The Winter of Eggs

A long time ago, just after the People crossed the land bridges before the world broke apart. The People had split into groups, going their own ways, their old Gods whispering directions into their dreams. One group made its way into the middle of the new land and found a tall mountain, and it was their new home.

They hunted the creatures that lived on this mountain for food and used their bones, fur, skin, and teeth for tools and weapons. They cut trees away and grew corn and used the rivers and irrigation before People knew the word 'irrigation.' At night a big fire would burn and the elders, doctors, and the gifted who could speak to those gone from the world and Gods would take turns weaving language into stories, stories that would help the People make connections to who they are spiritually and morally.

Stars would shine, and the sun would rise, and the Children of the People grew a little more every day. During the cold season, they would wrap up in furs of the animals they had hunted. They would remind the Children to thank the animals for their sacrifice, so that they may live. Life was good, for a long time. Three generations passed, and life was good. People did their jobs. Some of the People hunted, some farmed, some foraged, some built new homes and some tended to the children. When the children got old enough, they would break out, and decide what they wanted to do.

Mother Earth would continue to turn, and the seasons went from cold, to cool, to warm, to hot, then cool, then cold again. It was the last cool season of the year, and soon it would be cold, and snow would fall, and the bear furs would be brought out to keep the elderly and children warm. Normally this was the time when the harvest was wrapping up, and baskets of corn, squashes, and various other vegetables from the fields would be put in underground rooms neatly. But this year yielded so little rain that the food was meager. Water had been hard to find during the hottest months because the creeks had dried, and the rivers had dwindled down to barely support the fish. Because the water was not there, there had also been less game to hunt and wild treats to forage. Animals had gone to less dry regions.

The Elders were worried, and so was the healer. The healer was a woman who they had no name for, for she was able to do it all. She could pray to the Gods, and in her sleep, they would answer. She could put her hands on small wounds and they would heal quickly. She could soothe the souls of those gone and forgotten, and aid them to the river of the afterlife. She was one who the People cherished, for not only was she powerful, but she was kind. And there came a night the spirits of their ancestors whispered to her a solution.

The cold will be long, and it become harsh. Your people will go hungry. Many will die from the cold and the weak. A hungry body cannot do more than wither.

Her dreams were plagued by frozen bodies, small, weak, and easily broken from hunger. She prayed to the ancestors, wailing to them in the silence of her dreams.

"What do I do, ancestors? How do I protect our people? How do I save them?"

It was then the ancestors showed her the image of chickens in her dreams. Proud hens, each majestic in their coloring and large.

Pour your energy, spirit, and strength you have into three chickens. Pray over them, beg The Mother who grants life to give them vitality. Keep them alive. Lend them your strength, and the eggs these birds will provide will keep your people alive. Tell your people to give up their individual homes and keep them together in the main building at night with a fire. When the frozen sky water comes, it will keep the children and elders warmer, if the People stay together. Unity in all things will be how they will survive. Keep a fire lit, and the sun will find its way back.

And so the healer did so. She went out and brought three chickens to her tent from the village and began to pray and chant. She asked that their strength be taken from her. And she went out and began to gather food for them, and at night she would pray over them, and chant until her body would tremble and shake. She poured her own life force and energy into these chickens every night until the cold came. Soon the hens were so large, they were as tall as her thigh.

And when the cold did come, it came in fierce. Snow as high as the tallest warrior's waist was violently thrown down in a furious blizzard. As it began to storm, the healer brought the chickens to the main building, where the People gathered during celebrations and ceremonies, and organized the strongest to go get everyone there. She built a fire, and as people began pouring in, she seated them around the fire. When the entirety of its people were there, she look around. They weren't many in number, but they were many enough that she worried, three chickens would not be enough to keep them from growing hungry, especially since they had yet to lay a single egg since she had taken them in.

But her fear was pushed down. Her ancestors had never let her down before, and she was confident they wouldn't begin now. She told her people that they would all stay together until the major part of the cold had passed. Everyone would pull together, and they would be as sparing as they could on the food. The People were afraid, but they respected their healer, and she had an idea of how to keep them all safe.

It soothed them, being together. This was the coldest winter they had ever experienced, and none of them thought that on their own in their individual huts would be the safest option. Still, they were running out of food faster than they thought they would, and fear was keeping many on edge.

"Do not worry. The Ancestors have prepared me for this. Do not let your fear drive you this day. I will take care of you." The Healer would say, and she would continue to pour her life and spirit into the chickens every night. She didn't allow anyone near them, and she continued to forage for food for them, every day. And finally, the night came, when the last of the food was given. The People slept terribly that night. Mothers worried for their children, and children worried for their Grandmothers. Even the healer's wounds were not able to soothe the Fathers, who were blaming themselves for not having enough food.

"It will be okay." The healer whispered as she went to sleep, her thoughts going to the ancestor who had warned her that this winter would be long. She was wary, and she could feel her own body weakening. Every day, pouring more of her spirit and life into the chickens was wearing her down, and the lack of food would not replenish her. But she did not care. She believed with all of her soul that the Ancestors had told her correctly. And so she blindly obeyed.

The morning she was awoken to the sound of surprised voices, and she opened her eyes. Surrounding the chicken pen was a group of her people, pointing and laughing, the feeling of relief was thick in the air. She walked to her three precious chickens, and there they all sat on a pile of eggs each. She went and collected the eggs and fed the chickens, whispering to them that she was so grateful. She counted the eggs and began to weep in joy as she realized, it was enough to feed each of her people two eggs each.

And so she did. It wasn't enough to put weight back on herself, or any of her people, who had started to look gaunt. But they were alive, and they had food every day. It was the longest winter, and much of it was harsh with heavy snowfall and soul-cutting winds that could freeze a person to the bone. Every night she would pour her life force into the chickens, and every morning, a small pile of eggs under her chickens was waiting to feed the hungry.

By the end of the winter, the healer was weak and bedridden. When the sun finally came out, her People hurried to plant their seeds, using water they had saved from the snow. The Hunters were blessed by the forest very quickly by a wild pig who thrived during harsh winter, and the gentle sun promised a better year.

But the healer was dying. She had given her life force to the People, and she was weak. The People all prayed together, begging the Gods to let her live, to let her get better. For without her, and her blessed chickens, they wouldn't have survived. And in her sleep, the Ancestors whispered to her once more.

You believed, so much so that you gave your life. Changing fate takes great sacrifice. But your People love you. They pray for you. The Gods have heard. So I am to tell you the secret of how to get better. You must eat your chickens now. Do not share. You must eat every bite. The chickens are embued with your spirit and magic. It may make someone else ill. You did well.

And so when she awoke, she asked her mother to wring the neck of the first chicken and cook it for her. And explained what the ancestors told her. It was after her first meal with the chicken that she noticed she did feel stronger. Every day, the more chicken she ate, the stronger she felt. It was finally on the day of the first gentle rainfall after the bitter cold turned warm that she was able to get out of bed. She watched the rain fall on the ground from the door of her hut for a while, and when the skies cleared, a beautiful double rainbow shimmered in the distance.

The healer smiled, for this was Mother Nature's promise to her for a much better year. Her people had survived the winter of the eggs, and though she was still recovering, she knew they wouldn't have to endure one again any time soon.