by Parris Match
The morning arrived with a lingering twilight dawn, hindered by the high extensive cliffs of the sandstone escarpment, to delay the rising Sun over the eastern side of the valley. Dahmoh’ah and the brothers were eager to hear the detailed report from the scouts. Removing themselves to an open rise mid-valley, and conferring in a circle, the scouts, scratching with a stick upon the ground, explained and defined; that the immense solid stone wall on the awakening eastern elevation of the valley, extended unbroken, except for two precipitous large rockslides, for the entire length of the valley, and then merged into the central mountain range. The two scouts, who had explored the definite boundary of the eastern escarpment, had been unable to determine any likelier access into the valley, other than the difficult and dangerous profound chasm, the people had traveled through previously. They also enlightened Dahmoh’ah, that from their highest vantage points, periodically looking down into the valley, they could see that the open water of the lake, soon disappeared; slowly draining into a green twisting brushy swathe, then leaching just below the surface, down the middle of the valley.
One of the remaining fellow scouts, who had walked down the brush wooded westward side of the valley, illustrated with the point of the written stick, that the soaring mountains jagged rock face, continued uninterrupted, majestically towering and watching over the entirety of the basined canyon valley. Detailing their survey; the brothers described the moderate growth of shrubs, scattered trees of lanky pine, pockets of spotted aspen; and rough almost gullied patches of distorted grey oak and bent twisted mesquite, along the mountains fallen eroded lower slopes, they had easily traversed. With verdant parallel groves of close white aspen and stately oak, with abundant undergrowth and bunch grass, and lush dispersed little green meadows, filling the dampened snaking flat depression, in the lowest interior of the basin. Amongst a set mass of huge boulders and a large vital group of upstanding exceptional stone hoodoos, the brothers had examined past evidence of prior human presence; but the, profoundly dusted, charcoal fragments left from a vague campfire, had been there at rest, for a very long… long encrusted time. The paired scouts, had agreeably converged, meeting their other brothers near the furthest southern dry boundary of the valley, and had returned together, to inform their anxious people of their findings.
Dahmoh’ah made known the peoples gratitude to the scouts.
After marked encircled deliberation, Dahmoh’ah notified his elated people, that this would be the location that they would willingly dwell; and could, by the good Spirits’ welcome and benevolence, become peaceful and productive, in the approaching growing season.
The Forgotten Ones began to establish their temporary village just beyond the entrance to the hallowed Spirits’ communing alcove. By Dahmoh’ah’s pointed instructions, they did quickly build a series of weaved oval wickerups, out of the abundant stalks of reed from the soggy shores of the wetlands, and a four posted thatch-covered communal cooking hut. Dahmoh’ah paced-off the near vicinity of their village to set apart for purification; to include their hallowed water supply, their extended collective living quarter, the accepted stone-circle of man’s council of authority, and the proposed fields of planting on both sides of the small burbling brook; and declared those areas forbidden to befoul in any way, even be spat upon. The additional secondary significant waterfall would be used for cleansing, washing and bathing. Under Dahmoh’ah’s directed oversight; the people hollowed-out the springwater basin, and constructed a stone dam, with a flat rock flowgate, within the first chosen alcove, to preserve and control their purest water supply; and upon finishing this, they repeated the same task, on the other lesser waterfall’s deepened pool.
To ponder carefully, occupied with earnest concern for their security, the prudent and wise Dahmoh’ah, upon reflection, remembered and considered the threatening symbol, warning outsiders against intrusion into the restricted beautiful river valley. Therefore he ordered four brothers to gather the necessary poles and pieces, to transport and build a like tripod at the entrance to this more divine valley. The Forgotten Ones, being abhorrently adverse to human degradation; Dahmoh’ah calmly assured the brothers that their ominous tripod would forever only consist of strips of rabbit fur and carcasses of birds and small animals as a forewarning to anyone who would threaten their privacy. Thus four brothers, including the brave young Ahcoo, returned to the entrance to their valley, through the grand deep chasm, around the dead putrid lake, then departing the gently sloped channel, looked again upon the undulating expanse of the great desert, that their people had previously crossed…, to reach this secluded nestlings place. They meticulously erected the hopefully symbolic sinister sign of the forbidding tripod; carefully constructing it with, beforehand sadly discussed, hesitant finality; drawing that terminal line in the sand. After finishing their duty, they scrutinized the open barren deserts clear vast horizons, to the surrounding moderate golden-brown foothills, for this last time, and returned to their beautiful remote little valley.
