Although they've never met, they shared the same message with two different groups. By chance, I was fortunate enough to hear both.
Tom Porter was invited to speak to youths at a cultural camp on the Flathead Reservation last week. I met a friend for coffee Saturday and then we drove to the tipi encampment on a mountain near South Valley Creek.
My only plan was to enjoy a green mountain morning. I also looked forward to being around others feeling good about being indigenous - a culture camp can do that to you. It's a setting that can strengthen relationships, spirituality and build a sense of community.
Most of the tipi-dwellers had been camped for nearly a week. On this final day, no one seemed in a hurry to leave. The group was waiting to hear the Mohawk elder.
Porter and I met before he talked. I asked what he planned to say. He said he usually didn't think too much about what he would say when invited to speak.
The words, he said, would come from the heart.
Even though I didn't know what he would say, I asked him if I could jot down some notes while he talked. He said OK.
About an hour later, he stood in a circle surrounded by youths and adults. In the tradition of true orators, the Mohawk elder painted pictures with words. We watched rivers flow on command by the Creator so humans could have fresh water. We visited the Thunder Beings, little men about 2 feet tall who pound a giant drum to give us rain. We heard birds singing morning songs of thanks and greeting Grandfather Sun. We felt the wind cover Mother Earth with winter snow, so she could rest.
The Mohawks call this a thanksgiving prayer. They do it frequently to give thanks to our mother, the earth, she who feeds all humans, trees, animals, birds, rivers and the sky. The story expresses an appreciation of how all these beings are interdependent.
When Porter finished, he sat near me. I gave him strawberries.
Strawberries are good medicine, he said. He ate them.
I reminded him I took notes. He nodded his head, OK. Can the notes be used in a newspaper story? It's OK, he said.
I felt he shared a sacred story. I asked: Why is it OK for me to write this?
People need to hear it, he said.
When I went back to work Monday, I attended an education conference at the University of Montana.
I've learned to appreciate the unexpected. But little did I expect to meet a second world-class Native storyteller in less than 48 hours. Conference organizers invited Jack Dalton from Alaska.
He shared many stories, including a creation story from the Yup'iks. He told how Raven created the world and human beings. The humans were told to take only what they needed from the earth - and to keep the rivers and streams clean. But the humans became careless. So Raven punished them. The humans thought they outsmarted Raven. They became greedy. Again, they took more than they needed.
With a heavy heart, Raven punished them more severely a second time because the second time was no accident. Raven brought death to the people.
People can wonder if we're near the end of our third chance, Dalton said.
Or they can talk about what it means to be a human being who knows how to live upon the earth, he said.
When Raven walked slowly away from the humans the second time, the people knew they had to do something to change their ways.
The elders convened. They agreed: We must share the story of what happened here. We must give it to the next generation.
And that generation must pass it on to the next.
Jodi Rave reports on Native issues for Lee Enterprises. She can be reached at (406) 523-5299 or at jodi.rave@lee.net
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