Tag: life

“Finding Light in the Dark Night”

Notes by Alex – By Alexander Atkinson

Through the Dark Night of the Soul

Today, I found myself slowing down—taking a real, honest look inward. It’s been a season of self-evaluation, reflection, and growth. But let me tell you, growth isn’t always beautiful. Sometimes, it feels like a storm, like wandering through a tunnel with no light in sight. I’ve come to call that time in my life “the dark night of the soul.”

It was rough—probably one of the hardest things I’ve walked through. But the biggest takeaway I have from it is this: YOU CAN GET THROUGH IT.

When you’re in the thick of mental and emotional struggle, it’s easy to believe it will last forever. But growth often begins in the moments when we choose to take one small step forward, even when it’s hard. For me, that has meant actively working on my mental well-being, choosing not to sit in the darkness but to walk toward the light.

Growing through mental health isn’t just about surviving—it’s about actively nurturing ourselves, seeking connection, and using the resources available to us. Here’s what I’ve been learning:

1. Self-Care and Well-being

  • Mindfulness and Meditation:
    Even a few minutes a day of slowing down and just being present can make a difference. Mindfulness has helped me quiet the chaos inside and tune in to what’s real and true.
  • Physical Activity:
    A simple walk, moving my body, getting outside—it’s surprising how much it shifts my perspective and mood.
  • Sleep Hygiene:
    I’ve learned to value rest. Without it, the mind struggles to heal and reset.
  • Healthy Diet:
    Eating well isn’t just for the body—it impacts the mind. Balanced meals, less processed junk, and being intentional with what I put into my body have helped me feel more stable and energized.
  • Limit Substance Use:
    Letting go of things that numb me has allowed me to feel again—and feeling, though hard at times, is part of true healing.
  • Practice Gratitude:
    Gratitude has been my anchor. Some days it’s as simple as saying, “I’m thankful I woke up today,” and other days it’s a long list of blessings.

2. Building Connections and Support

  • Social Connections:
    We are not meant to walk this life alone. Spending time with friends, family, or just being around people who bring light helps chip away at the loneliness.
  • Support Groups:
    Finding people who understand—who get the struggle—has been powerful. There’s strength in knowing you’re not the only one fighting this battle.
  • Volunteering:
    Helping others, even in small ways, shifts my focus outward. It gives me purpose, and purpose is a powerful antidote to darkness.

The truth is, mental health isn’t just something we “fix” once. It’s something we cultivate—through small, daily practices, through seeking help when we need it, and through being gentle with ourselves in the process.

If you’re in that dark night of the soul, I want you to know that you are not alone. The road through it may not be easy, but there is a way through. And on the other side? Growth, resilience, and a deeper understanding of who you are.

“Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise. Healing begins the moment you believe you are worth the light.”

0

Thank You, Grandpa Harold

by Alexander Atkinson Jr.
Notes by Alex

Harold C. Hudson — my grandfather, my mom’s dad — was an amazing man.

He had that kind of quiet strength you never forget. A soul anchored in purpose. A presence that made an impression.

He loved to fish. It wasn’t just a hobby — it was who he was. A commercial fisherman, he spent much of his life on the water. But his talents didn’t stop there. Grandpa was also a gifted carver. He made some of the best cedar wooden spoons you’d ever see — all smoothed by hand, each with his unique touch. He’d carve deer calls, too. Many of those spoons and calls were given away to family — shared with love, with no fanfare. That’s just the kind of man he was.

He also loved sports. Never missed a basketball game. Baseball on TV? That was his rhythm during the season.

But if you really wanted to see Grandpa light up, let him sing.

One of his favorite hymns was:
“I Walked Today Where Jesus Walked.”

That song came to life in a very real way when Grandpa was in his 80s. He joined a group from our hometown of Metlakatla on a trip to Israel — a journey that deeply touched his heart.

I remember how proudly and joyfully he’d say:

“Yes, I walked where Jesus walked.”

He’d show us the Polaroid photos he took — Jerusalem, Jacob’s Well, the Garden of Gethsemane. That trip meant the world to him. You could see it in his eyes when he talked about it. You could hear it in his voice.

One time, while I was home from college, I was playing the guitar in the living room. Grandpa came out and sat with me. He began to sing. That moment — singing with Grandpa Harold, who was in his 90s — is one I’ll never forget. It was simple, but it was sacred.

