Fritha: Birch Clump Village Reader 2

By Joshua Seidl

Short stories and poetry from the Jeweled forests on the Northern Great Lakes region. Several of Joshua Seidl's favorite characters from his novels return in these stories, along with new freinds and residents of the Village of Birch Clump.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781300193487

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Fritha: Birch Clump Village Reader 2

Fritha: Birch Clump Village Reader 2

Joshua Seidl, SSP

Copyright 2012 Joshua Seidl

All rights reserved. No portion of this book can be reprinted, reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system without expressed written permission from the author(s), illustrators and photograph owners.

ISBN 978-1-300-19348-7

Introduction

Why Do I Write?

I like to tell stories.

That sub-title statement stands as a complete sentence and a complete paragraph on its own. I wrote for the love of writing, the art, to draw a picture with words, or become a video like scene before your eyes lifted from the printed page. I write to pull you in, to be an active, observant participant. I love the feedback and reaction of others who hear or read my stories. I tell true stories and fiction, and I seldom let on about the difference. That’s not being deceitful on my part, but to entertain my audience and myself.

Not for fame and fortune.

I certainly do not write to make money.

Ah come on, a typical response.

Oh, I can assure you it is not for money. I’m keeping my daytime job, as the saying goes. I’ll go even deeper to convince you it’s the love of writing and storytelling that drives me and not money. The first novel, Hawk Dancer, just grew out of a short story I wrote for an advanced creative writing course; and it got bigger and bigger. I shared sections with Uncle Charlie Browne. To tease me, he proofread the parts I sent. He bought several red ink pens and ran out of ink. He also made encouraging, constructive suggestions and asked questions. Auntie either enjoyed having the story read to her over and again, or knew how to cater to men’s egos and told us she enjoyed it. I opt for the former reason. I had an instant audience and I wasn’t going to let go. The story got bigger.

We thought, What the heck, let’s make a book.

Neither of us figured the book stood much of a chance at publication, but we were having fun with the story. I decided to match up publishers with our genre of historical fiction. I worked on Pastoral Life magazine at the time and among many other skills, I did the magazine’s page layout in Page Maker 6.5, the most advanced program at the time. So, even if we weren’t published, I could run off a few nice copies for us to enjoy and pass on to future generations.

Hawk Dancer took us five years to complete. The final year was spent polishing the story, proof reading over and again, and editing the story down. I was in discussion with publishers that year and we went with a print on demand (POD) publisher. Many new authors end up paying to see their book in print, or finding grants and backers for their books. I’m a monk and can’t afford that, and my religious congregation, though in the publishing business, prints theology and the like, not fiction. If the book was to be printed, then it had to be through a POD publisher who accepted self-published work.

Let me explain my motivations to produce the Birch Clump books.

The Cure is the original short story that grew into the first two novels. It is also found in Emerald Rising: Birch Clump Village Reader, 1. It is a tri-cultural story, Native American, Métis and Euro-American set in late December, 1957. A terminally ill Ojibwe lad of six years is the main protagonist, though more is said of his Euro-American adoptive parents the Vanwestderdykes and their estranged Potawatomi neighbors, Job and Hazel. In many aspects, it is a modern Northern Great Lakes telling of the Guadeloupian Las Tres Culturas event of 1534 down in Mexico and a theological dissertation on Pauline inculturation disguised as a short story and later as two engaging novels.

It is a modern American Civil Rights story, driven, dynamic and capturing. It falls under the genre of historical fiction. I wrote the stories because I like playing the part of a crusading monk. The results of professionally administered personality tests agree with my own self-assessment. That makes me normal, but not afraid to show my wacky side.

Don Quixote lives! (At least he’s alive for those who told me they love my novels). He’s Anishinabe Ojibwe/Northwest Euro-American, standing somewhere between five-foot-two and five-foot-sixteen, blond or dark hair and handsome piercing eyes; (well sometimes glazed over when he wanders off into space while you’re trying to talk to him).

Chapter one: Poems from a Jeweled Land

Onaabaani-giizis (March)

The Lunar calendar survives in several countries and among various cultures within a modern delineated country. Aboriginal Tribal Nations of what is now called the Americas also use lunar calendars. Each nation, or even various groups within a First Nation, has their own names and significance to naming these months.

Onaabaani-giizis falls primarily in March. It is the Ojibwe word for Month (or Moon) of Crusted Snow. I have also heard it translated as Month of Broken Snow. The temperatures typically rise a little above freezing during the day. At night, it drops back to freezing levels. This forms a thin crust on top of snow.

A child of less than one hundred pounds can easily walk or slide about on top of such snow without sinking. A two hundred or so pound adult will break the crust, thus two acceptable translations. The same weather conditions can create a forest of sparkling jewels.

It is an awesome sight, or better put, an experience to behold. What has happened is that a thin ice crust on bushes and tree branches has become a vast forest of prisms capable of splitting the sun’s reflection into billions of twinkling rainbow. The trees appear to be bearing precious jewels.

My poems tell a story; they are seldom abstract. I set a particular discipline to write poems, a certain beat or syllables, lines and indents. This encourages me to seek the best words to fit the structure and tell the story. I seldom worry about rhyme, or if I do, I keep true rhyme in some places, or carry on a similar sound in others, but with no specific pattern other than what I feel comfortable repeating in tandem with how I might speak and breathe.

Winter’s Veil

Five concepts are worked into this poem: Winter, Light, Snow, Woods, and Fire. This is dedicated this to my Godchildren, Hoa, Thom, Meng, Tai as I think of their first winter in this country and of our camping experiences in following years.

Winter's veil covers Mother Earth;

memories - long frozen - thawed

of life on your island paradise

and a wood filled with every fruit.

When the first snow flake reached you

I saw the wonder in your eyes;

the awe silently expressed

in your faces delighted me.

The world is vibrant with magic.

You flinched not, but took it all in;

your spirits rose to take its place

with the dancing, settling snowflakes.

Dimly lit lights of the night

are so much brighter watching you

with the exuberance you show

at every new discovery.

In the hour of circling swallows,

Grey shadowed deer crossed our paths,

bears sauntered back to their dens.

It was with you I shared these things.

Our trails lie farther apart now,

for that is the way of this life.

I walk the way of medicine,

each of you traverses your own path.

In the widening circle of Light,

where the Black and Red Road cross

with the seventh fire's wisdom,

Dwell the keepers of the magic.

If I do not see you again

in this life, then look to the Light.

Recall the magic of your youth

and know we're not so far apart.

Go softly, my little brothers,

so as not to disturb others.

Remember the days we walked together

and the things we taught each other.

Window Pane

The next poem is attributed to Father Jacob Gibwanasi Namishkid, Hawk Dancer, founder of the Franciscan Congregation of St. James found in the first two novels, Hawk Dancer and Cloudburst. This is written in reflection of