Introduction

Since the beginning of time, the sƛpúlmx (Cowlitz old name) People have lived and thrived on the abundance of the land. Fishing the rivers and streams, hunting the prairies and mountains, and picking berries near Lawetlat’la. The sƛpúlmx People came from below, from below the shadows of Volcanoes, where stúqʷpéˑsaʔ (Thunderbird) would summon fire and renewal. This is a small story about a moment in time, a story of change and rebirth.

kʼéˑci skʼàˑkʼa (Little Crow)
Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa’s (Little Crow)’s Mother had a dream while he laid in her womb, of a boy that was half skʼàˑkʼa (crow), and half séˑɬmʼx (boy). In her dream, Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa was a storyteller, always telling stories, and talking from his beak. The dreams kept happening while he was growing inside her. She would dream about Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa learning to fish and hunt, and gather and nurture. She knew he would be a strong spirit, and good to the People. Her last dream, on the night that Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa was to be born, she dreamt of fire and explosions.

Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa spent the first days of his life in his cakʷiIiɬtnʼ (cradle board), watching his relatives fish, dig for roots, picking berries and singing songs. He watched with a careful eye, taking his world in and listening to the stories. He began talking earlier than most of the others. Words would flow from his lips effortlessly, as if he was born to speak.

One Day, the summer sun reigned down on Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa and stànawi (his mother),his body still strapped to the cakʷiIiɬtnʼ, bobbing to and fro to the rhythm of work songs, as stànaw picked wənàyʼx (huckleberry). Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa looked up and saw a big sČə̀txʷnʼ (bear) standing on its hind legs.

“Why, hello sČə̀txʷnʼ, how are the wənàyʼx?” Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa asked.

The sČə̀txʷnʼ looks at Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa with a look of bewilderment and curiosity, and then replies.

“Goodness child, you are the first to talk to us since you sxamʼálaxʷ (People) forgot your names? And what is your name my child?”

”Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa!”

The child snaps, startling stànawi, bringing her a grin across her ageless face. The sČə̀txʷnʼ, startled as well, ducks behind a wənàyʼx bush, and then peeps up to make eye contact with the child again, and softly whispers,

“Quiet now my child, we need not startle the other sxamʼálaxʷ, for they do not understand our ways of seeing. I must go now, but when you are older, we shall meet again.”

As the sČə̀txʷnʼ turned to walk away, the boy whispers,

“see you later old friend.”

Many moons passed and Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa was growing into a strong capable man, but many did not want to hunt with him, because he would talk all the time about the animals, and the stories they held. His uncles would snap,

“Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa, if you hunted as much as you talked, none of us would ever have a lean winter!”

Despite all this, many saw great things in the boy, and the elders would teach him good stories. Stories of nəkʼálʼus (Coyote) and how he brought the cʼáwɬ (Chinook Salmon) to feed the sxamʼálaxʷ. Stories of the wah-tee-tas (the little people) and Skookum. Stories on how stúqʷpéˑsaʔ (Thunderbird) made the Volcanoes, and how they take long sleeps in their craters. While Kʼéˑci Skʼàˑkʼa listened, he would daydream of all the things that use to be, and all the things that were to come.

To be continued…

(Author’s note: This is a story that came to me in a dream awhile ago. I decided to write it out and share. I am currently going to school at the Northwest Indian College, Nisqually campus, studying for my MFA (Masters of Fine Arts). I am in a class called “Language of the Ancestors”, I wrote this as a paper using the Cowlitz language as much as possible. I currently do not know how to speak these words, but I am learning, and one day hope to share this story orally, pronunciation and all.)

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