He left a mark on my life.
I remember him reading the Bible.
I remember hearing him pray from his room.
I miss that so much.

Looking back, I realize just how much of a foundation he helped lay for my own faith — my own walk with the Creator.

So today, I simply want to say:

Thank you, Grandpa.

Your faith lives on in me.

0

Ride Now, Ride Now: The Call to Courage


When darkness gathers, it’s not the time to retreat—it’s the time to rise.

“Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!
Fell deeds awake, fire and slaughter!
Spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,
A sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!”
— J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

There’s something in the human spirit that stirs when we hear a battle cry—not one born of violence, but of resolve. Tolkien’s words don’t just belong in the realm of fantasy. They live in us. They echo in our quiet moments of doubt, in the face of rising storms, in the still morning when the world hasn’t yet caught fire—but you know it’s coming.

We all face our own “sword-days.”
Moments where everything is on the line.
Where darkness tries to crowd in.
Where you feel the pull to sit it out, to stay hidden, to let someone else ride.

But we weren’t made for retreat.

We were made to rise.

Like the Riders of Rohan, sometimes we are called to charge—not because the odds are good, but because the cause is just. Not because it’s safe, but because someone must stand. Because honor, truth, and courage still matter. Because deep in our souls, there’s a warrior cry waiting to be released.

And here’s the thing: it’s not about war. It’s about courage.
It’s about how you face your battles—your setbacks, your disappointments, your losses, your doubts.

Maybe today your battlefield is a broken dream.
Maybe it’s a silent struggle no one else sees.
Maybe it’s leadership under pressure, or being a light in a weary family, a divided community, or a hurting world.

But no matter the shape of your battle, the call is the same: Arise.

Arise with love.
Arise with faith.
Arise with vision.
Arise not because you’re fearless, but because you’ve chosen to move forward anyway.

We may not ride horses to Gondor.
But we do ride into each new day—often with splintered shields and trembling hands.
And still we ride.

Because someone’s waiting on the other side of your courage.
Because your rising may awaken another.
Because light is stronger than darkness—and it travels fastest through the willing.

So whatever today holds, ride boldly into it.

Ride now. Ride now.

– Notes by Alex
A place for reflections, reminders, and the quiet roar of courage.

0

Unity in the Village: Why Love Still Matters in Small Town Life

“Choosing Unity Over Division in the Place We All Call Home”
By Alex Atkinson Jr.

I’ve lived in a small town most of my life. Metlakatla, Alaska, is home—and like many small towns across the country, we carry both the beauty and the burden of close-knit living. We know one another. We share history, hardship, and hope. But like any community, we also face our fair share of challenges.

Not all small towns are the same, of course—but many of us experience familiar themes. Tensions rise, misunderstandings brew, and sometimes, unfortunately, divisions set in. And to be honest, that’s the part of small-town life I find hardest to watch.

“We don’t have to believe the same to love the same.”

Division can come from anywhere—a disagreement, a difference in how we do things, or a clash of beliefs. Maybe we see the world through different lenses. Maybe our upbringings or faith journeys aren’t identical. But in the end, none of that should keep us from being united.

I’m not here to say we all have to agree on everything. That’s not unity—that’s uniformity. What I long to see is something deeper: honor and respect. Even when we do things differently. Even when we believe differently. A place where you can be you, and I can be me—and we still choose to love each other anyway.

No jealousy. No hidden agendas. Just a genuine attitude of care and kinship.

That’s what family is. That’s what community should be. Not perfect. Not always peaceful. But deeply rooted in love—the kind that ties us together in the storms, not just the celebrations.

In a time when the world feels more divided than ever, maybe our little town can stand out—not for how we argue, but for how we stay connected through it all. Love still matters here. And maybe if we choose it, again and again, we’ll help write a better story for the next generation watching us.

0

“The Blanket, The Dream, and the Song”

By Alex Atkinson Jr.

There are moments in life that are too exact, too timely, too profound to be coincidence. I want to share one of those moments with you—an experience that has stayed with me for years and still stirs something deep in my spirit.

