In honour of Indigenous families on this special day.

This story was written for an Ojibwe friend to read to his pre-teen daughter. Her feedback is below. Your feedback is welcome too- please comment below!

A. Miranda

LayLay was flying distractedly, her focus more on the book in her hands than her surroundings. She was new to the world, born yesterday, so she wasn’t especially practiced at flying, or reading either for that matter. LayLay was brand new, just born, but she could fly; she could fly right by because she was a flutterby.

Now flutterbys are different than butterflies, everyone knows that. Usually flutterbys are brown or beige or white; they aren’t bright like butterflies. They’re soft too- their wings are made of dust. So delicate that they cannot be touched- that’s how fragile flutterby wings are.

LayLay was brand new, born yesterday, but she knew that she didn’t want to be a flutterby. Her wings were white with matching brown ovals that looked like eyes. What a disappointment! She wanted stiff purple wings with black scalloped edging and a few white dots. Or, she’d be happy with yellow wings, bright ones with green spots. But she’d have to be a butterfly to have colours like that.

She wasn’t alone- plenty of LoLos and LeeLees and LuLus were furry brown and beige. But, she was the only one nicknamed Four Eyes. Most flutterbys were content with their wings; LayLay alone read Vogue and restricted her food intake. LayLay was brand new, born yesterday, but she was already saving up for a wing augmentation.

LayLay was so preoccupied with her reading that she didn’t see Lady Bug coming from the other direction. Alas, Lady Bug was speeding- her daughter, Ann, had told her teacher that she had a tummy ache and Lady Bug didn’t know that it wasn’t true. She was in a rush, and she crashed right into LayLay’s left wing. Both of LayLay’s wings showered dust everywhere, and she dropped her book.

Lady Bug was in shock for a few seconds, but she gave herself a shake and shouted, “No reading in flight!” Then she hiked up her red tights and flew away.

Now, the book that LayLay dropped was no ordinary book. It was her diary. It was tiny, and it had fallen from a great height. Worse, it had fallen from a great height onto Forest’s floor which was a very messy place.

Poor LayLay fluttered about Forest’s floor. She searched among lichen and mushrooms, old leaves and pine needles, but no luck.

LayLay had no luck because her diary had been found immediately. LayLay’s diary had fallen from a great height right through a small pile of sticks and right smack onto Cruel Cricket’s table- just as he was sitting down to lunch.  And so, Cricket read all of LayLay’s secrets, right then and right there.

Now if Turtle had found it, well, that would be fine because turtles can keep a secret. Crickets- well, that’s another story. Like warblers and blue jays and squirrels, crickets just can’t keep news to themselves.

After lunch, Cricket went out for a stroll over to Main Meadow where he read the diary out loud to all LayLay’s friends and enemies- she had a few even though she was brand new, just born yesterday- plenty of birds and bats considered flutterbys to be a tasty mouthful.

I don’t know if you can imagine the scene: Cruel Cricket reading aloud on sturdy Milkweed in the middle of Main Meadow, flutterbys and butterflys, lady bugs and lady birds… insects of all kinds and plenty of songbirds too, swooping over his head… and laughing. Imagine LayLay darting furiously among them, her four eyes glaring, her miniscule mouth open, screaming at the top of her lungs (but still inaudible to most beings) about her right to privacy, her right to run her own life, her right to privacy, her right to express herself and… her RIGHT to PRIVACY!

How vigorously did LayLay flap her wings! How furiously did she shout! She might have been a fragile flutterby, but she had guts and she had rights. All living beings have rights- even fat grubs with wings made of dust. LayLay took her fury to Councillor Buffalo because she wanted respect. Buffalo decided to involve the rest of Council because the case was complicated.

Butterflies and flutterbys have very short life spans, only one to ten days. The Council of Bangan Forest gathered to hear the case without delay. Bear, Beaver, Wolf, Turtle, Buffalo, Crow and Eagle travelled to Main Meadow to hear LayLay’s complaint.

Councillor Buffalo was correct- it was a complicated case. LayLay had written some disturbing things in her diary. She wrote that she didn’t want to be Moth- she used the old derogatory term. The word Moth had been replaced by the more accurate name, Flutterby, and nobody said Moth anymore. ‘Moths are hideous!’ LayLay had written, ‘and I am the ugliest of all.’ She wanted to be a butterfly. ‘Butterflies have bodies as slender as pine needle. I want strong gorgeous wings that don’t fall apart,’ she wrote. ‘I would give anything to be rid of my plain hairy wings and my fat grubby body.’

