Here is a poem given from a Native American elder.  The poem is in the form of a story handed down from generation to generation, the kind of story an elder would tell to a young girl or boy whose own life depended on the question, What do I do when I am lost in the forest?  David Wagoner, the chair of poetry at University of Washington, renders it here in English.  The poem is called “Lost”

Lost

Stand still.  The trees ahead and the bushes beside you Are not lost.  Wherever you are is called Here,

And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,

Must ask permission to know it and be known.

The forest breathes.  Listen.  It answers,

I have made this place around you,

If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.

No two trees are the same to Raven.

No two braches are the same to Wren.

If what a tree or bush does is lost on you,

You are surely lost.  Stand still. The forest knows

Where you are.  You must let find you.

50 Cents Worth of Wisdom

My Grandpa McNeilly use to tell a story on himself.  One in which he assumed a selfish motive.  He was a young man and had been working for his Dad (my great grandfather) since he was a little boy.  It was Christmas time and he thought he might like to take this certain young lady out on a date. So he told his Dad his plan and asked if he could have some money.  Since Grandpa hadn’t asked for any money up to this point he expected it to be OK.  His Dad went off and came back and handed Grandpa 50 cents.  Now even back in the 1920’s 50 cents was not much money for a date.  Grandpa was too shocked to protest.  After all of the hard work he had done and without ever asking for money and the one time he does he gets a measly 50 cents.  Grandpa would get real serious when telling this part of the story and say “I decided I wanted to find out just what kind of a man my father was” and so he went back over the whole year’s records.  Looking at what the farm had brought in each month and what Great Grandpa had paid out each month.  January, February, all through the spring months Grandpa did his calculations.  June, July August and all through the fall Grandpa reviewed the money coming in and the money going out.  Finally, he gets through November and to that week and December.  When it was all the money was accounted for Grandpa determined just how much money his Dad had.  And it was 50 cents.  Grandpa would sit quietly for a second to let it sink in and then he would say “I wanted to find out just what kind of a man my father was and that day I did.”   I guess 50 cents was just the right amount of money for a date because that young lady became by Grandmother.  And Great-grandpa was a man that did good even if his son did not know it at first.