The Feather in the Ditch: A Bodoc Story
byJames Bolner, Sr.
©2005-2012 James Bolner, Sr.Chapter 1 ~ Cleaning Out the Ditch
I was awake early that morning in the middle of June. The weather had been unbearably hot for several days and I wanted to do my work while it was still relatively cool. My parents and my brothers were already working in the field. I was too young to do hoeing, but I was never left without some chores, such as feeding the hogs and chickens. On this unforgettable morning my mother had assigned me the job of picking up the litter in the large ditch in front of the house. After eating the lost bread and syrup which my mother had prepared for me, and after washing and dressing, I put on my straw hat and got the grabber from inside the barn where the implements were kept. The grabber was a light wooden cane about five feet long. At one end was a handle which was connected to two “fingers” at the other end of the stick with a cord and a metal spring. It was designed to help someone pick up objects without bending, and it was also useful in reaching objects which were in water, in mud, or in fire. Soon I was picking up the cans, bottles, bags, and other items which people had thrown out of their buggies, wagons, (and cars) into the ditch.
The grabber worked quite well, and soon I was thinking of how the clean ditch would win me much praise from my mother and father and how it would make the Bodoc house even more attractive to passersby. I made four little piles of trash, which I planned to collect in garbage bags once all the trash and been picked up. There were beer bottles of every size, brand, and color. Some plastic bottles had collapsed upon themselves into grotesque shapes mimicking ugly plastic masks. There were glass bottles with and without labels. Some were amber beer bottles; others had once been clear but their life in the ditch had rendered them clouded and dull. There were soft-drink cans and beer cans, some of which had been thrown out during the last few days. Others were crushed beyond recognition. And there were plastic bags which had established strong bonds with the surrounding mud and which tore when the grabber pulled at their outer skin.
Chapter 2 ~ I Find a Feather and Meet Great Eagle
I was bending over to retrieve a thick blue plastic bag from the mud’s embrace when I noticed a white and gray feather lying in the middle of the ditch. It was clean and new, and lay on the mud with a delicate lightness which gave it an otherworldly appearance.
As I studied the feather in the ditch, a buggy drawn by a black pony slowed to a stop on the side of the road. A dark face looked at me from under a broad felt hat which was brown and dirty. The face was that of a man who appeared to be in his forties, but his face had deep wrinkles, which made him seem much older. When he spoke, however, his face seemed to be that of a much younger man.
“Do you see the feather,” the man said in a voice which was soft and gentle but which carried a certain authority, as if to tell me, “Look, see the feather.” While he spoke he stepped out of the buggy and stood out onto the edge of the ditch. “Hand me the feather,” his gentle but hard voice said. I started to reach for the feather with my grabber and intended to extend it to him with the grabber. “Pick up the feather with your hand,” he said, “and hand it to me in my hand.” I bent over and picked up the feather by the quill and when I straightened up the man stood there with his right hand extended, ready to receive the feather. In his left hand he held a leather pouch which was embroidered in strange patterns with tiny bright turquoise shells. He held the pouch so that it opened and I could see that the pouch’s inner lining was of rich and smooth fur. He bowed ever so slowly and placed the feather in the pouch with great reverence, all the while speaking words which I could hear but which I could not understand. The words sounded like words in a foreign language, marked by sharp and curious intonations. When he had pulled the leather string to close the pouch, he turned to me and said, “I thank you, and all the Great Eagle people thank you.” Then he paused and looked at me for what seemed to be a long moment before his face wrinkled anew in what could have been mistaken for a smile. “Come with me,” he said in a way which gave me no choice but to obey.
Now I was truly confused. If I went the stranger, my parents would be extremely upset and would not understand why I had gone. If I did not go with the stranger, I would live forever regretting the great adventure that was offered to me. My solution was a compromise. I would ask the stranger to wait and I would run to the field where I knew my parents were hoeing cotton and then I would rush back if my parents gave me permission. It was the only thing to do.
When I told the Indian that I could not go with him without my parents' permission, he showed no emotion. I knew that my parents had known the Indians for many years. The Indian said very simply, "I will wait." So I ran as fast as I could to the field beyond the big slough and told my parents that I wanted to go to the Great Eagle people with an Indian in a buggy. My father leaned on his hoe and looked at my mother. My mother said, "I guess it's all right, so long as you're back by eleven-thirty this morning, if that's OK." I was delighted, and ran back to the house and the ditch as fast as I could.
