Member-only story
Willow Branches
Childhood adventures with the Great Mother
I was a little boy no more than nine years old. I was down by the river collecting willow branches for my mother and aunt and all the other women of the tribe. I was supposed to be with two other boys, but they did not like me so I went my own way. The two boys made fun of the fact that I was different. They taunted me, but were actually very afraid of me, for they would never stand up to me when I stood up to them. I rarely stood up to them, though, because they just were not worth the effort.
I knew where the best willow branches were and I went straight to them. I knew just the size and age of branch that the women wanted, and I went right to the perfect ones, cut them, stacked and tied them, and laid them out on the ground to make my prayer before those other boys ever even found any willows.
I then proceeded to do one of my favorite things in the world. I sat down in the soft sand alongside the river — just an arm’s length from the water — and I began to talk to the Great Mother. I thanked her for being my protector in this strange land. I blanked out all thoughts and sounds and listened to the music of the river, of the recurring gurgling sounds of water washing over rocks. It was a sound that always led me home to the Great Mother.
