Chapter 34: Survival Attitude

Katrina was nervously rinsing the evidence down the sink when Daniel and Jade entered the kitchen. She’d followed all of his instructions using the strainer, the milk jug and the quart jar… but hadn’t realized the need for a funnel until it was too late. She’d spilled about a cup of milk while trying to manually aim for the narrow mouth of the jug. After she’d wiped the bottoms of the containers and applied the lids, she finally noticed the funnel there on the counter, obvious to anyone who’d bothered to look.

“I just think that some flowers next to the walkway would look inviting,” Jade was suggesting, as he trailed behind. “You’re the one who’s always trying to involve women in this outdoorsy thing. It’d be nice to look at something pretty there.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, glancing at Katrina on his way by. “But those plants are there for a reason,” he continued, heading to the fridge for a dozen eggs.

“You mean the weeds? I know they’re… ‘useful’ to you, but can’t you let them grow someplace else? I’d be happy to help you landscape in the springtime,” she offered, sweetly.

“Maybe,” he acquiesced. “Hey, have you guys met?”

“Uh, not officially,” Jade smiled, offering her hand. “I’m Jade.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Katrina.”

“Oh, Katrina,” she nodded, idly. “Haven’t heard that name in a while. Cute. So how do you like it here?”

The reference to her name only took seconds to slip by, but Trina didn’t have an appropriate reply to her question, either.

“Oh, it’s… Nice,” she smiled and bobbed her head, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s really nice of him to let me stay,” she affirmed, gesturing to Daniel.

“Yeah. That is nice,” she agreed, with a sneer in Daniel’s direction. “Well, it was… great meeting you,” she chuckled, avoiding another use of the word ‘nice.’ “Daniel, just let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay. Here you go,” he said, extending the carton of eggs toward her. They shared a deliberate, cheerful view of each other, and then she nodded at Katrina.

“Later.”

“See ya,” she replied, coolly. “So…” Katrina began, as she carried the milk to the refrigerator. “What now?”

Before they continued with their salsa making, Daniel informed her that he intended to perform some maintenance on the horses’ hooves, and she was welcome to assist. Mostly all she did was watch as he held the animal’s foot between his knees and performed the cleaning, clipping, and filing of the hooves. Like a surgeon’s assistant, it was helpful that she was there to hand him the necessary tools. After he’d finished all eight legs, they each took a brush to sweep across their coats, and another toothy metal tool to untangle their tails.

“Ugh, these burrs are terrible!” she grumbled, having worked on one particular mass of hair-and-Velcro for over five minutes.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“You should kill those plants. At least in the pasture.”

“I could do that,” he shook his head. “But burdock is great. Edible… medicinal… Sometimes the goat eats the young leaves. I suspect she needs the nutrients for something. They deserve to live here, just like we do. So I tolerate them, I just take the time to maintain the horses. Like we’re doing right now.”

“I guess I just needed to change my perception of them,” she sulked, still bitter over that morning’s class with Tom.

Wordlessly, Daniel raised a brow to peer over at her. He’d heard that word plenty of times, and knew precisely what lesson she’d begun that day. With a smirk he simply went back to work on Prince’s mane and said nothing.

After lunch they finally got to finish the salsa they’d started the day before. For the rest of the afternoon they blanched all those tomatoes by dipping them in boiling water for three minutes, then shocking them with ice water. This split the skins, making them easier to remove, but didn’t fully cook the fruit. The green peppers were chopped without much trouble, but she wore gloves to de-seed the hot ones. Also, while he was roughly chopping and peeling the tomatoes, she wore a pair of goggles to tolerate slicing all ten fresh onions.

Tomato chunks were allowed to drain in wire strainers, while the seeds and skins were sent through the food mill. The resulting sauce was mixed with vinegar, salt, and seasoning to provide a base for the vegetables. While all that was brought to a simmer and the water bath was just starting to boil, they scurried about locating jars, lids and rings, and sterilizing them. The finished condiment was then ladled into old glass canning jars, with tops secured. Finally they were submerged in the rolling, boiling water of a large enamel canner.

Katrina felt she barely had a moment to breathe before he suggested dinner.

“Something Tex-Mex,” he shrugged, gesturing to the two cups of salsa that hadn’t fit into the quart jars.

Her feet were so sore they were throbbing as she slumped on the stool in the kitchen. She had to admit it sounded good though, and she wanted to taste what they’d created. Sighing, she eased herself off the chair and located a small Zip-Loc bag of frozen ground meat… which she assumed was venison. At this point she didn’t even care.

As she started the defrost cycle, he began mixing up little dough balls for homemade flour tortillas. Then he gently cooked them on a griddle during the time it took her to make the burrito filling and shred the cheese. She was either too astonished, or too tired, to comment on that unexpected slow-food process, but the meal was delectable.

By the time they’d washed the dishes and he was putting them away, she was back on her stool, staring blankly at the floor. The day seemed like a blur and she was exhausted to her core, but her belly was full and there was eight quarts of salsa on the counter that weren’t there that morning.

