possibilities for new words of shading and intensity. When a thing has a price, its value is already set, defined and limited according to the Xxlepis. So instead of price, value for them is in how many words a thing inspires."
"But as for emotions...the Xxlepis fell in love with the Drugans on the planet Phizell because they're always laughing. They have 32 words for 'giggle'. The Xxlepis were so thrilled with this that they made fools of themselves, showering them with half our gifts." He frowned. "I had an awful time convincing them to leave that planet."
Rolling his eyes, the little alien continued.
"Unfortunately, your culture values things more than words. That's what I learned from your television and radio signals. For example, when a commercial says a car has a soul, where does that leave a man? In order to add value to a thing, you've stolen a word meant only for living beings and devalued it. And in devaluing that word you've devalued yourselves. The Xxlepis would never understand and it's better that they not know about it. In my humble opinion."
Friday 14 November 2008
Second Thoughts
At high noon a large spaceship floated gently down out of a blue sky to land on the front lawn of the White House. It rested motionless for the next five hours while the White House hummed with activity. The President was evacuated and then the military moved in with troops, tanks and helicopters. Stealth fighters roared overhead. Both ConGREss and the United Nations called emergency sessions as a frightened world held its breath.
At exactly 5:00 p.m. eastern time, a small door opened in the side of the craft and a human-like creature stepped out.
As beings go, it wasn't that alarming. About three feet tall, it had a large head atop a small body with two spindly legs. And there were feather-like appendages growing from its head as well as from what could have been a tail if it were a bird. But it moved like a human and wore a one-piece uniform of a gold metallic material that sparkled in the sun. Walking to the nearest soldier, it stopped short, its two unnaturally large eyes blinking twice. Then in perfect English with a high-pitched voice, it said, "Take me to your esteemed leader."
After much military and political consternation, the request was granted. Standing before the President of the United States, who was seated at his desk in the oval office surrounded by half a dozen secret agents, the little being bowed. "President and Chief Commander, I humbly come to you as ambassador facilitator for an ancient and distinguished race. Please realize that you're dealing with beings of such power that their purpose must be friendly or you'd have already been destroyed in my humble estimation."
At exactly 5:00 p.m. eastern time, a small door opened in the side of the craft and a human-like creature stepped out.
As beings go, it wasn't that alarming. About three feet tall, it had a large head atop a small body with two spindly legs. And there were feather-like appendages growing from its head as well as from what could have been a tail if it were a bird. But it moved like a human and wore a one-piece uniform of a gold metallic material that sparkled in the sun. Walking to the nearest soldier, it stopped short, its two unnaturally large eyes blinking twice. Then in perfect English with a high-pitched voice, it said, "Take me to your esteemed leader."
After much military and political consternation, the request was granted. Standing before the President of the United States, who was seated at his desk in the oval office surrounded by half a dozen secret agents, the little being bowed. "President and Chief Commander, I humbly come to you as ambassador facilitator for an ancient and distinguished race. Please realize that you're dealing with beings of such power that their purpose must be friendly or you'd have already been destroyed in my humble estimation."
Wednesday 12 November 2008
There isn't enough room
All summer they played together as friends, but Mirram sometimes still made fun of Warreen's hut.
Things changed when winter came. The wind became colder at night while Mirram slept outside. At first he didn't mind. He snuggled up to a tree to protect himself, and laughed at the thought of Warreen in his smelly hut. "Wombat would not brave the wind like me" he said to himself.
The wind became stronger and colder. Mirram curled himself into a tight ball, hugging his tree.
He told himself that the wind couldn't hurt him - he wasn't afraid. When it began to rain, he muttered "a little wind and rain won't hurt me. I'm not afraid."
One night, blasts of wind lashed the kangaroo with raindrops that felt like icy needles. Mirram was so wet and cold, he couldn't take it any longer. He struggled onto his hind legs and blown by the wind, hopped slowly towards the bark hut.
"It is me!" screamed Mirram, banging on the door. "Now, let me in!" "No!" yelled Wombat. "There isn't enough room."
Mirram's t
eeth were chattering. He became very angry and pushed hard at the door until it opened. "I'm inside now - and you aren't big enough to throw me out!"
Things changed when winter came. The wind became colder at night while Mirram slept outside. At first he didn't mind. He snuggled up to a tree to protect himself, and laughed at the thought of Warreen in his smelly hut. "Wombat would not brave the wind like me" he said to himself.
The wind became stronger and colder. Mirram curled himself into a tight ball, hugging his tree.
He told himself that the wind couldn't hurt him - he wasn't afraid. When it began to rain, he muttered "a little wind and rain won't hurt me. I'm not afraid."
One night, blasts of wind lashed the kangaroo with raindrops that felt like icy needles. Mirram was so wet and cold, he couldn't take it any longer. He struggled onto his hind legs and blown by the wind, hopped slowly towards the bark hut.
