The People of Twelve Thousand Winters

The People of
Twelve Thousand Winters

Written by
Trinka Hakes Noble
and Illustrated by
Jim Madsen

Tales of the World
from
sleeping Bear Press

AMERICA

For Joy, David, Lizzie, and Dylan, with love.

T.H.N.

For Holly, Mckenzie, Hannah, and Easton—my family.

Jim

Text Copyright © 2012 Trinka Hakes Noble
Illustration Copyright © 2012 Jim Madsen

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner
without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief
excerpts in critical reviews and articles. All inquiries should be addressed to:

Sleeping Bear Press™

315 E. Eisenhower Parkway, Suite 200

Ann Arbor, MI 48108

www.sleepingbearpress.com

Sleeping Bear Press is an imprint of Gale.

Printed and bound in China.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Noble, Trinka Hakes.

The people of twelve thousand winters / Trinka Hakes Noble;
illustrated by Jim Masdsen.

p. cm

ISBN 978-1-58536-529-6

1.Delaware Indians—Juvenile literature.I. Madsen, Jim, 1964- ill.
II. Title.

E99.D2N64 2011

974.004'97345—dc23

                                         2011030796

W
e are the Lenni Lenape, which means “we the people.” Through the snows of twelve thousand winters we have kept our fires burning. To me, twelve thousand winters is a long, long time. I, myself, am only ten winters. I am Walking Turtle.

At my naming ceremony the
wayhuhweehuhlahs
, the giver of names, told my mother, Half Moon Dancer, “He shall carry his people on his back, as steady and sure as a hard-shelled turtle that walks over land toward water. He shall be Walking Turtle Boy.”

Walking Turtle is a good name for me because I carry my cousin, Little Talk, on my back wherever we go. Little Talk was born with a crooked foot. His legs did not grow straight and strong like mine. He speaks little, but talks to me. “
Wanisi
, thank you, Walking Turtle,” he says.

I am the one who should say
wanisi
. Carrying Little Talk has made me strong.

Last summer, in the time of the Green Corn, I had grown strong enough to carry Little Talk all the way down the Minisink Trail to the Great Salt Sea where Brother Sun rises to greet our people each morning. Otherwise, he would have stayed behind to scare the crows from the corn.

But my feet are happiest walking the ancient forest pathways that have carried the footprints of my people for centuries. Giant oaks, sturdy chestnuts, and towering elms stand guard above me. Cawing crows announce my presence. On the forest floor, woodland ferns gently swish their shy greeting against my legs.

From the hill above our village, I can see blue wood smoke drift up into the late summer dusk. Below, our Passaic River glistens in the silvery gray light. Grandmother waves from the door of our lodge. She keeps our fires burning.

We are a three-fire lodge. Grandmother's fire is at the end of the lodge, my family's fire is in the middle, and Little Talk's family fire is by the door. Three smoke holes are at the top and our door faces east to greet the rising sun. We sleep on platforms around the edge. Little Talk and I sleep on one side with the tops of our heads together. Heart Berry, my little sister, sleeps at my feet. Father and Mother sleep on the other side of our fire.

Mother wakes early. She hurries into the forest to gather wild onions, sage, and berries in her big cooking pot. Heart Berry follows, filling her little pot with wild grapes, vine berries, and the last few wild strawberries, her namesake. And just like Heart Berry, they are sweet with no thorns.

I carry wood so Grandmother can prepare our outdoor cooking fire. Tonight we will have a hot stew of dried venison, cornmeal, wild onions, and Heart Berry's sweet fruits of the forest.

In the Time of the Falling Leaves everyone is busy. This is our gathering time. Squash and pumpkin rings dry in the autumn sun. Rows of braided corn already hang in our lodge. Bark baskets of dried beans are stored under our sleeping platforms. It is as though our Mother the Earth has moved into our lodge.