Nanabush sits with that sad, and then he makes it into something else. “NISHNAABEG! NISHNAABEG!”
No answer.
“NISHNAABEG! NISHNAABEG!”
Silence.
Nanabush gets up onto his feet now, and he starts to do some thinking. He starts to do some walking, and he starts to do some more looking. And he looks for a long time.
Sometimes, in a story like this, Nanabush looks and right away he finds what he is looking for. But not this time. This time, he looks for a long time. A very, very long time.
After a few days, he sees something funny off in the distance amongst a stand of Ninaatigoog. He sees something, and at first he thinks he is seeing things from all the looking, but, as he get closer, he starts to understand. He sees brown feet and brown legs sticking straight up in the air. He gets closer. He sees brown back lying flat on the snowy ground in fact the snowy ground is kinda melty now, but brown back doesn’t care. He gets closer. He sees a big mouth wide open. Like that big mouth is at the dentist.
But that big mouth is not at the dentist. She has ziiyaagmide dripping right in! That’s right. This story takes place so long ago that our Ancestors did not have to make ziiyaagmide out of sap. Nope. The Ninaatigoog gave that syrup right out of their bodies, right over to whoever wants to drink it. And those Nishnaabeg, they always wanted to drink it.
Nanabush looks around the forest. Every tree is the same. Every tree has its own Nishnaabe, lying on his or her back, feet in the air with his or her mouth really, really wide open, and that maple syrup dripping right in.
“Bozhoo, Nishnaabeg!” yells Nanabush.
Nobody looks up. Nobody answers.
“Bozhoo, Nishnaabeg!” yells Nanabush.
Again, nobody looks up. Nobody answers.
”This is worse than I thought,” thinks Nanabush. He gets an idea. He sings and dances and stomps and yells. But, nobody even notices.
Everybody is still flat on their backs, with their mouths really, really wide open with that ziiyagmide dripping right in.
Oowah, that ziiyagmide tastes good! That sweet brown syrup. That’s the good stuff. Oowah.
But enough of that. This is a big problem, and Nanabush has to think up a big solution. And sometimes even Nanabush doesn’t have any ideas. But he knows who does: Nokomis. That old lady will know what to do. That old lady will know how to solve this big problem. Those Nishnaabeg are going to get sick. They are not eating good food. They are not taking care of each other. They are getting weak just lying on their backs with their furry feet up in the air all day. They’re getting soft in the mind, not thinking ahead, not looking ahead.
Everything is going to go in the wrong way if the Nishnaabeg get sick. Nanabush knows this. So he walks. He walks and walks and walks and walks. And finally he reaches Nokomis’s house.
“Nokomis!” Nanabush yells. “NOKOMIS!”
“Holy!” that old lady says in response. “Why you yelling like that? Why you yelling like I’m not here?”
“Sorry,” said Nanabush, giving her his semaa. He’s not used to things being where they are suppose to be. But, this one, she where she suppose to be. He feels a bit better, and he sits by her fire in her lodge, and he explains his problem.
Nokomis just listens. And then she says, “Nahow. Aambe.”
Nanabush is not quite sure what is going on. He was hoping for some medicine. He was hoping for a snack. Nokomis always has good snacks, or maybe a good story. Maybe a nap on that nice warm sleeping mat. Oowah. That is what he needs. Maybe some soup and that warm blanket wrapped around him. Sit by that fire. Get warm. Feel good. Oowah.
But here we go. “Aambe,” that old lady say, and out the door she goes. Nanabush is not happy. His makazinan are wet. His feet are sore. He’s been out walking for days. But out the door Nokomis goes, so out the door Nanabush goes.
Nokomis is an old lady, but she is fast, and she is strong, and she is all the way down the path by the time Nanabush gets out of the house.
“Bekaa!” yells Nanabush. “Wait.” He thinks he hears her laughing under her breath, and she doesn’t slow down. Nanabush has to pick up the pace a bit. His feet hurt. “Bekaa!” he yells again.
But Nokomis doesn’t pay any attention. She’s all the way down the path and around the corner. Nanabush is not happy, maybe he even starts crying a bit. Maybe he’s feeling sorry for himself a bit. All this work. No one is paying attention to Nanabush. No one is taking care of Nanabush. But Nanabush doesn’t have any time for feeling sorry.
