Of The Grandmothers

Elk Woman

She came out of the cabin toward them, an old, old woman wearing rumpled slacks and a dusty brown sweater. Around her neck was a large chuck turquoise necklace; in her ears, mismatched turquoise earrings one of which had a feather fluttering from it; on her fingers were several large turquoise rings. She walked slowly, slightly bent over, and she carried the lighted stump of a candle. The two men looked at each other, one raised his eye brows; the other shrugged. She hobbled across the yard slowly and it seemed painfully, her hair was cut short and was a wild white bush around a deeply tanned, wrinkled, old face.

The men were equipped with the most expensive “outdoors” equipment to be found while surfing the web from an office in New York City. They had been planning this trip for a long time and had blueprinted everything from their 100% breathable gortex jackets to the emergency rations and space blankets, folded compactly at the bottom of their packs. It had all started when instead of their usual Club Med vacation they had gone to a Zen Yoga retreat in Arizona. It had begun as a kind of a lark, but there had been people at the retreat who had informed them that they had “potential.” Both of them had always known they had potential, but these people were talking about something different than the ability to make it in business. Dave and Stu were both up and comers and somehow they throughly enjoyed the idea that they had “spiritual” potential as well as the ability to make a killing in the corporate world.

Several months ago they had attended a seminar in Madrid where they were taken aside by an old man. They couldn’t really even tell his nationality, only that he had spent many years out in the wild and looked it. “Basque,” said Dave confidently to Stu later, “I’m sure that was the accent.” The old man had repeated what they had heard before, that they had great potential. “You must sacrifice to reach your goals, however,” he said, “And you must study with the best.” They were both ready to sacrifice for the cause of enlightenment, they had discussed many times how they would pay anything to keep advancing. And as far as studying with the best, well that was exactly what they had in mind every time they searched out a new venue.

The old man had told them, almost in a whisper, where they could find a Native American Medicine Man, a real, honest to goodness old fashioned Medicine Man, as in the real thing. Native spirituality had been conspicuously missing from the retreats they had attended, but it was something they were both very interested in; wooden flutes, rattles, soft drumming, wood smoke - it seemed to both of them to be the obvious next step.

The old man had told them exactly where they could find this Medicine Man. He had also given them names of people to contact who would outfit them and guide them there. It was on the airplane between Madrid and New York that they decided that they would by pass the connections and go directly to the source. “If we go with the Communications Convocation,” said Stu, “they are bound to send a huge group, which will just mean that we have less time with the Man himself. If we find him on our own, we can have ‘private lessons’ as it were, more personal time.” “Yeah,” said Dave, “We have all the information. I think we are ready to do this on our own.”

Now, they shifted from one expensive boot to the other; they had been led to believe the Medicine Man was a kind of Hermit and they were a little disappointed to find out that he had a wife, or a mother or a secretary or whatever she was.

As she reached them, the old woman held out the candle as if to see them better though it was broad daylight. After holding the light up to each of them in turn she sighed deeply and then blew out the flame. “Hello voyagers,” she greeted them in a low melodious voice, “it is a long walk up Lady Mountain, what do you come seeking?” “Voyagers!” laughed Stu a little too abruptly and too loudly, it echoed through the thin mountain air. “Well, we didn’t swim up here anyway!” He elbowed his friend in the side and chuckled at his own joke. The old woman inclined her head, “Ah,” she said, “but a voyager, is anyone who travels to an unknown land, whether by sea or shore.” Something in her smooth tone and low musical voice unaccountably irritated Stu. “Yes, well” he said a little belligerently, scratching at his neck, “We are both Americans. I wouldn’t exactly call this an unknown land.” The old woman just looked at him. “Is it not?” she replied.

