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Authors: Jean Craighead George
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from one of my skins that he tied together like a balloon. A reed is the nozzle.
“August 30
“It was a terribly hot day for Bando to be firing clay jars, but he stuck with it. They look jam-worthy, as he says, and he filled three of them tonight. The jam is good, the pots remind me of crude flower pots without the hole in the bottom. Some of the lids don’t fit. Bando says he will go home and read more about pottery making so that he can do a better job next time.
“We like the jam. We eat it on hard acorn pancakes.
“Later. Bando met The Baron Weasel today for the first time. I don’t know where The Baron has been this past week, but suddenly he appeared on the rock, and nearly jumped down Bando’s shirt collar. Bando said he liked The Baron best when he was in his hole.
“September 3
“Bando taught me how to make willow whistles today. He and I went to the stream and cut two fat twigs about eight inches long. He slipped the bark on them. That means he pulled the wood out of the bark, leaving a tube. He made a mouthpiece at one end, cut a hole beneath it, and used the wood to slide up and down like a trombone.
“We played music until the moon came up. Bando could even play jazz on the willow whistles. They are wonderful instruments, sounding much like the wind in the top of the hemlocks. Sad tunes are best suited to willow whistles. When we played ‘The Young Voyageur’ tears came to our eyes, it was so sad.”
There were no more notes for many days. Bando had left me saying: “Good-by, I’ll see you at Christmas.” I was so lonely that I kept sewing on my moccasins to keep myself busy. I sewed every free minute for four days, and when they were finished, I began a glove to protect my hand from Frightful’s sharp talons.
One day when I was thinking very hard about being alone, Frightful gave her gentle call of love and contentment. I looked up.
“Bird,” I said. “I had almost forgotten how we used to talk.” She made tiny movements with her beak and fluffed her feathers. This was a language I had forgotten since Bando came. It meant she was glad to see me and hear me, that she was well fed, and content. I picked her up and squeaked into her neck feathers. She moved her beak, turned her bright head, and bit my nose very gently.
Jessie Coon James came down from the trees for the first time in ten days. He finished my fish dinner. Then just before dusk, The Baron came up on his boulder and scratched and cleaned and played with a fern leaf.
I had the feeling we were all back together again.
IN WHICH
The Autumn Provides Food and Loneliness
September blazed a trail into the mountains. First she burned the grasses. The grasses seeded and were harvested by the mice and the winds.
Then she sent the squirrels and chipmunks running boldly through the forest, collecting and hiding nuts.
Then she frosted the aspen leaves and left them sunshine yellow.
Then she gathered the birds together in flocks, and the mountaintop was full of songs and twitterings and flashing wings. The birds were ready to move to the south.
And I, Sam Gribley, felt just wonderful, just wonderful.
I pushed the raft down the stream and gathered arrowleaf bulbs, cattail tubers, bulrush roots, and the nutlike tubers of the sedges.
And then the crop of crickets appeared and Frightful hopped all over the meadow snagging them in her great talons and eating them. I tried them, because I had heard they are good. I think it was another species of cricket that was meant. I think the field cricket would taste excellent if you were starving. I was not starving, so I preferred to listen to them. I abandoned the crickets and went back to the goodness of the earth.
I smoked fish and rabbit, dug wild onions by the pouchful, and raced September for her crop.
“October 15
“Today The Baron Weasel looked moldy. I couldn’t get near enough to see what was the matter with him, but it occurs to me that he might be changing his summer fur
“August 30
“It was a terribly hot day for Bando to be firing clay jars, but he stuck with it. They look jam-worthy, as he says, and he filled three of them tonight. The jam is good, the pots remind me of crude flower pots without the hole in the bottom. Some of the lids don’t fit. Bando says he will go home and read more about pottery making so that he can do a better job next time.
“We like the jam. We eat it on hard acorn pancakes.
“Later. Bando met The Baron Weasel today for the first time. I don’t know where The Baron has been this past week, but suddenly he appeared on the rock, and nearly jumped down Bando’s shirt collar. Bando said he liked The Baron best when he was in his hole.
“September 3
“Bando taught me how to make willow whistles today. He and I went to the stream and cut two fat twigs about eight inches long. He slipped the bark on them. That means he pulled the wood out of the bark, leaving a tube. He made a mouthpiece at one end, cut a hole beneath it, and used the wood to slide up and down like a trombone.
“We played music until the moon came up. Bando could even play jazz on the willow whistles. They are wonderful instruments, sounding much like the wind in the top of the hemlocks. Sad tunes are best suited to willow whistles. When we played ‘The Young Voyageur’ tears came to our eyes, it was so sad.”
There were no more notes for many days. Bando had left me saying: “Good-by, I’ll see you at Christmas.” I was so lonely that I kept sewing on my moccasins to keep myself busy. I sewed every free minute for four days, and when they were finished, I began a glove to protect my hand from Frightful’s sharp talons.
One day when I was thinking very hard about being alone, Frightful gave her gentle call of love and contentment. I looked up.
“Bird,” I said. “I had almost forgotten how we used to talk.” She made tiny movements with her beak and fluffed her feathers. This was a language I had forgotten since Bando came. It meant she was glad to see me and hear me, that she was well fed, and content. I picked her up and squeaked into her neck feathers. She moved her beak, turned her bright head, and bit my nose very gently.
Jessie Coon James came down from the trees for the first time in ten days. He finished my fish dinner. Then just before dusk, The Baron came up on his boulder and scratched and cleaned and played with a fern leaf.
I had the feeling we were all back together again.
IN WHICH
The Autumn Provides Food and Loneliness
September blazed a trail into the mountains. First she burned the grasses. The grasses seeded and were harvested by the mice and the winds.
Then she sent the squirrels and chipmunks running boldly through the forest, collecting and hiding nuts.
Then she frosted the aspen leaves and left them sunshine yellow.
Then she gathered the birds together in flocks, and the mountaintop was full of songs and twitterings and flashing wings. The birds were ready to move to the south.
And I, Sam Gribley, felt just wonderful, just wonderful.
I pushed the raft down the stream and gathered arrowleaf bulbs, cattail tubers, bulrush roots, and the nutlike tubers of the sedges.
And then the crop of crickets appeared and Frightful hopped all over the meadow snagging them in her great talons and eating them. I tried them, because I had heard they are good. I think it was another species of cricket that was meant. I think the field cricket would taste excellent if you were starving. I was not starving, so I preferred to listen to them. I abandoned the crickets and went back to the goodness of the earth.
I smoked fish and rabbit, dug wild onions by the pouchful, and raced September for her crop.
“October 15
“Today The Baron Weasel looked moldy. I couldn’t get near enough to see what was the matter with him, but it occurs to me that he might be changing his summer fur
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