“Aambe!” yells Nokomis.
So, Nanabush keeps walking. He goes around the corner, and Nokomis is standing at the bottom of Ninaatig, and she is already busy. She tells him to go to the south side of the tree and to make a hole. Nanabush does. She makes a spigot and attaches her akik. They hear the heartbeat of the liquid dripping into the bucket.
Nanabush feels better. Next, Nokomis tells Nanabush to taste the liquid, and Nanabush gets excited for that sweet, sweet taste of ziiyaagmide. Maybe he didn’t get a fire, and maybe he didn’t get any soup and that blanket, but, oowah, he is going to get ziiyagmide.
Except, when he dips his finger into that liquid, it isn’t ziiyagmide.
“GAA GAAWIIN!” yells Nanabush. He can’t take it any more. “This tastes like Nibiish.”
Nokomis smiles a tricky smile. “Get a hold of yourself,” she tells him. “Hang onto your shirt, young one. We’re not done yet.” She dips her cup into the akik and tells him to drink the sweet water, and then comes that big important part. This part is so important that those Nishinaabeg still do it today, even though everything nearly got all ruined.
Nokomis tells Nanabush that the sap, the ziisbaakdaaboo, is medicine, that it cleans us out. It cleans our bodies out for spring. “It’s spring cleaning,” she says, laughing under her breath. Zhaganosh thinks that means wash the curtains. Oowah. Washing your curtains don’t clean out nothing. Drink ziisbaakdaaboo every day of Ziisbaakdooke Giizis. Then you’ll be ready.
“Ready for what?” asks Nanabush.
“Ready for what happens next,” says Nokomis.
Then she says, “Back to work,” and she gets Nanabush to tap all the trees. She gets him to collect up all the dead wood and chop it into firewood. Then, she gets him to make a big fire. Nanabush is working so hard, he doesn’t have time to feel sorry for himself. And makwag, amikwag, waawaashkeshiwag, all those animals help out. Soon everybody is busy, and that Nokomis is smiling a big smile.
And then she shows them how to concentrate that ziibaakdaaboo to save all its good for the niibin, and the dagwagin, and the next bboon. And they work hard with the fire and the stones, and finally they get their thirty buckets of ziibaakdaaboo down to one bucket of ziiyaagmide, and then finally they get it down to sugar.
And Nanabush is happy, because he’s ready for a big party. After all that work, he knows Nokomis must have a big party up her old-lady sleeve.
But those old-lady sleeves are tricky, and Nokomis doesn’t say anything about a party. She says, “Nahow, Nanabush. Back to the Nishnaabeg.”
Nanabush’s party face falls right off. He forgot all about those Nishnaabeg. And he doesn’t have any solution to their problem, and they are far away.
And he needs a party.
“No party,” says Nokomis.
He needs a party.
“NO PARTY,” says Nokomis.
He was kind of looking forward to a party.
“Life is a party,” says Nokomis. “Party down the trail and go make things right with the Nishnaabeg.”
Nanabush knows when he been beat. So he party down the trail to go make things right with the Nishnaabeg. And he walks and walks and walks and walks, and he figures maybe those Nishnaabeg already got things all worked out. After all, how long could you lie on your back with your feet in the air?
Long time, if you’re drinking maple syrup. Long time. Nanabush knows this because, by the time he gets back, the Nishnaabeg are still lying on their backs, fe
et in the air, mouths wide open. Drinking that maple syrup.
“Bozhoo, Nishnaabeg!” Nanabush yells.
Nobody pays any attention.
Nanabush figures he’s got to get tricky at this point. Otherwise, he’s going to have to do a whole bunch more walking, and he’s never going to get any soup or blanket, and his feet are still wet. So he gets tricky. And he needs a bucket to get tricky. And he goes out to the river and fills up that bucket and climbs all the way to the top of Ninaatig, and he pours that bucket down the tree. He goes back and forth and he does this thirty times—one time for every day in Ziisbaakdaaboo Giizis.
