The Indian child Shining Star trudged behind her parents and her older brother, Little Salmon. She glanced wistfully back at their summer campsite where the river met the sea. She sighed, remembering the huge gathering of clansmen who had camped together since last spring.
It had been a season of plenty. She had watched the fisherman set their weirs to trap schools of silvery fish. At night the sardines would swarm into the maze of nets and stakes that blocked off part of the shallow bay.
The children had hunted for lobsters and crabs in the rocky tidal pools. They'd dug for clams in the broad mud flats at low tide. By the end of summer, huge heaps of empty shells were all that remained of their feasts.
As Shining Star passed the withered remains of the corn they had planted, the dried stalks whispered their farewell on the wind.
Shining Star's family was returning to their wintering grounds deep in the forest. There the moose, caribou, and the deer would provide them with meat and skins to keep them well fed and warm all winter.
A wide stream flowed past their winter camp. It supplied them with fresh, running water even in the coldest months. It was there that her older brother, as a toddler, had fallen into the river. He had laughed and splashed as the current swept him past his terrified mother. After his rescuers had plucked him from the river, the chief had him named Little Salmon for having survived his ordeal so happily. He seemed as at home in the river as the salmon which leaped over the rocks and rapids each spring to return to their place of birth upstream.
Shining Star walked slowly. She dreamily recalled her favorite part of winter: long evenings by the fire listening to the stories told by the old folk. Tales and legends to some, to her they were the history of her people, the Penobscots.
Her favorite stories were about Gluskap, the giant with magical powers. It was he, according to their legends, who had shaped the land, the animals, and even the Indians themselves.
Gluskap had fashioned the fishes from dirt. Then he breathed life into them
to populate the rivers and the sea. The first few fishes that he made were
crude and ugly, but he improved with practice. Soon he could create beautiful
fishes. One day just as Gluskap had finished his most perfect fish, his evil
twin stomped it flat. That is how the flounder came to be.
Gluskap also made the Indians, corn to feed them, and food for the other
creatures. Gluskap wanted to make sure the other animals wouldn't harm his
favorite creation, so he gathered together all the animals he had made and
said, "Man!" The prudent ones ran and hid. But the squirrel, which at
that time was very large, became very upset. It began to run around wildly,
screeching loudly and knocking down large trees in its path. Obviously the
squirrel would not be a friend to man. Gluskap patted the squirrel to calm it.
With each stroke he made it smaller and smaller, until it became the size of a
man's hand. Even today, whenever a squirrel sees man, it still runs up and down
trees, scolding and chattering in a very quarrelsome way.
The Indians of Maine depended on the woods, the rivers, and the sea for all their needs. In the winter they lived inland where the hunting was good. In the spring they moved to the coast and the islands. They camped together in large groups until early fall. Along the shore, they enjoyed the cool breezes, the fresh fish and lobsters, and some relief from stinging black flies and mosquitoes. These are some of the reasons people still visit the coast of Maine today.
The Native Americans invented stories to explain the world around them, to teach their children, and to amuse their friends. Each person had his or her own special style of storytelling so each story had many versions, each slightly different from the rest.
Gather some friends, the more the better, to create your own legends.
