Sample Chapters

Gemini (Best viewed in Fall and Winter)

 

The Story

 

 

Castor and Pollux were twins and heroes in the days of ancient Greece. Both were mighty warriors, but each had his own special talent. Castor was known as a great horse trainer, while Pollux was a skilled and powerful boxer.

 

 

They were handsome, but their sister Helen was even more good-looking. It was Helen who ran away with Prince Paris and started the Trojan War.

 

 

But before that, she involved her brothers in a similar adventure. The Greek hero Theseus saw her beauty and decided to kidnap her. Castor and Pollux hurried to their little sister’s rescue and brought her home safely.

 

 

The twins were also involved in another great adventure: They were the first to come when Jason asked for help in finding, and winning, the Golden Fleece.

 

 

They aided Jason throughout that famous adventure, but especially when his ship, the Argo, arrived at the island of cruel King Amycus. The Argonauts were resting peacefully on the beach when the mighty giant and his bullying friends arrived.

 

 

Amycus shouted at them, saying nobody could come to his land without boxing with him. Anyone who lost in this boxing match would die, Amycus promised, and everyone with him would die, too.

 

 

But Pollux calmly stepped forward and accepted the challenge, then defeated the giant with one powerful blow. The Argonauts went on their way with no more trouble from that bully!

 

 

During the voyage of the Argo, the twins gained a reputation as good luck for sailors. When a storm came up and it seemed the ship might sink, the musician Orpheus took out his harp and played a song to the gods, asking for help. The rain and wind ended, the seas calmed, and a bright star appeared on the foreheads of each of the brothers.

 

 

Because of that, whenever the mysterious bright lights we now call “St. Elmo’s Fire” appeared around the masts of ships, the ancient sailors would say it was Castor and Pollux, coming to make sure they were safe.

 

 

When Castor was finally killed in battle, Pollux wept to be separated from his brother. Zeus kindly put them in the heavens where they could be together forever.

 

 

And each of the twins still has a bright star on his forehead.

 

 

The Stars

 

 

To find Gemini in the autumn or winter night skies, stand facing north and look for Polaris and the Big Dipper. Draw an imaginary line using the two stars that form the bottom of the Big Dipper heading west (to your left). If you hold your fists out at arm’s length to measure, that line will take you to a pair of bright stars, about five or six fist-widths from the Dipper and about half a fist apart. Those are Castor and Pollux, the heads of the twins. Their bodies point away from the Dipper and towards Orion.

 

 

Castor is the dimmer of the two stars, the one to the right if you’re facing north. It is about 45 light years away. But Castor isn’t a single star -- if you look at it through a telescope, you’ll see two stars. What you probably won’t see is that there’s another star, so that Castor actually is three stars, revolving around each other. But wait, those aren’t regular stars -- they’re each double stars! So Castor isn’t even three single stars -- it’s really six!

 

 

If you take a telescope, or even a good pair of binoculars, and look down at Castor’s foot, you’ll find a cluster of stars called M35 right next to it.  (The star which makes up his foot is called Eta Geminorum and is a red giant.)

 

 

The second week of December is a good time to look at Gemini, because that’s when the Geminid star shower takes place. The Geminids can produce an average of one shooting star per minute at their height, around December 13, but you’ll get a good show anytime between December 9 and 17, especially if you get away from city lights and find a time when the moon isn’t too close to Gemini.

 

 

The meteorites aren’t coming from Gemini, of course. They’re particles of an old comet. But they come from Gemini’s part of the sky, so, if you find Gemini, you’ll know where to look for shooting stars in December!

 

 

Text copyright 2006, Mike Peterson - Artwork copyright 2006, Dylan Meconis

Bootes (Best viewed in Spring and Summer)

The Story

 

The first thing to know about Bootes is how to say it. A lot of people pronounce it like baby shoes – "booties" – but it has two long O's in it, one right after the other – "boh-OH-tees." Often, the second O has two little dots over it to show you that.

 

Bootes has many names. Most often, he's called "the herdsman," because he seems to move the stars around the sky like a herdsman moves cattle or sheep.

 

As the night goes on, Ursa Minor turns around on its tail, the North Star, and Ursa Major also goes around just below it. Bootes follows along behind them.

 

For watchers in the Middle East, the North Star was a sheep pen, and Bootes the sheepherder. Because he is following bears and not cattle, however, he is also called "the bear watcher," and, in some traditions, he is hunting those bears.

 

Or perhaps Ursa Major is really a farm wagon, and Bootes is riding it around and around, or it's a plow, and he's endlessly working the fields of the sky – in England, they told his story both those ways for many years.

 

It seems strange to have so many stories about him and so few stories in which he is anybody in particular. But maybe that's because people were watching him before they began to invent those stories.

 

Bootes includes a very bright star, Arcturus, which helped ancient sailors and hunters keep track of the time at night. Long before clocks were invented, the North Star was like the center of the dial, and Arcturus went around it like a hand, telling them how late it was getting, and how long it would be before dawn.

