How Porcupine Got His Quills

I'm going to follow David's lead and put up my creative project too. My kids thought it was clever, so I hope you enjoy it too.

How Porcupine Got His Quills

A long, long time ago, Porcupine didn’t have quills. He only had a thick coat of fur, but that didn’t keep him safe like Skunk’s stink. To protect himself, porcupine hid in holes that he would dig, but this made it hard for Porcupine to see his friends, Skunk and Rabbit.

One day Porcupine was out looking for food when Bear came along. Bear said, “I’m sorry Porcupine but I am hungry. I haven’t come across food for a while. I need to fatten up for the winter, so I am going to have to eat you.”

Porcupine was too smart to just let Bear eat him, so he thought he would try to trick him. “I just came from over there, Bear. There are some berries, and they are Mmm Mmm good. So juicy,” Porcupine said, rubbing his furry tummy. “The best berries all season.”

Bear looked toward where Porcupine was pointing. He knew that berry season was over. “I don’t see a patch of berries,” he said.

“Over there behind that tree,” said Porcupine.

Bear trotted over to get a better look, and Porcupine ran and hid in a hollow log that was close by. Bear looked around the tree, but there were no berries there. Porcupine had tricked him. He turned around and Porcupine was gone. “That ol’ Porcupine,” Bear said. “He’s a tricky one. I should never listen to him.”

Porcupine thought he was safe in the log, and he started laughing at Bear. “Bear is so gullible,” Porcupine said.

Well, that old hollow log carried the sound of Porcupine’s giggles, and Bear heard him. Bear used his ears and his powerful nose to find Porcupine. “Come out of there, Porcupine,” said Bear. “I need to fatten up for my winter sleep.”

“No,” said Porcupine. “I don’t want you to eat me.”

“Alright,” said Bear. “I’ll just sit here and wait. You have to come out sometime.”

Porcupine settled down in the middle of the log. Bear will fall asleep after a while, he thought. And then I’ll tiptoe around him and run home.

Bear sat right beside that log and kept one eye on one hole and the other eye on the other hole. He was determined to eat Porcupine. Once Porcupine tried to sneak a peek out of one side of the log, and Bear was right there. With his powerful claws, he pounced but he missed Porcupine, so Porcupine went back to the center of the log and tried to wait for Bear to fall asleep.

But Bear didn’t fall asleep. In fact, Bear was becoming impatient, and he was looking around trying to figure out how to get Porcupine out of that log. He used his long arms to reach into one end of the log, but Porcupine just went to the other end where Bear couldn’t reach him. Bear also tried to use his powerful claws to scratch a hole in the middle of the log, but that gave him splinters in his paws.

Behind the log, there was big hill. If Bear could roll the log down that hill, maybe Porcupine would fly out. Then Bear would have his supper. Bear began to rock the log back and forth to free it from its resting place. He pushed, and he pulled. He pushed, and he pulled.

Porcupine was inside the log laughing. What did Bear think he was doing? Bear was strong, but there was no way he could move that log.

The log rocked back and forth, back and forth. Bear almost had it over the hump. He gave one, big, long push, and the log broke free. It started rolling down the hill, slowly at first, but then it picked up speed.

Porcupine stopped laughing. He was scared. He tumbled over and over inside the log as it got faster. He didn’t know where he was going. All he could do was hold on.

Bear chased the log down the hill. He was going to grab Porcupine as soon as he fell out of that log, but the log hit a tree at the bottom of the hill. It split open, and Porcupine was thrown into the air. Bear stopped and watched as Porcupine flew in the air and then landed in a patch of thistles. There was no way he was going into that patch of thorns. Thistles hurt. He would just wait until Porcupine came out.

When Porcupine landed he rolled several times through that big thistle patch. Thorns stuck to his thick fur, but they didn’t go into his skin. Porcupine stood up slowly. He was dizzy from his ride in the log down the hill, and he felt sick. He just wanted to go home. Surly, Bear had gone away, he thought. He wouldn’t have followed him into the thistle patch. So, Porcupine waddled out of the thistle patch and headed toward home, but he couldn’t see very well. He was still dizzy.

Bear jumped out at Porcupine and grabbed him with his paws, but Bear threw him back down quickly and ran off crying. Poor Bear. He had many thorns in his paws. Porcupine saw this and laughed. He now had protection. He decided to keep his quills. He didn’t have to hide in holes any longer, and he could come out anytime he wanted to see his friends, Skunk and Rabbit.

