A Little Birdie Told Me

A little birdie told me . . . it’s spring.

Though Mother Nature is fighting it . . . it is spring.  The “signs” have all been there for a couple of weeks despite the alternating winter/spring weather duking it out.  Yes, it is Montana where the weather can change by the minute, but nature has been trying to tell us . . . it is spring.  We just need to listen better.

 

In his book, Voices in the Stones: Life Lessons from the Native Way, Kent Nerburn shares a story about an encounter he has with an elderly Native American man at a little café on a reservation on a North Dakota reservation.  The two of them talked and the conversation meandered into the topic of the “old ways” of life and how they had been taken from the Native Americans by the predominant “white society”.  The man shared a story about how in the “old ways” it was understood that the spirit of life flowed through everything . . . that all things were of a kindred spirit . . . that there was a relationship between all things.  Now they were gone.

 

The story as he told it:

“Things have really changed,” he went on.  “The old ways—the way I was raised—they’re gone now.  They took them away from us.”

 

He looked away and stared into the distance.  I had touched something deep in him.

 

“My grandma,” he said, “she could talk to the animals.  She liked to hang clothes out on the line, stand out in the sun and the wind.  She used to talk to the meadowlarks.  They would sit on the fence posts, and she would sometimes laugh and say things to them.

 

“I remember one day she got angry and threw a rock at one of them.  I heard her scolding it as it flew away.  A little neighbor girl died the next day.  Grandma must not have liked what the meadowlark had to say.”

 

He took a sip of his coffee and gazed past me almost as if I wasn’t there.  “I guess we forgot their language.  Or maybe they just don’t want to talk to us now.” (Voices in the Stones: Life Lessons from the Native Way, Ken Nerburn, 2016)  

 

All creation stories are different from culture to culture.  At the same time, they all have the same theme.  As I understand it, in the beginning God created the heavens, earth, and all that inhabit it.  Upon completion God declared that it was all good.  That it was God’s creativity and breath that set it all into motion.  That creativity and breath linked it all together.  It is all the essence and presence of God. 

 

Luther Standing Bear, the great Lakota chief, said: “From . . . from the Great Spirit there came a great unifying life force that flowed in and through all things—the flowers of the plains, the blowing winds, rocks, trees, bird, animals—and was the same force that had been breathed into the first man.  Thus all things were kindred and were brought together by the same Great Mystery.”

 

I think that we have forgotten.  We are a part of creation . . . we are not the creation itself.  The world does not revolve around us, but that we are piece of the puzzle we call creation.  All of it together makes a whole and makes it holy. 

 

As I read Nerburn’s story of the old man’s grandmother, I could not help but to be jarred by his closing statement: “I guess we forgot their language.  Or maybe they just don’t want to talk to us now.”  There is no doubt in my mind that we humans are a forgetful group—history verifies that for us as we continue to make the same mistakes over and over again.  What concerns me is that “they just don’t want to talk to us now.”  To me that signals that the relationship has been broken . . . that it has become too strained to sustain . . . that we blew it.

 

I love the outdoors.  Montana was always the ultimate embodiment of the “great outdoors” for me.  It was a big part of the underlying desire to move and live in Montana . . . that and the fact that there are only about six people per square mile.  An introvert’s wildest dream!  When I am outdoors, I feel the most connected to the holy . . . to the Creator . . . to God.  I also believe that I have a relationship with the outdoors and all of nature . . . that I have something to learn, to gain, to allow myself to grow and understand about all of creation.  I believe that we humans are intimately connected to creation—to nature, and that it has something to teach us about life.  Humans are not the “end all”.  Creation was around long before we humans showed up and was going quite well without us.  I believe that this relationship is necessary if we humans are to be fully who we have been created to be.  We are called to be “one” as Creation.

 

Thus, it saddens me to see the great disconnect.  Have we forgotten the language?  Probably.  Has creation decided it no longer wants to communicate—to talk—with us?  Again, probably.

 

I am no Dr. Dolittle.  I cannot talk to the animals . . . well, partially.  I think that my dogs understand me.  We talk.  I am greeted each evening with “aroooooo” from Birdie, our Borgie (Border Collie/Corgi mix).  She understands when I tell her to get certain toys, much to the amazement of my wife.  She communicates to me when she wants to go for a walk.  She sits at my feet and stares me down.  It is a stare that tells me, “Walk me!”  Quinn, the mini-wiener dog, has conversations with me all of the time.  She is not timid in letting me know that she is ready to eat or that she wants to go out.  She barks at me until I move.  I talk to her, and she barks.  It is often an enlightening conversation for me.  There is a relationship.  One I am thankful for because my pups take me for who I am.  There is definite communication there. 

