Quill #98 - Brown Family Tradition

Every child in my family, back through my father's line for generations, has had their feet dipped in the waters of a particular spring. I believe that this was a tradition begun by my Osage great-great-grandmother. This tradition has been carried forward, even to my grandson and daughter-in-law.

It's a very serious tradition. The child has to be bare-footed, and must stand in the spring if they are old enough to stand, even though the rocks are sharp beneath their feet and the water is very cold. My parents made me promise to carry on the tradition with my children, which I did. And, I made my children promise, as well.

Because the spring, like most natural springs these days, is a fragile site, I won't say where it is. I don't know if my brothers have kept this tradition, though I hope they have. Our family has roots in that area of the country in addition to the spring.

(images from Dover's free images online)

Quill #94 - Upon the Marriage of Our Son and the Gaining of a Daughter (2006)

As a babe, your eyes were lined with care.
At two, you knew more than a child should bear.
Your voice, throughout the years, has grown more strong,
Deep enough to share another's song.

We enjoy the addition of a heart.
A daughter more will be a blessed start,
To what we hope will be a happy life
With young ones, pets, a warm and loving wife.

Just don't forget that you are still our son,
And more than that, were sibling number one.
No pow'r on earth can take us from your side.
We stand by you, your children, and your bride.

If future trials make your song feel weak,
To carry on as needed, do not seek
A path that takes you ever far from home.
For solace, there is no need to roam.

What we can, we will do; it's our role.
May your songs, joined together, make you whole.

Quill #52 - Trim (2010)

Fifteen years I spent growing that braid. Brushed it often, kept my
Hair soft and strong, all one length and even. In that space of time,
I lost my mother, buried my father, moved four times, raised a
Daughter, said farewell to a son, gained a grandchild, his loving
Mama, lost Grandma, two aunts, cousin to cancer, developed
Diabetes and heart disease. Three pets died, gained two more and,
In all that time, I never thought I would cut it again so
Casually, as if it meant nothing to me, when that was
My only pride but how could you say no to a child without
Tresses at all? I sent fifteen inches, one for each year, to
Locks of Love, through the salon. And they sent me a postcard that
I should frame and hang, saying thank you, thank you, for growing hair,
A most valued skill. I wonder what the child will look like who
Wears the empty space from around my head, and whether fifteen
Inches will bring them, like reverse voodoo, fifteen years more life.

Quill #31 - Whippoorwill Memory (2009)

There was a whippoorwill outside our house when I was growing up. Her slow mournful call was the subject of many breakfast conversations with my father. When I moved away, I didn't miss the bird the way I'd worry over a lost tooth that would be probed again and again. Instead, her absence affected me as if a quality to the air was lacking, or like a piece of music remembered only in dreams. Every time I heard another I was transported for a few rare moments to a small frame house in Kansas. a space at the table my father built, two eggs fried in butter, and a warm spring day waiting for me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sukE9pGayRc&feature=related

Quill #26 - The Mountain (1989)

"What is on top of the mountain?" Blue Feather asked her mother.
"Which mountain?" Great Owl queried.
"The peak you climbed last year when you weren't feeling very well."
"Oh, that mountain."
"Yes, that mountain," answered the youth.
"No one can describe that mountain," replied her mother.

"What is on top of the mountain?" Blue Feather asked her father.
"Which mountain?" Handsome Elk queried.
"The mountain you and our uncles circle for hunt."
"I do not know," responded her father. "I have never climbed up that far."

"What is on top of the mountain?" Blue Feather asked her grandfather.
"What mountain?" queried Sleeping Buffalo.
"The mountain over there!" cried his granddaughter as she pointed in the direction of the summit.
Grandfather put on his glasses and stared at the place she indicated.
"I don't see any mountain," he grumbled. "Play somewhere else now."

"What is on top of the mountain?" Blue Feather asked her grandmother.
"Why don't you climb it and see?" suggested Medicine Woman.

"I'm going to the top of the mountain," Blue Feather said to her mother. "Which is the best path to use?"
Great Owl set down her basket of seeds and began gathering some herbs.
"I will make a special tea for you," she stated. "Once you have drunk the tea, you will be able to climb any path you choose."

"I'm going to the top of the mountain," Blue Feather said to her father. "Which path is the most beautiful?"
Handsome Elk stopped dancing and opened his medicine pouch.
"I will consult the contents of my pouch," he declared. "They will tell me which path you should follow."

"I'm going to the top of the mountain," Blue Feather said to her grandfather. "What is the best way to climb a high peak?"
"Why would you want to do such a silly thing? replied Sleeping Buffalo, laying down his pipe to speak. "There is too much work to do here." He waggled a finger at her.

"I'm going to the top of the mountain," Blue Feather said to her grandmother. "What should I take with me?"
Medicine Woman shook her rattle at her granddaughter.
"Just go!" she urged the youth. "Take nothing."

Blue Feather stood at the top of the mountain.
She breathed cold air.
She smelled pine scent from twisted, hunched trees.
She felt the brisk wind blow feathers into her hair.
She saw eagles hover in strong currents.
She heard a snake's rattle and the chanting of storm clouds.

When she turned around to look at the village, Blue Feather saw her grandmother's spirit flying up to meet her.

"Well, Blue Feather," asked Medicine Woman's spirit, once she had arrived at the crest. "What is on top of the mountain?"
Her granddaughter thought for just a moment, then gave her answer.

"I am."

Quill #24 - Senior Farewell (1979)

It's coming.

The time we looked forward to when, way back in our youth, people asked us amusing questions like, "What will you be when you grow up?"

It's coming.

The thing we couldn't wait for when we got angry at our parents and wanted to be older so we wouldn't have to put up with them anymore.

It's coming.

We're not children anymore. We can't hide behind our mother's skirts or hold our father's hand when we're scared of the dark.

It won't be long before we're doing that for our children.

It's coming.

On graduation night, when we stand up there so proud... and so alone, we'll cry. Because the panic will finally hit us and we'll finally realize there's no more waiting around.

Life is here.

Quill #19 - Comforter (2010)

I saw him balance a chair,
On top of a solid wooden desk,
Using one finger of his right hand,
While explaining potential energy.

At night he would recline.
I would climb into sturdy embrace and,
Entranced by the sun-ghosted hair
On his ticklish forearms,
Gently pull strands,
Not knowing how they tugged at his heart.
Body and mind entwined, he never protested.

Annoyed by the same treatment,
A husband doesn't see the china doll in his wife,
Until another blithe sprite comes along
To cajole threads one by one
From a fabric unfrayed by time.