Orange Twine People

The Orange Twine People

by Bruce Peterson, © 1993

1

My brother, Redneck Joe, spends so much time in the forest that his overactive imagination highjacks him from time to time.  It takes his mind to incredible musings.  For a number of years he has been leaving signs and cryptic messages in the earth.  These signs are for future archaeologists and anthropologists to dig up and creatively interpret into a cultural identity.  He has been systematically creating a mythical tribe known as the Orange Twine People.  He uses rocks, sticks, bones, and plastic orange bailing twine (the kind farmers and ranchers carry in their pockets) to create his ritualistic artifacts.

The idea for this segment of his life’s work was birthed a few years ago while we were breaking camp on the Edwards Plateau in central Texas.  We had just finished taking the tipi down and were policing the campsite for any leftover litter, when I noticed Joe sitting next to the cold fire pit which had been the center of our Sioux lodge.

“You going to scatter the rocks?” I asked.

“No, I’m building an altar,” he replied.

I went over to watch.  Instead of scattering the flat stones that had been our fireplace, he had rearranged them into a pyramid structure.  On the flat capstone, he was arranging the bones from last night’s supper, a rabbit and a few quail, in an ordered pattern.  He then placed a flat rock atop the neatly set bones, turned to me, as asked, “You have any twine?”

I handed him a piece of plastic twine that I had just picked up as trash.  He took it from me reverently and wrapped the two stones together.  He then began to scoop ashes and dirt over the top of the altar creating a small mound.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

“Huh?  Oh, making a future anthropologist offering,” he said.  “You’ve heard of the Red Ochre People?  I’m creating the Orange Twine People.”

Since then his tribe has extended their range to most of western North America, primarily along the Rocky Mountains.  But you might stumble on artifacts as far to the east as Minnesota.  From Alaska and the high Plains and as far south as northern Mexico you may come across these sacred relics.  Scattered sites in the forests could produce spears and other weapons decorated with frayed orange twine; remnants of robes, leggings, and moccasins with plastic orange twine ties; or even just pieces of orange twine alongside a forest trail.  So far there are no laws against removing these artifacts from their natural setting, but my brother is eagerly awaiting this honorable distinction.  For now you are free to collect them, but use caution in handling the artifacts, especially those that were sacred to the tribe.  They have strong medicine.

I have personally experienced the curse of the Orange Twine People a number of times.  Some of the more sacred artifacts can produce hallucinations, and it is said that they can even bend time, if disturbed by infidels.  I first experienced this phenomenon when I was unpacking my gear from a trip into the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness area.  I had been in the back country for over a month cooking for one of Redneck Joe’s elk hunting camps.  Having returned to Texas, I was just getting to some of the smaller bags of camping items.  (It sometimes takes me months to unpack.)  I dumped the contents of one of the bags on the floor, and there, in the midst of my personal gear, was a knife I didn’t recognize.  Its finely crafted handle was made from the time of an elk antler that was wrapped with orange twine.  I picked it up and sat down on my bed to examine it when I was overcome with a burning sensation.  My vision began to fade; I sailed away from the room.

It was a pristine and cold night in the desert.  I was descending in spirit like a great bird from the mountains of the east.  Below were waves of sand dunes surrounding a small, watered grove beneath a towering, geometric, and smooth, stone mountain.  Sailing on the cool breezes of a clear night that released the day’s warmth, I approached the verdant grove.  A small fire flickered from the base of a clump of date palms.

Two men were lounging next to the fire.  One was dressed in white linen, reclining on a snow-white fleece draped across the curve of one of the palm trunks.  His jet-black hair and beard glistened in the firelight.  His eyes danced with the light of centuries as he listened to the other man’s story.  This man sat crouching with his shoulders and back covered with fur as he captured the warmth of the fire beneath his shaggy cover.  Under the robe he was dressed only in a soft leather loincloth and moccasins laced with orange twine.

“I have journeyed for years crossing the straits of the north and the highest mountains of the earth in search of knowledge.  Retracing the route my ancient ancestors traversed, I have returned here to the place of our beginnings.”

He adjusted his robe so he could stretch out and cover himself.  Fingering a piece of orange twine that was attached to the robe, replacing a broken leather tie, he continued his story.

“My people are known as the Orange Twine People.  We are the greatest people of the continents across the water.  We rule because of our great wisdom and knowledge.  Our ancestors fought the Holy Wars because they were intolerant of each other’s gods of wood and stone, and they almost destroyed our civilization.  After we discovered fire, the wheel, and how to manufacture plastic orange twine, we concluded there was no God.  It became obvious to us that we controlled our own destiny and we, ourselves, were evolving into god-like beings.  We have not totally eliminated war yet, but we have a peach treaty with all the tribes based on commerce and mutual compromise.  Occasionally tempers flare, but very few women and children are killed nowadays.  Most of the bloodshed is among the professional warriors.”

