Blessings of the Cherokee Spirit Gods.

Chebon the Spirit guide, Medicine Man of the Mountain Cherokee tribe, stood in quiet contemplation of the land. A miracle had happened which he could not explain. The Great Spirits had blessed them.

A week after the Harvest, the pale faces had ridden in on their horses with their hated 'fire sticks' and demanded food to feed their army. They had taken almost all of the corn, squash and beans which had been reaped.

But now...for reasons which he could not immediately comprehend...there was enough of each growing here to feed the entire tribe throughout the winter season. But how? It was already becoming too cold for the ground to yield any crop. There was not enough warmth beneath the soil.

The inquisitive little wolf cub who never slept had joined him, they were the first two to witness the wonderful sight...but as is the way of young cubs, now the young one had run off to tell the good news.

Young Waya the Wolf came running to his brother Awohali's tent to rouse him very early in the morning. No matter how much the older brother tried to encourage more rest, the young one always awakened far too early and too eager to go hunting or to make some sort of mischief. It's as if his parents had, by some kind of predestined omen, known of their child's love of the hunt and had named him aptly...WOLF! He was always howling like his kindred spirit wolf.

Now he was babbling about 'the Great Works of the Spirit'. "Come, come", his younger brother insisted, hopping from one leg to the next.

Awohali quickly donned his breechclouts, leggings, and moccasins, wild buffalo hide jacket for warmth...and hurried away with his impatient little wolf. By the time he stood by the Medicine Man's side... his eyes wide with amazement, the celebration for a fire was already being set in motion.

"How did this happen. How did no one notice the crop beginning again, Elder Chebon? Awohali asked, his voice filled with many questions.

"Who are we to question the gods, brother Eagle...but it was the corn stalks, which usually acted as a trellis for the bean vines which hid the great spirit of warmth under the earth, sent to save our people by nourishing the soil".

Awohali nodded his head in silent agreement.

Tonight the people would dance...thanking the Spirit Gods for their generosity and kindness.

Chebon the Spirit guide, Medicine Man, was chanting, blessing the rows of fast maturing corn, willing the kernels to reach low moisture soon, ready for another welcome harvesting.

Chief Uku, Awohali the Eagle, and Awohali's mother, Aiyana the eternal flower, stood gazing in awe at the sight of the "Three Sisters' flourishing so far out of season.

The best season for Native Americans to plant corn, beans, and squash, known as the Three Sisters, is during the spring. This is when the soil is warm enough to support the growth of these crops. The planting schedule typically involves starting with corn, followed by beans, and then squash. This method allows each plant to establish itself before the next is added, ensuring a bountiful harvest. The Three Sisters garden is a traditional Native American practice that has been refined over thousands of years, benefiting from the symbiotic relationship between these three crops.

Corn, climbing beans, and squash in the same garden space. Each plant plays a unique role: corn provides a natural trellis for beans, beans fix nitrogen in the soil, and squash spreads across the ground to suppress weeds and retain moisture. This method enhances soil fertility, reduces pests, and maximizes space while producing a balanced harvest. Their diet is further supplemented by wild game, fish, nuts, berries, and foraged plants.

That night, the people gathered around the fire.

Fire was and is sacred to the Cherokee, and is a living memorial.  It has been with the people from the beginning of time. Fire is a gift of the Great Spirit, it separates men from animals.  It makes civilization possible. The ceremonial Fire can only be lit by a priest, typically a member of the Ani-Wodi clan (priests, keepers of the flame).  The fire is traditionally made up of Oak wood.

 If the fire is not made of Oak, or is not lit by a priest, only bad luck can follow.  Once the kindling is placed, the priest lights a twig and offers the smoke to the North, East, South, West, Upward to the heavens, Downward to the Mother Earth, and Inward to the center (self) for purity.  

They celebrated their good fortune way into the early hours of the morning

Sunrise:  The men sit around talking about political issues and the women prepare a meal for the day which consists of traditional food. 

Later in the afternoon:  Sermons are held in the Cherokee language.  The sermon includes telling all to love all mankind.

The harvest came early—so early that the elders whispered it must have slipped through a crack in the world, carried on the breath of some generous spirit. No one expected the corn to swell so quickly, or the squash to ripen with that deep, sun‑soaked gold. Yet there it was, two weeks later, piled high in baskets, gleaming with life.

That night, the people gathered around an even greater fire.

Each step, each leap, was a thank‑you dance to the gods.
Each turn was a promise to remember.
Each breath carried the scent of the unexpected bounty waiting in the dark.

Children tossed kernels into the fire, watching them pop and glow. The elders lifted their voices in songs older than the wind, songs that called out to the sky, to the soil, to whatever unseen hand had blessed them.

And as the circle tightened, as the rhythm deepened, the fire seemed to answer—flaring bright, bright, brighter—until it felt as though the harvest itself was dancing with them, swirling in the flames, celebrating its own arrival.

Waya the Wolf. Cheoh the Cloud. Kana′tĭ the The lucky hunter.

Ama, she of “water,”. Euna of the “waterfall and Adsila “, she who blossoms”...and many more.

By the time the drums quieted, the night had softened. The fire settled into a gentle crackle. The dancers stood breathing in the warm air, knowing they had honored the gift properly.

The earth had surprised them.
They had answered with joy.

And the story of that unexpected harvest would be told again and again ...whenever the fire was lit.