Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  “My pleasure. I love to talk about Rainier, especially to the younger audiences.”

  Scoutmaster Lawrence glanced down at the small drum the ranger was carrying. “And are you also going to play for us tonight? I didn’t realize that music was included in your talks.”

  Holding up the drum, Ranger Duncan smiled. “Well, I hope to—yes, a little.”

  The entire collection of young Scouts began trickling back into the campground from their various directions, slowly filling in all the available seats on the large logs placed in a semi-circle around the perimeter of the campfire. Some of the Scouts smiled as they eyed the ranger, his large-brimmed hat, and the small drum he carried. He returned their smiles with a gentle and easy smile of his own.

  “So, how long do you have for us tonight, Ranger Duncan?” asked the Scoutmaster as the boys continued taking their seats.

  “How long would you like?”

  “Well, I’m sure the boys would stay up all night if we’d let them. I just figured you’re probably quite busy and may have some other duties to attend to.”

  The ranger shook his head. “I’m done for tonight with all my regular duties and am on my own time now. I’ll stay as long as the boys are still interested in what I’ve got to say.” He then looked over toward the clouds in the darkening western sky and added, “It looks like nature will probably decide how long I stay. I just hope the rain holds off until I’ve given you all a taste of what Rainier is all about.”

  “Oh, I think we know at least one aspect of it,” replied the Scoutmaster with a smile. “It rains a lot here. Some of the kids have even started calling it Mount Rain-i-er.”

  Ranger Duncan smiled back. “A lot of the rangers call it that as well—especially over this past week.” He then looked back at the fire and added, “But at least it looks like the rain we’ve had didn’t stop you from finding dry firewood.”

  “That’s the first lesson we teach these campers. We try not to use gas stoves to cook, so we teach them to collect dry wood when they can and to keep it dry! Our first day here—and the only dry day—we gathered up a week’s worth of wood and have kept it under a tarp. I don’t think any of these boys will ever forget that lesson. They’ve appreciated the value of a good warm campfire.”

  Eventually, all the young Scouts had gathered and were sitting on the logs along with the few adult leaders of the group. Scoutmaster Lawrence and Ranger Duncan stood at the opening of the semicircle of logs, just off to one side of the fire. A few fresh logs had been placed on the fire, and it now burned with a lively dancing orange flame that lit up the surrounding dark trees with a soft glow. Every few moments, a log in the fire would make a large pop or crackling sound and some glowing embers would spill out on the ground near the fire. Some of the Scouts and adults closely watched these embers, but they would soon die out on the rain-dampened soil.

  The noisy group quieted down as soon as the Scoutmaster began speaking: “As promised, for our last night here at Rainier, we have a special guest joining us. We’re also lucky, because I think this is the first evening in several that we haven’t had any rain, but from the looks of the sky, we’ll probably get some later. Therefore, we want to give Ranger Duncan all the time available to hear what he has to say. I know you’re all excited, but I also expect you all to be on your best behavior and to give him your fullest attention. Ranger Duncan…”

  Ranger Duncan nodded and smiled to the Scoutmaster and then stepped forward a few steps. “How’s everyone tonight? Have you enjoyed your week up here at Mount Rain-i-er?”

  A few chuckles went up from the group, and all heads were nodding in the affirmative.

  “Well, even with the frequent rain we get, it’s hard not to enjoy yourself here. I first came here on a vacation from Colorado with my parents years ago when I was younger than most of you. I remember loving it, but never then did I imagine that I’d be coming back here to work as a ranger someday. I guess it just goes to show you how the world can take you off on adventures in directions you’d never have guessed. A little later on tonight, if the rain holds off, I’m going to tell you about an adventure that four young Native American braves went on a very long time ago. First though, let me tell you a little more about Mount Rainier.”