Laylay stood in front of Council with her wings folded back, her antennae shaking, her little hands in fists. “Perhaps it would be easier to respect me if I was a butterfly,” she declared.

Councillor Wolf’s ears pricked. “Flutterbys are vital to our community … and so is every other being- from Algae to Buffalo. You are not more or less than anyone else. We are all beautifully different and we are all valued equally.”

“LayLay Flutterby,” Buffalo spoke next. “It is true that Cricket must respect you. However, you must also show respect. You must respect your own Flutterby self, LayLay.”

Councillor Eagle agreed: “This is a case about self-love.”

“Indeed,” cawed Councillor Crow. “This is a case about accepting yourself for who you are.”

And so it came to pass that Cruel Cricket was asked to join the Peace Committee to do some work on the anti-gossip campaign.

As for LayLay, she flew down to Debwewin River with Councillor Crow on one side of her and Councillor Eagle on the other. Land below was summer green. Wind was mostly calm, just active enough for Leaves to wave back at them and for the trip to be pleasant- lots of gliding.

“I know how I look already,” LayLay said to Crow. “I saw myself in a mirror at the Bay where I was born under some wool blankets. I have never seen an uglier moth than myself.”

“Flutterby,” corrected Crow.

“I have a million headbanger cousins in Town. They smash into lamps and lightbulbs all night long. That’s how much they hate themselves.”

As they soared over Debwewin’s south shore, Eagle said, “Look down now, look into water. What do you see?”

LayLay looked down at Debwewin River. He was completely calm today, a twinkle in his blue eyes. LayLay saw her reflection: white wings with matching brown spots that looked like crossed eyes.

“I see a fat moth with an extra set of freak eyes.”

“Look again,” said Eagle. “Look with love. You are a precious being, LayLay. Born with purpose and freedom both. Look closely, my Love. What do you see?”

“Dirty brown dust falling off me.”

“Ah, but it is not dirt. Precious LayLay, when you spread your wings and fly, happy dust floats here and there and everywhere, bringing a lightness, a delicate bliss. Just the sight of you can cause happiness. Plants and animals alike bask in the silt of flutterbys… and butterflies too, for they are similar, spreading joy among the wildflower blooms and Forest’s paths. Pollinators follow your pristine energy trails to meadows and fields. Bee depends on you.”

“All creatures with wings clean Air,” said Crow. He flapped once and glided with Wind, who played a little.

LayLay got curious then, and she really looked into Debwewin River. For the first time she looked carefully into her eyes- not her oddly-crossed painted eyes, but her real eyes. She saw a sweet soul, an innocent.

“I am just a baby,” she spoke with wonder, “I will spread happy dust and I will not live long.” Debwewin had shown her the truth of the matter.

“You will give of yourself, your whole self, to Bat or Robin or maybe, Robin’s hungry baby. It will be your final gift.” Eagle tilted one wing over her, loving her.

Her body looked fat in Debwewin, it was true. But it was no longer disappointing to LayLay. She understood that she was a rich source of protein.

_______

Now, if Ann hadn’t lied to her teacher, if LayLay hadn’t dropped her diary, if Cricket hadn’t read it and cruelly gossiped, if LayLay had never complained to the Council of Seven and then had never seen the truth in Debwewin… what a tragic life she might have led.

As it was, LayLay lived 4 days and nights. She didn’t waste a moment wishing to be anything other than her own spectacular self. She loved her work!

LayLay fluttered here, there and everywhere, clearing Air of black and blue emotions. Her brown happy dust was golden by her third day of life. It was plentiful and LayLay gave it freely- to Breeze and Wind, to meadows and Forest’s paths.

LayLay fluttered near Meadow Creek where Raccoon and Turtle had broken up and she dissipated the sadness there. She fluttered along the ditch beside Danger Road, and she cleared fear and despair. She fluttered along the trail left by Black Bear as he stomped angrily to Blackberry Thicket.

When LayLay fluttered by, animals felt happy. Sometimes they felt lighter, as if they might flutter too, at least dance a bit, darting up and down like LayLay Flutterby, the sweetest morsel that ever flew.