He paused for a moment to poke at the fire.  The man in linen made no comment.  His eyes never left the other’s eyes as the Orange Twine man asked, “What brought you to this desert?”

The man in linen smiled, his eyes dancing.

“I have come to the shadow of this stone mountain to pray, not to a god of my own making, but to the God of making.  One of my ancestors built this mountain, by the command and help of God, as a witness to the knowledge he had received.  His great-grandfather prophesied that the world would be destroyed at one time by the force of fire, and another time by the violence and quantity of water.  So he built this monument of stone that his revelation would survive the flood.  It tells the story of the one who is to come and put an end to war with water and fire.  The water was for cleansing, but the fire is for purging.  Peace cannot be found in commerce and compromise, but it is born in fire.”

The man in linen laid his head back on the snow-white fleece, closed his passion filled eyes and appeared to sleep.  The Orange Twine Man looked back at the glistening stone mountain and said to himself, “They must have had some big wheels and a hell of a lot of orange twine to move those stones!”  He turned back to the man in white, but he was no longer there.

“Bruce!  Get up!  You’ll be late for your class!”

“Lord Jesus, it seems like I just fell asleep.  Well, time to go spend the morning with the seekers of knowledge at Pan-Am.”

As I drive to the campus, I pushed in a tape.  It was Dylan singing,

“God knows it’s a struggle,

God knows it’s a crime,

God knows there’s going to be no more water, but FIRE NEXT TIME.”

Page 2

           In the years since my brother Joe created the Orange Twine People for future anthropologists, the curse of their dreams and visions have assailed me.  I now believe that the tribe did exist, not only because of the visions, but because I have met so many people who resemble them.  There seem to be Orange Twine People everywhere.  The other day, after a trying church service, I went home to rest for a few minutes.  As I lay on my bed, the gun rack on the wall caught my eye.  Hanging from one of the pegs was a set of rattling antlers that had been decorated with a fringe of frayed orange twine.  “Joe must have been here while I was gone,” I thought.  I reached up, grabbed the orange twine braid that connected the antlers together and I lifted them down to my chest to inspect the workmanship.  The antlers felt warm and pulsated in my hands.  The room dimmed and my vision extended beyond the fringe of the frayed orange twine.

           I looked across rugged hills to a distant flock of sheep and goats that were grazing on sparse grasses growing between the rocks.  Like a zoom lens, my vision drew me closer to the side hill covered with shifting snow-white wool.  I could see the shepherd, seated on a flat rock in the morning sun, watching over his flock.  Clad in a coarse spun, white, wool cloak, he gazed across the hills with a love for the land and his charges in his soft eyes.  A spirit of contentment filled my soul as I watched his compassionate gaze.

           From across the valley, I saw another man clothed in doeskin leggings and shirt.  He approached the shepherd.  The lacing of his leggings were made of plastic orange bailing twine; he walked with a staff that was wrapped at the handhold with orange twine; and the pack on his back had been repaired in a number of places with the dull, orange twine.  The traveler had a smile on his face as he approached the flocks and he raised his hand in greeting.

           ”Hello shepherd,” he called, “may I share your warm rock and enjoy your company for awhile?”

           The shepherd turned his eyes from the sheep, acknowledged the man’s presence, and nodded his head as he turned back to his animals.  When the traveler reached the granite mesa he said, “Thank you sir, it’s cold in the shadow of these hills.  Your warm, sunny rock is a comfort to my travel weary bones.”

           The shepherd turned his head toward the man and nodded, but said nothing.  Silence ensued until it finally overcame the traveler.

           “I have come from the deserts of the south to your land.  It is refreshing to be in a wholesome land with grass and trees again.”

           The shepherd smiled, still gazing at his flocks.  The traveler continued, as he began to unlace the orange twine that secured his boots.

           “I was at the river they call Life before I set out for here.  Have you ever seen the great kingdom of the south?”

           The shepherd nodded with a distant memory in his eyes.

           “I have never seen such a splendid kingdom,” said the Orange Twine Man.”   The glorious temples and the wonderful pageantry filled me with awe.  Among my tribe there is no longer any worship of gods, but I was told by my grandfather about the ceremonies that my people once had; how they gathered at regular times to make sacrifice and seek direction from the gods, but since we mastered the art of making plastic orange twine we no longer seek gods.  Our pursuit is for greater knowledge and understanding of our world.  With our knowledge we are able to make decisions and vote on what we should do.  Sometimes this causes confusion in my tribe, because the decisions made by voting are not always in the best interest of society.  So often the majority is wrong.  Maybe religion would be good for my people.

           I can see that religion gives people something to hang onto in a confusing world.  It gives them hope that things will get better.  They can get together with others and share their problems and ask the gods for help.  Even if there are no gods to help them, just getting together to take some kind of action could help my people accept and manage their lives.  Not only making people feel better, religion could be used to control them.  They could be taught how they should and should not behave in society with the fear of the god’s judgment as penalty for breaking the rules.  This would make religion very useful for our tribal councils and leaders, especially if members of the ruling councils were also holy men and priests.  It might be better for my people if they most educated and the wisest of the tribe could make the decisions for the simpler people.  They would certainly be better than the foolish of my tribe voting to lead us into confusion.”