  Ranger Duncan went on to describe some of the flora and fauna of the area. As he moved to the topic of trees, he pointed to the Douglas firs just outside the perimeter of the campers and the glow of the fire. The tall trees now stood like dark towering sentinels just barely being kissed by the firelight. They were like giant ancient guardians from the very mount of Olympus itself, sent by the gods to listen and observe the evening’s human activities. Some of the young Scouts’ eyes flashed frequently over to those silent dark shadows as the ranger spoke of them.

  “The Douglas firs are very interesting trees,” Ranger Duncan continued. “They are not actually true fir trees at all, and so their scientific name is Pseudotsuga, literally ‘false hemlock.’ So, now you can go back and tell your friends something they probably didn’t know about Douglas firs. The lesson here is that things are not always what they might first appear by what they are called. You might also be interested to know that some of the larger Douglas firs, such as the ones around the camp here, can be many hundreds of years old, which means some of them might have just been starting their lives out when this next story I want to tell you took place.

  “To set the stage for this story, you have to realize that long before any European or other explorers came to this area, back in the misty depths of history, hundreds of years before Columbus even sailed, there were people who lived in and traveled through these very same mountains and forests that you’ve been hiking around this week. They could very well have camped right here—on this very spot where you’re camping tonight.” As Ranger Duncan said this, some of the boys gave quick glances to each other, the whites of their eyes reflecting in the comforting glow of the fire.

  “The people who lived here,” continued Ranger Duncan, his voice now lowering and taking on a more mysterious tone, “had a language and culture far different than anything we know. They looked at the world of forests, oceans, rivers, plants, animals, and even themselves very differently than we do. Their religion and spiritual beliefs were different, with a main difference being that they saw spirits everywhere—in everything. They were closer to the land and to nature than most of us. They knew what plants to eat and which ones to leave alone; they knew those that could heal them, nourish them, and those that could even kill. They knew the behaviors of animals so that when they were hungry they could find food, but they always only took exactly what they needed and no more. Nothing went to waste.

  “The Native Americans who roamed these forests had a bond and respect for the land that is rarely seen today. As Scouts, you might have this respect, but many others may not. The Native Americans knew instinctively that their care of the land and forests and all living things was the same as caring for themselves—it was all connected. Along with their beliefs, their customs were different and even mysterious, and one of the most interesting of customs, of which not much is really known, was the custom surrounding the transition of young braves into full warriors. This transition was marked by what was known as the ‘vision quest.’ It tested the utmost extremes of the young braves’ physical and even psychological endurance. If they completed the vision quest, they would literally be transformed into warriors by the accomplishment. As warriors, they would be ready to take on the task of fully caring for and defending the tribe. So the vision quest had a purpose—it was nature’s way of ensuring that the tribe would have strong and determined young men to care for it, generation after generation, and would therefore continue to thrive. Would you all like to hear the story of one such vision quest?”

  Ranger Duncan’s question was marked with a full contingent of wide-eyed and silent nodding heads. Even the adult leaders and the Scoutmaster himself, who had taken a seat at the end of one of the logs, seemed t
ransfixed and eager for the story to continue and had joined the chorus of nods.

  “Very well, then,” said Ranger Duncan, “but I must warn you, native lore says that hearing the story of another’s vision quest has the potential of capturing your spirit and creating the desire for such a quest for yourself, and even of provoking the Great Spirit into sending you on such a quest of your own—willing or not.”

  There were now more nervous glances exchanged, while all the boys and adults leaned further forward, drew breaths, and seemed to instinctively know they were now going to get something far more interesting than just stories of the flora and fauna.

  “I heard this story many years ago from a Native American who still lives not far from here, close to Yakima. He had heard it from his father, who’d heard it from his father, and so on, as far back in time as you can imagine. As I tell this story, I encourage you all to either close your eyes or just stare into the flames of the fire. Please, do that now, and travel back with me to a time before there were cars or roads or airplanes, to a time before the use of electricity, when after sunset, when night fell, there were no streetlights or porch lights to fill in the darkness. Imagine such a night when across the whole continent, from the Pacific to the Atlantic Ocean, the forests and plains and deserts were bathed in darkness, much like the forest just outside our campfire here tonight. Travel with me back to that time…a time when spirits filled the forest.”

