Sometimes my father would take one of us on each hand and walk out into the sand hills. We didn't call them nature walks,but it was walking and experiencing nature. He didn't say much, but I remember the constant prairie winds, the smells and seeing sky and land stretch forever.
My father was the storyteller in the family. One of my favorites is about Wi Ati Iciti, the Sundogs. I wrote this poem based on his story.
Wi Ati Iciti
My father showed them to me.
God they were beautiful;
Mini-rainbows at equal distance from the sun.
"Sundogs," he called them.
"Cold weather is coming
So the sun is building fires around himself
To keep warm.
That's what my old grandfather used to tell me,"
He'd say.
Then he would scrunch up his shoulders
And raise his eyebrows
In exclamation.
"They were really superstitious, you know,
Those old people."
Then he would look off into the distance
Speculating.
So I would watch
And count the days,
And you know,
It would always get cold!
My father never told us to look for the Sundogs. I was curious, so I looked and found them for myself.
What does this story mean to me? It shows the way Lakotas teach their children, by use of stories that allow children to listen and create their own pictures and draw their own conclusions. It shows our learning style, which makes use of all the senses. It made me aware that nature talks if we will listen. I learned to love stories and storytelling from my father. Part of what I do now is to tell stories and make people curious about things. The other side of telling stories is listening. Being a good listener is an important skill.