“You okay?” he asked, noticing her glazed expression.

“Yeah,” she croaked, coming back to life. “Just tired.”

Daniel nodded, understandingly. “You going back to the spring then?”

“What?” she frowned.

“Tom does the thanksgiving thing twice a day; sunrise and sunset. It’s about that time.”

“Oh. No, I don’t think I will,” she grumbled.

“Something wrong?” Daniel turned back around to place a glass on a shelf before she could see his grin.

“No…” Katrina shrugged, not knowing how to explain her feelings. “He just… We don’t really have much to talk about, I guess,” she finally rationalized.

“Oh yeah? You sure about that?” he peered at her, knowingly.

“I don’t know,” she shook her head, feeling defensive and guarded. “He said I wasn’t ready, so…”

“That probably has more to do with him, than you,” Daniel smirked. “In my experience, he has plenty to talk about, if you just show a little interest.”

“I showed interest,” she was quick to point out. “He didn’t want to teach me.”

“Well, he’s not a fortune cookie. He doesn’t just give things away. You have to want it.”

Spontaneously a thought occurred to her, and she blurted it out without thinking. “Did you tell him I was worried about the cause of the fire?”

“No,” he frowned, blankly. “Why?”

“Oh. Nothing.”

Daniel took a deep breath, folding his arms across his chest. “Well, you don’t have to go, but I know he’s made you curious. Anyhow, you’re off the clock. I’m going to take a shower.”

The dismissive way he closed the cupboard and exited the room left her feeling unsatisfied and agitated. She really didn’t want to spend another boring evening in her room, but she didn’t want to go where she was unwelcome, either. Finally she began to imagine herself going to the spring, and demonstrating her own thanksgiving address that would render his unnecessary.

And maybe that’s what he wanted. After all, how can one <i>not</i> be ready to learn gratitude? The more she thought about it, the more absurd it seemed. Maybe that was just his way of teaching a young whipper-snapper some diligence and respect. Well, she wasn’t in the mood for an old man’s trickery, but she also needed to exercise her feet before they went numb. So she pointed herself northward, and started walking.

As Daniel had predicted, he sat in the same spot, this time facing west. His eyes were closed, his thin lips were drawn to the corners of his cheeks. He was the picture of contentment.

“Hello,” he greeted her, without moving an extra muscle.

“Hi,” she replied, sitting down next to him.

Katrina took a deep breath and decided to follow through with her plan of rehearsing an improvised, yet heartfelt, thanksgiving address. Maybe then he would recognize that she wasn’t just giving him lip service; she really wanted to be a part of his ancient wisdom.

As her eyes approached the top of the hill to the west however, the air caught in her throat. The broad, musty cave was sprinkled overhead with generations of trees and mature plants. This was topped with a full spectrum of colors, from golden clouds to deep violet atmosphere. A handful of crows crossed the sky, their calls accenting the birdsong which rang out in stereo, all around her. In that moment, a breeze stirred the living leaves and the fallen ones… and it also moved within her.

Before meeting this man and accepting his challenge of thankfulness, she wouldn’t have purposefully encountered an evening like this. She never would have seen this sunset, nor acknowledged its uniqueness from every other sunset ever viewed.

“Some things cannot be conveyed in words,” he spoke. “In order for an expression to be felt by the Great Spirit, you must learn to use your heart instead of lyrics and thoughts. True appreciation isn’t announced in spoken terms, it’s whispered in the language of love.”

As Katrina realized her mouth was slack, she turned from him and gazed back at the image of where the Earth joined sky. His statement fit into a place within her, like a round peg in a round hole. Her brain probably couldn’t have invented that kind of testimony, yet her soul knew it was correct. It just felt right.

After swallowing and taking another sweet, deep breath, she nodded. All thoughts of skepticism and argument died away. Instead, they were replaced by a craving to experience life in the kind of exquisite richness that he obviously felt.

“Why do you always give thanks here?” she murmured.

Patiently, Tom opened his eyes, looked upwards, and smiled. “The Eternal Spring is a sacred place. My ancestors did beautiful things here. And they still like it here. This is a good place to reach them.”

As she pondered this statement, her mind rushed to define and interpret his words. They took an abstract concept of Native Americans, and put it in a real context. They were real people. They were actually right here, once. They had real lives, and did real things. They are his lineage, and they still mattered to him. Maybe they even mattered to her, too.

Her logical brain required that she conjure an image of these people, and it readily produced a clear picture for her. It was of a warrior, with a Mohawk and red paint on his skin. She felt an immediate connection and reverence toward this man in her mind. He didn’t feel like something she’d imagined; he felt like an actual person.

Quietly she cleared her throat and blinked hard to bring herself back to reality.

“Why do you call it the Eternal Spring?”

“As far as I can see, there will always be pure water here. That is very special,” he nodded.

Again, Katrina knew he was telling her something profound, yet she did not feel the magnitude. Ashamed, she had to ask, “Why is that important?”

With a shrug, he said, “It is the blood of the Earth. When we drink, it becomes our blood. It is the substance we need most for life.”

