On the outskirts of the Big City lies my village, Hua T’ktan. The name probably looks more unpronounceable than it actually is, but I’m biased. And for the life of me, I can’t recall what the English translation is. The younger generation claim it means “Dirty”. They might be onto something there. Not because it is dirty, mind you. Well, I guess it is kind of dirty but, if memory serves more than a second helping of dessert, I have a vague recollection of the Elders referring to our beloved Homeland as “Good Earth” or “Fertile Soil” or some such. I don’t know. It’s been a long time. I think. And I might’ve eaten a few too many ‘shrooms during certain tribal rituals than were necessary. Perhaps ingesting a wide variety of peyote-based delicacies through the years hasn’t helped much. (In my culture, these are equivalent to CBD infused goods). And I’m sure swimming in the veritable ocean of alcohol that has plagued my People foreverhasn’t done my memory any justice either.
We don’t have Elders anymore. Well, at least not like how they used to be. I’m considered an Elder these days, if that tells you anything. And I’m fairly certain that when I was bestowed this Honorable Title, it wasn’t exactly for honorable reasons. I mean, behind my back I’m often called Chief Wise Ass, Sir Smokes A Lot, and Great Bowls of Fire, if that tells you anything. Sigh. Kids these days, I swear.
Where was I? Oh, right. Just outside the Big City lies our humble village. Have I mentioned this already? Anyhow, I feel it’s absurd to refer to our Homeland as a village, considering we have much, much more land than the Big City. We don’t have nearly their population numbers – far from it – but we certainly have twice the problems. An argument can be made for three times the problems, but I’m getting off track here.
I used to think the Elders were to blame for our many prollems; that they allowed the White Man to come in and strip mine our beautiful Land of all Her wondrous natural resources. But, that’s not quite how it went down.
After Whitey was finished with his industrious pilfering, we were left with many lakes and fishing ponds which, over time, we polluted with everyday waste, unrepairable household appliances, dead pets, etc. Is unrepairable even a word?
While it is said there are still viable precious metal deposits buried deep within our Land, we don’t possess the knowledge or skills (or funding!) to extract any of it. Hell, we would probably muck things up worse than they already are, if that’s at all possible, let alone kill ourselves in the process. And it’s not like we’re gonna reinvite old Pale Face to come and do it. Nope. Not again, If there is one good thing I will say about my People, it is that we do learn from our mistakes. Eventually.
Let me back up a second. I suppose it is wrong to blame the White Man for all our problems: the pollution, rampant alcoholism, homelessness. Then again…
We were doing just fine when Whitey showed up out of nowhere. I’m not claiming we were thriving, exactly; that we wanted for nothing, but we were far from starving.
We raised chickens, gathered their eggs, maintained a large (and smelly!) pig pen, eagerly tended our vast vegetable gardens and apple orchards. We were very self-sufficient. And if we needed things we did not ourselves produce, we had the goods on hand to trade with. A whole hog would fetch a side of prime beef; a bushel of apples was worth its weight in oranges; a crate of eggs was an even swap for a virile rooster; a truckload of rocks with shiny metal flakes in them brought in two barrels of the finest Tennessee whiskey this side of –
And there’s the rub. The only thing shinier than the stuff in those stones was the light in the eyes of the White Man when he saw what we had. Too bad we didn’t see it. Or did we?
According to legend – which is my family’s way of saying Great, Great Grandfather – our Ancestors had the arcane ability to extract these ores from the ground. Smelting, they call it. A funny word, right there. I remember a saying from when I was a child about the first person to get a whiff of a fart: “Whoever smelt it, dealt it!” Ha! Those were the days. The youth today –
what with their infernal iPhones and the psychosocial media – are really missing out on what it means to…
I did it again, didn’t I? It must be my perpetual hangover. I get distracted so easily nowadays.
Continuing on. Many of the things Grandfather explained made sense. I mean, we had hand-beaten copper kettles and pots, and various silver utensils that’d been passed down through many generations, along with some wickedly ornate handmade jewelry that was only worn during tribal rituals. There were also these weird, creepy little idols made from bronze and whale bone that the Elders took turns rubbing during sacred ceremonies like rain dances and fertility rites. They looked more like tiny monsters, if you ask me. One time, me and some cousins snuck into Grandfather’s hut and borrowed the ugly little things to play war games with, treating them like toys; playthings. Ever seen a hawk-headed fish man take on an owl-headed moose? Oh yeah. You ain’t never seen a battle till you saw our tiny gods clash! And here the White Man believed only he knew about holy wars. Ha! Unfortunately, we got caught trying to return them. I still have marks on my backside from the whipping the Elders gave us that day. Every Elder. One at a time.