In the end, it was over Weeds that LayLay gave her own fat body to Wren, who did declare, “What a sweet-tasting protein! Megwich Flutterby.”

A short story from Bangan Forest.

Raccoon was singing Morning Song as she ran along one of Forest’s paths. Animals of all sizes passed this way: chipmunks, skunks, deer, but tall birches on each side kept this path narrow and dark. Sun was barely out of bed, still stretching his fine arms, but Raccoon was sweating. It was so humid in early summer that heat followed animals right into shade and slept with them day and night.

Raccoon was on the skinny side and her mask was askew. She should have found a bed by now, but Dawn was early these days; there was little time to forage before Night disappeared.

Raccoon was moving so fast when she came upon Turtle that she had to hop right over him. He was a mature strong-legged turtle of enormous size. A beauty.

Raccoon had travelled a long way all by herself; she sure was happy to come upon a handsome dark-eyed turtle.

“Greetings! Where are you headed?”

Turtle adjusted his black cap. He was not fond of conversation, but he answered. “I am bringing provisions to my family.”

“I see,” said Raccoon as she eyed the many packs and boxes tied to Turtle’s back.

“You don’t see.” He nodded back toward his polished shell. “Food is inside.”

“So, what’s all this?” Raccoon motioned to the pile of boxes.

“Burdens.”

“Ah, burdens… Are they heavy?”

“What do you think?” Turtle was tired, and it made him irritable sometimes.

“I think they must be terribly heavy,” soothed Raccoon. “Can I carry one for you?”

Turtle did not answer.

Raccoon ran a circle around him. “Just one?”

“No! Go away!” Turtle knew that all raccoons were thieves and not to be trusted.

Raccoon fell back and watched Turtle’s thick legs dig into the earth and pull him forward a few inches. He flipped his feet forward and then pulled again, dragging his weight and his boxes. His muscles were clearly defined as they strained. One heavy metal box marked ‘Injustice’ was tied to his tail and as he walked, it drew a twisted trail in the earth behind him.

Raccoon picked up the metal box with her front paws. She walked upright, carrying the box still tied to Turtle’s tail. Turtle noticed how good this felt, and he said, “You have beautiful hands.”

Raccoon took this as an invitation to stay. She untied the metal box from Turtle’s tail, tucked it under her arm and began to talk. Now, no one can talk like a raccoon. Once they start, they never shut up. Raccoon told Turtle everything she knew, all her secrets, and all the important thoughts she had had until that moment in time.

It took a very long time for Raccoon to share all of this, and for Turtle to move down Forest’s path between tall birches. Time after time, Raccoon realized that she was ahead of Turtle, so excited was she and so slow was he, that she would have to stop and wait for him. She would sit with rocks or nap covered by Shade while Turtle progressed at his own pace.

It was a day of sitting with rocks for Raccoon and a day of hard work for Turtle, but at the very end, they found themselves at River’s edge. River was silver and flowing fast. Sun had started his drop toward Mother Earth and Sky chose her orange silk nightgown with pink straps.

“We must part ways now,” said Turtle, his dark eyes on Sky’s nightgown. “I will swim across River to the other side and you must continue to tread Forest’s paths.”

“I can swim,” said Raccoon and she took off her shoes.

“It is not an easy crossing,” said Turtle. “You are not heavy enough. River will toss you into Sky and she will catch you in her arms and never let you go.”

He directed her to attach the metal box to his tail again and so she did. He turned his face to Sun and readied himself.

Raccoon tied her shoes to her tail and jumped in Water. Current was strong even near Shoreline and Small Rapids could be heard by an ear turned in their direction.

“Come on!” she shouted from Water. “Why am I always waiting for you?” She showed off some new dance moves. “Hurry up!”

“We separate here,” said Turtle. “I have listened to your silliness long enough. I have important things to do, responsibilities.” He eyed Water’s edge and started a deliberate descent.

Raccoon laughed. “You work too hard!” She somersaulted into baby waves.

Turtle slipped into Water with relief. His burdens lightened, and he moved easily just under the surface of silver ripples.

Raccoon tried to grab the box tied to his tail, but Turtle swished her away. “I don’t need you.”

Raccoon swam alongside Turtle. She could talk even while she was swimming and she offered Turtle advice, a great deal of advice: how to untie boxes from tails, how to reduce baggage, how to run.