 

I guess it would be nice to be Dr. Dolittle and have the ability to speak to the animals.  But the truth is . . . the critters are always talking to us if we are listening.  As we transition from winter to spring, it is the animals that convey the message that “spring is here!”  For me, the message is delivered by the aves or birds.  When I see the first Mountain Bluebird flitting around.  When the Sandhill Cranes start showing up in the fields.  When the first Osprey is perched on its nest.  They are telling me that spring is here.  The return of the Red-winged Blackbird. There is the first skunk in the yard.  The racoons start hitting the birdfeeders.  The bears wake up and make their presence known.  All convey the message that spring is here.  They are communicating . . . are we listening?

 

The rest of nature is talking too . . . maybe a little prematurely.  But that seems to be the case each year.  The grass in the yard is greening and growing.  Flowers and herbs are sprouting up.  Some trees are even getting buds.  The bugs have started showing up and making their presence as splatters on the windshield.  And the weeds.  I have seen the tell-tale signs of my neighbor’s angst sprouting in the mud . . . dandelions.  Nature is talking . . . are we listening?

 

I’ve heard people here and there comment about the fact that it seems that spring is coming earlier each year.  Screwy weather, they say.  They are right.  It is screwy weather, but it is also a definite message being sent if we are listening.  I blame it on climate change even though such a response typically gets me labeled as a “liberal tree hugger” by everyone else.  Looking at the craziness of the last decade’s weather and its severity    across the globe . . . creation is speaking and speaking with urgency. 

 

Way back in my teen years I remember the big push for ecology and things like “Earth Day”.  I remember commercials with Iron Eyes Cody—the Sicilian actor who made his career playing a Native American—as he paddled his canoe down a polluted river and shedding a tear.  Or the commercial of the grandpa walking his grandson along a trashed beach and having the questioned posed, “Is this what we are leaving our grandchildren?”  Creation . . . nature . . . was knocking on the door attempting to get our attention about the crappy stewardship of the planet we were practicing.  Now Creation is slapping us in the face to get our attention.  But are we listening?

 

Probably not.  Even if we were, I imagine it is with acute selective hearing.   We only hear and see what is advantageous to us. 

 

You see there are two sides to the story . . . at least for those who are going to base the story on the holy writ of their Christian faith.  In the Book of Genesis there are two creation stories.  There is the calendar story of the Creator creating something and declaring it a day and that “it is good”.  In that story the emphasis is on humanity having dominion over creation.  In the second story we get a folksier tale.  It is the Adam and Eve story.  Again, the Creator creates, but this time there is a different charge to the humans . . . be good stewards of creation.  One story emphasizes dominion over creation while the other speaks of stewardship—of relating to creation and taking care of it for the benefit of all.  Ever since people have taken one side or the other with everything in-between.

 

Dominion has won out most often.  That dominion has created the mess we are living in today . . . and it is a mess.  I’m no scientist, but I know that the average temperature has gotten warmer each year.  The weather patterns have shifted.  The storms are more severe.  Humans are gobbling up more and more of the earth.  We are dumping more and more pollutants into the air, water, and soil.  It is screwing things up.  The critters have been trying to tell us.  Nature has been trying to tell us.  The Creator . . . God . . . or whatever spark of the Holy that guides your life, has been attempting to tell us.

But we don’t hear . . . or we don’t listen.

 

As the old man said, “I guess we forgot their language.  Or maybe they just don’t want to talk to us now.”  Though he was lamenting the near genocide of his culture and its ways, there is a movement of recovery of those cultures and ways.  It is coming back slowly and can succeed if the dominant culture doesn’t bring down its iron fist of dominion.  It is up to the dominant culture to decide.  There is still time.  There is still time to learn the language.  Still time to listen.  Still time to change our ways.  Still time to embrace Creation, be good stewards, and live in harmony. 

 

We begin by listening.  I know it is true because a little birdie told me.  The question is . . . are you listening?    

 

Two Voices

 

There are two voices . . . two sides.

