Fox and Crow

Some time ago, Fox was walking when he noticed crow  up on a bough, happily chewing a piece of cheese. 

  "Good day, Lady Crow," he said, "How well you are looking today.”
Crow, though her mouth was full, nodded her head politely. Fox smiled. “ And you are looking quite nice. How glossy your feathers, how bright your eye. And your voice as you fly over; I feel sure your voice must surpass that of other birds, just as your figure does.”
Crow preened proudly.
“Oh please, dear lady,” called Fox, “ let me hear a single song from your perfect beak."
     The Crow lifted her head and began to caw her best, but as she opened her mouth the piece of cheese fell to the ground, to be snapped up by Fox.
     "Very good," said he. "And in exchange for your cheese I will give you a piece of advice: do not trust flatterers."

Raven’s Wife Gains a Heart

Raven made himself a wife, and loved her dearly. And she was happy with him, though she could not love him, for she had no heart.

Soon Raven’s wife grew big-bellied. “Why does this happen?” she asked.

“You will bear me a son,” Raven said, “and you make me glad.”

“Then I am glad too.” Said his wife. But without a heart, she felt very little.

In time, Raven’s wife was gathering cattails beside the river, when her baby was born. But without a heart, Raven’s wife didn’t know what to do with a baby. She set him in her cattail basket, and continued her work.  Soon, the baby began to wriggle and rock. He rocked the basket over, and fell into the river. With a happy gurgle he became a fish and swam away. When Raven’s wife returned, all she found was a few silver scales.

She searched far and wide, but her son could not be found. She searched until she came to a place where the river flowed into the forest. As she walked, she looked up, and Wolf was walking beside her.

“What are you searching for?”

“My son.”

“Call him in your heart. He will come.”

“But I have no heart.”

“Then you must make one.”  Wolf told her.

So Raven’s wife took up mud from the bank of the river. Into it she placed a feather from her husband’s wing, and scales her son had left. Into it she placed a bead of cedar sap, and a nugget of copper. Wolf added a drop of blood. Then she placed the heart within her chest.

Raven’s wife was filled with pain. “Why do I hurt?”

“You are lonely for your son,” said Wolf, “that is why you hurt. You must call him.”

Raven’s wife wept into the river, crying for her son. And he came swimming to her.

“I am Salmon,” said the little boy, “Who are you?”

“I am Fog Over Water,” said Raven’s wife, “I am your mother.” And she lifted him up and carried him home.

In time Salmon became a man and a great leader. He learned cunning from his father and love from his mother.  Raven pledged his friendship to Wolf in gratitude for her help, and Salmon learned tenacity from Wolf as well. He has many thousands in his tribe. And each year, he comes to see his mother, swimming back from the sea, his tribe in his wake.

To this day salmon swim up river to spawn and to feed us all, following First Salmon.

To this day, when the fish die we return their skeletons to the water, and Fog-Over-Water restores them to life in her son’s tribe. 

May it always be so.

*This is a retelling from a number of different sources, including  Theadora Goss’s poem and the

Lhaq' temish story of Salmon Woman.

How Raven Made Himself a Wife

If you know many stories of Raven you know that he’s a wanderer and a playful one. And that can be a lonely life; not many girls would want to live a life like Raven’s. In fact, no girl did. And so Raven made himself a wife instead.

He’d never intended to make himself a wife. In fact, he’d intended to go fishing. Raven was perching just above the river, waiting for a fish on a lazy afternoon, and to fill the time he called out, “Hi! Brother River! What news do you carry today?”

The river laughed and gurgled. “I always carry news, Raven. What do you want to know?”

And, being men, they began to gossip of wars and pretty girls and their own deeds. And Raven began to boast. On and on he went about how many girls had been under his blanket with him, until the lonely river splashed in annoyance.

“Raven, you have so many girls because none would stay with you for more than one night! You smell of dead fish!”

“Ga! And no woman would touch you, wet and cold and boring!” Raven cawed back. “If I wanted a wife, I could have any girl alive!”

“Oh yes?” burbled river angrily, “Then if you can do this, go do it! Go and bring a wife! And if you find a wife, and she is as pretty as you say, then you’ll win something from me. Go on, oh great and much wanted lover!”

Raven, his feathers much ruffled, took off, determined to find himself the most perfect wife. But no matter where he went, the girls turned him away. The daughters of the Sun hid behind their brother clouds, the birch girls all shooed him away, the mountain daughters hid in their snow and the deer girls said no.

“Fine!” Raven cawed, “I’ll make the girl then!”

And he set about gathering up the things he needed.  For a body he stole the perfect, graceful shape of Porcupine and her soft fur, which she’s never been able to regain. He stole Coyote’s beautiful color for her skin, and made off with all of cougar’s mildness and patience. He stole Hawk’s sweet singing voice and tricked ice out of its fragrance. Finally, he stole the Mole’s beautiful, sparkling eyes for his bride.

That night his work was finished, and he breathed life into the girl. When she breathed, when she looked at him, Raven fell in love.

“Your name is Fog Over Water.” He said, “And you are my wife.”

“I am your wife.” She said.

That night, she lay beside him, his wings wrapped around her.

Hand in hand, they went to see River next morning.

“She is splendid!” Raven murmured. “But Raven! She has no heart!”

 To this, Raven shrugged his feathered shoulders. Since he kept his own heart hidden, he had forgotten that she might need one. “She is perfect without one. And you owe me.”

He opened his mouth to make a demand. But then he looked at his new wife. “River, you owe me. I want your laughter.”

 Raven took the laugh, and gave it to his wife. “What I have, now, is yours.”

And to this day, Ravens present gifts to their wives, who they never abandon. And Raven, though he wanders, loves his wife to this day.