And maybe that’s how this story happened. Maybe. Maybe it was thirty buckets, or maybe Nanabush was way too tired to lug that heavy bucket up that tall Ninaatig. And maybe he is way, way too tired to do that thirty times. And maybe he has to go pee anyway. And maybe he decides to just whip it out when nobody is looking and do a big long thirty-bucket pee down the top of that tree. And maybe he saves himself thirty trips to the river and thirty trips up the tree, and he’s a little closer to that soup and that blanket. Maybe it happened that way.
Whatever way it happened, by the time that “water” got filtered all the way through Ninaatig, and, by the time Nanabush did every tree in that sugar bush, the ziiyaagmide dripping into the mouths of Nishnaabeg wasn’t ziiyagmide any more. It was more like Nibiish. It was more like tree pee.
Those Nishnaabeg noticed. And their mouths went shut, and their feet went back onto the ground, and they walked over to that Nanabush to find out what was going on. Now it was Nanabush’s turn to be Nokomis. He told them he needed a big fire. They all got busy. He told them he needed a big stack of firewood. They all got busy. He told them he needed soup and a blanket and a foot rub.
They looked a little suspicious, but they all got busy.
Then Nanabush told them how much he loved them and how sad he felt when they forgot about the four sacred foods, and their responsibilities to each other and to the other clans. Nanabush drew them in close by the fire, and he told them how important they were. He told them how Gzhwe Manidoo had made them the most beautiful, caring creatures that ever walked the earth. He told them he wanted them to walk the earth a long, long time with them. He told them he needed them. He told them his heart knowledge, and they felt their hearts getting much, much bigger. They felt filled up.
The Nishnaabeg listened with their whole bodies. Then Nanabush took them to the south side of the tree, put his semaa down, and showed them how to tap the trees and collect the sap. He showed them how to cleanse themselves every day of Ziisbaakdaaboo Giizis. He showed them that, once the others found out what they were doing, everyone would come and help. He showed them how to boil that sweet water down into sweet sugar so they could keep that gift all year long.
The Nishnaabeg accepted that gift from Nanabush. And, every year, no matter how hard it is, they make sure their lips taste the sweetness of ziisbaakdaaboo, even if it is just once. Even if there isn’t enough to make ziinzibaakwad, sugar. They take their kids. They tell the story of Nanabush. They listen for the heartbeat of their mother as that ziisbaakdaaboo falls into their pails. They cherish the gift given to their ancestors so long ago, and in their heart knowledge, hidden away in the most precious parts of their beings, they know that ziinzibaakwad wasn’t the real gift. They know that the real gift was in the making, and that, without love, making just wasn’t possible.
Nishnaabemowin: Ziigwan is the early part of spring; Nishnaabeg Aki is Ojibwe territory; ma’iingan is wolf; ninaatig is a maple tree; ninaatigoog means maple trees; ziiyaagmide is maple syrup; bozhoo means hello; Nokomis is Grandmother; semaa (asemaa) is tobacco; nahow means okay; ambe means come on! let’s go!; makizinan are moccasins; bekaa means wait; akik is a pail; gaa and gaawiin both mean no; ziisbaakdaabook is sap; zhaganosh is a white person; Ziisbaakdooke-Giizis is March; makwag is bears; amikwag means beavers; waawaashkeshiwag is deer (plural); dawaagin is the fall; bboon is the winter; niibin is the summer; and Gzhwe Manidoo is the one that loves us unconditionally, the Creator; ziinzibaakwad is sugar.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It takes a community of people to bring a book like this to print, and, first and foremost, I’d like to extend a chi’miigwech to countless generations of Nishnaabeg storytellers of all ages who have nurtured these stories, kept them alive, and passed them down through the generations during times when it was not safe to do so. It is a testament to their strength, commitment, and artistic integrity that these stories exist today. If I have imagined elements of these stories in a way that would offend my ancestors, I accept responsibility.
When I think back to some of my earliest memories of storytelling, I think of my extended family telling endless rounds of hilarious stories and jokes around kitchen tables and campfires. This was an excellent introduction into performance and storytelling, and the importance of laughter instilled in me a love of story.
My two children, Nishna and Minowewebeneshiinh Simpson, were the inspiration for this work, and miigwech to them for being my first audience, and for being very honest critics. This book would not exist without them. xo
A special miigwech to Gidigaa Migizi (Doug Williams). My telling of “Zhiingwaak Gets a Little Snippy” and “Gwezens Makes a Lovely Discovery” is influenced by his old-school, gentle style. I am very appreciative of his guidance and friendship, and it is always an honour to watch him transform a room or tipii full of people into a laughing mob of joyful souls! It is one of my very favourite sounds.
