The Girl and the Prickly Green Bush - theHumm December 2019

By Susie Osler

Once upon a time a young girl went out on a fine morning from the village of her parents, and grandparents, and the grandparents of her grandparents, and wandered into the rocky hills beyond the village, admiring the Sun and singing to the Chickadees. She was familiar with the nooks and crannies of the tumbling landscape, and she walked and walked, losing herself in the beauty of the late autumn landscape. But as morning became noon, and the afternoon grew longer, a mist seeped in and around her steps, cloaking her close in thick silvery gauze. Afternoon slid towards evening as she kept wandering this way and that, now unable to see far ahead. Finally she stopped, finding herself alone atop a big bald Rock, no longer able to make out the landmarks around her.

The mist clutched ever closer. She shivered, anxious and cold. How would she find her way back home?

The Girl sat down upon the bald Rock to try to make a plan. Would anyone hear if she howled or screamed for help? She shouted out mightily, but the louder she cried the heavier the mist seemed to become — muffling her sounds like a thick felt blanket. Feeling panic creeping in, she began singing to herself in an attempt to lift her spirits and fend off her fears.

A soft rustling to her side startled her. Out of the mist emerged feathered apparitions. Grouse, first Mr. and then Mrs., fluffed and strutted their way slowly over to the Girl’s side. “What, oh what, are you, creature? And what are you doing here in this land? We have not seen your kind before. But a sweet voice you have indeed!”

Taking heart that she now had some company, the Girl perked up. “I am a Girl. I walked out from my village this morning and am now lost and cold and can’t find my way home in this mist.”

“Well, Girl”, said Mr. Grouse, “perhaps we could all make some music together to pass the time until morning comes. Your lovely voice will complement our beats nicely!” And so, the three of them set about singing and thrumming and prancing around together in the thick, still, misty darkness.

But eventually, as Cold dropped down for the night to rest in his bed on the bald Rock, the Girl began to shiver. “Mr and Mrs. Grouse”, she said, “I have no feathers to keep me warm and cannot sleep out on this rock all night long or Cold will seep into my bones. What shall I do?”

“Come,” said Mrs. Grouse. “There is room for us all under the prickly green bushes where we rest each night. It will be a fine place for you to sleep until the Sun rises again.” And so, one by one, the Grouses carefully led the way down the face of the bald Rock to a swale. “This Bush will keep you covered from the mist and the cold. Her prickles will ward off the night creatures that lurk about, and the soft mattress of moss underneath her boughs will keep your bones from the cold Rock.” And with that, they all nestled down into the moss, under the protective boughs of the prickly green Bush — the Grouses curling around the Girl, fluffing their downy feathers to keep her warm for the night.

And the Girl fell into a deep sleep. And dreamed. She dreamed of a great wall of ice that grew and grew until it began to slide across the Land, scouring and scaring away everything that had adorned it. And when at last many thousands of moons had passed, the great wall of ice retreated, leaving in its wake a land of beaten, barren rock, rubble and water. The Rock, lonely and naked, rumbled out a moan that reverberated around the earth; calling to the winged beings, begging them to return with their songs and colours to help him paint the landscape back into being. And slowly they came, bearing gifts of spores, berries and seeds that they spilled onto Rock’s ancient face, where they settled into his wrinkles and began to bring colour back to his grey face again.

The Girl awoke with a start to Raven croaking from a pine branch that stretched above her hideaway. Enchanted by his sounds the Girl took her leave from the Grouses, thanking them for their warm company as she rolled out from under their wings, and from under the prickly green bush, into the bright morning sun.

Raven croaked, and chuckled, and gurgled. The Girl laughed, saying “Raven are you hungry? Your gurgle sounds like my belly!” Looking around for something to soften her hunger, she noticed a clutch of small blue berries on the branches of the prickly green Bush. “Oh Bush, would you mind if I took some of your berries to eat? I am lost, I have no food, and I am so very hungry.”

The branches swayed and nodded, reaching out to her and tickling her hand with their prickly green tips. “Yes, Girl, you may. But take only the darkest berries as they have had time to mature and are the sweetest. They will keep you grounded. Be careful to avoid my pointy needles though! They are prickly but they do protect my berries from greedy mouths. And, Girl… perhaps you could return the favour by taking a few berries from each of us, to drop into the wrinkles of Rock’s face as you go along your journey?” The Girl agreed, thanked the Bush, and picked a pocket full of dark blue berries.

“Here you go Raven!” she offered, placing the berries on the rock close to her. “If you are hungry, please share these lovely berries with me. If you come down for some breakfast, I can admire your beautiful iridescent cloak and listen to your wild voice.”

Raven cocked his head then preened a wing… looked down at the Girl… then preened his other wing… and then to the Girl’s surprise, down Raven came.

Hopping forward, with one eye on her and the other on the berries, Raven plucked one and then another from the rock and swallowed them down his hatch with a shiver of neck feathers. “Raven, I am lost.” said the Girl. “Can you, with your great perspective, tell me which way to turn to set me on my path once again?”

“I am sorry Girl, but I hear my mate calling me and I must join her. But take heart, you are not lost. Your feet are at home on Rock like my wings are at home in Air. Trust them to find your true home.” And with that Raven swallowed a berry and croaked his way off into the sky until he was a distant speck.

The Girl began to eat the berries. They were pungent, spicy and just sweet enough to give her a bit of energy. Trusting her feet as Raven had advised she began to walk, moving from bush to bush, sustained by their berries. Along the way, she dropped to the ground and placed little berries into the wrinkles of old Rock’s face as she’d promised the prickly green Bush. Gradually, her walking slowed, and slowed some more. And in time, her toes grew long and woody, spreading ever so slowly across the rocky land; and her arms became prickly green branches that protected families of Grouse, colonies of Moss, and the Rock itself from harsh weather. And over the years, in her weaving wake, the animals and trees and plants and birds grew up and thrived. And this is how Juniper found her way home.

Happy Local Holidays! - theHumm December 2019

By Kris and Rob Riendeau

Here at theHumm we’re big on local economies. The retail and service businesses in the small towns that we cover play a huge role in the cultural life of those towns. Each store, restaurant, or small enterprise attracts and serves a particular clientele — some inside the community, some from outside. Some businesses host their own special events; others join together with local festivals to make the whole experience more vibrant. Many provide support in cash or in kind to local initiatives. A healthy local economy is an essential component to a healthy community.

It is with this in mi......

The Girl and the Prickly Green Bush - theHumm December 2019