Three Ravens

A Tradgedy

 There were three ravens sat on a tree.

 Down-a-down, hey down-a-down.

 There were three ravens sat on a tree, with a-down.

 There were three ravens sat on a tree,

 they were as black as they might be.

 With a-down, derry, derry, derry, down, down

 One of them said to his mate...

 Where shall we our breakfast take...

 Down in yonder green field...

 There lies a knight slain under his shield...

 His hounds they lie down at his feet...

 So well they can their master keep...

 His hawks they fly so eagerly...

 There's no fowl that'd dare come nie...

 Down there comes a fallow doe...

 As great with young as she might go...

 She lifted up his bloody head...

 and kist his wounds that were so red...

 She got him up onto her back...

 and carried him to an earthen lake...

 She buried him before the prime...

 She was dead herself ere eve-sung time...

 God send every Gentleman...

 such Hawks, such Hounds, and such a leman.

 With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down.

This traditional Scottish ballad shows the European view of Raven; as a harbinger of death and disaster.

Raven Tricks Deer

Now Raven is a wily one. If there’s a way to get a meal without work, he’ll find it. And sometimes, it’s best not to be in his path when he does.

Once, Raven was hungry. He was always hungry, but today he was starving.  He hopped over to Deer’s lodge. “Ga! Brother Deer!” he called, “Would you like to share a good meal with me?”

“I would, brother Raven.” Deer said quietly.

“Then come with me to gather herbs for stew, and we’ll share it between us.”

Up into the hills they climbed, up and up.

“Up here!”  Raven called, “Up here, Deer, are the best herbs I have seen.”

Up to the hill tops Raven and Deer climbed. With a birch bark basket in hand, the two began to gather herbs and dig up roots. Further and further away Raven dug, until he came to a cleft in the hill, filled at the bottom with stones. Quickly, he lay a few branches over the cleft, and covered it over with moss. A little Raven magic, and the stony cleft seemed not to be there at all.

“Over here, Deer!” he cawed, “Over here! Look what I found!”

“Look, look!” he said when Deer had come over, “The best crop of herbs I’ve ever seen! Will you go and pick it? My basket is full.”

“Gladly.” Said deer, and began to trot across. That was when the illusion gave itself away, and  Deer fell to his death.

Raven flew down to the blood-stained stones, chuckling. “Now I really will have a good stew. Ga!!”

The Thirsty Crow

One of Aesop’s fables, this little story became an American classic.

Summer, and drought, had arrived. Crow sat in the tree, wilting in the heat. Without water, he would surely die.

Then something glinted on the ground some ways off. It was a water jug. Crow could see the glint of water inside.

But the neck of the jug was too narrow for his head, and if he shoved the jug over, the precious water would be lost.

Crow slumped in despair. He would never reach the water. Staring mournfully at the ground, he kicked a pebble.

 Then Crow’s eyes widened. He lifted a pebble in his beak, and dropped it into the jug. The water level rose! Over and over he added pebbles, until the sweet clear water rose to his beak.

And so you see, perseverance will always win the day.

Raven Steals Crow's Potlach

One day in the autumn, Raven looked up at the sky. "Winter is coming," he said to himself, “and quickly. How did it arrive so fast?”

All summer Raven had lived easy and enjoyed the warmth, forgetting that the winter was on its way. He had no food stored. But he shrugged. “Somebody always has food. I can get some from my friends.”

But no other creature had food for Raven. Squirrel chattered him out of her tree, Bear was asleep in his cave, Otter kept his fish safe dried in his den and Goose had taken his family south. Now Raven began to worry a little.

He soared to the top of a tree and perched there, thinking. While he perched, the scent of stew and cooking fire came to him, blown on the wind from the lodge of his cousin, Crow.

“Ga!” said Raven, “Now there I may have luck.”

"Crow!" Raven called out when he spotted him. “How good to see you!”

“Welcome, Cousin.”  Crow said cautiously. He was wary of Raven, but he invited him inside all the same. Raven complemented the lodge and all its fine goods. Then he turned to his cousin.

“You know, Crow, all of us have been talking about your singing.”

“Really?” said Crow, flattered, “I have been practicing in the forest, but I didn’t think anyone had heard.”

"Everyone's  heard, cousin! They’re all talking about your beautiful voice! They can't wait to hear you sing! I’ve been told you’ll be throwing a potlatch and singing soon. You're inviting me to your potlatch, right?" Raven asked eagerly.

"Potlatch?" Crow shook his head. "I have no potlatch planned.”

“Oh,” said Raven, “But you must have a potlatch! Everyone will be so excited!”

So Crow and Raven began cooking. The next day, Crow cooked and cleaned and practiced.  Raven went to deliver invitations. But to each one he told, he said, “Ga! I am throwing a great potlatch, and you are invited! But be sure you come in by the back door; the front will be too crowded.” Crow was never mentioned.

On the day of the potlatch, guests began to arrive. “I will see who is coming.” Said Raven, and he flew off. But once he was some distance off, he took the form of other animals and entered through the front door, greeting Crow and thanking him, while the real bearers of those shapes he greeted as if the Potlatch was his. All the time, Raven was grinning.

Soon, Crow began to sing, and every creature listened to his lovely voice and cheered him.

"One more song, Crow," called Raven.

The party went on for three nights and days. Crow sang and sang until his voice was hoarse. At the end of the potlatch, each guest received a package of food to take home.   Each guest thanked Raven and promised to invite him to their potlatches soon. Crow tried to tell his guests that this was his potlatch, but his voice was gone.

For the rest of the winter, Raven received invitations to many potlatches and ate very, very well. But Crow was not invited, and his food had all gone into the potlatch. He had to beg scraps of food. And without his voice, he could not explain what had happened. Even today, he can only croak “Ca!” And he still scavenges today.