 

Bootes is mentioned in Homer's Odyssey, as one of the constellations Odysseus watches as he sails, trying to find his way home. It's also mentioned in the Bible's Book of Job.

 

For Inuit people icefishing in December and January in ancient times, keeping an eye on Arcturus, which they called "Sibwudli," was very helpful. When you get that far north, the sun barely comes up at all in the middle of winter and it's easy to lose track of time.

 

So you can decide for yourself whether Bootes is a herdsman, a plowman, a bear hunter, a wagon driver or a big clock. But whoever he is, and whatever he's doing up there, he's certainly been a very important person for a very long time.

 

But people still pronounce his name wrong!

 

The Stars

 

If Bootes is the Bear Driver, it only makes sense that you can find him by following a bear’s tail! First, find the Big Dipper.

 

Then follow its tail from the main body to the end, and keep going in that same curved line for about twice the handle’s length. There you will find a very bright star.

 

This red giant is Arcturus, and since you followed a curved line to find it, astronomers like to say “follow the arc to Arcturus.”

 

To see the rest of the constellation, think of Arcturus as the bottom of an ice cream cone that stands up next to Ursa Major. Or you might think of it as shaped like a kite.

 

If you’re planning to look at the sky for awhile, or if you’re going to be outside doing something else, take a look at Arcturus and at Polaris. Try to remember where Arcturus is in relation to the ground.

 

Then look at other constellations and stars, or do whatever else you were going to do. Let some time pass.

 

Then look back at Polaris, and find Arcturus again by following the arc of the Big Dipper’s handle.

 

Where has it moved to since you first saw it? Can you see how ancient hunters and sailors could use Arcturus and Polaris together to tell time?

 

Start at Arcturus and head towards the edge of the ice cream cone, on the side away from Ursa Major. About halfway up the “cone” part, you’ll see two stars, one bright one and one not as large.

 

The bright star is Izar (Arabic for ‘’veil”) or Pulcherrima (Latin for “most beautiful”) and, if you have a telescope, you may be able to see that it is a very pretty double star.

 

Izar’s two stars are an orange bright giant and a white dwarf, so that, if you can get a good, sharp look through a telescope, the contrast makes quite a picture!

 

 

 

Text copyright 2006, Mike Peterson - Artwork copyright 2006, Dylan Meconis

Taurus (Best viewed in Fall and Winter)

 

The Story

 

Taurus the Bull is a fairly easy constellation to spot, right above Orion the Hunter. In fact, part of the legend of Taurus is that he and Orion are fighting, and he is kneeling and just about to lunge at the hunter.

 

There are two myths about bulls that are connected with Taurus.

 

The main one has to do with Zeus turning himself into a bull and kidnapping a princess named Europa for a swim across the Mediterranean. They ended up in Crete, where she became that ancient land’s first queen.

 

The other mythological bull that people say is Taurus started out in Crete. The Cretan Bull was a violent animal that was tearing up the island until Heracles captured him and brought him to Greece, then let him go.

 

The bull ran around Greece creating more problems, until the great hero, Theseus, who also killed the Minotaur, was able to put an end to this bull.

 

Or, at least, he put an end to him on earth, because there he is up in the stars!

 

But there are more myths about this constellation than just the ones about the bull.

 

His head is a cluster of stars called the Hyades.

 

The Hyades were among the daughters of Atlas, who had many daughters. The Hyades were particularly fond of their brother. He went hunting one day and was killed by a lion, and the Hyades were so upset that they died, too.

 

Zeus put them up in the sky, Their name in Greek means rain, and it was said that, when it rained, it was the Hyades weeping for their brother.

 

Over the bull’s shoulders are some more of Atlas’s daughters, the Pleiades. These “seven sisters” have many myths about them.

 

The main one for this constellation is that Orion got a crush on the youngest sister and wouldn’t leave her alone. After awhile, Zeus turned them into doves so they could fly away from him. (The name “Pleiades” means “dove.”)

 

He’s still bothering them, but Taurus won’t let him get too close.

 

The Stars

 

Taurus is one of the best constellations to look at with binoculars, but you’ll see a lot just looking up on a dark night with your own eyes.

 

Orion is attacking Taurus, and Taurus is ready for trouble, so if you find Orion, you’ll find Taurus just above him and to the right. Look for the bright star Aldebaran in a V-shape that makes up the horns of Taurus.

 

Aldebaran is a red giant so big that, if it were our Sun, poor Mercury would be gobbled up in it. It’s the 19th brightest star in the heavens.

 

Aldebaran will be surrounded by lots of stars. That’s the open-star cluster of the Hyades, and it’s quite a sight with binoculars or a small telescope. The wider your lens, the more light it will gather and the more stars you’ll see -- there are  plenty in this cluster!

 

If you search the Hyades with binoculars, you might see some double stars, too. There are several that you’ll be able to get a good view of, if the night is dark.