Chapter 3 ~ Going to the Village of the Great Eagle People
The buggy was clean and smelled of fresh-cut pine. The Indian adjusted his seat belt and looked over at me with a look that said, “good, you’re buckled.” The buggy was old and creaky and seemed to be about ten years old, but it generally in good condition. He had placed the pouch holding the feather on the seat beside him. After a minute or so, I started to reach toward the pouch with my left hand. My intention was simply to touch the shells which stood out against the soft beige leather of the pouch. “Do not touch,” he said, but without any trace of hostility in his tone. “You must not touch the bag. You have touched the feather. We will go to the Great Eagle people and tell them.” I had heard stories about Native Americans still lived deep in the woods behind Bodoc toward Greville. These stories had been told in the early evening when folks in the neighborhood visited, sitting on the porches in the summer and around the fireplaces in the winter. The Indians, as they were called, seldom left their woods and seemed to get along with their hunting and their patches of corn. Now I was in a buggy with one of these Indians and I started to get curious and frightened. Three times I opened my mouth to ask where we were going, but the words didn’t come. At last I was able to say, in a voice that was weak and confused, “My folks will be getting home at about eleven thirty. I hope that we’re back by then.” The Indian took a long time to answer, and then said in a clear voice, “You have nothing to fear. The Great Eagle people are friendly.”
Finally we turned off onto the Greville road and drove past the homes of boys I knew before coming to the end of the blacktopped part of the road. The buggy bounced gently as we went over ruts in the gravelly dirt road. Suddenly, there in the road was a boy about my age wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt with “New York Yankees” on the front. The buggy came to a stop and without saying a word the boy climbed into the back of the buggy. Without turning to look at me, my driver said, “We are almost there.” And after following several twists and turns in a very bumpy dirt trail, we came to the Village of the Great Eagle people.
Chapter 4 ~ At the Village of the Great Eagle People
Once the buggy stopped the driver motioned that I should get out. He didn’t get out immediately, but stayed behind the wheel as if in a kind of trance. I saw him slowly reach behind the passenger seat of the buggyand get an odd-looking hat, which he put on his head before getting out. I had a chance to look around and see that the Indians living here lived in houses which were small and dirty and old. Some of the houses were no more than a few pieces of old tin nailed together against a treed. When Great Eagle got out, he stood straight and held the shell-covered pouch before him. He held it with great reverence and did not move. People started to gather around him. There were older men and women and younger people and small children. The man holding the pouch was clearly someone of great importance in this village. Opening his mouth, he spoke words of the kind he had spoken when he first took the feather from my hand, but this time the words were loud and clear and the people gathered responded with loud moans and groans which seemed to have the sound of “OooooooAhhhhh!” The boy who had been in the road came up to me and without saying a word, took my hand and held it in his. His hand felt warm and a little damp. I had no idea what would happen next.
The man holding the pouch made a short speech in the unknown language, and then suddenly everyone sat down. The boy holding my hand started to sit down also and I had no choice but to sit down as well. The only person left standing was the Pouch-Holder, who continued to speak, but whose voice became so soft that I could hear the animal sounds of the woods. Now he started to open the pouch and with great reverence he took out the feather. The people sitting immediately shifted their position from sitting to lying flat on their bellies with their arms extended before them. The handholding boy did the same, and, once again, I had to do the same. The Pouch-Holder changed his speech to saying one or two words or phrases in the strange language at irregular intervals. Finally, he said a word which was evidently a command or a cue for all to stand. Everyone, including my hand-holder and me, stood up and remained absolutely quiet.
Pouch-Holder now turned to me and said, “I have told the Great Eagle people about the feather and how you found it and how you have been the one to bring back the Great Feather to the Great Eagle people.” He paused, as if to give me time to think about what he had said. “My name is Great Eagle,” he said. "I am the chief of the Great Eagle people.” Pointing with the pouch, which he still held in both hands, to the boy beside me, he said, “This is my son, Little Eagle. One day he will be the chief.” I had been made to feel welcome in the village and I had the courage to ask, “What is the meaning of the feather?” Little Eagle answered before his father could speak. “There is a legend among our people,” he said with great pride, “that when one finds an eagle feather one is blessed throughout their days. You are blessed, because you found the feather. My father is blessed because the Great Spirit guided him in his buggy to be right there besides you when you found the feather.” My next question was a simple and direct one. “When do I get to go home and finish picking up the trash in the ditch,” I asked. Great Eagle’s face once again seemed to want to smile. “We will drive you back in time for you to tell your parents about the eagle feather. You must tell them that their ditch where you found the feather will always be blessed.”
Chapter 5 ~ The Return Home
Great Eagle left Little Eagle and me for a few minutes. He stepped into the larger of the run-down houses that made up the village. When he returned he no longer had the pouch with the feather. He was wearing the same cowboy hat he wore when I had met him. Without speaking, he motioned Little Eagle and me into the buggy behind the black pony, but this time Little Eagle sat on the outside and I was between Great Eagle and Little Eagle. Not a word was spoken on the way home. When we got to my house, Great Eagle stopped the buggy next to the exact spot where I had found the feather. “This place is sacred,” he said very calmly. “Go and tell your people.” Little Eagle opened the door and got out of the buggy. I thought that he would shake my hand, but all he did was to look directly into my eyes and let me know that I was blessed.
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