Children Short Story – Little Bow and Little Arrow
Photo credit: puravida from morguefile.com
Growing up in the mountains of North Carolina taught me many lessons. My family was small, one sister, and my mother and father. But, Native Americans consider the whole tribe to be family so it was really quite large. The kids would all play under the shade of the trees and by the streams. I can still remember the birds flying through the trees, singing their songs and the smell of the moss on the ground. We depended on fire for cooking, heat, and for tribal meetings, so the smell of smoke was always in the air.
My father was a hunter in our tribe, and he also was well known for the hunting bows that he crafted. I remember many days, going with my father into the forest to find just the right branch, which would become a prized bow for one of the young braves in our tribe. My mother and father gave me the name “Little Bow” because I became quite good at choosing the right branch for my father to craft a bow.
My mother was the medicine woman for our tribe. My sister and I would help her pick the herbs, berries, and leaves for her potions and medicine. She was a very kind and gentle woman, and everyone in the tribe respected her healing powers,
When my sister was born two years after me they named her “Little Arrow” because they thought our names would keep us together. Most of my childhood memories were good. We all worked very hard to survive, but we also found time to celebrate. When we harvested our crops or had a successful hunt we had great festivals to honor the occasion.
Our life was simple in those times, and I will always remember the tribe as a family, looking out for each other. Although we did not attend school, we were taught about life and living every day. I was very lucky to have grown up during that time and I will always remember the beauty of the mountains where we lived.
__END__