 

The Hyades and Aldebaran make up the bull’s head, with Aldebaran as his angry red eye, but the Hyades aren’t really very close to Aldebaran in space. They’re really much farther away from Earth.

 

The Pleiades are just where they belong to be protected from Orion. Look up above Aldebaran and you’ll find a fuzzy little patch of stars sitting safely on the bull’s shoulders.

 

With binoculars, you’ll see they are a star cluster, but much smaller and closer together than the Hyades. There are supposed to be seven Pleiades, but, without binoculars or a telescope, you’ll probably only see six of them.

 

Open star clusters like the Pleiades and Hyades are  groups of young stars formed from the same huge cloud of hydrogen, which still hangs around as a fog. You’re looking at baby stars!

 

Both the Greek myth of the Seven Sisters and an Onondaga story of dancing children rising into the sky say that, at first there were seven in the group, but later there were only six.

 

The Greeks said one of the sisters was embarrassed and hid, the Indians said one of the children ran home at the last minute. Did one of the stars grow more dim over the centuries?

Text copyright 2006, Mike Peterson - Artwork copyright 2006, Dylan Meconis

Chapter One: Fooling the Gods

   Thousands of years ago, in the legendary days of Ancient Greece, two brothers each wished to be king of Argos. And because they could not both be king, they made war upon each other, until one of them was defeated and forced to flee for his life.

That was how Acrisius became king, and he should have been happy, for he had the crown he wanted. But he was not happy. How could a person be happy, after making war upon his own brother?

   Acrisius knew he had done wrong, and, more than that, the gods and goddesses high upon Mount Olympus knew he had done wrong.

   But Acrisius was king, and he married a queen, and so now he wanted nothing more than to have a son who might become king after him. His wife gave him a fine young daughter, whom they named Dana. She was smart and good and pretty and kind, and she should have made any father happy.

   But Acrisius got no joy from this wonderful daughter he had been given.

   He wanted a son, and, after many years came and went and he had no son, he went to the temple of the Delphic Oracle to ask why.

   The Delphic Oracle was a kind of fortuneteller, a prophet who could see into the future, and who could tell people what the gods on Olympus were thinking and planning. When Acrisius asked the Oracle what he might do so that he could have a son, she shook her head.

   "The gods are angry with you, Acrisius. Because you made war upon your own brother, you will never have a son," she said. "However, you will have a grandson."

   At that, Acrisius became happier, for a grandson could be king one day, after he was gone. But the Oracle kept talking.

   "That grandson will one day kill you." Then she turned and walked back into the temple, leaving the frightened Acrisius trembling on the steps.

   He hurried back to Argos and ordered Dana, his daughter, locked up in a room deep in the earth. If no one ever saw her, if she never had a husband, if she never knew any men at all, he could fool the gods. He would have no grandson, and then the prophecy would not come about.

   Of course, he was wasting his time. The gods often fool men, but men very rarely fool the gods, and Zeus, the king of all the gods on Olympus, was not about to be made a fool of by a villain like Acrisius.

   One day, Acrisius was bringing Dana her food. He always brought the food himself, because, like most people who could not be trusted, he did not trust anyone, either. He was afraid to let anyone but himself see Dana, and so he always made sure that he was the one who brought her her food, and her clean clothes and all the other things she needed.

   Just as he was about to unlock the door, he heard something inside. He kept very still, and he heard it again. Then he unlocked the door and threw it open, just as Dana was tucking something in a bundle of cloth under her little bed.

   And the something she was trying to hide under her bed began to cry.

   Acrisius was astonished. Dana had been alone, all alone, in her room, far under the ground, for five years. And yet there it was: A little baby boy, with Dana's dark eyes, and Dana's dark hair.

   Acrisius, who had so wanted a son, now had the thing he feared most: A grandson.

   You would think that such an astonishing thing as this would teach Acrisius not to try to fool the gods. But it only made him more afraid, and his fear only made him more determined to try to avoid the prophecy.

   Acrisius knew that, if he murdered his own grandchild, mighty Zeus would hurl a thunderbolt from Olympus and blast him on the spot. But what if the child simply disappeared? The gods could not blame him for that, the evil old king thought.

   He called upon his best cabinetmaker to make a large box out of oak.

   He took his daughter, Dana, and his infant grandson, Perseus, and ordered them to be put into the box, and the top nailed down tight. Then Acrisius ordered his soldiers to take the box to the shore of the great Aegean Sea and cast it into the water, so that Dana and Perseus would be swept away by the tides.

   They would never be seen again, and he would not have to worry about the Oracle's prophecy.

   Up on Mount Olympus, the gods and goddesses have watched for thousands of years, as people below on earth did foolish things and wicked things. But mighty Zeus, and his daughter, courageous Athena, and all the other gods and goddesses, watched that oaken box float away from Argos, tossing upon the waves, and they said to each other that this, surely, was the most foolish thing, and the most wicked thing, that they had ever seen any person do.