"It is me!" screamed Mirram, banging on the door. "Now, let me in!" "No!" yelled Wombat. "There isn't enough room."
Mirram's t
eeth were chattering. He became very angry and pushed hard at the door until it opened. "I'm inside now - and you aren't big enough to throw me out!"
Tuesday 11 November 2008
feathers twitched excitedly
The alien continued. "The Xxlepis find it difficult dealing with other cultures, so they take GREat care to insulate themselves. In addition to being their translator I serve as a filter to shield their refined sensibilities--but still I must be accurate and complete. Not an easy job, in my humble opinion. The Xxlepis are emotional, you see. Despite all their sophistication, they just want to be loved and they can't handle rejecti
on. I think you humans can appreciate that." He watched as one of the staff arose and walked to a table at the side of the room pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"What's that?"
"The President smiled. "It's coffee, a common beverage. And there's also donuts. Would you like some?"
Mooba's top feathers twitched excitedly. "Certainly." He stepped quickly across the room and to everyone's surprise gulped down a whole carafe of hot coffee. Then he grabbed several donuts. Returning to the front of the room, he noisily smacked his lips. Powdered sugar from the donuts had somehow ended up on his chin. It was a comical sight that everyone politely ignored.
on. I think you humans can appreciate that." He watched as one of the staff arose and walked to a table at the side of the room pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"What's that?"
"The President smiled. "It's coffee, a common beverage. And there's also donuts. Would you like some?"
Mooba's top feathers twitched excitedly. "Certainly." He stepped quickly across the room and to everyone's surprise gulped down a whole carafe of hot coffee. Then he grabbed several donuts. Returning to the front of the room, he noisily smacked his lips. Powdered sugar from the donuts had somehow ended up on his chin. It was a comical sight that everyone politely ignored.
Monday 10 November 2008
listened with their ears
The chief of the village sent runners to other villages, inviting everyone to come and hear
the stories. They brought gifts of food and clothing for Crow to thank him. A beautiful
young woman came and sat by him every time he spoke. She listened to every story. Many
seasons passed. Crow stayed in the village and married the young woman.
When he had shared all the stories with the people of the village and its neighbours, Crow
and his wife left and travelled to other villages further away, to tell the stories.
Eventually they came to the first village where he had lived before. The people didn’t
recognise him in his fine clothes and with his beautiful wife.
The village chief welcomed them, inviting them to sit by the fire and share their food. Crow
told his stories. The people listened with their ears and their hearts.
Crow told them, “You must not forget the stories and legends. You must pass them on to your
children and your grandchildren, and they must pass them onto theirs. We can never again
forget the stories and their wisdom.”
And that is how it has been from that day to this. The stories from Grandfather Stone have
been handed down from generation to generation and storytellers are still honoured today by
those who listen.
the stories. They brought gifts of food and clothing for Crow to thank him. A beautiful
young woman came and sat by him every time he spoke. She listened to every story. Many
seasons passed. Crow stayed in the village and married the young woman.
When he had shared all the stories with the people of the village and its neighbours, Crow
and his wife left and travelled to other villages further away, to tell the stories.
Eventually they came to the first village where he had lived before. The people didn’t
recognise him in his fine clothes and with his beautiful wife.
The village chief welcomed them, inviting them to sit by the fire and share their food. Crow
told his stories. The people listened with their ears and their hearts.
Crow told them, “You must not forget the stories and legends. You must pass them on to your
children and your grandchildren, and they must pass them onto theirs. We can never again
forget the stories and their wisdom.”
And that is how it has been from that day to this. The stories from Grandfather Stone have
been handed down from generation to generation and storytellers are still honoured today by
those who listen.
Saturday 8 November 2008
How Kangaroo got his Tail
A long time ago, some animals looked different to the way they look now. Kangaroos had no tails and wombats had high, round heads.
Mirram the Kangaroo and Warreen the Wombat were good friends. They lived together in a hut that Warreen had built from tree bark.
They liked being with each other, but Mirram liked to sleep outside at night and he made fun of Warreen who always wanted to sleep inside
"Come, Warreen, sleep outside with me" said Mirram. "It's much better to look up at the stars at night and listen to the fresh wind in the trees."
"It's too cold outside" snuffled Warreen, "and sometimes it rains. I might get wet! I like sleeping in my hut with a nice fire to keep me warm."
Mirram the Kangaroo would not accept this. "Your bark hut is dark and smelly. It is much better to sleep out in the clean air under the bright stars!" "No, thank you" said Warreen. "I will stay in my hut where I am comfortable."
Mirram was impatient. "You are too scared to sleep outside with me. You are frightened to feel a little wind." "I'm not frightened" snuffled Warreen. "I just like sleeping in my bark hut!"
Mirram kept on taunting Warreen, until one night the wombat aGREed to sleep outside. During the night he got really cold and waddled back inside the hut. Kangaroo laughed at him.
Mirram the Kangaroo and Warreen the Wombat were good friends. They lived together in a hut that Warreen had built from tree bark.
