Above, Red Squirrel Chaos
By WAYNE D. KING, NH Secrets, Legends and Lore
The forest floor beneath the “Spruce Fir” forest above reflects a moment in time recently passed.
The forest floor reveals from whence – within the beautiful tapestry of the natural world – the source of nature’s abundance flows. Reflecting and celebrating both nature’s and America’s greatest evolutionary and revolutionary assets – Diversity, Equity and Inclusion unfolding to Union.
Come the end of summer, when the pine cones open to release their seeds/nuts, joining together with the colorful leaves of the fall’s deciduous trees, the sound that accompanies this moment is the loud and joyful tittering of red squirrels as they alert their brothers and sisters to the abundance above.
It is the noisiest moment of the year for the red squirrel . . . by far.
Even the bright and joyous announcement of spring that we heard – only months before – pales in comparison.
I am an unimportant datapoint in this story.
Yet, the river that runs within me is all important.
I am an all-American mutt. In my bloodstream flows the genetic markers of the Algonquin, Abenaki, Huron, and Iroquois; of which I am deeply proud, and cling to tenuously. Even while many of my own people seek to deny one another.
So too, however, the blood and genome of colonial patriots who left their Northcountry homes, in Bartlett, Conway, and Intervale, to join the colonial militia under General Washington, inspired by the thunder of Thomas Paine’s pen, hand and heart; and would do the same later in the great cause of Lincoln’s dreams to expand our charter: forward to abolition, freedom and equality.
I am the fruit of the womb of Native American mothers, who worshipped the cause of family and the freedom of the wind and the wild, with their eyes cast to the cosmos. So too, I am the child of powerful colonial women who proudly stayed behind, sometimes with musket in hand, to assure the survival of their own immigrant dreams in this new land of freedom. A land brave enough to throw off the yoke of kings and tyrants, and strong enough to outlast even those among us who foolishly saw them in their cracked looking glass.
Though quaint to some, the racket of this autumn moment is largely the song of the Red Squirrels. They are my brothers and sisters. Accordingly, as a Native American, they are me – and I am them.
They may speak in a different tongue than I, but I know their song, I recognize their song, and though I cannot repeat it phrase for phrase, trill for trill, chatter for chatter, nonetheless, I too feel the joy and promise of the moment.
From deep in my soul comes the muscle memory that distinguishes between the awakenings of spring and the celebration of the harvest.
Perhaps it is because this song contains both the warning that time is passing quickly as well as the celebration of the harvest moment, that I see more urgency in this moment – for in youth we bridle at days that seem to last forever, but in the fullness of age we wonder . . . will this harvest be the last?
But my little red brothers and sisters (how I envy them so!) don’t seem to have any conception of time beyond the 4/4 rhythm of their own lives: sleep, wake, eat, gather, repeat.
As they noisily scurry in the treetops to gather their winter bounty, there is the accompanying soft thud of cones falling, as colorful leaves float, to the ground to join in the grand dance.
Like dancers in a Powwow’s Grand Entry.
About Wayne King
Wayne is a North American “mutt” with a family heritage that winds through his Native American, Canadian and US Colonial roots. His love for the philosophical founding documents and sacred stories and dreams of both the Abenaki and the Iroquois, the US Founders, and the sacred artists, musicans, writers and poets whose works and images are a celebration of the circle of life continue to be the source of his inspiration.
An author, podcaster, artist, activist, and recovering politician, including three terms as a State Senator and 1994 Democratic nominee for Governor. His art (WayneDKing.com) is exhibited nationally in galleries and he has published five books of his images, most recently, “New Hampshire – a Love Story”. His novel “Sacred Trust” – a vicarious, high-voltage adventure to stop a private power line – as well as the photographic books are available at most local bookstores or on Amazon.
Wayne lives on the “Narrows” in Bath, NH at the confluence of the Connecticut and Ammonoosuc Rivers and proudly flies the American, Iroquois and Abenaki Flags, attesting to both his ancestry and his spiritual ties. Anamaki is a derivative of an Algonquin word meaning “abiding hope”.
Art, Columns, and Podcasts are produced at Anamaki Productions, Winter Warrior Studios in Bath, NH. Join the mailing list and be first to see new images and to receive special offers on cards, prints, limited editions and more at his Anamaki Chronicles Substack
Images by Wayne D. King
Red Squirrel Chaos
Powwow Colors
courtesy: waynedking.com
Wayne D. King
603-530-4460 Cell
waynedking9278@gmail.com
www.Anamaki.com : Productions & Studios
www.WayneDKing.com : Fine Art
Join my Substack! wayneking.substack.comhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wayne_Douglas_King
Podcasts produced at Anamaki Studios in Bath, NH.
This land lies in N’dakinna, the traditional ancestral homeland of the Abenaki, Sokoki, Koasek, Pemigewasset, Pennacook and Wabanaki Peoples past and present. We acknowledge and honor with gratitude those who have stewarded N’dakinna throughout the generations.