He started to speak again, but his friend stepped past him, held out his hand and spoke in a smooth diplomatic tone, “Hi, don’t mind my friend here, it has, indeed, been a long, hard hike. I’m Dave Burgon and this is Stu Marks and we were sent here by the Lone Pine Communications Convocation to study with the ah, Medicine Man, the ah, Holy Man or Guru who is located here in Elk Meadows.”

The old woman shook his hand, hers small and dry as pine bark; heavy with blue veins and rings. She lifted one white eyebrow, “Lone Pine Communications Convocation? That is a mouthful. A bunch of people talking to each other by the Lone Pine? Interesting. What makes these people talking by the Lone Pine think that there is a “Medicine Man” up here in Elk Meadows I wonder?”

The two men glanced at each other. Lone Pine Communications Convocation had no idea they were here, but there wasn’t any reason they had to let on about that. Dave continued talking, his voice taking on a slight patronizing edge. “The Lone Pine Convocation is part of a large Consortium of Zen retreats,” he quoted the brochures. “They are located all around the globe now and are all staffed with World Renowned Fully Self-Actualized Masters and Guru’s. During the last retreat we attended in Spain, we were told, as some of the top participants, that if we really wanted to study in depth we should seek out the hermit on top of Lady Mountain; and they distinctly said Elk Meadow. We got the exact coordinates from a geological survey map and we are using a top of the line GPS.”

The old woman shuffled toward a tree stump that stood nearby and lowered herself slowly to a sitting position. “Spain,” she muttered almost inaudibly, “that will be Basilio, that interfering Basque goat charmer.” She squinted up at the men. “And what would be your definition of a ‘hermit’ I wonder?”

Again the men looked at each other, again there were eyebrows raised and shoulders sightly shrugged. Implicitly they decided to humor her for the moment. “Well,” continued, Dave, still using his best ‘presentation voice’, “this hermit would be an old man, a Native American, full blooded . . . one would be able to see immediately that he had a great presence about him and that he was very spiritually evolved.”

The old woman blinked and her mouth twitched, but she didn’t smile. “One would be able to tell this just from looking?” she asked, “you do know that a hermit is merely one who lives in solitude?”

“Excuse me,” Stu blurted out angrily, “we have hiked all day to get here and we don’t really want to stand around in the side yard having a vocabulary lesson from somebodies secretary, or whatever it is that you are.”

Again Dave put a restraining hand on Stu’s shoulder. “No offense Mam,” he added hastily, “but we do have an agenda and it is getting late. We need to connect with the Hermit as soon as possible to discuss cost factors, housing and food and all the administrative things that have to be taken care of before we can get down to mapping out a course of study.”

Now she did smile, the ghost of a smile, the smile of a ghost; it barely lifted her withered lips, but it lit her eyes. “Ah! So you have come to study. And what is it you wish to learn?”

The men glanced at each other again and then Dave answered. This was something they had thought about, something they had talked about, delved into, discussed at length. “Well,” he said, “we really want to go in all different directions. I mean in every regard and in every dimension. We’re really open, you know? To all kinds of paths and disciplines and approaches. Whatever this Hermit does; Native, New Age, Shamanism, we’re real unrestricted in our outlook. Of course we have done a lot of preliminaries, laid a lot of ground work, so we are really ready for the real in-depth-stuff, which is why we came here looking for this Medicine Man.”

She nodded, “I see. You wish to learn as much as possible, this is admirable. And what is it you wish to learn as much as possible about?”

Dave looked genuinely puzzled, “what do you mean what do we want to learn about?”

She shrugged. “Just that. You say you are open to knowledge and you are very anxious to learn a great deal about something I just wonder what?”

The two men looked at each other again, this time with exasperated looks of disbelief. Dave’s voice had lost some of it’s practiced charm and had an edge to it when he answered, “We want to learn about ourselves of course. What else are you studying when you are learning to be self actualized?”

The old woman’s smile only widened and she looked up at the tops of the pine trees as if she was sharing a joke with someone perched up there. “So. You have walked all day looking for a hermit because you have an agenda to learn as much as possible about yourselves?”