I was living in California at the time. One night, before our regular home group meeting, I had a vivid dream—so vivid it woke me up and lingered in my thoughts the next morning. In the dream, a man stood before our group, speaking. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I saw him clearly. He called me forward and “protocoled” me—something I wasn’t raised with or fully understood at the time. In the dream, he draped a large wool blanket over my shoulders, one with Native designs, vibrant and heavy with meaning. As he placed it on me, he spoke of how the Creator had called me to lead our people. Then, just like that, the dream faded.

I woke up thinking, What was that?

The next morning, I arrived at the house for our meeting. People were getting the coffee and donuts ready—everything smelled like breakfast and fellowship. As I walked in, I noticed a man behind the counter. I’d never met him before. But when our eyes met, we both froze for a second.

“I know you,” he said.

“I know you too,” I replied. “You were in my dream last night.”

We both laughed, a little startled, a little amazed. His name was Reesey. We sat down, and he began sharing about his journey—how he had been learning about Native American culture, about honor, land, music, and story. And just like in my dream, he stood up, spoke to the group, called me forward, and protocoled me. He reached into his bag, pulled out a Native American wool blanket, and draped it over my shoulders.

He spoke about the calling our Creator had placed on my life, calling forth things that had been buried, dormant—things that were waiting to awaken.

I was wrecked. In the best way. It was one of those moments you don’t forget, that marks you for life.

Then Reesey shared another story—one that shook me even more.

He told us about a group of First Nations people from the Pacific Northwest who had traveled with a woman named Linda Prince to British Columbia, and then all the way to Jerusalem. They sought permission to sing and honor the land and its leaders at the Western Wall. With permission granted, they approached the wall in full regalia, singing the songs of our people—the drum echoing through the holy site.

As they sang, the rabbis came out, visibly moved.

“Why are you singing the songs of our people?” they asked.

“These are the songs of our people,” the leaders replied. “Songs buried for generations. We believe now is the time to bring them back.”

The rabbis, stunned, responded, “You don’t understand. You’re singing in ancient high Hebrew. These are songs of worship given by the Creator.”

Let that sink in.

The rabbis told them: You might be the lost tribe of Israel.

How do you explain that?

You don’t. Not with logic, anyway. Only the Creator could orchestrate something so layered, mysterious, and beautiful.

That story has stayed with me just as much as my dream about Reesey. It awakened something in me—something ancestral, something holy, something deeply tied to identity, purpose, and land.

I believe these songs, these stories, these blankets of calling are rising again. And I believe our Creator is on the move.

“The songs of our people are being awakened again.”
—Alex Atkinson Jr.

0

A Year of Fulfilled Promises: Embracing 2025

Embracing Dreams and Fulfillment in the New Year

As the final days of 2024 draw to a close, the town of Metlakatla pauses to reflect on the blessings and challenges of the past year. It has been a year of growth, learning, and unexpected joys. Now, with hearts full of gratitude, the community looks forward to 2025 with renewed hope and an attitude of expectation.

Chapter 1: Reflecting on Blessings

Throughout 2024, Metlakatla experienced moments of both triumph and trial. Families grew closer, friendships were strengthened, and new opportunities arose. The town’s people celebrated milestones and supported one another through hardships. As they reflect on these moments, they recognize the blessings that have shaped them, giving thanks for the journey so far.

Chapter 2: A Year of Expectation

As the clock counts down to midnight on New Year’s Eve, there is a palpable sense of anticipation in the air. The community gathers to welcome 2025, a year that many believe will be one of fulfilled promises. These promises, whispered in their hearts many years ago, have been nurtured through patience and perseverance. Now, they feel that the time has come for these dreams to come to fruition.

Chapter 3: Awakening Dreams

With the arrival of 2025, the people of Metlakatla embrace the new year with a sense of purpose. It is time to dream again. Each person carries within them a vision, a hope that has been waiting to be realized. They understand that this is not just about personal achievements, but about coming together as a community to create something greater than themselves.

Chapter 4: Walking into Promise

As they step into the new year, the people of Metlakatla are determined to walk into the promises given. They recognize that these dreams require action, collaboration, and faith. With heads held high, they set out to build, create, and inspire. They understand that their collective efforts will pave the way for a brighter future.

Chapter 5: The Dawn of Fulfillment

In the months that follow, the town begins to see the fruits of their labor. Long-held dreams begin to take shape, bringing with them a sense of fulfillment and joy. New projects are launched, old goals are revisited, and the community thrives. The air is filled with the spirit of renewal and hope, as each person plays a part in making 2025 a year to remember.