           The Shepherd smiled to himself and looked toward his flock.  The animals looked content and peaceful as they fed and played with one another.  He saw the lamb that had been born the day before.  It was getting along well, but tonight he would see to it that the youngster got some quiet time with his mother.  He was too young to be playing so hard with the other lambs.  The mother also needed attention.  She would need extra feed to produce the milk her young one needed.  He forced his mind to focus his thoughts back to the traveler who trusted in his hands, but still said nothing to him.

           "Have you seen the efficiency of the kingdom to your south, shepherd?  It is truly amazing what they have been able to accomplish.  There are gigantic public buildings and streets of stone.  Their fields are large and overflowing with fruit.  The peoples’ standard of living is far beyond that of my people.  There are winters in my land where some of my people starve because they cannot supply enough food for themselves.  Surely nobody would starve in the kingdom to the south!  Tell me shepherd, what is your opinion of the southern kingdom?”

           The ensuing silence was so long that the Orange Twine Man began to wonder if the shepherd was an idiot or a fool.  Maybe he can’t hear or speak.  He began to feel foolish for talking so long to a man who was obviously deaf and dumb, or had no sense.  He almost stood and left the idiot to his animals when the shepherd shifted his gaze from his flocks to the man who wore the skins of animals laced to his body with orange twine.

           “Your people do not seem very different from the people of the southern kingdom to me, “ the shepherd quietly replied.  “You say you have no religion, and the religion of the southern kingdom is glorious, but it seems to me that you both worship what you have made with your own hands.”

           The shepherd turned to his sheep and it appeared to the Orange Twine Man that he would say no more, but then the shepherd turned to him again and continued.

           “The king of the south is my brother.”

           He paused again for a long enough period that the Orange Twine Man to begin squirm again.

           “He is a great leader of men, but there is little truth in him.  His kingdom is a kingdom of violence and greed.  The religion he has created is as corrupt as he is, and as you have observed he uses it to control his people.  Everything that you saw in his kingdom is the work of his hands; he has accomplished it all through his own cleverness and craft.  He trusts in his cleverness and so do your people.  Soon my brother’s cleverness will snare him, and his power will be delivered into my hand.  Into whose hand will your people be given?”

           The Orange Twine Man was stunned for a moment.  He had never considered that his people could be overcome by anyone.  After all, they had the greatest technology in the world.  They had Orange Twine!  “And how can your cleverness ensnare you?” he thought.  “Technology and ingenuity are the cornerstones of freedom.  His people could never be overcome.”

           He was about to reply when the Shepherd continued.

           “I have no desire for kingdoms or power, yet they are placed at my feet.  Look at the sheep.  They have no leader, nor do they vote; I am their protector and their provider.  I receive from them only what is necessary for their survival.  I have no need of anything from them, for many kingdoms and much power has been given to me; nevertheless, I take their wool so that they will survive the sun’s heat and I am clothed in the garments they have provided for me.  My sheep trust me and follow willingly where I lead them, for they know I love them.  Left to their own, to govern themselves, they would die and be heard of no more; given to my brother, he would devour them for his table.  You ask my opinion – who is it better to serve?  The will of the people is blind, and the appetite of religion is insatiable, but the love of a shepherd is the freedom to live at peace.  If you would be free, then serve the one who loves you.”

           The Orange Twine Man was silent for a long time.  Finally he asked the shepherd with a note of sarcasm in his voice.

           “Who is it that loves me?”

           The shepherd’s eyes softened as he said,

           “The one who has sent you on this journey for truth, who loved you from the foundation of the worlds – it is He who watches over you.”

           The force of the shepherd’s words vibrated in the Orange Twine Man’s heart and caused him to close his eyes and reel inwardly.  When he opened his eyes again the shepherd and his sheep had vanished.  He was alone in the valley sitting on the warm sunlit rock; or was he alone?  He opened his pack, took out a bundle wrapped in twine, and began to set up a camp for the night.  He would go no further today.  He looked up at the sun and it burned his eyes.  For a moment the spots before his eyes blinded him.

           “That shepherd was a lot like that crazy guy I met at the pyramid when I first arrived in the southern kingdom,” he thought as he waited for his vision to clear.

           “He talked in riddles too.  God, I hat riddles!”

           He shrugged his shoulders and groped for another piece of orange twine.

           The rugged land faded from my mind as a knocking invaded the scene.  “What’s that?” I thought.  My eyes focused on the fringe of twine around the antler lying on my chest.  Again the knocking; “Someone’s at the door.  It’s probably someone from the church who wants to know what’s right and what’s wrong,” I thought.  It was.  I asked them why their faith was laced with orange twine.