So, the way it was explained to me – well, at least the way I came to understand it, anyway – is Earth is our Mother; She who birthed all living things.
We didn’t have a Father, per se; the Great Spirit pretty much fills that role. The other Spirits we call upon – lesser gods, if you will – are basically like uncles, in charge of handling the tedious day to day matters the Great Spirit is too busy to be bothered with, like a little extra rain, or a bountiful harvest (which goes hand in hand, no?), marital issues, and so on. A very typical family structure, for the most part.
Comparatively, if viewed how many conservatively organized religions operate, one might see it like so: Think of the different holidays you observe; why they are celebrated, how, and when. (Hanukkah, Mardi Gras, Burning Man). For my People it is essentially broken down by season, geography, and/or necessity.
If we need a boost in a certain area, we’ll ask for assistance. When we do not, we give thanks that all is well. You really don’t have to put a lot of thought and effort into understanding this concept. It’s pretty basic.
Where were we? While the Elders didn’t technically “rule,” their positions are inherently sacred. Their counsel, wisdom, and oftentimes long winded – though well intentioned – fables are highly valued, much sought after, and deeply treasured. Similar to Trump and Biden – only with actual wisdom. And none of the incontinence issues.
On that note. Somehow along the way, the People adopted a democratic system of administration to guide our ways, nullifying the voices of our Elders in the process. I don’t know how or when exactly this happened, as I was never asked to vote on it.
“It’s evolution!” they decreed.
“It’s revolution!” the Elders countered.
It was a huge mistake, if ever there was one. One of many.
The new regime was responsible for permitting the White Man to enter our Land uninhibited and unrestricted, where he proceeded to act like blowing up our mountains and uprooting ancient trees was a favor to us. “The mountains are in the way of the roads,” they explained. “We need the wood to build bridges over the enormous pits we’ve dug,” they justified. And we bought every word.
For each truckload of “rubble” that was hauled off, a truck- load of chickens or hogs or booze was delivered in return.
“The People are prospering!” the Dems proclaimed.
“The Land is dying!” the Elders cried.
They were both right. Idiots.
In just a few short years our ancestral home took on the distinct look of the White Man’s 19th century towns of the American South West, with straight dirt roads laid out like a grid, tall wooden buildings interspersed along their routes, ponds and lakes haphazardly spread throughout the Land.
I don’t know who tossed the first live fishes into these new waters but, in no time at all we were neck deep in a dozen varieties of delicious species, from carp to trout. We ate our fill and always caught enough for trading. Supplies were endless! Or so we thought.
Are you familiar with the old saying: “Too much of a good thing isn’t good?” Or was it: “All good things must come to an end?” Maybe it was: “No good deed goes unpunished?” Hmm. I think they all apply here.
What little remained of our ancestral caves became storage space for Whitey’s broken down excavation equipment. The few deep holes that didn’t fill with water became impromptu landfills. The wildlife displaced by rapid deforestation became wilder, decimating crops, mauling our livestock, and threatening the overall balance of our local ecosystem.
The Elders devised feasible solutions for our many woes: burning our trash – which would double as a viable heat source; scrapping out the useless mining equipment; mass hunting the more menacing predators before they reached total ferality. Wait. I’m gonna have to look that one up.
Unfortunately – though unsurprisingly – the Democratic Majority got in the way. Again. While they immediately agreed to the idea of burning our trash, they failed to first implement regulations. Trash fires quickly became wildfires, which then turned into housefires; hence the sudden appearance of our homeless population.
Unhappy with the meager pittance offered for the broken down mining machinery, they opted instead to let it all rust where it sat. This, in turn, inhibited those displaced by the reckless burning from inhabiting said caves. We were now keeping useless junk safe from the elements, instead of our People.
Those fortunate enough to still have homes standing after the firestorm were left without the proper means to heat them, as what were left of the forests after the White Man had gotten through were burned to ash, thus leading some to succumb to frostbite, hypothermia, or worse.
True to form, our new “Ruling Party” erroneously assumed that because we had an overabundance of wild animals to contend with, we must’ve had excess livestock on hand. Well, we did, to begin with. That’s what led to the problem initially. I swear, they did not pay any attention to what was actually happening across our Land. At all.
