New Story: The Storytelling Stone

The Seneca people tell of a time, long, long ago, when the world was new; a time when there were no stories. The people had no way to pass the time during the cold winter months and no dreams filled their heads on long winter nights. The people were sometimes cold in their hearts as well; for there was no way to pass on the traditions of the tribe, no way to teach the people how to live or how to treat one another. In one village, there lived a young boy named Crow. Crow’s parents had died and he had no one to care for him. His clothes were often dirty and torn and his hair matted. Some of the people laughed at him, but Crow was a gifted hunter. He could silently steal into the forest and with his bow and arrows and could find much food for the villagers. He would trade the wild game for corn and clothes for himself. 

One especially harsh winter, he had to travel farther and farther into the forest to find food.  Eventually, he came to a clearing that he had never seen before. In the middle of the clearing there was a large flat stone. Crow laid the birds he had shot on the stone and sat down to rest beside them. 

“Shall I tell you a story?” said an old rumbling voice. 

Crow jumped up and looked around. There was no one in the clearing. He sat down again. 

“Shall I tell you a story?” the voice came again. 

This time Crow could tell that the voice came from the ancient rock beneath him. 

“Who are you or what are you?” asked Crow. 

“I am Grandfather Stone. Shall I tell you a story?” 

“What is a story?” asked Crow. 

“Stories tell of all things that happened before this time. Give me one of your birds and I will tell you how the world was made.” 

Crow happily left one of the birds on the stone and the stone began a wonderful story of how the world was made and everything in it. The stone wove wonderful tales until the sun began to set. 

“That is enough for today. Come back tomorrow and I will tell you more.” 

“Thank you Grandfather Stone,” said Crow. 

Crow returned to his village with less food than he had ever had before; the people mocked him and he went to bed hungry. But early the next day, he set out again to find the storytelling stone. He came to the clearing and again lay a bird on the stone. All day he listened to stories of chipmunk and bear and the lessons the people had learned in earlier days. Every day, he came to listen to the stories. Every day he grew a little thinner and the people began to think that he was going mad. They teased him and told him that now; he wasn’t even good for hunting.  

Finally, one day, as Crow lay a bird on the stone, the stone said nothing. 

“Grandfather Stone, why don’t you speak? Won’t you tell me a story?” 

The stone answered, “I have no more stories to tell. It is now your turn to tell the stories. It is time for the stories not to be kept in stones, but in the hearts of the people. Go back to your village and share the stories. The people will bring you gifts for the stories, just as you have brought to me” 

“Thank you Grandfather Stone, I will make sure the stories are not forgotten.” 

Crow was frightened. He didn’t know if the people would listen to him. As he gathered at the edge of the lodge fire that night, he boldly stepped forward into the midst of the people.  They were about to push him back, when he said in a clear, strong voice,

“In the mysterious days of long ago, when Ra-wen-io was fixing the earth so that mankind might have a happy place to live, the trees had tongues and they talked...” 

A hush fell on the room. All other cares were forgotten and there were no thoughts other than the story. When he finished, they made him a place by the fire. They brought him the best food and they asked for another story.

Night after long winter night, Crow was the honored guest at the community fire. He was soon invited to live in the chief’s long house. The people began to treat one another with respect; for they learned about foolish pride from Bear and Chipmunk; they learned about greediness from Turtle. They learned many things and the village became a better place. The people no longer feared the long, cold winter. For it was a time to gather in the long houses and listen to stories.

As Crow grew up, and continued to tell the stories, he made a bag that hung from his waist.  In the bag he would put small objects to help him remember the stories. When he grew into a man, he traveled throughout all of the villages far and near with his story bag and he shared the stories with the people. And until the day he died he was treated with great honor and respect for he had brought story to the hearts of the people.