Epilogue: A Legacy of Hope

As 2025 unfolds, Metlakatla becomes a testament to the power of hope and perseverance. The town’s people have shown that by dreaming again and working together, they can turn promises into reality. This year will go down in history as one of the greatest for Metlakatla, a year when dreams were not only revived but also realized.

0

Reflecting on the Movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life”

Like millions of others, I’ve watched the classic film, It’s a Wonderful Life numerous times and I see why many would say it’s the best film ever.

It offers a sense of redemption and hope and love and the magic of Christmas. If we allow ourselves to remain at the surface level, we can walk away feeling uplifted.

Never one to take things only at face value, I’ve been digging deeper and asking a lot of questions, and I’ve questioned some of the “lessons” of the film.

What I’ve concluded is that there’s a very different message or lesson embedded in the film, at least for me. It’s clear in my mind, because we’ve just finished watching it.

Here’s what I’ve drawn from it:

It’s a meaningful life. Clearly, George Bailey’s life has meaning. He’s been a powerful force in the lives of everyone around him. His decisions and actions blessed countless others, and no doubt had a ripple effect beyond even what was revealed to him by Angel Second Class, Clarence.

It’s a significant life. No doubt George’s actions and decisions made a significant difference in the lives of others. He saved his brother, Harry, from drowning; Harry went on to save the lives of countless others in the war.

He followed in his father’s footsteps, keeping the Building and Loan alive after his father’s death. In so doing, he gave his uncle, Billy, purpose and work for a lifetime, and kept him on track in spite of his faulty memory.

He kept his love, Mary, from being a spinster librarian (actually – she would have chosen that path; she wasn’t naturally doomed to it).

He kept Mr. Gower, the pharmacist, from poisoning a little boy when he filled the prescription capsules with poison, rather than the appropriate medicine because he was lost in pain (and drink) from hearing of the death of his son.

He kept Bedford Falls from falling into the greedy, mean-spirited grasp of Mr. Potter, who would turn it into a wasteland of the dirtier, grittier, less-than-wholesome side of life and business.

He created a path for so many Bedford Falls residents to realize the dream of homeownership by offering reasonable financing and building options, otherwise unavailable to them. By extension, he gave them responsibility, pride, community, hope…

His union with Mary restored the life to a once-regal, broken down old home, and filled it with the laughter of four beautiful children.

And clearly, as the end of the movie so movingly demonstrates, all those whose lives he touched were willing and ready to come to his aid in his moment of need.

What gets to me though, is that George lived the life everyone else thought he should live. He played the roles everyone else assigned to him. In every instance, he took on the responsibility of others and subverted his own desires for adventure and architecture and building amazing structures.

He did the “right” things.

I have to ask: Was it really the “right” thing? Was it really the life he was intended to lead? Is the underlying lesson here that we should suck it up and go along and do what everyone else expects us to do? Does that lead to a full and satisfying life?

His actions allowed everyone else to life the lives of their dreams, while he stayed behind and held down the proverbial fort.

It reminds me of a series of television ads I saw a few years ago created by some financial services company. It showed a couple in their 60’s (you see this through the graying hair and age in their faces) who can “finally live the life you dreamed of” because they successfully reached “retirement age.” They could quit doing the life-sucking work they’d been sentenced to, and because they (presumably) planned and invested correctly, they could now go on adventures, explore the world, and take the time and space to be more creative in their lives.

But there’s no guarantee any of us will reach that age and that state of financial security. And I question why it needs to be that way? Why do we insist having “the safe job” and making the “right salary” is the path to happiness? If it fills your bank account while draining your soul, what’s the true value?

Was it, in fact, a good exchange?

You see, every moment you choose to do any thing, you are exchanging your precious and perishable life energy for whatever that thing is. You will not get any of those moments back. And I’m not convinced the meaning of life is to do all the things the way those who have gone before have done them or think we should do them.

I think we were created to be creative. I believe we were given unique skills, talents, ideas and desires to bring our creativity to life. I don’t believe the purpose of life is to endure and survive until we die!

So, yes… George Bailey undoubtedly lived a full, meaningful, powerful, and significant life. I can’t help but wonder what more he might have accomplished had he chosen differently and wrote his own ending. What greater impact he may have had had he spread his wings, traveled the world, and shared his gifts within a larger sphere. And who else might have stepped forward in Bedford Falls to be forces for good, so to speak, in his absence.

