Grandfather

It was the kind of snow that wafted in the air currents like the white fur of a dandelion as summer breathes its last breaths. Mostly silent as it fell, yet it seemed to have a weight to it. The snow blanketed the earth around him, covering the recent signs left by animals in the forest. It would guarantee that any tracks he saw would be very recent.

“There”, his grandfather motioned, without saying a word. Silent communication was key to the stalker, hunter, and Scout. He didn’t quite understand the significance of what his grandfather was pointing at, but dared not ask, because he knew he would not be given the answer. This was the way his grandfather trained him. He would need to understand the significance of the exposed patch of earth on his own. He was not new to tracking, he had been doing it since he learned to walk. But he was now only in his 8th winter, and still had much to learn. As he studied the exposed ground, a question formed in his mind. The snow is blanketing everything around us, he thought. But why is it not sticking to this spot? It perplexed him, and he began to look for other clues around the patch to solve the puzzle. A small depression in the snow, something that would have gone unnoticed to anyone who did not have every molecule of concentration focused on this small patch of earth. He reached his hand down to the patch of earth on the ground, feeling a slight warmth in the spot compared to the ground around it, and in that moment he realized what they were looking at.

“A deer slept here. It heard us coming and ran away”, Wākoh said.

“Very good, grandson. Now, which direction did it go?” his grandfather asked.

He surveyed the area, unable to discern any disruption in the freshly fallen snow. It was falling so thick, it would be very difficult to follow any tracks. He grew slightly frustrated. His Grandfather knew which direction the deer went, but he had no idea how. This man is supernatural. His grandfather was so skilled, he thought, that he was certain he would have known what direction the deer went even if he had stayed home.

“Come. I will show you where the deer went. Pay attention, the first clue is right up here.”

He followed as his grandfather began slowly stalking through a small opening in the brush. He moved with the grace and agility of a much younger man. His sinewy muscles had been honed through spending a lifetime stalking through the woods this way. Always moving slowly and deliberately, as if the very ground he walked on was a sleeping giant that he did not want to disturb. His stance, cadence, and stalking posture gave him the ability to move through the woods in absolute silence. Even the astute hearing of the wily deer could hardly ever pick up his sound. He moved as if he was not a man, but a spirit drifting through the forest. He was 81 years old.

He stopped, and asked the boy what he saw. The boy fixated on the ground, drawing all of the focus he could muster, but was uncertain what he was looking for. He squinted, trying to make out what invisible sign his grandfather saw.

“You will not find many signs on the ground today, grandson.”

Of course, Wākoh thought. Too much ešpakonakyawi. Deep snow.

Just then he saw it. A single, black tipped white hair clinging to the tip of a dried burdock plant. He wondered how his grandfather knew this was from today… couldn’t it have been left days ago, he wondered? The moment the thought was formed, a cotton ball snowflake drifted down in front of him, swallowing the hair and taking it to the ground, where it disappeared in the blanket of freshly fallen snow. His grandfather watched, knowing that his grandson had correctly interpreted the meaning of this sign. The boy understood, and he was pleased with himself. And although his grandfather made no outward gestures to indicate so, he knew he was too.

“This way”, the boy said. His grandfather smiled. They continued to stalk, and came upon a meadow. Only a few shoots of foliage still poked through the snow, which was continuing to deepen. A lone pine tree, still immature, grew near the middle of the meadow. It was not far to the woodlands on the other side, but he was not sure how this section of the stalk was going to give him any information about the direction of travel of the deer. He surveyed the woodlands across the meadow. He looked for any sign of movement. He squinted looking at the sparse foliage in the meadow, looking for any sign of disturbance. He could see none from here. He would expose himself to the eyes of his quarry if he went out into the meadow to inspect the grasses closer. He was stuck, and his furrowed brow told his grandfather so.

“When your eyes can track no further, use your ears”, his grandfather said.