  Ranger Duncan paused and glanced at the group. All eyes were either closed or staring mistily into the fire. His voice now took on a more solemn tone, though still low and mysterious. He continued: “It was a day not unlike we had today. It was late spring, and in a small clearing in the forest, not far from the snow-capped mountain they called Takhoma, a wise medicine man named Hanasawi sat cross-legged on the ground near a small though energetically burning fire. His eyes followed the blue-white smoke closely as it curled upward from the fire in small loops and aerial rivulets.

  “A group of four young braves sat across from Hanasawi and said nothing. One of them was playing a small drum covered with the tightly stretched hide of a small animal. On the drum, he beat out a slow and repetitive beat….”

  Ranger Duncan then lifted the small drum he’d been holding by his side and tapped out a steady and slow da-dum dum dum dum…da-dum dum dum dum…as he continued speaking:

  “All the braves, including the drummer, watched Hanasawi closely. They were waiting for a sign from him. It would be the most important sign of their young lives. Somewhere hidden in the subtle patterns of rising smoke, enfolded in some mysterious language that only a wise medicine man like Hanasawi could read, would be a message. It would say that he had seen the First Direction. That would be the starting point—the beginning of their vision quest and the first step on their paths to becoming full adult warriors in the tribe.

  “A long time passed in this manner, with Hanasawi watching the fire and the braves carefully watching him. They had first built the fire in the morning light, and now the sun hung nearly overhead. Three of the braves had retrieved firewood regularly throughout the day to keep the fire burning, while the fourth brave had drummed continuously. To have the fire go out or the drumming stop would be disastrous. For if either of those occurred, it could mean that Hanasawi might miss the First Direction given in the smoke, and the future of the braves becoming warriors with the tribe would be in jeopardy.”

  Ranger Duncan continued drumming lightly as he went on with his story. “The drumming itself was an invitation for a spirit guide to come and lead them on their vision quest. The First Direction was a signal that the guide had arrived. If the drumming stopped before the guide arrived, it would be like taking away that invitation. They all knew that the First Direction would come when it was ripe and ready to reveal itself, like a flower blossoming or a fruit ripening. It would come whether observed or not; therefore, it was critical that Hanasawi be allowed to keep watching the smoke, while the braves fulfilled their important duties of keeping the fire alive and drumming….”

  Da-dum dum dum dum…da-dum dum dum dum…

  “The four braves began to feel hunger as they watched Hanasawi. They had fasted for the full day prior to this day of their vision quest. Their bodies needed to be pure and not held to the earth by the sleepiness and dullness that full bellies bring. They knew they would need lightness of foot and quickness of mind to complete the challenges ahead.

  “Hanasawi had studied for a lifetime, under his grandfather and then his father, to learn the secret and hidden languages of the natural world. His wise, bright brown eyes held steady on the smoke until, suddenly, one particular wisp caught his gaze. He traced its path upward into the air and then followed it toward the nearby trees. The four braves followed his eyes and strained to see the hidden details he had found in the smoke, but they only saw a confusing mix of hazy white and blue smoke as it entered the trees and mingled with dark green branches. They all looked back at Hanasawi who at that moment raised his hand toward one particular tree in the direction the smoke had drifted. Even the drummer stopped as all the braves followed his hand toward the tree.

  “‘The First Direction has been given,’ said Hanasawi, still pointing at the tree. ‘Begin there. Your guide will meet you. I shall follow behind later.’

  “A rush of adrenaline filled each of the braves’ strong bodies as they quickly stood up and ran over to the tree. Their eyes scanned the area around the tree, and then they each circled it several times. There appeared to be no one nearby. Where was the guide? They all looked back toward the clearing. Hanasawi was now standing silently by the fire, arms crossed. The young braves flashed him questioning looks, but dared say nothing, for they knew that this vision quest would be theirs alone, and though Hanasawi might follow behind them so as to witness the completion, he had helped them all he could by giving them the First Direction.