 

Next Week: The Fisherman

 

Text copyright Mike Peterson, 2001; illustrations copyright Christopher Baldwin, 2001

Chapter Two: The Fisherman

   On the small island of Seriphos, out in the middle of the Aegean Sea, an old fisherman named Dictys was beginning his day.

   He had just taken his nets from the racks where he had put them to dry the evening before, and was about to put them into his boat, when he looked far out to sea. Something was floating in the water, something that looked like a large box.

   Dictys had been fishing for many years, and he knew that most of the things you found floating in the sea had already been ruined by the salt water. But he was still a curious person and sometimes he found interesting things to bring home and show his wife.

   So he put his nets into his boat and pushed it out into the surf, then rowed with his strong arms, broad chest and powerful legs so that the boat skipped quickly over the waves in the direction of the box.

   When he got near the box, he saw that it was well-made from oak, and it rode high in the water, as if it might still be dry inside. Dictys thought that perhaps this time, there might really be something valuable inside, so he tossed a net across the box and towed it back to shore so that he could open it without letting the waves splash into it.

   He jumped out as soon as the boat touched the beach and pulled the box up onto the sand. As he did, he heard a baby begin to cry, and the sound came from inside the box!

   Dictys had found many strange things in the sea, but he had never before found a box that contained a beautiful young woman and a tiny baby boy. They had been floating for several days and the air inside the box was very stale, so it took a few minutes before Dana was able to sit up and tell Dictys her story.

   He held little Perseus gently while Dana told of how her father had nailed the two of them into a box and threw them into the sea, and then he gave her a drink from the bottle of fresh water in his boat, and he gave her the bread, dried fish and goat's cheese his wife had packed for his lunch.

   When she was feeling better, he helped her to her feet and led her up the beach to the small cottage where Dictys lived with his wife, Thalia.

   Thalia got some goat's milk for little Perseus and soaked bread in it until it was soft enough for the baby to eat.

   "What shall we do Dana wept. "We can't go back to Argos."

   "I suppose you can't," Dictys agreed. "The next box might have a leak in it."

   Dana looked at him. "It must be very hard for you to understand a man like my father," she said.

   "Not very hard at all," Dictys replied, and smiled over at his wife. "In fact, it's quite easy. My brother Polydectes is the king here in Seriphos."

   "And he makes you fish for a living?" Dana asked.

   "Oh, no. He lets me fish," Dictys said. "And I let him be king. We both get to do what we want to. We're very lucky that we don't both want the same thing, don't you think?"

   "You wouldn't want to be king?" Dana asked, as she reached to take baby Perseus from Thalia and cuddled him close to her.

   Dictys shrugged. "It wouldn't be so bad, I suppose. It's good to help people, and a king should do that. But Polydectes wanted very much to be king, much more than I did. So I thought it would be best if I just went fishing instead. I do like to fish."

   Thalia slapped a wet cloth down hard on the table as she cleaned up after the baby's messy meal. "What Polydectes wants, he gets," she snapped. "If you don't give it to him, he takes it."

   "Well, yes," Dictys agreed. "So it's best not to worry about it too much, because you'll just upset yourself. But, you see, there's something I've always wanted, and now I have a chance to get it."

   "What's that?" Dana asked.

   "Well, we've never had any children, have we, dear?" Dictys gently said to his wife. "Now, here is a beautiful, intelligent, fine young woman who can live with us and be our daughter. And if we didn't get the chance to raise her from a baby, what of it? We'll have this cheerful little Perseus to brighten our home with his play!"

   Thalia laughed. "Yes, Dictys, you've made a good catch with your net this day! And I hope you will stay here with us, my dear," she said to Dana. "You would be most welcome."

   But then she looked out the open door at the road that lead up over the hills and into the city. "I just hope Polydectes doesn't see what pleasure we get from having you here.  That's usually how he decides what things he wants to take for himself."

 

Next Week: Polydectes

 

Text copyright Mike Peterson, 2001; illustrations copyright Christopher Baldwin, 2001

Chapter Three: Polydectes

 

   So Dana and Perseus lived with Dictys, the fisherman, and his wife Thalia in their cottage on the shore of the Aegean Sea.

   Dana helped Thalia in the home, and learned from her all the things she would have learned from her own mother and her aunts, if Acrisius had not locked her underground for all those years. From Thalia, she learned the art of weaving, of baking bread, of keeping a garden and of making cheese and yogurt from the milk of their small herd of goats. Thalia taught her, too, the songs, the games and the stories with which the women of Seriphos made their work go faster, as they did their laundry together on the banks of the river or gathered the dark olives from the low, twisted trees.

   And as soon as he was old enough to climb into the boat, Perseus went out fishing each day with Dictys, who taught him to cast the net and haul it in, heavy with fish, and to row the boat straight and fast through the rolling waves of the sea.

   As he grew into a young man, the rowing of the boat and the casting and hauling of nets gave Perseus strong arms, a broad chest and powerful legs, like those of his step-grandfather. When the young men of the village met for their military training sessions, Perseus was the strongest and fastest of them all.