It will likely remain an unanswered question; just a potential storyline in the corners of my mind.

So, I leave you with these questions about you and your life:

  • What voice is speaking to you within the depths of your soul?
  • What whispers are you hearing (ignoring?) that call you to something more interesting, something more creative?
  • What do you long to explore, create, bring to life, and share with the world (even if it’s only in your little corner)?
  • Which path will you choose to follow?

And I wonder… do we really want the people who have made a meaningful difference in our lives to have to wait until the end of theirs – or til crisis rears its ugly head – to let them know what they mean to us? Is there someone who would benefit from hearing, in simple language, just what they mean to you or how what seemed like a small act of kindness changed the course of your day or your life?

One of my mentors said, “How do you know if someone needs to be encouraged?… If they are breathing!” It’s true… we could all use more kind words, more acknowledgement of the value we bring. I challenge you to start a new practice and let the people around you know what they mean to you more often and how much you appreciate their efforts on your behalf.

We are on the brink of a new year… and the truth is, in any given moment, we can make a new choice about who we will be, what we will choose to do, and what we might have to offer.

I hope you choose thoughtfully. I hope you choose honestly. I hope you choose with courage and bravery.

You see… whatever it is that you were created to bring to the world is truly singular and unique to you. No one else in all of time has the power to do that one thing but you. And if you choose to remain on autopilot, if you choose to follow the path defined for you by someone else, if you choose to not show up and share it… It will NOT be. We will not have it.

And that would be a disservice. We will all be lesser for it.

Blessings to you all this holiday season. Whatever your spiritual or religious beliefs and practices may be, I send you light and love, peace and joy, health and wealth, and hopes for deeper connection, more meaning and richness… for prosperity and healing in the New Year!

0

Words to live by…

A Day with Uncle Solomon

It was a warm July day in the late 1990s, and I had a rare day off from my job flying seaplanes in our quaint hometown of Metlakatla. These days off were always a treasure, and I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it—visiting my Uncle Solomon Atkinson.

Uncle Sol was a man revered by everyone who knew him. His wisdom and honor, rooted in prayer and a life filled with faith, made him a beacon of encouragement. Visits to his home were more than just casual family gatherings; they were experiences rich with lessons and insight.

That afternoon, as I stepped into his cozy office, I was greeted by the familiar sight of Uncle Sol at his desk, deep in thought. He welcomed me with a warm smile and a bear hug that spoke volumes of his affection.

We settled into an easy conversation, catching up on life and the latest happenings. The topic soon shifted to what I was doing during the winter months down south. With pride in my voice, I told him about my time in college and the work I had taken up to support my studies.

Uncle Sol listened intently, nodding his head occasionally. Then, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes reflecting a depth of thought and wisdom. He looked at me and made a statement that would stay with me forever: “When you are done, walking the trails down south, you need to come home and teach our people and our family what you learned.”

His words were simple, yet profound. They carried a weight of responsibility and a call to action that resonated deeply within me. I knew that this was not just a casual remark; it was a guiding principle, a mission that I needed to fulfill.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, my voice steady and resolute. I took his words to heart, knowing that they would shape my path and purpose in the years to come.

That day with Uncle Solomon was more than just a visit; it was a pivotal moment in my life, a moment that defined my commitment to my roots and my community. His wisdom and encouragement were the compass that guided me, reminding me of the importance of giving back and sharing knowledge with those who mattered most.

0

The Song Stones Echo

The Song Stones Echo

Once upon a time, in the heart of Metlakatla, Alaska, there lived a young storyteller named Kaya. Kaya had inherited the wisdom of her Tsimshian ancestors, and her soul resonated with the rhythm of the waves crashing against the rocky shores. She believed that stories were like the wind—sometimes gentle whispers, other times tempests that swept through the forest, carrying secrets and dreams.

Kaya’s days were filled with ink-stained parchment and melodies that danced in her mind. She would sit by the fire, the flames casting shadows on the walls, and weave tales of courage, love, and resilience. Her poems flowed like the nearby river, capturing the essence of the land and its people.