The people made ready the growing fields on the gentle slope, under Dahmoh’ah’s adapted direction; tilling the virginal ground and removing the offending rocks and weeds, and building a series of small dams on the cleared murmuring brook, creating rationed little pools with sluicing water-gates, to irrigate their forthcoming crops. They joyously planted the seeds of their hardened resilience; of uplifted maize, staple beans, and useful squash; the disposition of the people was soon altered, they were filled with hope and renewed vigor. The people bathed and cleansed themselves of the barren grey dustiness, blissfully accepted the pure unsullied breath of the hallowed Spirit, and harmoniously basked in the reassuring comfort of the more recent risen Sun, and colorful robust beauty returned.
Springs’ forward promise looked to summer, and The Forgotten Ones lived a peaceful and eager productive existence, in the safety of their fertile valley; the planted and protected seeds of their expectant future had been hopefully set.
Following the spring planting, a group of satisfied brothers had explored the upper reaches of the valley, climbing up the gigantic cluster of rocks at the northern perimeter of the valley; and curiously entered the embracing foothills, laying along-side the northerly extent of the mountain range. They found that the lower appending forested ridges were abundantly covered with pinion pines, a fine additional source of food for the people, when gathered in and through the early autumn. Deep inside the higher canyons, penetrating the mountains granite core, amid the tall-timbered glades, and within camouflaged woodland meadows, or on the approaches in-between, useful savory black-tailed mule deer, escaping from the severe white-hot sand tempers of the desert wind, could be, on timely occasion, still pursued.
On a soon subsequent two-day hunt, under the pine tree cloak of the foothills, in the brisk dew of a higher spring dawn, after a cold nights mountain encampment. The brothers hiked out to the furthest tip of one of the bare fingered volcanic ridges, extending from the edge of green forested slopes, and looked down from the stage of a pumice-rock ledge, into the wide depression that left the desert behind, and leading into the fading misty lens of the far northwest.
Perched high, on their rocky mountain overlook, in the clearly revealing, circled hazy white, cast of the morning Sun, within the erratic blinks of the dew-prisms light, the observant brothers could see an orderly herd of minute identifiable specks in the distance below; a wide procession moving and streaming away from the coming summer’s heat, to evade the eradicating hot blasts across the desert floor; and after a prolonged period of time, evaporating from view, along the base of the serrated eroding lava foothills and bunched grassland. At a later time they would know and rely on; that this was the customary, dependable, biannual migration of the nomadic scrounging unclean Rabbit People, who with the certainty of a transitory pointed flock of banded wild geese, would return again in the latter cooler drafts of the following fall, with the delayed occurrence and descent of the changing colors in autumn.
Thus the br
eathless summer’s passage, intense debilitating heat laid still in the valley, so too the little village languidly couched beneath the Spirit-mountains cliffs; just a very slight current of a cooling breeze, wafting down from the kindly mountain heights, by the lowered brow of dusk. The people’s afternoons were spent in relaxed repose, in patterned basket and mat weaving by customary methodical rote; or lethargically napping, in the shade of the drowsy trees, or simply reclined inside the well-trodden threshold to the cooler alcove. There was a minor decrease in the water source; the drying reed covered shore of the lake slowly receded, as the less available water was diverted to the thirsty fields of crops.