“Preposterous,” muttered Turtle, “why would I run?”

Raccoon tried to say, “It’s fun,” but River filled her mouth when she opened it. As always, River was greedy for space. He filled all the spaces he could find in Raccoon- throat and lungs and stomach. Raccoon became heavy with Water and she slipped below the silver surface.

Turtle heard silence and knew Raccoon was gone. He had secretly become fond of the raccoon who had finally shut up. He had chuckled on Forest’s path, and he was no longer accustomed to silence. Turtle reached over with one giant foot and flipped Raccoon over and then slid her onto his back. Raccoon choked and spit and sputtered until Wind found her spaces and forced Water out. Raccoon curled up among the boxes on Turtle’s strong back. She felt protected there, and he liked her weight on him.

River hugged Sky in her orange nightgown with pink straps. Sky hugged River back and got orange all over him. Even Raccoon and Turtle were silky orange for a time as Raccoon slumbered on Turtle’s back. She dreamed of waiting with rocks, as Turtle swam gently, careful not to wake her.

By all accounts, Turtle had journeyed for provisions many times and was expected to arrive without incident, without delay, without a raccoon on his back. Maybe Darkness knows what happened, or maybe Stars could piece it all together… but Moon was the opposite of full that night and so the most reliable source was unable to report.

Raccoon had been dreaming, of course, and Turtle had been charting his way as usual, but something disoriented him. Perhaps it was Darkness playing his games. There is no way to be certain how Turtle got stranded on Sand Bar, but Sand Bar is notoriously erratic, constantly shifting and changing in size. He traps his food by lying in wait.

Once Turtle got stuck, his belly in the grips of hungry Sand Bar, his flippers uselessly flapping the air, Raccoon did her best to move him. She pushed; she shoved.

“You must remove the boxes,” Raccoon said, “or you will die here.”

“Take one,” allowed Turtle.

Raccoon used her clever claws to unfasten the largest burden, over Turtle’s big fat liver. It was full of anger. Turtle felt lighter, but he could not be moved. Raccoon took down a second box marked ‘Explosives’. Then a third one labeled ‘Past’ that had been tied much too tightly to Turtle’s soft heart. As Turtle lightened, he felt relieved… even, just a bit… happy.

Raccoon rocked Turtle from side to side. She sang a love song to Mother Earth as she rocked Turtle. Turtle felt loved. Mother Earth felt loved. Sand Bar gently opened her jaws and released Turtle. He swam free into River. Sand Bar swallowed the boxes.

At Shoreline, Turtle stopped and offered Raccoon a ride. Now, there is not a single raccoon alive who will turn down a ride on a turtle’s back. It’s like a sports car to a raccoon. Everything is fun to them. So Turtle offered a ride and Raccoon clapped her beautiful hands.

Things had changed between them.

“You are slow and heavy,” admitted Raccoon. “I feel safe with you.”

“You are fast and light,” answered Turtle. “I feel uplifted by you.”

And so it was that Turtle arrived with Raccoon on his back. They were both smiling.

© Laurie Fraser 2020

Stone Turtle

Disappeared Deer 

for International Women’s Day,

lest we forget the missing and murdered indigenous people in Canada.

When Wolf howls at Moon, it is said that all Disappeared Deer hear their names. He howls each name, and they know he is looking for them; they know they are not forgotten. Their mothers and fathers hear their own anguish when Wolf howls. Wind joins in then, wailing and moaning around trees and dens, calling out their names with Wolf: “Ada, Ruth, Cheyenne, Alissa, Rhonda, Azraya, Edna, Marilyn, Cheryl, Delaine, Beatrice, Gladys…”

When Councillor Wolf howls the names of Disappeared Deer, most animals in Bangan Forest stop to listen. It is respect for missing deer, but it is respect for Wolf as well. Strong, black… and always alone, Councillor Wolf is their protector.

The Deer Clan is experiencing a heartbreaking crisis: deer, usually females, are disappearing. It’s been going on for years.  

The Council of Seven have met, of course, many times about Disappeared Deer. Experts have been brought in, studies studied. Theories abound, most of them involving foul play, humans and poachers. Councillor Eagle can’t let go of the UFO angle and he is harshly judged for his alien theory, but to be fair, Eagle does fly awfully high, sometimes quite close to Sun, and occasionally he reports seeing things that the residents of Bangan Forest can hardly believe.