Three grandmothers—Edna Manitowabi, Marrie Mumford, and Shirley Williams—have supported and inspired this collection as well. Edna Manitwabi, a fantastic storyteller, performer, writer, and spiritual leader, taught me to be true to my own voice and my own heart. Marrie Mumford encouraged me to tell stories to children and for inviting me to perform many of these stories in the Nozhem First Peoples’ Performance Space. Shirley Williams’s knowledge of Nishnaabemowin in all its wonderful forms is simply expansive, and I thank her for always being willing to help me with the language. Any missteps, however, are my own.
The families of the Wii-Kendiming Nishinaabemowin Saswaansing listened to most of the stories in this collection from the fall of 2011 to the spring of 2012, and Vera Bell simultaneously translated them into Nishnaabemowin. Thanks to them for listening, acting out, drawing, and dancing these stories through the year with such exuberance. I hope that they continue telling their own versions to their parents, their children, their grandchildren, and their great-great-grandchildren.
Hilary Wear adapted and staged a site-specific production of “The Baagaataa’awe Game that Changed Everything” with a cast of local families on the winter solstice of 2011. Chi’miigwech to her for allowing me to witness first-hand the powerful combination of playfulness, children, and theatre. Chi’Miigwech to Wanda Nanibush and Patti Shaughnessy for noticing the storyteller in me, long before I noticed it in myself.
I sent the original manuscript to Niigaanwewidam James Sinclair on a whim. I had only envisioned photocopying the written versions of these stories for the families in the language nest. I am very thankful to him for his initial excitement and vision for the manuscript. I am grateful to him as an editor (the first Nishnaabe editor I’ve ever worked with) because his intimate cultural knowledge enabled him to see some of the old traditions of storytelling coming through, and the multi-dimensionality of the stories. Niigaan is a gifted storyteller himself, and his keen eye as an editor made this book come alive; it was an honour to work with a western-doorway Nishnaabe Inini. Thanks also to all the folks at Highwater Press for bringing this book into the world and including it within The Debwe Series.
Thank you to Amanda Strong for her moving interpretations of these stories through her illustrations.
Miigwech to Norbert Hardisty from Hollow Water First Nation for his assistance with the Anishinaabe word for Lake Winnipeg, Wiin nibii aang. Another way of saying it is “Wiin nibii gamik.”
Miigwech to Steve, who has always been game for every single one of my ideas, through thick and thin.
This manuscript was completed in the Leighton Artist Colony at the Banff Centre with support from the Canada Council for the Arts and from the Ontario Arts Council.
An earlier version of “The Gift Is in the Making” was published in Dancing on Our Turtle’s Back by Arbeiter Ring Publishing (Winnipeg, 2011) and is reprinted here with their permission.
The idea of lighting the seventh fire over again after it is blown out comes from Waawaate Fobister’s play Medicine Boy, which I saw in Toronto as part of the Summerworks Festival in August 2012.
Chi’miigwech to Robert Houle for his always-enlightening and exciting conversations with me, but also for teaching me that birchbark biting is abstract art, as referenced in “Zhiingwak Gets a Little Snippy.”
The word and concept of Gwiingwa’aage in “Honouring Ojiig in the Night Sky” is from Tobasanokwut Kinew, quoted in Michael Wassegijig Price’s “Anishinaabe Star Knowledge” (Winds of Change, 2002 17[3]: 51-56).
Makizinkwe comes from the dictionary Indinawemaaganidog—All My Relations: Anishinaabe Guide to Animals, Birds, Fish, Reptiles, Insects and Plants, published by the Great Lakes Indian Fish and Wildlife Commission, Odenah, Wisconsin, for the Anishinaabeg words for lady’s slipper (49) and jewelweed (79). I have also consulted Richard A. Rhodes’s Eastern Ojibwa-Chippewa-Ottawa Dictionary (Mouton de Gruyter: New York, 1993) throughout the book, particularly the Curve Lake dialect. I have also used the Ojibwe People’s Dictionary, available online at
FURTHER READING
The Gift is in the Making Page 7
