Chickadee (4 page)

The whole family gathered that night. The wigwam was crowded and noisy, and everyone ate and told stories late into the night. Chickadee and Makoons curled together under one fluffy rabbit-skin blanket. Warm and full, lulled by the grown-ups' voices, they fell into a charmed sleep and dreamed, as they always did, together.

W
inter and spring went back and forth that year. Nokomis said that the spirit of winter was struggling harder than usual to keep his claws of ice on the world. Still, the maple sap began to run one warm day, and the family was ready. They had already made camp at the same great stand of sugar maples where the twins were born.

Chickadee watched his namesake hop from twig to twig in the branches of the sugar maples. He had managed to sneak away from the close watch of his mother. He had evaded his father, ditched his grandmother. He had hidden from his aunt, his uncle, his grandfather, and even his twin. There was nobody to tell him to keep hauling sap from the trees.

“Haul sap! Haul sap! More sap!”

But the real reason he'd snuck away was that he'd heard the old man Zhigaag laughing at him. Every year Zhigaag came to sugar, sometimes bringing his brutish sons. Zhigaag watched everyone work, but did nothing himself. He just complained until someone gave him sugar to quiet him, and every year the old man's taunts and jeers grew worse.

“Look at that weakling! He's scrawny like his namesake!”

Chickadee's face burned with shame when he heard that, and he stumbled. He spilled some sap from the makak he was carrying. The old man gave a mean laugh. Chickadee had hauled makak after makak of sap from the taps in the trees to the great boiling kettles, taking care every time not to splash himself or spill. Now the mean remark made him clumsy with embarrassment.

He had done nothing wrong, he thought with fury. Of course, every so often he had paused to drink the strengthening and delicious, faintly sweet sap, but everyone did that. Sap was a spring tonic. He'd been a good worker and did not deserve the old man's comment.

So he'd sneaked away.

Couldn't a boy have some respect? And a minute or two for rest? Couldn't a boy have a little while to lie in last year's newly warmed, fragrant maple leaves? Couldn't a boy spend a little time gazing into the swaying tops of the maples?

Chickadee's thoughts turned darker. He didn't really mind the work. It was that mean old John Zhigaag whom he wanted to get away from. A fitting name for a cranky old person—John Skunk. It was Zhigaag who called him scrawny, Zhigaag who picked on young boys with his nasty temper, ruining the good time they had running wild and sneaking bits of sugar or bannock or the choicest bits of meat. Zhigaag was always there to point them out, to catch them at their tricks, to scream out, “There they go, catch them!”

Yes, it was Zhigaag who embarrassed him, Zhigaag who always got them in trouble. Even worse, the old man had those two powerful sons who enjoyed trouble just as much as their father.

But for a moment, Chickadee was hidden from the old man's eyes, and everybody else's eyes, behind a small hillock of stone. And there he continued watching his namesake. The chickadee had begun its spring song, which was a sweet and lilting song, not the mischievous scolding of winter. Every spring when this happened, Chickadee felt a wash of happiness come over him. It was a promise of warmth, food, berries, summer, swimming, and fun. But this time, as he listened, he heard old Zhigaag's words.

“Scrawny? Am I scrawny? Are you a weakling, my namesake?”

As he watched his tiny namesake hop from twig to twig, Chickadee felt disappointed for the first time. Why couldn't he have a protector like the bear or the lynx or the caribou or the eagle? Why was he singled out by such an insignificant little bird? He had a sudden thought that appalled him—he would be a grown man and still be called Chickadee! What kind of name was that for a powerful warrior? He groaned.

“Oh, my namesake, why did you choose me?”

Suddenly, the little bird flew away. Chickadee turned over and closed his eyes. He sensed the great strong roots of the maple trees drawing water from the earth and sweetening it with their own sugar. He should have felt joy. But he was laughed at, overworked, unappreciated, and deserted even by his namesake. His eyes stung with pity for himself.

“Ah, there you are!”

Chickadee sighed and sat up, brushed the leaves from his hair. At least it wasn't old Zhigaag who'd found him.