On April 6, 2012, I went with my American Indian Literature class to the Qualla Boundary or the Cherokee Indian Reservation in North Carolina. While there we visited the Museum of the Cherokee Indian, the Kituwah Mound, and the Casino. Each of these places represented history, spirituality, and survival. Representation of all of these things in the museum is not easy, for the Cherokee have such a long history. Without a written language until Sequoyah created a writing system in 1821, much has been lost, but the Indians have found a way to record their history and their culture. Much is found in the museum.

            The museum begins at the beginning. We are led into a small room with bench seats and three screens in the front. This introductory film tells story of how the Earth was created. The story has been passed from generation to generation. The art of oral storytelling was very important to the Cherokee, for earlier, they didn’t have a written language to record their history. Accounts were passed through storytelling.

The lights were dimmed and the film began. Several members of the Cherokee tribe talked about how important oral language is to their history. The myth of creation was displayed on the screen in the form of digital cartoon, and soft white lights lit up at our feet and displayed specked shapes around the room. The next myth was how the first flute was made. Music was added to the surround sound system, and it stayed with us as we walked through the museum and looked at the displays. After we received instructions to walk through the open doors at the rear of the room, we stepped into the display area.

The lighting was very soft in order to highlight the displays behind Plexiglas on the walls and in clear cases on the floor. Still soft lighting was used to highlight the cases as well. I was a little disappointed in the lack of lighting. One had to get up really close to see details, but even then, sometimes that wasn’t even enough. The mood was warm, and the lights invited one to stay and linger a while. The flute played gently and was very calming. Those things were both a plus, but it still hard to see.

The first displays were at the beginning of time, or for as far back as archeologists have found evidence of human existence by excavation and carbon dating. In the display cases were spearheads dating back to the Paleo period (before 8,000 BC). These were from hunters living in the southern Appalachians. The spearheads are lined up neatly, but the directional chart at the bottom was hard to read, for it was close to the ground and was typed in small letters. The elderly would have a hard time ciphering the chart’s meaning.

Beautiful murals were painted on the walls. Some brightly depicted daily life in a Cherokee
camp. One display held Sequoyah’s symbols for the Cherokee language. It would light up and a
recorded voice would say the sound.

Another massive mural showed how one fall turned into a harsh winter on the journey to the Oklahoma territory. The mural came out of the wall with snow covered stone fences and wagons. The wall painting of the Trail of Tears was heart breaking. One display held a gorgeous turkey feather mantle for a ritual dance. Again the low lighting made it hard to see the details of the cape, but I understand that lighting had to be low in order to preserve the artifacts.

Wax figures stood in welcoming poses against the harsh stance of the English. Tension from over 200 years ago still hung in the room. Other wax figures wore traditional Cherokee dress, and wall plaques told of their meaning. There were lots of wall signs in which one could read about this and that, so many in fact; it was hard to read them all. I believe that I would have enjoyed a personal tour of the museum with a guide to tell me about important events in Cherokee history and to tell me how they used to live. That may have given a more homely feel to match the warm lights.

There was so much information that I will have to revisit and spend more time. Going with a class and having an agenda with other things to accomplish that day, one has to follow the crowd. These people are proud. I even met the man who was the model of a statue that stood in the middle of one of the rooms. His name was Jerry Wolf, and he autographed a pamphlet for me. The man was happy to share his time and his culture, and welcomed me to come back.

What I have learned so far this semester is that there is still a vast amount of knowledge about the Native Americans that we haven't discovered yet. I feel that we have only just reached into the prize box and pulled out a few items that might help us understand the beginning of what we need to grasp, but that we've only scratched the surface.



As a nation are still very judgmental. Not only to the Indians, but to other races and each other. When I look at where we have been and where we need to be in order to be an honorable nation, there is a vast meadow that stretches across the horizon to the unseen mountain that we still have to climb in order to reach our goal of being better human beings. Our government is greedy, but men and women whom we call our leaders going to the extent of using eugenics and genocide to abolish what they feel are lesser people or lesser races is disgusting.

The American Indians have such patience and acceptance of other people, and the rest of us need to listen to what they have to say. They could teach us so much about how to love and how to live in harmony with each other. but unfortunately, others have to willing to listen in order to learn. as a nation we are just not ready to do without some sort of intervention. Someone with some gumption and some clout, an activist like George Clooney, needs to stand up and say, "This is what I've learned, and you could benefit from it too."