   But this family had one more member. The king, Polydectes, used to come down to his brother's cottage from time to time, and each visit cast a chill over the little home like a harsh north wind in winter.

   You could tell that Dictys and Polydectes were brothers, but they were very different indeed.

   Dictys often smiled, and, when he smiled, he smiled with his whole body. He had the kind of smile that made you smile, even if you were in a bad mood.

   When Polydectes smiled, however, only his mouth smiled. His eyes remained cold.

   He had the kind of smile that made you stop smiling, even if you had been in a good mood, because Polydectes only smiled when he was thinking of something particularly wicked.

   Polydectes used to come to the cottage and smile at Dana. Even before Perseus was old enough to understand, it made him angry and frightened to see how the king smiled at his mother. Now that he was older, it was all he could do to keep his temper, and to remember that Polydectes was the king, and the brother of Dictys.

   Then one day, when Dictys and Perseus were coming home from fishing, Thalia met them on the beach with the news. A messenger had come from the city, with orders from King Polydectes. Dana was to come live in the palace, alone, to work as a servant.

   Perseus leapt from the boat and started towards the cottage, but Dictys called him back to help haul the boat up onto the sand and turn it upside down for the night. Then they hung the nets on the racks to dry.

   By the time they had finished putting everything away, Perseus had started to calm down. But he still wanted to go up to the city and storm into the palace of Polydectes.

   "We can't just sit here on the beach!" he insisted. "We have to do something!"

   "You're right," Dictys said. "I will take some fat goats up to the temple of Athena. Perhaps she can help us."

   "I will take a stout club to the palace and help us myself," Perseus declared, but Dictys put a calm hand upon his shoulder.

   "Wait until I have prayed to the goddess," he said. "If she cannot help us, then, yes, we will have to help ourselves. But let us see."

   That evening, Dictys walked in the bright moonlight up to the temple of Athena with a tender young goat tucked under each of his strong arms and a basket of fresh fish strapped to his broad back.

   He had not yet returned the next morning when a chariot arrived at the cottage, and a soldier in a bright bronze helmet topped with a waving plume of horsehair came to the door and picked up Dana's small packet of clothing. She followed him to the chariot and stepped in, then turned to her son.

   "Perseus, wait here for Dictys," she said. "He will know the wise thing to do."

   But as soon as the chariot was out of sight, Perseus stormed into the house. He strapped on his sword and walked out, following the route the chariot had taken.

   Thalia called after him, but he paid her no mind.

   It was late afternoon when Perseus strode up to the palace gates. One of the guards stepped forward, but Perseus pushed him aside. "I must see Polydectes!" he shouted.

   The Captain of the Guard hurried over. "Come back another time."

   "I must see him now!" Perseus insisted, but the captain shook his head.

   "Perhaps in a few days," he said, then grinned. "Tonight, the king feasts with his friends. Tomorrow, he's getting married -- to one of his servants!"

 

Next Week: The King's Feast

 

Text copyright Mike Peterson, 2001; illustrations copyright Christopher Baldwin, 2001

How the Duck People Got Their Fine Clothes

 

 

You have seen the Duck-people often. You have noticed that they wear fine clothes but you do not know how they got them, so I will tell you.

 

It was in the fall when leaves are yellow that it happened, and long, long ago. The Duck-people had gathered to go away for the winter as they always do, because they cannot make a living when the water is frozen. The buck-deer was coming down from the high ridges to visit friends in the lowlands along the streams as they have always done.

 

On a lake Old Man saw the Duck-people getting ready to go away, and at that time they all looked alike; that is, they all wore the same colored clothes.

 

The loons and the geese and the ducks were there and playing in the sunlight. The loons were laughing loudly and the diving was fast and merry to see.

 

On the hill where Old Man stood there was a great deal of moss, and he began to tear it from the ground and roll it into a great ball.

 

When he had gathered all he needed he shouldered the load and started for the shore of the lake, staggering under the weight of the great burden.

 

Finally the Duck-people saw him coming with his load of moss and began to swim away from the shore.

 

"Wait, my brothers!” he called, “I have a big load here, and I am going to give you people a dance. Come and help me get things ready.”

 

"Don't you do it,” said the gray goose to the others. “That's Old Man and he is up to something bad, I am sure.”

 

So the loon called to Old Man and said they wouldn't help him at all.

 

Right near the water Old Man dropped his ball of moss and then cut twenty long poles. With the poles he built a lodge which he covered with the moss, leaving a doorway facing the lake. Inside the lodge he built a fire and when it grew bright he cried:

 

"Say, brothers, why should you treat me this way when I am here to give you a big dance? Come into the lodge,” but they wouldn't do that.

 

Finally Old Man began to sing a song in the duck-talk, and keep time with his drum. The Duck-people liked the music, and swam a little nearer to the shore, watching for trouble all the time, but Old Man sang so sweetly that pretty soon they waddled up to the lodge and went inside.