On rare occasion during the hottest of temperatures, the clear lucent blue sky would quickly fill with dark to darkest tumbling upset clouds. Thunder deafeningly rumbled in the unseen distance, lightning crackled and violently ripped from the wildly swirling billows, and loudly crashed beyond the straight visible highlight, over and across the grand escarpment. The air remained lifeless, in the meantime silent stillness, and burningly acrid try overcoming; however the liberal gift of rain did not descend. One chance day in later summer, the thick blackn-grey clouds moved over the valley, and a torrent of rainfall poured out of the sky. Within moments their crops suffered risk of sluicing away, and then the rain instantly ceased as it had begun; and the people hurriedly repaired the inevitable damage done to their carefully planted fields, and toppled sandstone water-gates. The relentless hot summer days waned into slightly cooler nights, where the people could find contented sleep, and the revitalized valley regained its sweet breathtaking aroma. The rainbow checkered maize of the peoples fields, had one last burst of growth, and it became harvest time.
The Forgotten Ones’ stocks of conserved provisions were very abundant to their needs. The beginning, renascent harvest, was exceedingly fruitful, with new unborn life-spring in the offing, during and just after the moon’s last quarter. The regenerating people celebrated their long-awaited prosperity, by thankful rejoicing, with heartfelt songs and natural rapturous dancing, around the, Great Mountain Spirits, immense inflamed bonfire. Then followed by Dahmoh’ah’s’ baritone cadenced chant, beside the warm reassurance of the imparting firelight’s, bright flashes and lesser flickers. He recounted their shared traditions, and beliefs, and difficult tribulations; a reminder of the grueling endless ordeals, they had to have by-passed, on the rough and winding pathway, to deservingly reach this beseeched for valley.
Dahmoh’ah boldly said to his gentle people; “My resilient vital brothers, and my beautiful charming sisters”;
“We, The Forgotten Ones, are a good people”.
“As the whispered flight of the graceful lighthearted doves; the Spirits of our honored ancestors; watch over us, always”.
“They in their learned wisdom have led us to this secret vale”.
“The arduous journey was filled with needless death, and extreme suffering; but in our gathered devoted strength, we have prevailed”.
“We have found our promised hidden shelter, from the mere chance of a fearful storm”.
“We, The Forgotten Ones, will keep secure, protect from harm, and nurture in the light of the new day; this benevolent wonderful bequest of the faithful Spirits”.
“From this moment on; I…, Dahmoh’ah…, trusted Story Teller of The Forgotten Ones, declare to my people; THIS IS OUR HOME”.
The people’s response was ecstatic, their earlier dispirited heavy hearts and acute longing for an abiding home, was made evident in the involuntary tears softly flowing; from their previously grey eyes, and down their creased and weatherworn cheeks; to see a new beginning, through their invisible piercing blue eyes, to clothe in raiment a full smooth resplendent face.
Winter winds whipped and blustered through the faded and cold canyon valley, the people huddled together around their separate kindred fires, waiting for the new-life season to begin.
Their stock of provisions were more than sufficient to carry them through to the second first harvest, and they had supplemented their larder, with a large supply of pinion nuts collected in the preceding fall. As a fireside teacher, Dahmoh’ah retold the stories, reminding his people of their strong heritage, emphasizing their sound oral traditions, and bolstering the well-tempered inner strength that they all possessed; and with authority by harmonious consent, to interpret the sonant tonal voice of the constant Spirits. The young Ahcoo sat beside his highly esteemed mentor, breathing-in every real word, all nuance and gesture. Each succeeding morning, the Sun steadily marched northward, up the notched jagged rim of the escarpment, visibly marking its return progression; promising to restore fertility and continued prosperity to the valley, and its hopeful and faithful revitalized people.
Just as the colorful inflorescent entrancement of springtime, the once almost dormant grey people, the awakening Forgotten Ones, eagerly multiplied their number; the valley reverberated with the echoes of thankful melodic chants, to their surrounding honored patient ancestors. The everyday routine and pollen, of renewed sweet life, drifted with the morning breeze, into the distant perennial future, and the people established their permanent occupancy, in the beautiful sheltered canyon valley.
