Please note this was where I'd just sit and type my thoughts onto page without any editing at all. I did my best to not consciously think of what I was writing so I would not stop the flow or influence the content. I found it today in some writings and thought I would share it with you. I hope you find it interesting and if so maybe I will post more of what I found. Thank you for your time in reading it.
On the banks of a river a small boat would set sail with me in it. Crafted from the weaving of willow and lined with a clay pitch that was prepared using grounded and powdered dust to give it added strength. The boat was light and not particularly used as anything other than a single carrier to help me to traverse the shallow waters. There amongst the reed beds I could harvest the eggs of the birds, cut down the reeds which we used for our roves and matting. There was hardly enough room for me to sit, my knees up but my feet in the remainder of the inside. I would have a matted raft made of the same material as my canoe like boat. This would be trailed behind me for my wares to be carried without losing any manoeuvrability. There were pretty flowers too that could be harvested to be woven into garlands and necklaces or bracelets, then traded with others of my village. I am about twelve or thirteen then and certainly considered to be a young man whose duties as a contributor to village life were taken seriously. I had no need to hunt, this was taken care of by the older men of the village. They were in their early to mid twenties, very few people in our village survived into their thirties. There were however revered elders, their grey hair worn with pride. All listened to what they had to say, but in a system of democracy theirs was not the only word.
I remember I had a flute hollowed out from a bulbous reed that played high but sweet. When I played it in imitation of the birds they would come close and listen as if curious at the sound. There was much harmony in village life but also much hardship too. We didn't seem to plan ahead, we had no capacity to judge what might be, we just knew the what was and lived for the day. I had a precious bead necklace and my clothes were of buckskin and a coarse wool which softened with wear and continuous washing. There was not the bright colours then as are available now, though certain pigments were known to us we preferred the natural browns and tans, yellows and creams with a rare and valuable garment of green amongst the lucky few. Clothes were an essential, not a luxury and everything we had was used to the full.
Even our blankets, woven by the girls, some barely seven or eight, were crafted on single looms and though very basic in form, symmetrical and complex patterns would be created. This was an art form amongst my people.
There weren't many of us in the village. Often some would leave and it was a rare few who ever returned. They went off in search of honour and adventure, to find new blood and mates that would bear them strong and healthy children. They must have travelled far, because even in my boat I never came across anyone I knew or recognised. Ours was a happy but solitary existence. On cold nights we would all sit outside around a communal fire and sing and chat. At times we would dance and honour the Gods about us. In Winter we would share our tents with each other and keep warm, many bodies pressed close together. The sick would often wander away and go off to die amongst the open lands or rocky hills, we knew they left but never tried to stop them. Amongst my people we knew with age came disease and this could reap more destruction to us than any fire or disaster.
Most of our food was cooked on a spit, or else heated in big earthenware cooking pots. The very small children supplied the tinder and firewood and had to keep the fire burning. There was little crime, punishment was generally to be shunned by everyone until the council of elders, sometimes only three to five individuals of both sex, decided to let everyone "notice" you again. This had an amazing affect on us, because no-one wanted to be shunned and nobody wanted to shun you. Even petty crimes were punishable. We ate off clay pots and most of what you deem to be cutlery was actually wood hollowed out and crafted to create a spoon. Mostly we ate with our fingers but our diet was varied. Maize, corn and berries were our staple foods with water and milk creating a mulch that could be eaten as a sort of porridge with cereal, or else wrapped in leaves encased in clay and baked in the embers of the fire, this came out like a flat bread. We did have fish and lots of smaller animals that we would catch with spears or knives. We knew how to make traps and we were well attuned to the nature around us. We knew better than to strip our natural habitat of all it's resources.
We were a naturally gregarious people and we were extremely curious. Though we did not read or write we had a great oral tradition and stories of our Gods and our ancestors were told to us every night. In turn we would share these stories with our children. I didn't know the name of the river I was on, to my people names were sacred things and we declined from using them in common everyday use. To say a name was to detract from its power and possibly therefore call vengeance upon you. My river was small and winding, it never dried up but in the Summer months the level would be so low that the reed beds could be walked on. Though the water was just over ankle deep the mud would be up to your knees and never manageable to walk. There were many snakes anyway, so leaving the canoe was never a sensible thing to do.
We learned to cut a path through the reed banks and placed our traps deep in the heart of them. This was my life before, one of my existences as a twelve year old. At time of happiness in our primitive (to you now) ways. The river wound and bends its way along to a bigger swell and stronger current about a days paddling further up. It comes from the rocky hills in the opposite direction and in Winter is ice cold and has been known to freeze over. My people's houses are made of wooden frames for the bigger homes over which we weave our rushes and use the rush matting for floors and roofs. In the Summer this keeps us cool, but in the Winter we have to daub the outside framework with the same clay composite pitch substance that is used on the boats. This is a job done by the men, who get all the village to gather the raw materials and the women soldier away as if cooking. Once hot, we allow it to cool slightly until it is manageable and is placed over the wicker like frame and then left to solidify. It sets hard and brittle and has a choking smell to it that takes days to wear off. In the Winter many of us get coughs from this smell and dust on the inside of our homes. I had never seen a white person. I would see only three or four people, always men and often travelling alone from their villages far away. We did not have horses, we went places by foot. All visitors were welcome but it was expected that they would share with us their village traditions and history as part of our evenings celebrations in return for their food and lodging. They may stay weeks, even months but eventually they would always leave. Mostly, they were always like us, perhaps with slight differences in attitudes and with some shared insights for improvements or advancements. But they varied so little to our looks and ways that we never doubted we were of the same lineage, ancestors of the same Gods.
Most of our important ceremonies were performed around the totem, a huge pole of timber fashioned in to the likeness of our various Gods. In this way the gods would give us their blessing, or else watch and look into our hearts and know them for what they were. This was as near to a sacred spot as we had but it was more than that. Many a dance, and music and even certain rights were conducted at this spot to give potency to the proceedings. I even saw medicine performed at this spot once whilst the whole village watched. There was much sickness and vomiting from something the person had eaten. The medicine man rattled and waved his mighty power stick and then offered the person to sip from a cup of ugly looking and foul smelling liquid. They immediately began choking and then passed out, whilst the medicine man continued to dance and shout. Four of the villagers carried them to a hut where they slept for three days before waking and walking right out and not recollecting anything other than having eaten some poisonous berries and plant leaves (which they immediately showed us all so that we might gain from their mis-adventure).
Another custom amongst my people was to give each other coloured stones with symbols painted on to them. Along with weaving our blankets and clothes with fanciful symmetrical patterns, these stones were an art form too. They were like naming stones, empowered with the gods they portrayed, invariably animals. It was considered that you would inherit the same qualities for a short time if this stone was given to you with love and sincerity. It only worked the once and it was a matter of pride amongst us to give and receive such gifts.
nice