His brow ruffled even further. He processed what his grandfather said and began to relax, focusing his attention inward, and closed his eyes. Strangely, he felt as if he could hear the silent snow. There was hardly any wind at all, but what little movement there was in the air whispered delicately into his ears. His hearing seemed to expand his awareness the more he focused on it, relaxing his mind and spirit, allowing the world to enter his senses. He heard the sounds of a variety of birds, the softly falling snow, and the slight movement of air currents. But he couldn’t put it all together. How was he supposed to know where a deer went by listening? He did not understand.

“All I hear are birds”, he said frustratingly to his grandfather as the reality sank in that he couldn’t grasp this lesson.

“The birds know where the deer went. And they are telling you where to go”.

He was astounded. My grandfather can talk to birds? Even with his grandfather giving him the answers to this test, he still didn’t understand the solution. How could he extract any meaningful or useful information from the sound of a bird? Since his grandfather’s proclamation, he had more questions than he had before. He strained his ears, trying to comprehend and understand. He heard only a few species; the black capped chickadee and the robin were the only two that he was able to pick out for sure. He heard another species, but he couldn’t recognize it. He had never paid much attention to the birds, he was always more interested in other animals. He enjoyed stalking predators. Mountain lions were the biggest prize, since they were the stealthiest hunters and considered impossible to track. Only the craftiest, stealthiest Scouts had ever managed to sneak up on a mountain lion, and they were considered legends by the tribe for being able to accomplish it. Wolves and coyotes were favorites, too. Birds never really piqued his interest. Until today, at least. The concept of being able to interpret bird sounds in a way that could help you extract information about your environment fascinated him, and he would never look at them the same again.

He was so focused on trying to pick out the individual tones and inflections of each bird, that his grandfather’s voice startled him.

“This is not a lesson you can learn today. You must listen to the birds, always… learn to speak their language. It takes a long time for a human to learn a new language. But if you pay attention, you will begin to understand what their calls mean. The birdsong that will help you the most is the song of the robin. Robins are the sentinels of the forest, and they will always tell you what they see.”

“What are they telling you now, grandfather?” he asked quizzically, eyes wide with boyish astonishment as he watched his grandfather, realizing that his eyes were closed.

“They are telling me that they see two visible threats. One is a hawk in the large oak tree near the forest edge. And when we first approached, they told me that the deer had passed almost directly underneath, and was walking slowly when it did. It paused for a moment at the forest edge to look behind it, and then entered the woodlands near the old oak tree." He paused for a moment, opened his eyes and continued explaining. "There’s a reason these birds are congregated on the east side of this meadow. Hawks don’t generally attack robins, but it is still a predator. And from this vantage point, they have full view of both known threats here", his grandfather said.

As soon as the whispered words left his lips, two large wings launched from the branch of the oak tree on the west side of the meadow. It was a goshawk, one of the most ferocious birds of prey that existed in these woods. The rabbit dashed for the woodlands, but this is the environment the goshawk was made for. It expertly dodged branches and tree trunks to grab the rabbit and clamped down hard with its talons, and the rabbit gave a few hard kicks as it finally succumbed to the goshawk. To think that his grandfather knew that the goshawk was there, without even opening his eyes, caused him to look at his grandfather with awe. It was not the first time he had looked at his grandfather this way. In fact, he was able to display some astonishing feat of awareness and perception almost every time they went in the woods. He could not imagine having a better teacher than him.

"Now you saw one of the threats that the robin was warning us about… can you tell me the other?"

The boy could not help but draw on his vision, and carefully surveyed the meadow and its edge. He closed his eyes once more, and once again felt the world rush into his other senses. He could smell the cold winter air. He felt the slight warmth of the midwinter sun on his face, as the falling snow slightly rustled his hair. He heard the birdsong all around him. He could hear the gentle, controlled breathing of his grandfather, but even with all of his senses attuned, nothing revealed the answer to this mystery.

"I am not sure, Grandfather", the boy said, a slight disappointment in his posture as he lightly spoke.

"The other threat is us, Grandson."