A large number of substantial caves were excavated into the lower cliff at the entrance to the hallowed alcove; and nine large, more durable thick-thatched, meeting wickerups were reconstructed on a frontal plane, dissected by the little continuous, burbling brook. Too surround a sizeable swept flat area in the middle as a gathering circle, reserved for the assemblage of all the people, and also containing a new expanded adobe storehouse, with a generous communal cooking hut to the side.
On the occurrence of the peoples first death in their new home, they mournfully proceeded to the large pile of boulders to the south, and within a very narrow crevasse, constructed a burning chamber, and consecrating this also as hallowed ground, to send their praiseworthy comrade to join and reside with the good Spirits. The seasonal weather the people trusted on as the years went by, were a cold but not severe shortened winter; a summer that was intensely hot, still drowsily borne; and a radiant spring and fall, that was mild, steady, and a constant pleasure to the eye.
And most certain, faithfulness remained in the continued flowing grace of the highest Mountain Spirits.
As considerable time passed, The Forgotten Ones carefully observed and had acquired an understanding of the way of life of the Rabbit People. They were a seasonal nomadic people; every early spring they would abandon the desert basins and migrate to the north, and to come the latter cold skies of the second fall, they would return again to the desert, to remain for the winter. After knowing this, the brothers, under Dahmoh’ah’s orders, cautiously trespassed, during the height of the summer Sun, into the Rabbit Peoples’ vacated desert territory, to evaluate their alien neighbor’s potential capability to cause them harm. What they found was that the filthy scrawny Rabbit People temporarily lived in minimal little brush hovels, placed around miscellaneous springs, stingily provided from the undersurface; low indentations in the middle of the desert, that came close to going befouled or dry in the intense summer heat. By the number of scattered small crude huts, they could determine that there was a great multitude of Rabbit People; they also could ascertain that the Rabbit People had no knowledge of the written word or agriculture.
The brothers had stealthily spied on many of the Rabbit People, as they trekked up the depression between the mountains, and had witnessed that they were numerous; but they were an emaciated, weedy, lackluster, and a withered people. On several occasions, years hence, the brothers had encountered smaller bands of the Rabbit People in the vicinity of the outer boundaries of their homeland, and even when the brothers were far out-numbered, they were able to easily frighten and chase them away. Within an extended period of time it was an accepted principle, by The Forgotten Ones, that the Rabbit People fully understood that any threat or encroachment near or into their valley would not be tolerated.
The For
gotten Ones lived and proliferated in the beautiful sheltered valley, benevolently looked over by the three colossal cragged mountains for many years; also under the very, very old Dahmoh’ah’s pleased watchful eyes.
During the glittering colorful jewel-case autumn display of a splendid symphony of ruby-red, within a glorious field of view, precious orange-garnet, among, the remarkable amber-lucent brilliant gems, throughout the gentle fluttering of lightened yellow trees in leaf; Dahmoh’ah, Story Teller of The humble Forgotten Ones, the great deliverer, quietly passed in the blessed peace of sleep. The good and gifted Story Teller had been honorably dispatched as risen diffused wandering smoke, to be united with and eternally exist beside the highly esteemed unnumbered Great Spirits of the Light.
To favor the once youthful Ahcoo, attentive and talented student to his lifetime mentor, being handpicked by his predecessor, beyond the experience and years of the brave; is the consecrated primary Story Teller …Ahcoo’Ah…, to assume the leadership of the people, and to wear the headdress of The Forgotten Ones.
Ahcoo’ah was sorely distressed for the continued wellbeing and perpetual bloom of his people; vexed by the devastating deadly blight, that had befallen his healthy brothers and sisters, and was gradually eradicating, The beautiful fields of the Forgotten Ones. Many years had passed since Ahcoo’ah had been selected as the Story Teller for the people; he was now a deeply wrinkled, long-toothed old man. Dacoh, his favored student, kept always close to his side, intently listening and learning about the complete history and composition of their people; Dacoh held an innate respect for Ahcoo’ah, and retained him deep in his heart. Ahcoo’ah, having no children, looked to Dacoh as his needed son; to fill that vacant uncontented place, which all vital men possess.