In their newfound wisdom, The Powers That Be decided we no longer needed to keep the ever-growing wolf population in check, granting them complete autonomy to run freely throughout the village, killing at will. Which they did. Very well. Too well, in fact.
The wolf has always been – and forever will remain – a revered part of our culture. Their prowess as a pack animal is indisputable. Wise and wily, cold and calculating, a pack thins a targeted herd by first eliminating the easiest prey. In this case, that was our penned-in livestock. All of our penned-in livestock.
They attacked with such efficiency that it was over before many even knew it’d begun. Hens and hogs, eggs and piglets alike, killed off in less than a week.
While the wolves were busy with their slaughter, the wild deer, rabbits and squirrels made easy pickings of our winter vegetable crops. By the time a decision was made to act, starvation became an issue, leading to our finest hunters having to brave the elements – not to mention rogue wolves – in order to feed the People.
I may have forgotten to mention that wolves are also cunning. Conniving, even. Plus, they do not view hunting for food as a sport. At least not in the way humans do. A terrible revelation,
that.
Now, when I say “hunters,” I don’t mean strapping young men painted golden bronze by the Sun, wearing leather loincloths, riding wild stallions bareback, armed with bows and arrows. No. Today’s breed of hunters are twenty-something-year-old slackers dressed in ratty blue jeans and flannel shirts. They tote rifles and shotguns, drive F-150’s, four-wheelers, or ride snowmobiles. Are they pampered? Perhaps, but I choose to leave that up to interpretation. What I do know is, they were not prepared to fight wolves – to the death, in some cases – for food.
The wolves? Meh, they’re wolves. Every meal entails a fight one way or another. The difference is they stick together through thick and thin, and don’t scare easily. Frighten a pack of wolves and they’ll attack, no question. Frighten a group of people and they’ll scatter, trampling one another in the process. It can be comical, in the right circumstances. However, these weren’t them.
During one such excursion certain anomalies started coming to light. First, a hunter noticed that a single fishing pond was no longer iced over; that there were tendrils of steam wafting up from the water’s surface.
Next, a few dozen rows of mature sweet corn was discovered miraculously growing at the farthest edges of the garden. Eight foot tall bright green stalks standing out against the cold, wintery backdrop. Like manna from Heaven. Or in this case, maize. When tiny, neon-greenish lights appeared beneath a fresh layer of snow – then began flashing randomly, like some strange negative image of the cosmos – many thought: Radiation! and panic inevitably set in. However, and much to our relief, it was soon discovered that the odd lights were coming from a lustful legion of fireflies. That’s right, fireflies – who were doing nothing more than what Nature intended: trying to attract a mate. Albeit in the middle of winter.
Did I mention we had a fondness for peyote-infused snacks and hallucinogenic mushrooms? Psshh. Don’t even get me started on what all goes into our Peace Pipes!
Thankfully the Elders determined these oddities were signs, telling us both that the Spirits were not pleased with the condition our Land was in, but also that there was still hope; that there was time to turn things around. I know, right? Leave it to the gods to give off mixed signals!
Surprisingly, the Dems heeded this inspired interpretation and began to act accordingly. The ravenous ways of the wolves subsided – whether from a lack of interest, lack of game, or by Divine Intervention no one can say – but a semi-healthy balance amongst the wildlife population began taking shape.
It wasn’t until later that fanciful tales emerged of squirrels attacking men and wolves alike – dropping down on their unsuspecting targets from tree branches and roofs in great enough numbers to overwhelm – biting and clawing and tearing away at their victims as they bucked and rolled and screamed in vain, trying to dislodge the evil little creatures from their unprotected necks and backs. I still shudder at the grizzly thought.
The same was said about a vicious horde of crows that showed up unexpectedly, darkening the bright winter sky. But it turned out they were vigorously defending their claim on the sweet corn phenomenon – which was understandable, odd though it was.
I would very much like to tell you that life amongst the People returned to normal; that a perfect balance was achieved once again between Man and Nature, but that would be untrue. Too much damage had been done along the way. New paths were carved out, leading to a future that can never truly be known. But the People have learned to put their political differences and petty squabbles aside for the Common Good.
Today our village – and by extension, the People – are prosperous, and harmony is on the horizon. It may not be perfect – and it is not yet whole – but it is our Land; it is our Home.
The End
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