 

The loon stopped near the door, for he believed that what the gray goose had said was true, and that Old Man was up to some mischief. The gray goose, too, was careful to stay close to the door but the ducks reached all about the fire.

 

"Well,” Old Man told them, “This is going to be the Blind-dance, but you will have to be painted first. Brother Mallard, name the colors--tell how you want me to paint you.”

 

"Well,” replied the mallard drake, “paint my head green, and put a white circle around my throat, like a necklace. Besides that, I want a brown breast and yellow legs: but I don't want my wife painted that way.”

 

Old Man painted him just as he asked, and his wife as she wanted, too. Then the teal and the wood-duck (it took a long time to paint the wood-duck) and the spoonbill and the blue-bill and the canvasback and the goose and the brant and the loon. All chose their paint.

 

Old Man painted them all just as they wanted him to, and kept singing all the time. They looked very pretty in the firelight, for it was night before the painting was done.

 

"Now,” said Old Man, “since this is the Blind-dance, when I beat upon my drum you must all shut your eyes tight and circle around the fire as I sing. Every one that peeks will have sore eyes forever.”

 

Then the Duck-people shut their eyes and Old Man began to sing: “Now you come, ducks, now you come--tum-tum, tum; tum-tum,tum.”

 

Around the fire they came with their eyes still shut, and as fast as they reached Old Man, the rascal would seize them, and wring their necks. Ho! things were going fine for Old Man, but the loon peeked a little, and saw what was going on; several others heard the fluttering and opened their eyes, too.

 

The loon cried out, “He's killing us -- let’s fly!” and they did that. There was a great squawking and quacking and fluttering as the Duck-people escaped from the lodge. Ho! but Old Man was angry, and he kicked the back of the loon-duck, and that is why his feet turn from his body when he walks or tries to stand. Yes, that is why he is a cripple to-day.

 

And all of the Duck-people that peeked that night at the dance still have sore eyes-- just as Old Man told them they would have. Of course they hurt and smart no more but they stay red to pay for peeking, and always will.

 

You have seen the mallard and the rest of the Duck-people. You can see that the colors Old Man painted so long ago are still bright and handsome, and they will stay that way forever and forever.

 

adaptation c. 2005 Mike Peterson  - illustration c. 2007 Christopher Baldwin

 

Why the Curlew Has a Curved Bill

 

Old Man was not always wise, even if he did make the world, and all that is on it. He often got into trouble but something always happened to get him out of it.

 

What I shall tell you now will show you that it is not well to try to do things just because others do them. They may be right for others, and wrong for us, but Old Man didn't understand that, you see.

 

One day he saw some mice playing and went near to watch them. It was springtime, and the frost was just coming out of the ground. A big flat rock was sticking out of a bank near a creek, and the sun had melted the frost from the earth about it, loosening it, so that it was about to fall.

 

The Chief-Mouse would sing a song, while all the other mice danced, and then the chief would cry 'now!' and all the mice would run past the big rock. On the other side, the Chief-Mouse would sing again, and then say 'now!'--back they would come--right under the dangerous rock.

 

Sometimes little bits of dirt would crumble and fall near the rock. as though warning the mice that the rock was going to fall, but they paid no attention to the warning, and kept at their playing.

 

Finally Old Man said: "Say, Chief-Mouse, I want to try that. I want to play that game. I am a good runner.”

 

He wasn't, you know, but he thought he could run. That is often where we make great mistakes -- when we try to do things we were not intended to do.

 

"No! No!” cried the Chief-Mouse, as Old Man prepared to make the race past the rock. “No! No! You will shake the ground. You are too heavy, and the rock may fall and kill you. My people are light of foot and fast. We are having a good time, but if you should try to do as we are doing you might get hurt, and that would spoil our fun.”

 

"Ho!” said Old Man, “Stand back! I'll show you what a runner I am.”

 

He ran like a grizzly bear, and shook the ground with his weight. Swow! Down came the great rock on top of Old Man and held him fast in the mud. My, how he screamed and called for aid! All the Mice-people ran away to find help.

 

It was a long time before the Mice-people found anybody, but they finally found the Coyote, and told him what had happened. Coyote didn't like Old Man very much, but he said he would go and see what he could do, and he did. The Mice-people showed him the way, and when they all reached the spot, there was Old Man deep in the mud, with the big rock on his back. He was angry and was saying things people should not say, for they do no good and make the mind wicked.

 

Coyote said: “Keep still, you big baby. Quit kicking about so. You are splashing mud in my eyes. How can I see with my eyes full of mud? Tell me that. I am going to try to help you out of your trouble.”

 

He tried but Old Man insulted Coyote. and called him a bad name, so the Coyote said, “Well, stay there,” and went away.

 

Again Old Man began to call for helpers, and the Curlew, who was flying over, saw the trouble, and came down to the ground to help.

 

In those days Curlew had a short, stubby bill, and he thought that he could break the rock by pecking it. He pecked and pecked away without making any headway, till Old Man grew angry at him, as he did at the Coyote.