Both men had gone rather red in the face, both began to sputter, but neither managed to get out a coherent word.

“Gentleman,” the old woman continued, all signs of humor suddenly gone, “what would you say if I told you that your Medicine Man, your Actualized Hermit with his great look of spiritual evolution was an old woman with rheumatism in baggy pants with a bad haircut?” She ran her hand backward through her hair making it stand up more wildly than before.

Stu’s voice was angry and had become haughty. “I don’t even find that remotely humorous.”

“No? Nor within the realm of possibility?”

“Not in the least.” The voice was now cold and dismissive.

“Really?” She asked with some interest, “Because I am a woman?”

“Of course not,” he snapped, “We are much more ev. . . progressive than that! We’ve studied with several woman Shamans. There was a beautiful Polynesian Woman at the Maui retreat who positively glowed with presence and spirit, but you, you’re . . .you’re . . .”

She smiled again and struggled to her feet, and though she was bent, she suddenly seemed to loom over them. “Indeed I am, indeed I am.” She laughed shortly. “And I think it is time that you gentleman were leaving. You’ve got a fairly stiff hike ahead of you in order to get yourselves off of Lady Mountain before dark. I would suggest you do that, I would not suggest setting up your fancy camping equipment on this mountain, I really wouldn’t.”

Neither man said a word, it was as if they had been struck dumb. They stared at the old bent woman and suddenly they seemed to see lightening around her head, it looked for all the world like . . . no it couldn’t possibly have been . . . Dave and Stu threw their thousand dollar packs against their backs; nearly ran out of Elk Meadow and practically tumbled over Castle ridge.

“There you go, Briette” she said to herself, reaching back to give herself her child’s name, the one that still echoed in the flowers of the meadows, “There you go, just about as much tact as a Badger.” She picked her candle up from the stump and began shuffling toward the deep forest. “And I never got a chance to tell them exactly where they could find that rotten Basilio. A couple of months snowed in at a sheep camp and they’d be self actualized.” She snorted out loud. “I should have sicced them on Dionysio, a lovely “retreat in Greece” . . . and a run-in with a few maenads is precisely what those two fellows need. She laughed softly to herself, but sobered to silence as she came into the depths of the tallest oldest trees. There was a soft, perpetual shade here, even in the heat of the day; a hushed green light, the deep calm smell of pine and the shush of rushing water. Here was the heart of the wood, the essence of the mountain. Coming to the tallest of the mighty trees she placed her empty palm against the trunk and leaned her forehead against the rough bark. “Grandmother’s,” she whispered, “I come to you empty handed again.” She shook her head, “I was so sure I felt something this time. I am growing old, Grandmother’s, too old. I fail you.” Slowly, using the tree as a prop, she lowered herself to her knees and knelt on the damp earth amidst the trees roots. She felt the spirits come into the space around her; felt the echo of their traditions fill the rushing river, swallow the singing wind and slough sighing through the great trees. Slowly she began to sing:

I came to you a child of love
Rocked on a cradle board of Spring
In the meadow, a child of sun
I taught the summer how to sing

Briette I was, twelve years of sun
I carried the joy that was ours
Then blood called to roses, Casanna
They said, Come in from the flowers

I became a counselor, the Beaver
Learned to patch damns and relations
Ninanne, the heavens called me next
Make the greatest of life’s creations

Many years I walked as mother
As midwife, healer, bear
Then the blood dried on the roses
And I knew it was time to prepare

Astra, they called from the circle
And my daughter’s brought my shawl
But not for me the quiet crone
For soon I heard the call

My heart obeyed the cry of wind
To the top of the mountain tall
Into the old and sacred woods
I followed the Grandmother’s call

Here in the silent green shadows
The substance of myth I found
Bright figures all around me
And one dying on the ground

The totem of my people
Lay bent and almost dead
But as I knelt beside her
She raised her antlered head

“You’ve come my child! You’ve come at last!”
In the end comes sweet release!
The forest saved, the burden passed
I can rest my head in peace!”