Maybe one day, when I write the great American novel and be come a famous author, I can do that.

I think that we are a young country, but we are a country of one people. We are all Americans. We may have different cultures and different backgrounds, but we are all Americans. My daughter once told me that she was Irish, German, Cherokee, Black, and British. Now it's true that our ancestors come from all over the world, but I needed some clarification as to why she thought she belonged to all those nationalities. So I asked her to explain to me her reasoning.

"That's where we're from," she said.

"No, that's where our ancestors are from," I told her. "We are from America. We don't belong to those other countries, but our heritage does. What our grandparents taught us about that heritage is what we practice in traditions and values. It's why your grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins all come together on major holidays because the role of family is an important value."

We also have invented our own traditions and values over time. Change is a natural part of our culture, and adapting to new things is the basis of our world. So, why can't we make a change for the better? Acceptance is the first step. We cannot learn to love one another without accepting others for their differences, and differences is what make us all unique. And uniqueness allows so many perspectives and solutions to problems.

We are all Americans. Can we not make a change for the better and love each other like the brothers and sisters we are? This is a great nation with so many differences, but why do we let those differences divide us. They should bring us together. Look at all the things we could learn from each other. Look at how together we could change the world for the better if we would just take the time to listen to one another.

Yellow Woman

Leslie Marmon Silko

It was hard for me to chose which essays in this week's book to talk about. There is so much information and insight within them all. I didn't read them in order, I skipped around from the back to the front to the middle. There's just something about reading a collection of stories or essays from front to back that makes me want to put them in some sort of chronological order. Reading them in a chaotic fashion allowed me to be able to read each story separately and keep each piece's meaning separate in my mind. Crazy I know, but it worked for me.

The first essay that I turned to was "The People and the Land ARE Inseparable." It was this piece in which I first caught a glimpse of something, but I wasn't sure what it was. There was conflict between the words and the lines, but I was attributing that conflict to the years of fighting over land and boundaries, the Europeans taking over and defining what was right and what was wrong, what was theirs and what belonged to the Indians. Because that was how they had always done it and the white culture was more powerful, that was how it was going to be done, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. On the surface, there was nothing there that we hadn't already learned. But it wasn't until later, when I read "Yellow Woman and a Beauty of the Spirit," I realized that the conflict wasn't only about whites and Indians. It was about culture, and it lies within each human being.

In this book, Leslie Silko is a odds with herself. She is torn between what was and what is, and her mixed heritage seems to complicate the war. But the thing is, Silko knows that is who she is, and she accepts it and draws from it. And I think that the book is not only about learning Laguna heritage, but her learning to live as an Indian in a white country without loosing her heritage. It's also about what we can all learn from each other. In the video, she continues teaching the difference of then and now, how we as a people need to remember that the earth is a living being too, and our greed is killing our relationship with the earth.

"In the old days," is Silko's favorite phase throughout this book. In the old days, there was acceptance for who a person was. No one judged another based on appearance or sexual orientation. The "live and let live" philosophy made life simplistic, and everybody was happy.

Today, people seem hell bent on telling you what's right and what's wrong. (Sound familiar?) We are constantly plummeted by others telling us how to think, telling us how we should act. Judgments are passed on others in magazines, newspapers, and television. With the advent of Facebook, all of us can join in telling others how to live their lives. With the constant flood of media coming our way, it's amazing to me that each human brain can differentiate one's own individualism from a mass conglomeration of nonsense. But then again sometimes it can't.

Tommy Toes and Cow Manure

Listening in class yesterday, I keep thinking about the number one value that I had written down. I was trying to decide where it came from. Who taught it to me? Did it come to me on my own? This value isn't usually one that we associate with European values. It has only been during the past few years that Earth Day has become the "in" thing to do, but my respect for the environment seems to have planted itself in me from roots branching out all over. And more and more, I see the lack of respect that we humans have for each other; people pushing in line to get to the salad bar quicker. People weaving in and out of traffic on the interstate just to make it to their destination five minutes earlier. Does it make them feel better to be first? Slow down. Just enjoy time.

My grandfather was one of my biggest influences, and it wasn't really anything he ever said that caught my attention. It was what he did. Every year he had a garden. Some seeds he had saved from the last year's harvest, and some he bought. Some seeds he traded with his brothers and his friends, but before he planted those seeds he had to cultivate the ground. He added what he called "fertilize," but in actuality, it was the most terrible smelling cow manure. I don't know where he got it from, but when I would come home from school on one warm day in spring, the entire hill would smell like a dairy farm. "Yeah it stinks," he'd say, "but the tomatoes love it."

