Respect and protect the Earth because we are all connected: Kaya's story

As Kaya helped her mother and grandmother set up the tepee poles and cover them with tule mats, she heard the honk! honk! honk! of geese flying high overhead. She stopped work, shaded her eyes, and gazed up into the deep blue sky. Flocks of geese, swans, herons, and cranes were flying northward from their wintering grounds in the south. As she listened to the noisy chorus of their cries, she heard other sounds, too. The warm spring wind gusted across the rolling hills, rustling the greening prairie grasses. Larks and swallows called softly while they built their nests. Her bothersome little brothers laughed and squealed as they scampered about with the other children. She heard her grandfather sigh with pleasure when he tilted up his face to the warm sun that eased the aches in his bones. Everything Kaya heard joined in the song of new life returning to the land.

After the long, cold winter, Kaya and her family had left the sheltered canyons of Salmon River Country and journeyed upland to dig fresh kouse roots, the delicious, nourishing food her people needed. This spring they’d come to the beautiful Palouse Prairie, where they’d met Nimíipuu and other peoples with whom they shared these root fields. There would be many reunions with friends, and much trading, dancing, games, and horse racing, too. But Kaya’s family had chosen to come here for another reason— they’d promised to help Two Hawks, the boy who had escaped with Kaya from enemies while in Buffalo Country. He needed to get back to his own people, the Salish. Salish often came to the Palouse Prairie to dig roots and trade. A trader might take Two Hawks to his home. Kaya looked around for Two Hawks. He was herding horses with some other boys. She thought he looked happy, but she knew he badly missed his family.

Her grandmother touched Kaya’s arm. Kaya started. She’d let her attention wander.

“Why are you watching the boys when you should be working?” Kautsa asked. Her usually gentle voice was stern. “And you’re frowning. What have I taught you about making yourself ready to dig roots?”

“You’ve told me not to have bad thoughts that might make the roots hide themselves,” Kaya said. “And I must stay away from sad thoughts, too, so the roots won’t make us sick when we eat them.”

“Aa-heh,” Kautsa said. “You must have a pure heart to do your work well and be worthy of your namesake.”

Kaya knew her grandmother was right, but she’d found that staying away from bad or sad thoughts was very, very difficult. Her younger sister, Speaking Rain, was still a captive of enemies from Buffalo Country. Kaya’s horse had been captured, too, and then traded away. And each time Kaya thought of Swan Circling’s death, she had to fight to keep her heart from aching. Swan Circling had been a respected warrior woman, and she had wanted Kaya to have her name, the greatest gift a person could give. Kaya hoped that one day she’d feel ready to use it. Sometimes, just for a moment, Kaya wished she could be a carefree child again, like her twin brothers, who were happily trying to sneak up on green racers and catch the little snakes with their bare hands.

“Will the root digging begin soon?” Kaya asked.

“Very soon!” Kautsa said with a smile. “Two women elders went to check the fields today. They came back with good news. The roots are waiting for us. The roots are singing!”

Kaya felt a shiver down her back. Hun-ya-wat, the Creator, sent both animals and plants so that Nimíipuu might have food to live. But if anyone treated these gifts disrespectfully, then the fish, the deer, the berries, or the roots might not give themselves to The People. Kaya prayed that nothing she had said or done—or thought—would cause her people to go hungry.

Kautsa put her strong arm around Kaya’s shoulder. “I see that something troubles you, Granddaughter.” Now she spoke gently, as if she understood Kaya’s troubled thoughts.

“I still have a lot of sadness in me,” Kaya admitted. “Do you think I should keep away from the digging?”

“Only you know your own heart,” Kautsa said.

“I want to work with you and the others!” Kaya blurted. “I want to do my part, like my namesake always did.”

“Of course you do!” Kautsa said. She squeezed Kaya to her, then held her at arm’s length to look at her. “But you’ve told me your heart is troubled. For now, let others work with the food until your dark thoughts leave you and the time of mourning is over in your heart. You can join us when your thoughts are clear again.”

“Aa-heh,” Kaya said with a sigh. She knew her grandmother’s advice was wise, but the realization that she wouldn’t be working with the other girls and women made her feel even lonelier.

Kautsa glanced at the sun, high overhead. “We need firewood so I can get our meal started,” she said.

“I’ll get some,” Kaya said at once. She was glad to walk across the greening field to the stream, which was rushing with the runoff of melted snow. As she went, she saw horses rolling on their backs to shed their thick winter coats. When she bent to pick up driftwood, she saw the first early blooms of yellowbells. Soon her thoughts were lighter, but still she felt uneasy, as if she were being watched. Were the Stick People peeking at her? Was a bear prowling nearby, hungry after its long winter sleep? She stood and looked around.