How strange to be called child
When one has worn Crone’s shawl
But in this strange bright gathering
I, indeed, felt dim and small

I took her head upon my lap
And she touched me between the brows
And suddenly I felt the weight
Of impending heavy vows

To guard the essence of the land
From waters to pine topped breeze
To defend the animal’s footprints
The ancient spirits of the trees

I felt the thunder of mountain
Rise up wild within my breast
I felt the echos of tradition
Close around me pressed

They said I need not lift this weight
Unless it was my choice
For every daughter of the Elk
Retains the right of voice

“We will teach you much of the other world
What you call myth and mystery
We will teach you all of the patternings
That have formed the bones of history

But ‘tis a heavy burden on your head
To vow to guard your land and race
And you cannot set that burden down
Until one comes to take your place”

But I whispered “yes” in the cool green hush
For the need beat in the land
The spirits round me circled
And I heard their last command

If you take this calling, wear these horns
These are our final claims
You will walk this earth as Elk Woman
We must take your other names

I caught my breath in horror
But I nodded just the same
And from the back of my bent neck
Flew each luminous, cherished name

Briette, joy of the flowers
Casanna, the maiden sweet
Ninanne, with a babe at her breast
Astra’s daughter’s at her feet

When I stood my head was heavy
With the thoughts of my self slaughter
But I rose up clear, and clean, alone
No one but the mountain’s daughter

And the wind blew through my antlers
And I felt each beast and tree
A bird flew through my throat
“Oh!” I gasped, “I see!”

Then the glade was filled with laughter
From a large and merry clan
I felt soft hands upon my shoulders
And my learning then began

The Elk Woman stirred on the ground, it was damp and she was suddenly aware of sharp pains in her knees. She sighed. “But Grandmother’s, as you know, that was long, long ago. My blood clan has long since vanished from this earthly sphere, but you have told me if I hold the mountain, if I remain, that one will come whose heart is of the Elk. And so I wait. But each time I feel feet upon my mountain, it is some imposter, some self seeker come to exploit the mountain or myself, to take, to take always to take.” She snorted, “Condo’s. Oil. Cattle, used to always be cattle, now it’s condos and Zen, good lord what did Buddha have on his mind? Well, never mind, it isn’t his fault, anymore than the other crazies are the fault of that poor boy from Nazareth.” She shook her head, “But, Grandmother’s, I’m going to end up like the old Elk Woman, dying on the ground, I’m afraid. Only, I’m going to do it alone.” She tried to stop it, but her voice shook and she wrapped her arms around herself for she felt cold and shivered. Her old eyes had been dry for so long, that no tear leaked out to run down her furrowed face, but she hugged her self tightly and shook silently for a moment.

When she opened her eyes, in the dim green hush of the woods they were caught immediately by the flicker of her own candle. She stared at it. She knew she had not lit it. She had firmly blown it out after searching for the rainbows around those two dreary men and, of course, finding absolutely nothing. But it was burning now. She got shakily to her feet, one hand against the rough bark of the old tree behind her. She held the candle out in front of her as if it might bite.

“Marvelous,” she snorted, “Now, I’m going senile on top of everything else. Lighting candles and I don’t even know it. Next thing I’ll be burning the forest down. Great guardian. Incredible.”