And we all loved his tomatoes. They were the best tomatoes in Henderson county. I've never tasted another like one of those that came from my grandfather's garden.

He would take something natural, something considered waste and use it to replenish the materials in the soil that the tomatoes needed to grow, and then he would add his own sweat. 

Pappaw knew that in order to get the best tomatoes in the county, he couldn't just let them alone. They had to be tended. He weeded. He mounded the dirt around the base of the plant. He made sure every tiny plant had a stake or a cage in which to climb. If the sky failed to provide rain, Pappaw would hook up the soaker hose. By June, the plants burst with red fruit, and all summer long we would have fresh tomatoes for our grilled hamburgers and tommy toes for our salads. Pappaw would give away the excess, and Mom and Grandma would can the rest of the bounty. ...And he would just give them away.

That was one thing that took me a long time to understand. How can he put in all that work, and then just give away all that he worked for? And why work that hard in the first place? He could have put in half the work and gotten more than enough for him and his family. He did it because he enjoyed it. He did it because he respected his fellow man, and he understood that others may not have the means to make their own garden, whether the reason be land, physical ability, or time. But I think that he recognized that he had a talent given to him by God, and he used that talent to provide a service to others. He respected them enough not to ask them for a dime.

In writing this piece, I have come to a new realization about my grandfather. He loved his fellow man enough to give them his time and his product, and I really need to strive more to be like him. Providing service to others has never been my strong suit, always claiming that I don't have the time. The Sacred Tree says, "True happiness comes only to those who dedicate their lives to the service of others." 

Every time my grandfather passed a bulging bag of vegetables to a friend in need, he would do so with a big grin on his face, and I know that he was truly happy.

Looking for North

                  (I'm not exactly sure how authentic the music that I picked out is, but it's pretty.)

While reading our new book, The Sacred Tree, I found it fascinating that there are so many links to Indian culture and Western culture. They both have their differences, sure. And they each have their own philosophies. The journey that a human being is to go on around the medicine wheel where he will find who he is, who he is supposed to be, and how he connects with the surrounding universe. This journey is life-long, and the goal is to be all you can be. Western culture has a faster way of getting there with the personality test. You can take yours here.  Below is an example of the tease they give you so you'll buy the 15 page report. Yeah, it's mine.

You Are an INFJ (Introvert, iNtuitive, Feeler, Judger)

INFJs represent between 1 and 3% of the U.S. Population

INFJs inhabit a world of ideas. They are independent, original thinkers driven by their strong feelings, and personal integrity. Sensitive, committed, hardworking, and perceptive, INFJs are often excellent listeners, skilled at generating enlightened and creative solutions to people’s problems. Thoughtful and careful decision makers, INFJs prefer to have plenty of time to let ideas “percolate” before taking action. Because they value harmony and agreement, INFJs like to persuade others of the validity of their viewpoint. They win the cooperation of others by using approval and praise, rather than argument or intimidation.

INFJs go to great lengths to promote fellowship and avoid conflict. They are also often perfectionists highly focused, and driven to accomplish their goals. Rather formal and reserved, INFJs can be difficult to read, but it is critically important to them that their values, needs and concerns be understood and respected.

Personality Type can be a gateway your ideal career, relationship, parenting and even your sales and networking. You can learn more about your personality type by purchasing a Custom Personality Type Report.

There's only 1-3% of the population in the U.S. who are like me. That might be a good thing. Heh. I'm glad I'm original though.

On pages 72-3 in our book, there is a list of gifts for each direction on the medicine wheel. These gifts are learned for a price. "For each of the great gifts of the medicine wheel there is a price. And yet we learn that the mystery of sacrifice is that there is no sacrifice" (58). The book is telling us that through this journey of our life, we are going to have to slowly learn how to be the best person we can be. It is a life journey. So, this little personality test hardly gives us any answers into our inner-selves according to the spiritual Indian. We have to look into ourselves, figure out what's there, and decide on how to become who we want to become. 

Indian spirituality is alive, but it's not well. Tribes are fighting against Christianity's movement to enlighten all the Indians. Our government has taken away unemployment rights from Indians who tried to practice their religious freedom. In 1993, Clinton passed the Religious Freedom Restoration Act only for it to be shot down by Congress. Read all about it here.  

