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How People Came to the Land that was Home, describes their journey to find the place, but in the stories: Four Times; What it Takes, and Unexpected Arrival, home might be more than a place.
Four Times What it Takes Unexpected Arrival How People Came to The Land That Was Home (Tewa/Native American)
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 In the fall of 1963, my husband, son, and I were living in the bottom half of a large Victorian house in Providence, RI. We had a lovely backyard where our 3-year-old son could play with the boy next door. The living room and dining room had fireplaces. French doors in the living room opened to a wraparound porch. The eat in kitchen was spacious and filled with light from the many windows. We spent time and money painting the apartment, happily ensconced.
 Before he was my cat, he’d been hanging around Exit 7 of the New Jersey Turnpike for weeks. No one knew anything about him. A woman picked him up, gave him a cuddle, then went into the restaurant. When she left the restaurant and walked toward her car, the cat leapt on to her shoulder. She gave him another cuddle and put him down. When she opened the car door and sat down, he jumped in and settled on her lap. A cat lover, she took him to her vet. He was a pedigreed Bombay, emaciated, mangled, neutered, with no front claws, but otherwise healthy. When she took him home, he attacked her two cats mercilessly. She put him in the basement where he howled for two weeks. Desperate to find him a home, she called everyone she knew. I was at the bottom of the list, having met her only once at a practitioner’s office where we’d exchanged contact information.
 I moved from a community of people living in mostly small cottages, nestled among large trees with green leaves and flowering bushes, amid grass and perennials—a landscape of colors and smells, the sight and sounds of colorful birds chirping—to a triangle house set apart from nearby houses by juniper and piñon trees. No landscaping to speak of. Muted tones of brown. No neighbors offering me welcome. No neighborhood. No job. I was 65, living by myself. The last time I’d moved I was 28 with a husband and son. I loved the house I’d bought so spontaneously. I did not feel at home.
 The people were bumping around in the dark and the cold. Someone asked, “Is this all there is? Will there never be anything more?” No one could answer for it was the only world they knew. They continued to live in their cold dark world until one day, a strange animal appeared. They asked it, “Is this the only world there is?” The strange creature answered, “I do not know, but sometimes, I go to a place that feels different.” “How is it different?” “I cannot tell you for I am blind. All I can say is that it feels different.” One brave person asked, “Will you take us to the place that feels different?” “Yes,” answered the creature whose name was Mole. “I can take you to that place, but you must know that when I travel, I dig out the earth in front of me and then put it behind me. If you come with me you will never be able to return to where you came from.” The people talked among themselves. Some were frightened to leave the only place they had ever known. Others were willing to try anything to live a better life. And so it was that Mole burrowed his way to the place that felt different, digging out the earth in front of him, passing the earth back to the people who put it behind them. It was a long difficult journey. People complained. They were tired and cold. It was still dark. Some longed to be where they had been. At least there they could stand up. Then, without warning, Mole said, “This is the place that feels different. This is where I must leave you.” No one knew what to do. Although it was dark, it did feel different; it was not as cold. People began to walk around and a few ventured out into a place that hurt their eyes so badly they retreated into the dark, crying and moaning in pain. Now there were many who wished they had never left the place where they had lived for so long. In the dark, nursing their eyes, they heard a small kind voice. “Hush my children, do not cry. Listen to me.” “Who are you?” they asked. “I am your Grandmother Spider. I am here to help you. If you do as I tell you, all will be well. Your eyes hurt because they are not used to light. The sun is very bright. You must give your eyes time to learn to see light. When you walk outside, keep your fingers closed in front of your closed eyes. Slowly, open your fingers. Take a few breaths, then open your eyes. Never look at the sun for it will hurt your eyes. Do as I say. Your eyes will thank you.” People followed Grandmother Spider’s advice and it was as she promised. Their eyes learned to see. But all too soon the light began to disappear. Not knowing what else to do, the people huddled together in the dark, wondering and waiting, too frightened to leave. Once again Grandmother Spider spoke to them. “Hush my children, do not despair. All shall be well if you listen to me. The light will return. When it does, you will see four mountains. To the north is White Mountain. Do not go there for you will find only ice and snow and you will freeze to death. To the east is Red Mountain. Do not go there for you will encounter fierce creatures and you will bleed to death. To the west is Black Mountain. Do not go there for your crops will not grow and you will starve to death. To the south is Green Mountain. It is the furthest and the path is uncertain, but if you keep your eyes on Green Mountain you will find your way. And, when you see a creature that reminds you of Grandmother Spider, but is not Grandmother Spider, and a creature that reminds you of Mole, but is not Mole, you will know you have arrived.” And so, just as Grandmother foretold, the light returned. Some people looked at White Mountain and said, “White Mountain is not far and we are not afraid of cold. We will tell you what we find when we return. They never came back. Soon, a few people became restless and said, “Black Mountain is quite close. We know how to manage darkness. We will tell you what we find when we come back. But they too did not return. “We are not afraid of fierce creatures,” said all but two of the people who remained. “Why walk a long distance when there is Red Mountain, a place we can see. We will fight whoever attacks us and win. We will tell you what we find when we return.” None of them were seen again. Now only one man and one woman were left. Even in the bright sun, they could barely see Green Mountain. The woman said, “I think Grandmother Spider spoke truth. We must walk to Green Mountain if we wish to survive.” The man agreed and they began walking toward the south. It was a long journey. Walking in the hot sun was exhausting. The memory of those who had not returned kept them from giving up. They walked and walked and walked toward the mountain that seemed to keep its distance; it was all they knew to do. One morning, as they stopped to rest, the woman saw a strange creature passing by her. Cautiously, she moved closer to it. The man said, “Be careful, it might be dangerous.” The woman kept looking. The man joined her and they crept close enough to see the markings on the creature’s back. “Look, said the woman,” it reminds me of Grandmother Spider.” When the creature heard the woman’s words, it pulled in its head. “Oh,” said the man. “It cannot see where it is going. It reminds me of Mole.” The man and the woman remembered the words of Grandmother Spider. They had arrived at Green Mountain. They had come to the place that was home. |
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Nancy King is a widely published author and a professor emerita at the University of Delaware, where she has taught theater, drama, playwriting, creative writing, and multidisciplinary studies with an emphasis on world literature. She has published seven previous works of nonfiction and five novels. Her new memoir, Breaking the Silence, explores the power of stories in healing from trauma and abuse. Her career has emphasized the use of her own experience in being silenced to encourage students to find their voices and to express their thoughts, feelings, and experiences with authenticity, as a way to add meaning to their lives.
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