As predicted, she did feel dumb for asking. But as he continued, his answer went from obvious to acute.

“All throughout history, humans have based their lives around a clean source of water. Now we feel all-powerful, like gods, when we force the water from its home in the ground. We can control it, making it run and dance for us. In fountains. Or while we brush our teeth, and gaze at ourselves in the mirror. But I believe this time of taking without asking will come to an end. Someday we will again realize that water is more valuable than gold.”

Bewildered, she considered this.

“I probably won’t be around when that happens,” he continued. “But I love and respect all the water of Earth. And I will teach those who <i>will</i> be around when it happens.”

“Whoa,” she finally uttered. “That’s… pretty scary…”

Casually, he replied, “Not if you’re the one who loves and respects the waters.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, nervously. “I guess not.” In an effort to change the subject, she asked, “Is that the kind of thing you were taught on the reservation?”

With a hearty laugh, he shook his head. “No. Those in power tried to assimilate me. They wanted to make me more like them, and less like me.”

After those few words, Tom fell silent. He pursed his lips and closed his eyelids, breathing deeply. Katrina raised a brow, with the feeling that he was allowing thoughts and emotions to flow through him. Something that had long ago been forgiven now needed no expression of words. Yet the history remained. Finally, he peered over at her again.

“Like you, I needed to unlearn what I had learned. It did not come easily, but what I gained was priceless.”

“What’s that?”

“Freedom. The kind that can only be achieved when one learns the art of living with the Earth. Nothing, and no one, can take that away.”

With her eyes wide, Katrina’s breath held in her chest. She felt a warm shiver of energy which began in her lower back, and flowed up her spine to all her extremities.

“If you exist in a flesh body here on planet Earth, you ought to know how to live as God intended, giving you only a brain, your inner wisdom, and your hands. That should be enough. Don’t you think?”

“Yes,” she nodded, eagerly. “When I was a little girl, I used to imagine I lived alone in a cave… which was actually an old shed. But I would pick field corn and make a little stash, like I was preparing for the winter. And I would make a little nest in a pile of leaves…”

Tom’s eyes brightened enthusiastically. “Even as a young girl, you already knew the importance of shelter. Beautiful. Children are born with instincts that slowly get hidden by logic and overthinking. It really is a shame.”

“Could you teach me more? I’d love to learn how to make fire, like Daniel did the other day, with just…”

Silently, Tom began to wag his head, and looked away.

That crushing feeling of inadequacy immediately displaced her excitement. “What?” she challenged. “I’m not ready?”

All he did was meet eyes with her.

“You’re kidding, right?” she huffed. “What, do you think I need to have five years of free time to learn how to make a simple fire?”

“It’s not just time you lack. It’s much deeper than that.”

“Then what? What is it?”

“Your <i>perception</i> of survival.”

“Oh, come on!” she hissed, exasperated.

Not to be misunderstood, he continued. “What would you learn from me… how to live, or how to not die?”

Katrina squinted and shook her head. “What’s the difference?”

“The key lies in the hearts and minds of the animals, like the bobcat. Tell me… when it’s dark, cold and rainy, do you think she cries herself to sleep and waits for death to take her?”

“No,” she scoffed. “They’re used to it. They’re out here all the time.”

“So that’s something else we can learn from nature. Their willingness to exist in a way the Creator designed.”

“But they don’t have a choice. They’ve never known anything different.”

“Ah!” Instantly his eyes lit up and he raised a finger. “They don’t have a choice! And you’re suggesting that we <i>do</i> have a choice.”

“Well, yeah…” she frowned.

Tom peered into her eyes, and he may have even been gazing into her soul, watching how this statement trickled down through the layers of understanding.

“We do have a choice,” he reiterated. “We can <i>choose</i> our attitude about our situation.”

That wasn’t where she thought this conversation was headed, but she stayed quiet and let him explain.

“We can choose to have a passion for life. <i>That</i> is the most important survival tool; the desire to keep living.”

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to keep pace with his words.

“Remember… when things are bad, it’s easy to give up. It’s much harder to go on fighting until you realize… in that crucial moment… you don’t know what you’re fighting for, or what you’re fighting against. Is it the Earth, or is it yourself?”

Katrina pursed her mouth and chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment. Finally, after feeling as if there was smoke coming out her ears, she could no longer withstand the temptation to laugh. Sheepishly, she hid her face in her hands and giggled, giving up the attempt to comprehend.

At first she felt guilty, as if making fun of him, but soon he joined in her mirth. The lines around his eyes tightened as he revealed a toothy, joyous smile. The merriment surged from her belly when she heard his delightful laughter.

“Yeah… I don’t get it,” she admitted, as she slowed down to breathe. “I guess I’m really not ready.”

Tom wiped his eye and nodded. “You’ll understand when it’s time. Until then, all you need to know about survival is <i>attitude</i>. It’s the difference between a broken Indian, and the spirit of a warrior.”

Katrina sniffed, and listened closely.

“Only one has something to live for, and is willing to die for it.”