A land dispute in Arizona is at the center of religious rights for American Indians. They claim that the San Francisco Peaks are sacred. From our reading, we should be able to see that American Indian spirituality is integrated with the Earth. It is a human connection to all things in the universe.

This country was founded on religious freedom, but when land disputes involve Indian religion, the property takes precedence and the Indians usually lose. 

The Early Years

<< The Oysterband performing "The World Turned Upside Down."

(That's some good stuff right there, and it seemed relevant to our book, The World Turned Upside Down. Lyrics are here if you'd like to sing along.)

While reading The World Turned Upside Down a few passages stuck out for me. The first one was about an Indian named Mittark. He was supposedly "the first Christian Indian at Gay Head on the west end of the island of Martha's Vineyard." Mittark felt that conversion to the Christian way of life was the way too go. I'm sure constantly defending your lifestyle against the English and just embracing their way of life like they wanted the Indians to do was much easier. There is also the desire to have promises fulfilled. Mittark "looked forward to the Christian promise of an escape from the troubles of the world. 'Here I'm in pain, there [in Heaven] I shall be freed from all Pain, and enjoy the rest that never endeth'" (43-4). But with his choice came separation from his Indian brothers.

Mittark reminded me of Seymour (from the film The Business of Fancydancing), for by accepting the Christian faith as his own, he "endured painful separation from his people" (43). The film didn't say that Seymour was a Christian, but he did accept another part of the way the white men do things. He received a white man's education at a university. Because of that, his friends on the reservation didn't trust him anymore, thinking that he sold them out to be more like the white man. Seymour was a very lonely man, and from the dying words that Mittark uttered, he was a lonely man too.

For an Indian to refute the beliefs of his fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and cousins, is no light act. It must seem to this Indian's family like he is turning his back on them and embracing the enemy. The Indian's family looses their faith in their cousin, but is adopting another culture as black and white as that for the one taking on other beliefs? 

We saw the struggles that Seymour went through. One side, his friends on the Rez, pulling at him to come back, and the other side, his partner, wanting him to accept that he is Seymour's tribe now. How hard that must be for an Indian to adopt two cultures. (One of which has been beaten into the dirt by the other for so long.)

The other quote from the book that stuck out to me was from page 21.

Many Indian peoples had, and continue to have, stories of creation and migration that explain how they came to be living in their homelands. Often shrouded in the mists of time, myth, and memory, these legends my strike us as too vague and fanciful to be useful as historical documents, but they convey the peoples' sense of their past and give us a glimpse into the many experiences that shaped American history before Europeans entered the picture.

The piece in red is what floored me. After reading the trickster tales and understanding them to not only traditional and entertaining but based in belief, I don't understand why these legends can't be used. Yeah, they're fun tails, but because they are told in metaphors and not in the way of how the English record history they can't be used? There is belief in them. Some could argue that the creation story in the Bible is too fanciful.  Any man in is right mind should never put his faith into a supreme being that lives in a realm called Heaven in which no human has ever returned to tell what they do up there all day. Do angels in Heaven sing all day or do they play Parcheesi on golden tables with Chex Mix set in the center? Heaven has never been scientifically proven, but people believe in God because they have faith. Faith is something we all need to get through this life on Earth. I know I have to have faith in my God and myself to make it up I-26 everyday. To take these people's beliefs and dismiss them because they are not of like English mind, is arrogant, and the "but" on then end of that sentence only saves a little bit of grace.

I went in search of a little enlightenment on the subject of American Indian beliefs, and I came across a book. Teaching Spirits by Joseph Epes Brown delves into the "religious" lives of Indians in hopes that others can better understand. And I found this link that might help one come to terms that trickster tales do have a religious base.

1. First, at the time of European contact, all but the simplest indigenous cultures in North America had developed coherent religious systems that included cosmologies—creation myths, transmitted orally from one generation to the next, which purported to explain how those societies had come into being.
2. Second, most native peoples worshiped an all-powerful, all-knowing Creator or “Master Spirit” (a being that assumed a variety of forms and both genders). They also venerated or placated a host of lesser supernatural entities, including an evil god who dealt out disaster, suffering, and death.
3. Third and finally, the members of most tribes believed in the immortality of the human soul and an afterlife, the main feature of which was the abundance of every good thing that made earthly life secure and pleasant.

So, not only are they fanciful, but one might put his faith into them.

Book review by The Dirt Brothers
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