“Whew!” said a voice behind her, making her spin around almost dropping the candle. “That was some climb! I knew I should have really gone around by way of the meadow, but the ridge didn’t look that steep, but it was! THAT steep!” She was standing there in the green light looking a little bit like a sylvan elf, a little bit like an L.L. Bean Summer Catalog cover, wearing hiking shorts and boots, a sports bra, with a shirt tied around her waist. She looked at the Elk Woman’s candle then around at the big old trees, “It is getting dark up here already, WHOA! Oh my god, look at this!” She spun slowly in a circle her face turned up to the tree tops, then repeated the movement with her arms held out to her sides. She smiled at the Elk Woman, a smile that wrinkled her nose and removed all vestiges of the L.L. Bean Catalog cover. “Sorry!” she said, “‘She Dances with Trees,’ this is an incredible place! I am sorry to just bust in on you like this.” She held out a small compact brown hand which the Elk Woman took in her pine dry one. She didn’t shake, but squeezed very slightly and smiled again.

“I hope I didn’t startle you, I did appear from out of no where, I have a tendency to do that. Do you live here?” The Elk Woman could not remember having been at a loss for words for a very, very long time. “I . . . I . . yes. I . . have a cabin, in the clearing.” She gestured feebly over her shoulder and then stood back, surveying the elf girl from a further distance, trying to get her wits about her. The girl only continued to smile, her head slightly to one side. “Well,” said the Elk Woman finally, much more stiffly than she had intended, “what do you on Lady Mountain? What do you come seeking?”

“Seeking?” said the girl shrugging her shoulders slightly, “solitude? Maybe? I don’t know.” The Elk Woman narrowed her eyes. “You have come here to be alone?” “Not really, or I guess, not specifically,” the girl shrugged again, “I’m traveling, getting to know the country, and I’m writing as I go.” Something in the girls words made the Elk Woman’s breath catch. “Getting to know the country?” she breathed, “What do you mean by that? How does one get to know the country?” The elf girl laughed out loud, her head thrown sightly back, “well, the way you get to know anything or anybody, by being with it, living with it, finding out what it likes, what it doesn’t, what makes it work.”

“Indeed.” said the Elk Woman quietly. “And what is it you write about?” “Ecology,” said the girl, “though that is a word that gets over used and I’m not sure anybody knows what it means any more.” The Elk Woman grew very still. This was not Condo’s, Cows or Consciousness. “And just what does the word mean, in your estimation?” She asked quietly. The girl smiled again, hoisted a rather large pack off of her back on to the ground and unceremoniously sat on it. “Well, the word of course just means the branch of biology concerned with the relations between organisms and their environment. The organisms I happen to be interested in are humans, because they have impacted every other organism on the planet. Of course, it’s a matter of saving the earth,” she explained, leaning forward, talking with her hands, “but it isn’t enough at this point just to talk about saving the earth, we have to learn to live with the earth as well, not ON the earth, and not against it as we have been trying to do for god knows how long; nor against each other for that matter; but somehow we have to learn to live with the earth. We have to learn FROM the earth again; We have to learn how to let ourselves listen to the earth and then to learn from ourselves as well. Does that make any sense?”

The Elk Woman’s hands had begun to shake and she felt wax spattering on to her wrist, but she did nothing. She hardly dared to look, she was so afraid of what she might not see. “It makes a great deal of sense. A great deal indeed.” The Elk Woman took a long deep breath. “You have had a hard climb if you came up over the ridge, perhaps you would like to come back to my cabin and have a bite to eat with me?” she asked, keeping her voice as even as she could. The girl smiled again and lifted her pack to one shoulder, “I’d love that, thank you, you are very kind. That is a fascinating candle you have,” she said pointing “it hasn’t burned down a smidgen since I got here and it casts the most incredible shadows. Do you know when I came up over the ridge, I could have sworn that you had antlers on your head?” The Elk Woman smiled and held the candle closer so the girl could see it better. In the cool twilight, the sacred grove was suddenly filled with shooting, shimmering, dancing rainbows. She gasped and spun around again, but the Elk Woman had snuffed the candle quickly out and the rainbows were suddenly gone; it was unexpectedly quite dark under the big old trees so the elf girl did not see the first tear of several hundred years run down the paper thin cheeks of the Elk Woman.


©Edwina Peterson Cross
~ For Sarah ~