 

The harder the Curlew worked, the worse Old Man scolded him. Old Man lost his temper altogether, you see, which is a bad thing to do, for we lose our friends with it, often.

 

Temper is like a bad dog about a lodge -- no friends will come to see us when he is about.

 

Curlew did his best but finally said: “I'll go and try to find somebody else to help you. I guess I am too small and weak. I shall come back to you.”

 

He was standing close to Old Man when he spoke, and Old Man reached out and grabbed the Curlew by the bill.

 

Curlew began to scream -- oh, my -- oh, my -- oh, my -- just as you still hear them in the air when it is morning.

 

Old Man hung onto the bill and finally pulled it out long and slim, and bent it downward, as it is to-day. Then he let go and laughed at the Curlew.

 

"You are a strange-looking bird now. That is a homely bill, but you shall always wear it and so shall all of your children, as long as there are Curlews in the world.”

 

I have forgotten who it was that got Old Man out of his trouble, but it seems to me it was the bear. Anyhow he did get out somehow, and lived to make even more trouble.

 

adaptation c. 2005 Mike Peterson - illustration c. 2007 Christopher Baldwin

 

Why Kingfisher Wears a War Bonnet

 

You have often seen Kingfisher at his fishing along the rivers, I know, and you have heard him laugh in his odd way, for he laughs a good deal when he flies. That same laugh nearly cost him his life once, as you will see.

 

I am sure none could see the Kingfisher without noticing his great head-dress, but not many know how he came by it because it happened so long ago that most men have forgotten.

 

It was one day in the winter-time when Old Man and the Wolf were hunting. The snow covered the land and ice was on all of the rivers. It was so cold that Old Man wrapped his robe close about himself and his breath showed white in the air.

 

Of course the Wolf was not cold; wolves never get cold as men do. Both Old Man and the Wolf were hungry for they had travelled far and had killed no meat.

 

Old Man was complaining and grumbling, for his heart is not very good. It is never well to grumble when we are doing our best, because it will do no good and makes us weak in our hearts. When our hearts are weak our heads sicken and our strength goes away.

 

When the sun was getting low Old Man and the Wolf came to a great river. On the ice that covered the water, they saw four fat Otters playing.

 

"There is meat,” said the Wolf; “Wait here and I will try to catch one of those fellows.'

 

"No! No!” cried Old Man. “Do not run after the Otter on the ice, because there are air-holes in all ice that covers rivers, and you may fall in the water and die.”

 

Old Man didn't care much if the Wolf did drown. He was afraid to be left alone and hungry in the snow, that was all.

 

"Ho!' said the Wolf, “I am swift of foot and my teeth are white and sharp. What chance has an Otter against me? Yes, I will go,” and he did.

 

Away ran the Otters with the Wolf after them, while Old Man stood on the bank and shivered with fright and cold. Of course the Wolf was faster than the Otter, but he was running on the ice, remember, and slipping a good deal. Nearer and nearer ran the Wolf. In fact he was just about to seize an Otter, when SPLASH! -- into an air-hole all the Otters went.

 

Ho ! the Wolf was going so fast he couldn't stop, and SWOW! into the airhole he went like a badger after mice, and the current carried him under the ice. The Otters knew that hole was there. That was their country and they were running to reach that same hole all the time, but the Wolf didn't know that.

 

Old Man saw it all and began to cry and wail. Ho! but he made a great fuss. He ran along the bank of the river, stumbling in the snowdrifts, and crying; but it was because he didn't want to be left in that country alone that he cried--not because he loved his brother, the Wolf.

 

On and on he ran until he came to a place where the water was too swift to freeze, and there he waited and watched for the Wolf to come out from under the ice, crying and wailing and making an awful noise for a grown man.

 

Well, right there is where the thing happened. You see, Kingfisher can't fish through the ice and he knows it, too; so he always finds places like the one Old Man found.

 

He was there that day, sitting on the limb of a birch tree, watching for fishes, and when Old Man came near to Kingfisher's tree, crying like a frightened baby, it tickled the Fisher so much that he laughed that odd, chattering laugh of his.

 

Old Man heard him and -- Ho! but he was angry. He looked to see who was laughing at him and that made Kingfisher laugh again, longer and louder than before.

 

This time Old Man saw him and SWOW! he threw his war-club at Kingfisher; tried to kill the bird for laughing. Kingfisher ducked so quickly that Old Man's club just grazed the feathers on his head, making them stand up straight.

 

"There,” said Old Man, “I'll teach you to laugh at me when I'm sad. Your feathers are standing up on the top of your head now and they will stay that way, too. As long as you live you must wear a head-dress, to pay for your laughing, and all your children must do the same.”

 

This was long, long ago, but the Kingfishers have not forgotten, and they all wear war-bonnets, and always will as long as there are Kingfishers.