They liked being with each other, but Mirram liked to sleep outside at night and he made fun of Warreen who always wanted to sleep inside
"Come, Warreen, sleep outside with me" said Mirram. "It's much better to look up at the stars at night and listen to the fresh wind in the trees."
"It's too cold outside" snuffled Warreen, "and sometimes it rains. I might get wet! I like sleeping in my hut with a nice fire to keep me warm."
Mirram the Kangaroo would not accept this. "Your bark hut is dark and smelly. It is much better to sleep out in the clean air under the bright stars!" "No, thank you" said Warreen. "I will stay in my hut where I am comfortable."
Mirram was impatient. "You are too scared to sleep outside with me. You are frightened to feel a little wind." "I'm not frightened" snuffled Warreen. "I just like sleeping in my bark hut!"
Mirram kept on taunting Warreen, until one night the wombat aGREed to sleep outside. During the night he got really cold and waddled back inside the hut. Kangaroo laughed at him.
Thursday 6 November 2008
Koobor the Koala and Water
A long time ago, animals weren't animals - they were people. Koobor the koala was a boy. His parents were dead and he lived with relatives in a very dry part of the country, where there was never enough water.
Everyone in the family was given water each evening, but Koobor was always given his drink last and he never thought it was enough.
"I'm still thirsty!" he cried, "I want more water."
"Be quiet, Koobor" shouted his relatives. "You're an orphan and we've given you a home. You should be grateful and take what you are given." If he complained again, they beat him and called him ungrateful.
When they were going out to look for food, they hid their water buckets so that Koobor couldn't drink any more water.
Koobor learned how to take moisture from gum leaves, but it was never enough to stop him feeling thirsty.
One day when the relatives left Koobor alone and went to find food, they forgot to hide their water buckets. As soon as they were out of sight, he drank all the water his stomach could hold. For the first time he wasn't thirsty, but his body swelled up like a balloon.
When the sun started to rest for the night, Koobor knew that his relatives would come back soon. They would beat him and take all the water and he would be thirsty again.
He collected all the water buckets and climbed into the branches of a small tree.
Everyone in the family was given water each evening, but Koobor was always given his drink last and he never thought it was enough.
"I'm still thirsty!" he cried, "I want more water."
"Be quiet, Koobor" shouted his relatives. "You're an orphan and we've given you a home. You should be grateful and take what you are given." If he complained again, they beat him and called him ungrateful.
When they were going out to look for food, they hid their water buckets so that Koobor couldn't drink any more water.
Koobor learned how to take moisture from gum leaves, but it was never enough to stop him feeling thirsty.
One day when the relatives left Koobor alone and went to find food, they forgot to hide their water buckets. As soon as they were out of sight, he drank all the water his stomach could hold. For the first time he wasn't thirsty, but his body swelled up like a balloon.
When the sun started to rest for the night, Koobor knew that his relatives would come back soon. They would beat him and take all the water and he would be thirsty again.
He collected all the water buckets and climbed into the branches of a small tree.
Monday 3 November 2008
The Love letter
I was always a little in awe of GREat-aunt Stephina Roos. Indeed, as children we were all frankly terrified of her. The fact that she did not live with the family, preferring her tiny cottage and solitude to the comfortable but rather noisy household where we were brought up-added to the respectful fear in which she was held.
We used to take it in turn to carry small delicacies which my mother had made down from the big house to the little cottage where Aunt Stephia and an old colored maid spent their days. Old Tnate Sanna would open the door to the rather frightened little messenger and would usher him-or her - into the dark voor-kamer, where the shutters were always closed to keep out the heat and the flies. There we would wait, in trembling but not altogether unpleasant.
She was a tiny little woman to inspire so much veneration. She was always dressed in black, and her dark clothes melted into the shadows of the voor-kamer and made her look smaller than ever. But you felt. The moment she entered. That something vital and strong and somehow indestructible had come in with her, although she moved slowly, and her voice was sweet and soft.
She never embraced us. She would GREet us and take out hot little hands in her own beautiful cool one, with blue veins standing out on the back of it, as though the white skin were almost too delicate to contain them.
We used to take it in turn to carry small delicacies which my mother had made down from the big house to the little cottage where Aunt Stephia and an old colored maid spent their days. Old Tnate Sanna would open the door to the rather frightened little messenger and would usher him-or her - into the dark voor-kamer, where the shutters were always closed to keep out the heat and the flies. There we would wait, in trembling but not altogether unpleasant.
She was a tiny little woman to inspire so much veneration. She was always dressed in black, and her dark clothes melted into the shadows of the voor-kamer and made her look smaller than ever. But you felt. The moment she entered. That something vital and strong and somehow indestructible had come in with her, although she moved slowly, and her voice was sweet and soft.
She never embraced us. She would GREet us and take out hot little hands in her own beautiful cool one, with blue veins standing out on the back of it, as though the white skin were almost too delicate to contain them.
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