At Council, evidence has come to light that supports the tricking theory. Daanis Deer was only an adolescent when she told her friends that a human had offered her a job dancing in Town. Her father had forced her to dance from a young age, so it was natural for her to think of herself as a dancer. Daanis was especially pretty with little white freckles on her nose. Males admired her gorgeous legs and long supple neck.

“She said his name was Mr. Human,” Daanis’s friend reported to Council. “He told her that he owned some dance clubs and vegetarian restaurants. Daanis said he was really nice to her, like a boyfriend. He gave her a whole box of sugar.”

Another missing deer named Nindaanis had told her family that she was going to visit some friends in Next Town, but she had never arrived. No one knew what happened to Nindaanis.

“It’s a long journey between towns,” Wise Beaver pointed out. “Anything can happen out there. Land between towns is not protected like Bangan; travel isn’t safe for deer.”

“They’ve probably been shot by human hunters,” said Councillor Turtle. He was concerned with truth and it was he who would be the one to speak the most difficult words. “They may be in freezers and on dinner plates all over the country.”

“Daanis talked about dancing opportunities in far off places like Greenland and Japan and Las Vegas. She was quite excited about that,” said her friend.

“Japan has plenty of their own deer,” said Eagle, who had been there.

“Mr. Human said Daanis was especially beautiful. They don’t have deer that look like her in Japan.”

“You see?” said Wolf. “It’s a type of trap. If one deer didn’t come home, we could imagine she is settled in a new home. However, it’s not one deer- it’s dozens now. How could so many disappear without a word, without a message sent home to their families? Obviously, they are not working at jobs or travelling to exciting destinations.”

The Forest Boys were asked to come before The Council of Seven and advise. The Forest Boys are a loosely organized group of minor criminals operating in Bangan Forest. They’re mostly involved in sugar smuggling. Membership includes elk, raccoons, coyotes, weasels and badgers.

It was Fat Badger who spoke. “We are aware of humans contacting deer and offering jobs or gifts of sugar. That happens in Outer Meadow usually, or in the ditch on this side of Danger Road. Sometimes deer want the sugar so much that they go off with the humans. We don’t know where they go. We try to convince them to stay because we want them eating our sugar, not town sugar… but they tell us it’s free in Town.”

“How can sugar be free?” asked Wolf.

“I know, that’s what we say, but they’ve made new friends. They’ve been promised.”

Ever since hearing Fat Badger’s testimony, Wolf pretty much lives in that ditch. All day he watches for new friends with promises and job offers that are too good to be true. He watches for fake new boyfriends who are too generous to be true. He watches for young deer who are uncertain of their path, who are especially beautiful with white freckles on their noses. He watches for hunters with guns and camouflage hats and refrigerated trucks.

He is one frustrated wolf. He spends his days watching from ditches and meadows’ edges, but Wolf has not found even one human handing out sugar and telling stories of fame and wealth. He has not returned even one female deer or fawn to Bangan Forest.

It’s still a mystery, the facts are not known, dozens of females are lost out there- maybe as close as the nearest Town, maybe as far as a stage in Japan. They might be travelling the world. They might be trying to get home. There’s a chance, and no one except Turtle is willing to acknowledge this possibility, but there’s a chance that they’re dead.

All of us here in Bangan Forest miss these females very much. They were supposed to grow up here, helping us, as deer do, with pruning and so on. They were our future Council members and who knows- teachers, ballet dancers, firefighters.

There’s a chance too that they are singing and dancing in your town.

Could you keep an eye out for these dappled deer with gorgeous legs? Their mothers want to see them. Their fathers feel helpless. Wolf howls their names every night. You can know them if you listen: “Loraine, Nashie, Shelley, Minnie, Verna, Spring, Laura, Savanna, Jordina, Viola, Margaret, Regis, Mitzi, Rebecca, Paula, Maxine, Theresa, Vivian, Mary, Tashina, Sarah, Robyn, Patrina, Melissa, Lynn… “

After he howls the names, Wolf runs around Mother Earth, circles her every single night looking for Disappeared Deer in towns and forests and bus stations. Moon assists, but even so, Wolf could use a hand at this point. I mean, if you see some pretty female deer on the street, please, just take a moment and ask: “What’s your name? Where are you from? Do you want to go home?”

Deer at Mud Lake eating Sumac