Kaya’s father had taught her that even the smallest of signs carry big messages. He’d taught her to look for the tip of a deer’s antler, or the tremble of a branch after an elk has passed. So Kaya let her gaze move slowly across the scrub brush, searching for any little sign of what might be hidden there. In a moment, she saw the amber glint of two eyes watching her through the leaves. Those eyes reminded her of something—what? Then she remembered the yellow eyes of the wolf that had led her through the snowstorm toward her father when she was stranded on the Buffalo Trail. But a wolf wouldn’t come so close to where people camped. She crouched. Now she made out a pale muzzle and a black nose, the head of a large dog.

Drawn by the dog’s searching gaze, Kaya inched closer. The dog moved slowly out of the bushes toward her, the tip of its tail wagging slightly. She could see scars on its back and shoulders. She could also see its ribs showing plainly, though its belly was swollen with pups soon to be born. It wasn’t one of their camp dogs, which she knew well. Perhaps it had come here with another band. But why had it strayed off alone?

Gazing up at Kaya with sad eyes, the dog whined low in its throat.

“Are you asking for food?” Kaya said. “I don’t have any for you, but your people will feed you. Go back to them. Go!” When she raised her hand, the dog cowered as though afraid Kaya would strike. “Go!” Kaya repeated.

The dog gazed at Kaya for a long moment, perhaps hoping she’d change her mind. Then it slipped away into the bushes, quickly vanishing from sight.

As soon as the dog disappeared, Kaya had the sinking feeling that she’d just done a terrible thing. She remembered that when she and her sister were slaves, fed only on scraps, she’d vowed never again to chase off the starving dogs that sometimes appeared at the camp. This hungry dog had asked for her help, but she’d chased it away. Kaya whistled to call the dog back to her side. But it was too late—the lone dog was gone.

On the day chosen for root digging to begin, the lead diggers rose before first light and went to the sweat lodge to cleanse and purify themselves. Kaya’s older sister, Brown Deer, was one of the lead diggers this year. Kaya watched as Brown Deer dressed herself in her best moccasins and her white deerskin dress decorated with elks’ teeth and shell beads. Kautsa set Brown Deer’s work hat on her head. By the time the lead diggers reached the root fields, the eastern sky bloomed pink as a prairie rose. Soon Kaya heard the women begin to sing the sacred song of thanks for the gift of new food—the root harvest would be a good one! Kaya knew it was right for her to stay away from the digging, but how she longed to wear her own new work hat and to dig with the other women and girls.

As Kaya prepared a morning meal for the twins, she gazed out over the rolling hills, hoping to see the hungry dog she’d chased off. Every day she’d looked for that lone dog, but she hadn’t seen it again. How terrible if it had starved to death!

“Little Daughter, I’ve been looking for you!” Toe-ta’s deep voice came from behind her. She turned and saw her father gazing kindly at her, as if he understood that she was sad. “I’ve been thinking that we need to train another horse to pull a travois,” he said to her.

“I worked with my namesake when she taught a horse to pull one,” Kaya said, always careful not to say the name of the dead aloud.

“Tawts!” Toe-ta said. “I can use your help. I think the old gray horse your grandmother used to ride would be a good one to work with. Come with me and we’ll put a training harness on it. Bring the twins with you—they can help, too.”

Toe-ta tied the gray horse to a bent shrub. While the boys waited impatiently, Kaya and her father looped a rawhide rope around the horse’s neck. Long rawhide lines attached to the rope led back to a dried buffalo hide that rested on the ground a few feet behind the horse’s hind legs. When the training harness was secure, Toe-ta gestured for Kaya to climb onto the hide to add weight to the drag. The hide was back far enough so that if the horse kicked, its legs wouldn’t reach Kaya.

Kaya crawled onto the buffalo hide, sat, and held onto the lines with both hands. Then Toe-ta led the horse forward by the halter, speaking all the while in a low, reassuring voice. But the gray shied and dodged and started to kick at the unaccustomed burden it pulled. Kaya laughed as the buffalo hide bumped and skidded over the smooth ground—this horse wouldn’t toss her off! The twins laughed, too—they wanted to ride on that swaying buffalo hide.

After a short time, the horse quieted down and walked steadily as Toe-ta led it around the ring of tepees. At last he drew the horse to a halt and motioned for Kaya to stand up and take the lead rope from him. “You boys get on now,” he told the twins, and they eagerly jumped onto the hide as Kaya took hold of the halter.

Toe-ta watched as Kaya led the gentle horse away from the tepees, the little boys grinning as they hung tightly to the rawhide lines. When Toe-ta was satisfied that the work was going well, he nodded. “In a few days, when the horse is accustomed to the feel of the drag, we’ll add travois poles to the harness,” he said. “Go slowly, Kaya. Walk around the village a few more times, then put the horse back with the herd.”

Kaya knew her father had asked her to help train the horse because she couldn’t dig roots with the other women and girls. And her father had been wise—her heart was lighter now. Like Swan Circling, Kaya loved to work with the horses. When the training session was over and she took the harness off the gray, she noticed that one of its rear hooves seemed worn and sore. She resolved to make a rawhide shoe to fill with medicine for that sore hoof—another lesson her namesake had taught her.