Years ago, my father suggested that I read the book Confederates in the Attic: Dispatches from the Unfinished Civil War (1998) by Pulitzer Prize-winning author Tony Horwitz.  So, I read and enjoyed it.  I read it for several reasons: (1) I like history and was fascinated with the military leaders on both sides of the Civil War—especially Robert E. Lee, as a kid; (2) it was rare that my father suggest a book for me to read, so this must have been important to him; and (3) I didn’t want to disappoint my father.  Motivation comes from many sources in one’s life.

 

My father grew up in the heart of the South—Alabama.  He spoke with what I thought was a Don Meredith drawl—it was there, but not overwhelming.  He used words and phrases that were of Southern colloquialism which still pop up from time to time in my speech.  He was born and raised in the South, but never claimed to be Southern.  He left the South and Alabama as a young adult never to really return.  I once asked him what made a person a Southerner.  He responded, “A state of mind.”  It was all between the ears as far as he was concerned.

 

Horwitz’s book explores his deep interest in the Civil War and the attitudes about the war from both sides.  He travels across the South exploring battlefields, landmarks, joining in re-enactments, interviewing people, to discover the lasting impact and its continuing split within our nation’s history and psyche.  It is worth the effort to read, especially if you are a Civil Wart buff.

 

One of the things that Horwitz reminds his readers of is that not all histories are written equally.  To the victors go the spoils . . . to the winners, the history.  The winners write the history . . . at least the predominant histories that are espoused and taught.  Because of this the story and history of the Civil War are taught from the Northern—the victors—point of view.  That doesn’t meant that there aren’t equal amounts of volumes produced by the South—there are.  It just means that the victors are in control of the narrative for the most part.

 

Basically, what we get is one side of the story.  One point of view.  There is always more than one side to any story.  In fact, there are often many sides to the stories we are taught.  What we learn is not always the whole story.  The beloved radio broadcaster Paul Harvey made a pretty good living with one of his radio shows called Now for the Rest of the Story.  On this show he would share historical events as they were popularly known and then thrown in a wrench to share another side of the story that was less known.  Thus, “the rest of the story.”  I loved the show.

 

Being a bookworm as a kid (still am today), I read whatever the library had about the Civil War.  From the popular to the obscure.  In my reading I was often confused about the battles.  As a kid it seemed like there were lots of battles everywhere—tons of them.  Little did I realize that battles often had two names.  The authors used the name of the battle from the side from which they were writing.  For example, Antietam—bloodiest day in American history with 22,727 dead in battle.  The North tabbed it the Battle of Antietam, while the South called it the Battle of Sharpsburg.  Was it Manassas or Bull Run?  It all comes down to who is telling the story.  If you ever visit Civil War battlefields you will discover that they often have two names displayed even though they are advertised by the names chosen by the victors.

 

So . . . there are two (actually multiple) sides to every story.  There are two voices (probably more) telling the story.  To truly understand, all sides of the story . . . all sides of history . . . need to be heard.  We need to listen . . . to listen to the stories from all points of view . . . from all the participants . . . to get the whole story.  It is not always as simple as we would like it to be.

 

Do you know about the Battle of Greasy Grass from your school studies of our nation’s western movement across the country?  It was the major battle in the Great Souix War of 1876.  It was a turning point in the nation’s dealings with the Native Americans they sought to remove from the territory they wanted.  So, do you know the Battle of Greasy Grass?  Maybe you know it as Custer’s Last Stand.  The battlefield had that name for over a hundred years before the National Park Service changed it to the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument in 1991.  It was one of the few, if not the only battlefield, named after the losers.  The victors didn’t even get the glory of naming the battlefield . . . nor did they get to tell the story from their side.

 

Another point, those with power . . . those who are in control also get to write the narrative, get to tell the story.  They are not always the victors telling the story.  Remember there are more sides to a story than presented and accepted by the masses.  Check out the Battle of Greasy Grass.

 

This blog is not about history.  It is about stories, how they are told, and how they are heard.  Is the whole story being told?  Or are the stories just one-sided affairs?  Without the rest of the story there can be no truth . . . no understanding.  It takes all the pieces of the puzzle to see the picture.

 

We live our lives through stories.  All parts of our lives have stories . . . religion, politics, economics, education, gender, culture, society . . . even our relationships.  It is not wrong to ask questions and to seek answers whenever we are told a story.  In fact, we should always wonder if there is more to the stories we are being told.  And we must listen.  In listening we learn . . . we understand . . . we grow.

 

There are always two voices . . . two sides to every story.  Yours.  Mine, Ours.  They all deserve to be heard.