It was Nokomis, which was not so bad. She was very good at getting around with her little walking stick, and she never told him what to do. His great-grandmother was so old that she had dim eyesight, though, uncannily, she never mistook him for his twin, the way other people did. She put her hand in her little buckskin bag for a treat.

“Did I give you your sugar lump, my boy?”

“Oh, no, my Nookoo, not yet!” Chickadee hid the sugar lump he already had in his cheek and put out his hand.

“You are a good boy,” said Nookoo. “But you can't fool me, Chickadee. I'll give you extra anyway. And here, give this other lump to your brother. What are you doing here? This is my secret place!”

Chickadee was amazed that his great-grandmother, who tottered around and couldn't see or hear very well anymore, had noticed his lumpy cheek, and more, that she had a secret place. Why would she need a secret place?

“I used to come here when I was a little girl,” said Nookoo, settling herself against the rock. “We Anishinabeg have been coming here since time began. Did you know that these trees are the children of the original spirit trees who understood us and told us how to gather their water and boil it into syrup and sugar so long ago?”

“Gaawiin, Nookoo!”

Chickadee was more curious than most boys, who might have run off right after getting an extra treat.

“Why have you hidden yourself away?” Nokomis asked. Although she was ancient, his great-grandmother always saw into his heart.

Because she always listened to him, Chickadee always told her the truth.

“Old John Zhigaag said that I was scrawny, a weakling, just like my namesake.”

“What!”

Great-Grandmother's eyes filled with a cloudy fire. Her back straightened. She thumped her walking stick on the ground.

“This is very bad, my boy, very bad!” she cried. “Doesn't the old fool realize that you must never insult the chickadee?”

“Oh?”

Chickadee remembered that he himself had been disrespectful to the little bird, and that it had flown away. Uneasily, he scratched his head and sat closer to Nookoo.

“Why is it you must never insult the chickadee?” he asked in a low voice.

His great-grandmother gave him a surprised look. “Don't you know? Haven't you realized yet? Small things have great power.”

Chickadee was struck by this. He sat back on his heels.
Small things have great power
sounded good, but made no sense.

“But I am scrawny. I am a weakling. And the chickadee is little too. It has no teeth, no claws. What can it do?”

“The chickadee stays awake all winter in the cold,” said Nokomis. “He survives on the smallest seeds. He is a teacher. The chickadee shows the Anishinabeg how to live. For instance, he never stores his food all in one place. He makes caches in various places. He never eats all of his food at once. We do that too. The chickadee takes good care of his family. The mother and the father stay with their babies as they fly out into the world. They stick together, like the Anishinabeg. And there are other things. The chickadee is always cheerful even in adversity. He is brave and has great purpose, great meaning. You are lucky to have your name.”

Chickadee put his hands on his face. “Lucky! Great-Grandmother, I insulted the chickadee! I told the bird he was a weakling. I asked why he had chosen me!”

Great-Grandmother now looked extremely grieved.

“What can I do?”

She rummaged in her carrying bag and took out three hazelnuts. Giving them to Chickadee, she said, “Crack these into small pieces and place them on this rock. I will put tobacco at the base of the rock. Then, we wait.”

Chickadee followed her instructions, and just as she had said, they waited. The sun went behind a cloud. The shadows grew cold. The chickadee did not appear. Finally, Nokomis spoke out loud.

“Oh, chickadee. Please accept our offering! Your namesake is young and had his feelings hurt. He did not wish to offend you. Please don't reject him! He needs your counsel!”

“I am very sorry,” whispered Chickadee. “Please come back to me.”

Now it seemed to him that all of his life he'd heard the chickadee's call near him. His namesake had always been around, looking after him. It was strange not to hear that voice, strange only to hear the distant cries of humans and other birds. A shadow fell across his heart.

“Where are you?” Chickadee whispered.

All of a sudden there was a swift motion, a small flutter, and the chickadee came down onto the rock. It did not peck up the nuts but stared intently at its namesake, then at Great-Grandmother. She stared back just as hard at the bird. They regarded each other for what seemed like the longest time to Chickadee. Then the bird decisively pecked up a bit of the hazelnut, and flew to a nearby twig. It held the nut against the twig with its small black claw, and ate it quickly. Then it flew right back for another piece.