 

adaptation c. 2005 Mike Peterson - illustration c. 2007 Christopher Baldwin

The Water Dance (South Africa)

 

(Editor’s note: This African story will likely sound familiar to American readers. It is one of many stories brought here by Bantu-speaking Africans who came as slaves. There are no rabbits in Africa, however -- The “rabbit” of the American version is, in Africa, a type of hare, Lepus crassicaudatus, and quite a different animal. In African folk tales, however, he is just as troublesome as his American cousin!)

 

There was a summer when it did not  rain. First the streams stopped running. Then the rivers dried up. Even the springs ceased to pour water from the rocks.

The animals held a meeting, all together, to decide what they should do.

The elephant suggested a water dance. “We have tried stamping on the river bed to make the water come up out of the mud, but it was not enough,” the elephant said.

The animals shook their heads. If the elephant could not bring up the water, the drought was very bad indeed.

“If everyone takes part, it might work,” the lion said. “But everyone must help. If you do not help, and we find water, there will be none for you.”

The hare laughed. “I don’t like to dance,” he said, “but I will drink water anyway.” And he went away without offering to help.

All of the other animals gathered in the river bed and began to dance. They danced and danced, the jackal and the hyena and the lion and the rhinoceros. The tiny gazelle danced next to the mighty buffalo, and the screeching baboon danced alongside the silent giraffe.

After a long time, someone shouted, for the crusted mud under his feet was becoming soft and damp. Everyone danced harder, and soon all the mud was wet, and then there were places where it was more water than mud. At last, they had danced the riverbed down to where it turned into a pool of water.

Every animal had a drink, and then they rested. At last, they all went back into the forest and plains, except for the hyena, for he was chosen to guard their waterhole and make sure nobody drank from it except the animals who had worked so hard to make the water come.

The moon was just rising when the hyena saw the hare coming down the path with two gourds. “Don’t ask for water,” the hyena called out to him. “You’ll get none of ours. You didn’t dance with us, and you won’t drink with us!”

The hare smiled. “I don’t want your plain old water, friend,” he said. “I have much better water right here.” And he lifted one of the gourds to his lips. “Would you like to try it? It’s very special water!”

The hare took a blade of grass and dipped it into the honey he had in the gourd. He held the grass up and let the hyena lick a drop as it dripped off. “That is good!” hyena said. “Can I have a sip of it?”

“I don’t know if it would be safe,” the hare said. “It is very powerful water. You might begin to leap about. You might even try to eat me!”

“I wouldn’t do that,” the hyena promised. “Just let me have a sip of your special water!”

The hare thought a moment. “Well, let me tie you to this tree first. That way, if the special water makes you go crazy, I’ll be safe until you calm down.”

The hyena agreed, so the hare took some strong vines and tied him to the tree. “Can you move?” the hare asked.

The hyena struggled, but the vines held him tight. “No, I can’t move at all!” he said.

“Good,” the hare laughed.

Then he went to the waterhole, filled his other gourd with water and drank deeply. “My, that’s very nice water!” he said. “Thank  you, hyena! I’ll come back tomorrow night for another drink!”

In the morning, the other animals came to the waterhole for a drink and found hyena still tied up. They laughed at him for letting the hare fool him, but then they wondered who could keep the hare from drinking their water.

“I will do it,” said the tortoise. “If the hare can fool the hyena with the bee’s honey, I will fool the hare with their wax!”

He got the other animals to help spread sticky beeswax all over his shell, then he waded down into the pool until nothing of his legs, head or tail showed above the water. All that could be seen of tortoise was his high, round back.

That evening, the hare came down to get another drink. He looked around to see if there was a guard, and then went to get a drink. “I see they put a rock in the water to keep their feet dry! What a good idea!” he said, and jumped right onto the tortoise’s sticky shell.

The hare quickly realized what had happened, but his feet were already stuck in the beeswax. “Let me go, or I’ll hit you!” he shouted. He swung one fist, then the other, but he did not hurt tortoise, and now his hands were stuck, too!

“You think you’re smart?” he said. “I’ll butt you with my head!” and the next thing the hare knew, his head was also stuck to tortoise’s sticky shell. And when he tried to whip tortoise with his tail, he had no better luck.

The tortoise turned and slowly walked out of the water with hare stuck to his back, while all the animals came out of the bushes laughing.

“What shall we do with this thief?” the tortoise asked them.

“Cut off his head!” someone shouted.

“Let the elephant stomp him flat!” cried someone else.

“What do you think we should do to you?” Tortoise asked.

“I don’t care, as long as it is an honorable death,” the hare replied. “I would not want a shameful death, like being swung around by the tail and slammed into the ground.”

“That is what we will do, then!” the elephant shouted. And he grabbed the hare by the tail, pulling him off the tortoise’s shell and swinging him around his head.

But the hare’s tail quickly broke and he flew off into the bushes, while elephant’s trunk held nothing but a bit of skin and fur.

“Ha ha!” a voice laughed in the distance. “That part of my body was made to fool my enemies! Thank you for the drink, and for letting me escape again!”

 

text by Mike Peterson, c. 2005 - illustrations by Marina Tay, c. 2005