| Written on my Heart A short story by Karen McGovern I remember like it was yesterday--working in her garden, tending fields of fragrant flowers and herbs. For so many years that patch of growing green was the center of my universe--my living classroom. As we gathered buds and blooms, she would begin the days' lessons. "Peace", she said. This wasn't a greeting--this was a question. "Lavender, pennyroyal, and violet", I replied. She smiled and nodded, her face lined with time, her bright blue eyes simply ageless. "Courage" she said. "Black pepper, geranium, and thyme", I replied. "Nokomis, these are easy--give me something tough". She pushed the brim of her straw hat off her forehead and paused, looking up to the cloudless sky. "Niboowin will visit this family soon, and we must prepare for that." I shivered, for my Grandmother had just predicted a visitor most unwelcome--Death. "Hush, Nokomis," I protested, " No one is going to die." She turned to me laughing. "No one is going to die, you say? Hmmm, Ahki, our Mother Earth, will become quite crowded, don't you think?" I remember how angry and afraid I was then. Angry because she was mocking me and afraid because her powerful visions nearly always came true. She wrapped her arms around me in a hug stronger than expected from a 96-year-old woman. "Little Nigig, never fear Niboowin, never fear crossing over to the other side. I've taught you better, you know Death is the sister-side of Life. Now, write this down. Cinnamon stick, parsley, chamomile flowers, oak bark, lemon peel, and fresh ground salt." She ticked the ingredients off on her fingers while a cool breeze tossed her fine white hair like spider's silk. I fumbled for my pencil, finding that it was missing, as usual. Sighing, my Grandmother reached inside her shirt and brought out a tiny carved silver pendant suspended from a chain worn 'round her neck. She removed the necklace and placed it lovingly over my head. "Here, Child, this is yours to use now. Keep this at your heart as I have done and you will always have what you need to write your mushkeeki." The pendant contained a tiny pencil, worn nearly to the very end. The silver glowed with a subtle, rich patina--a testimony to time and use. Grandmother continued, "Write the herbs as I've told you and mix them when I am gone." Place the bowl near my head and lie next to me and help me cross. The herbs will speed my journey and sooth you through your sorrow." I fumbled with my medicine-bag, held around my waist by a braided cord. Inside was my leather-bound mushkeeki, my medicine book. It was nearly identical to the one my Grandmother also carried, 'though mine was much less worn and still had blank pages inside upon which to write the magic wisdom of herbs and medicine. Grandmother's had long ago been filled with her beautiful script. With tears in my eyes I wrote the recipe as she had given it, using her ancient pencil, bathed in the sunshine of early Autumn. By the first Winter's snow, she was gone. The Crossing recipe was the last she'd give me,and the last we would prepare and use together. But, in the 40 years since I've filled my mushkeeki with countless others, and keep her book safely tucked in my cedar chest. I now tend the garden with my Noozhishenh, my Granddaughter, and she has started her own mushkeeki book. We keep a library of sorts, just as Nokomis kept her Grandmother's wisdom in her heart and in the fine script I try so hard to emulate. Her words are now written on my heart. Wisdom passed from one generation to another, scribed by hand, carried through time. Captured with a tiny silver pencil that never seems to run out of lead. This story was written using native Ojibwe Indian words: Nokomis - Grandmother Niboowin - Death Ahki - Earth Nigig - Otter Mushkeeki - medicine, medicine book Noozhishenh - Granddaughter  |