  “At last, one of the young braves, the one who’d been drumming, looked up into the branches of the tree and noticed a star-tail—a tan and gray bird with a distinct black V-shape across its yellow chest. It perched alone on a high branch. The brave quickly pointed out the star-tail to the others, and no sooner had he done this when it sang out:

  Tweeta…tweet…tweet…tweetatweet!

  “They looked back toward Hanasawi for reassurance. Was this to be our guide on the vision quest? However, Hanasawi was no longer there. The fire had been extinguished, and the clearing was empty—even the drum was gone. As they looked once more up toward the star-tail, it immediately lifted from the branch and began flying through the high forest canopy. Their vision quest had begun.”

  Ranger Duncan paused for a moment as a roll of thunder echoed from a distance in the west, down the valley. Many of the boys opened their eyes and looked at him as he looked up at the sky above and could still see a few stars peeking in between scattered clouds. “I think we’ve got a while before the rain gets here. Shall I continue?” Again, he was met with eager nodding heads that quickly closed their eyes once more or looked back into the fire. Ranger Duncan smiled and continued:

  “For a long while, the four young braves ran as fast as they could, chasing the star-tail through the forest, but still they could barely keep up. Their keen eyes constantly scanned ahead in the forest to see which tree the bird may have landed in or in which direction it was now flying. On several occasions, they were certain they’d lost their guide; however, each time, just before they lost all hope of completing their quest, from some distant part of the forest, the star-tail would sing out, and they would head in that direction.

  “After much time had passed in the chase, their muscles began to ache, and each of them felt a deep fatigue setting in. Never before had they covered so much ground in one day. The sun now hid behind the western hills, and the billion bright eyes of night came out and sparkled above. They slept near the spot where they had last seen their star-tail guide. The four braves were hungry and tired. When night settled in, the chill and damp of the
forest nibbled at their skin and bones. They slept little that night as they huddled together in a tight group near the base of a large Douglas fir tree. They felt some comfort from the tree and kept warm by the closeness of their own bodies. Each of them drifted into a broken sleep wondering the same thing—do star-tails sleep at night, too?

  “Not far from where the four bedded for the night, another pair of eyes watched them through the dense foliage. It was Hanasawi. When he saw they had brought a stop to their journey for the evening, he too bedded down, though he covered himself with a blanket made from the hide of a deer. This was not his vision quest. He had completed his own a long time before, when the flexibility of spring was still in his body. Now, on this day, he had strained greatly to keep up with the four young braves. He had earned a comfortable night’s sleep under the warm blanket.

  “The next morning, it was their star-tail guide that woke them from their fragmented sleep: Tweeta…tweet…tweet…tweetatweet!

  “The sun had not yet fully sprouted from the eastern sky, but their star-tail sang its greeting to them, as first one and then another of the braves stood up from their partial slumber. They turned toward the direction from which the star-tail sang, and the quest was once more on.

  “They traveled the morning and into the afternoon, going up and down hills, across rivers, and along several steep and treacherous rock faces. Each step of the journey was guided by either a sighting of the star-tail or the hearing of its song. One of the braves began to complain to the others of his weariness, and he was encouraged to continue on or to risk never becoming a warrior. All of their feet, though toughened by a lifetime without shoes, were cut, scraped, and swollen. Their tongues began to swell from a lack of water, for though it was plentiful around them and they had taken short drinks, the star-tail kept them moving constantly, and there wasn’t time enough to stop, rest, and fully quench their thirst.

  “It was mid-afternoon when the star-tail seemed to come to rest near a rocky outcropping further up the hill from where they watched. Though a stand of trees blocked a clear view, each brave was certain he had seen the same thing—the star-tail had flown through the trees toward the rocky outcropping and then appeared to remain at that spot, flying no further.