As Kaya walked back to the village from where the horses grazed, she heard a dog growling nearby. The growl was low and challenging. Kaya went through the brush to see what had alarmed the dog.

On the far side of the hill, she came upon Snow Paws, the big black leader of the village dog pack. His hackles were up, his ears were pricked forward, and his teeth were bared. When he saw Kaya approaching, he snarled more fiercely at something backed up against a rocky outcropping. It wouldn’t be a skunk—Snow Paws was much too smart for that. What did he have there?

Kaya parted the bushes. There, beside the rocks, was Lone Dog, the one she’d been searching for. Lone Dog’s teeth were bared, and she was growling, too, facing off against the big male. With a glance, Kaya saw that Lone Dog’s bones showed even more sharply. Hunger must have given her courage, for tough old Snow Paws could drive off any dog that approached. Even now he was beginning to bark, and soon he’d charge at Lone Dog and bite her.

This time Kaya wouldn’t lose her chance to help the starving dog. She stepped between the two dogs and shook a stick at the barking Snow Paws. “Leave her alone!” she ordered him. “Get away from her! Go on now, get away!”

Growling, Snow Paws backed up a few steps. Maybe he thought Kaya had given him the wrong command. But when she shook the stick again, he reluctantly turned tail and stalked off, looking back over his shoulder.

When Snow Paws had gone, Kaya crouched, holding out her hand for Lone Dog to sniff. But the dog kept near the rocks, where she’d been digging out a den. She gazed warily at Kaya, as if Kaya might take up the attack where the black dog had left it.

“Here, come here,” Kaya crooned. “I won’t chase you away again.” She reached into the bag on her belt and took out the pieces of dried salmon she carried for a quick meal. She held out the fish to Lone Dog. “Here’s a little food for you. Come on, eat it.”

Still Lone Dog hesitated, although the scent of fish made her tremble. Her yellow eyes gazed intently into Kaya’s.

Kaya placed the fish on the ground and stepped back. “Don’t be afraid of me. Take the food,” she said.

This time Lone Dog didn’t need urging. She sprang forward, snapped up the fish, and gulped it down as she bolted away.

Kaya watched Lone Dog round the outcropping and disappear. “I’ll bring you more food,” she whispered. “You asked me for help and I’ll give it. I promise.”

Later that day, Kaya sat beside her grandmother as they worked. Kaya held a circle of thick elk hide on her lap. She was lacing a rawhide drawstring through holes she’d punched along the edge of the hide. When she pulled the drawstring tight, she’d have a round moccasin that would fit over the gray horse’s hoof and hold a poultice to heal the sore place.

Kautsa was peeling the skins off roots so they could be dried in the sun. She handed Kaya a cleaned root to eat. Fresh roots were welcome after a season of dried food.

“I have something I want to tell you about a dog,” Kaya said.

“You always have stories to tell me,” Kautsa said with a smile. With her small stone knife, she peeled off the dark root skins. The pile of pale, clean roots on the tule mat in front of her was growing quickly. “Is this story about a dog fight?”

Kaya looked closely at her grandmother, who always seemed to know so much. “How did you know about the fight?”

“I have ears!” Kautsa said with a laugh. “What happened, Granddaughter?”

“A lone dog came to our village for food,” Kaya said. “The dog’s starving, and she’s going to have pups soon. I felt sorry for her. Snow Paws tried to chase her away—that’s the barking you heard. But I made him stop.”

Kautsa nodded, thinking. “Snow Paws has been the leader of our pack for a long time,” she reminded Kaya. “He’s a wise dog, and a strong-hearted one. You remember how he got his name, don’t you? When he was hardly more than a pup, a hunter took him along to hunt elk. It was winter, and an avalanche crashed down a cliff and buried the man! Snow Paws dug and dug through the snow until he uncovered the hunter. He saved the man’s life. A dog like that is one to be trusted. He must have a reason for trying to chase off this lone dog you speak of.”

“Snow Paws might think Lone Dog would take his food,” Kaya suggested.

“We give our dogs enough to eat,” Kautsa said. “If they’re hungry, they know how to hunt for more to fill their bellies.”

“But Snow Paws chases off every strange dog, doesn’t he?” Kaya asked.

“He lets strange dogs join our pack if they accept him as the leader,” Kautsa corrected her. “But he chases off dogs that might be dangerous for some reason. Snow Paws senses these things. Perhaps the lone dog is sick, and might make our dogs sick as well.”

“Her eyes are bright and her fur’s not falling out,” Kaya said. “She doesn’t look sick—she looks hungry.”

“You told me your story to ask what I think about it, didn’t you?” Kautsa said. “I think Snow Paws knows more about this lone dog than you do, Granddaughter, that’s what I think.”

Kaya bit her lip. Her grandmother was wise in all things. But Kaya had given her promise to Lone Dog. As Kaya did so often, she tried to think what Swan Circling would do if she were here. Kaya decided that if Lone Dog wasn’t a menace, Swan Circling certainly wouldn’t let her starve.