Little Skookum:
Confluence of Story and Song
"The ancestors will speak once more..."
Confluence at Little Skookum
( A True Story )
Whose ancestors are these? you ask
Who watch
from the waters
on which we glide
Our two paddles carved
from one supple green day
without appointments to keep
Some say that blood is thicker than water
Thick with the mineral muck of the forest
Thick with the salty good sense of the salmon
returning from distant constellations
Here where even a sapling betrays
the many new circles of stories to come
Here where our murky reflections
take flight on ripples of wing and cloud
For I dreamed
a dream here long ago
Which in the course
of all journeys we dream
is not so long ago at all
I dreamed
of a young girl
carefree and brave
who climbed into a cedar bark basket
and floated away on a moonless spring tide
Accompanied by wolves
How strange
that wolves should prance across water
How strange
that I would know such a dream
so far away yet frightfully near
For this young girl
was never known to speak
She was never given to telling stories
Never
Instead
she would sit
at the edge of her village
beating a drum to her heart's content
Instead
she would dance
through the darkest of wood
on footsteps light as a sunbeam
Her drum was small and very sweet
Decorated
with feather and bead
with root and leaf from the tree of life
A drum like no other that I have seen
And stirring with mossy-lush voices
Which is why the young girl never spoke
Or so it was assumed
Which is why
she spent the whole of her days
beating the drum with a black bear claw
Deeply
Steadily
Ever so sweetly
So sweetly that none of all her relations
would ever withdraw whence the drumming did come
Would ever fret for the sound of the beating
But that was before the seasons grew heavy
Before the world became dreadfully silent
Before the young girl would float away
to find a home in a distant land
More distant than any dream of mine
And yes, accompanied by wolves
Being a stranger to this place
and something of a fool for my ways
steering a course by my singular compass
blind to the guides that were given me
I dreamed
within my waking dream
of setting out in an old canoe
Just as we have done today
if only to find some secret place
For I sometimes believed
that I heard the drum beating
calling to me from some distant shore
that somehow, someway, was still within reach
That somehow I was meant to discover
But whenever I hurried down to the landing
never was there a canoe to be found
Never
Imagine
Trapped in my dream without a paddle
Without having learned how to prance across water
the way that the wolves in my dream could do
Then one day
while tracking a trail by the sea
I stumbled upon a shadowy cove
A cove I had known many times before
if always by some other name
And there
on the mudflat
I met an old woman
harvesting seaweed and blue mussel shell
Whose ancestor are you? she asked
Her skin was wizened like cedar bark
betraying old circles of stories to tell
Embarrassed
I smiled back reluctantly
unable to contain my amazement
For the old woman
raised a drum in her hands
and held it before my startled eyes
The drum had called but you did not come
The drum was here for one and for all
The small, sweet drum of the girl in my dream
A drum like no other that I have seen
Hidden?
Lost?
Abandoned?
Forgotten?
By me?
By the young girl?
By one and by all?
So the woman began to beat the drum
And the drum
began to sing its song
In joyous, dark ripples
In mossy-lush tones
Into the stillness
and through the fog
as if it had never been silent at all
And out of the fog
there arrived nine canoes
from the many a strange and distant land
that always escaped my wildest dreams
The canoes were filled with gifts of the ages
Accompanied by all our relations
And kinfolk
from the nearby village
welcomed the guests with much ado
Cooking a kettle
of fresh salmon stew
with camas and nettle and bitterroot
A fine-feathered feast if ever there was
With oyster and berry
With dancing and singing
With praise and refreshment
With gratitude
For all who attended
For all who inquired
For all who chanced upon the scene
Not least of all Raven
His belly plump
His appetite sated
His gumption for guile replete
How happy he was to be blessed with such peace
after so many clever undertakings
How happy he was to surrender all pride
to the incoming tide of the most patient night
in a longhouse of his own creation
Without appointments to keep
For they say that blood is thicker than water
Thick with the mineral muck of the forest
Thick with the salty good sense of the salmon
returning from distant constellations
Here where even a sapling betrays
the many new circles of stories to come
Here where our murky reflections
take flight on ripples of moon and star
Whose ancestors are these? you ask
The wind might reply: not yours, not mine
But the wind is keen on posing riddles
So breathe deep the cold mist around your face
Let the smoke pour out from between your lips
before you find some good reason to speak
And know it is time
that we paddle on home
laughing and smiling along the way
Wise for not knowing all that awaits us
Lloyd Vivola
Thanksgiving Day 2011
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Two Videos:
Little Skookum - Cycle-Song Dance
Canoe Journey: From Cedar Films
Acknowledging a confluence of serendipitous inspiration:
The Calm Cove Oyster Farm Clan
Si Matta/The Haven Films: https://www.youtube.com/user/TheHavenfilms
The Squaxin Island Tribe http://www.squaxinisland.org/