One frosty morning, Kaya ventured into the ancient forest. The trees stood tall, their branches reaching for the sky, and the air smelled of pine and moss. She closed her eyes, listening to the wind rustling the leaves, and felt the heartbeat of the earth beneath her feet. It was here that she discovered the Songstone—a smooth, obsidian-like rock that held the power to transform words into melodies.

Kaya carried the Songstone with her wherever she went. When she sat by the water’s edge, she sang verses about the salmon’s journey upstream, their silver bodies shimmering in the sunlight. The waves joined in, harmonizing with her voice. When she climbed the mountains, she whispered stories to the eagles, who soared higher, their wings catching the sun’s golden rays.

But Kaya’s greatest creation was the Moonlit Lullaby. She wrote it during the darkest nights when the moon hung low, casting silvery threads across the bay. The lullaby spoke of hope, of dreams cradled in the arms of the night, and of ancestors watching over their descendants. When she sang it, the stars blinked in approval, and the auroras danced in celebration.

Word of Kaya’s gift spread beyond the village. Travelers came from distant lands, seeking her stories and songs. They brought gifts—feathers from exotic birds, shells from distant shores, and rare herbs that whispered forgotten tales. Kaya used these treasures to create new verses, each one a tribute to the interconnectedness of all life.

One day, a weary pilot named Elias arrived in Metlakatla. His plane had battled fierce winds, and he had lost his way. Kaya welcomed him with warmth, offering him a cup of spruce tea. Elias shared stories of the skies—the constellations that guided him, the storms that tested his resolve, and the sunrises that painted the horizon in hues of orange and pink.

Moved by Elias’s tales, Kaya composed the Skybound Ode. She sang of wings slicing through clouds, of sunsets melting into twilight, and of the moon cradling the stars. Elias listened, tears in his eyes, and knew he had found something precious—a connection to the land, the sky, and the human spirit.

As seasons changed, Kaya and Elias continued to exchange stories. They wove their narratives together, creating a tapestry of shared experiences. And when the time came for Elias to leave, Kaya gave him the Songstone. “Carry our stories with you,” she said. “Let them guide you home.”

And so, Elias flew across oceans, the Songstone nestled in his pocket. He wrote letters to Kaya, describing distant lands and the people he met. Kaya, in turn, composed poems inspired by his adventures. Their words circled the globe, bridging cultures and hearts.

Legend has it that on clear nights, if you listen closely, you can hear the Moonlit Lullaby echoing through the Alaskan fjords. And when the northern lights dance, it’s Kaya and Elias, their stories intertwined, painting the sky with wonder.

And so, dear reader, remember that every word you write, every tale you tell, has the power to connect souls, just like Kaya’s Songstone and Elias’s wings. 

0

The Ravens Gift of Laughter

“Raven’s Gift of Laughter”

In the heart of Annette Island, where ancient cedar trees whispered secrets and the sea embraced the shore, there lived a curious Raven named Kasko. Kasko was no ordinary bird; he possessed a mischievous spirit and an insatiable appetite for adventure.

One crisp morning, Kasko soared above the village of Metlakatla, his glossy feathers catching the first rays of dawn. His beady eyes scanned the landscape, seeking something new to explore. And there it was—a gathering of elders near the totem poles, their faces etched with wisdom and laughter lines.

Kasko perched on a weathered totem, his ebony wings rustling. “Greetings, honored ones!” he cawed. “Why do your eyes twinkle like stars, and your laughter dance like salmon in the river?”

The eldest among them, Tlingit Grandma Aanika, leaned on her cane. “Ah, Kasko,” she said, her voice as soothing as cedar smoke. “We share stories—the old tales that connect us to our ancestors. Laughter keeps our spirits young.”

Kasko tilted his head. “Tell me a tale, Grandma Aanika. One that will make my feathers ruffle with delight.”

And so, Grandma Aanika began:

“The Dance of the Clamshell”

Long ago, when the world was still raw and unshaped, Raven flew across the vast ocean. His belly grumbled, and his wings grew tired. He spotted a giant clamshell floating on the water—a clamshell so immense that it could hold an entire village.

Curiosity tugged at Raven’s heart. He landed on the clamshell, and with a mighty peck, cracked it open. Inside, he found people—naked, shivering, and hungry. They blinked up at him, their eyes wide as moonstones.

“Who are you?” Raven asked, fluffing his feathers.

“We are the First Ones,” they replied. “We emerged from this shell, but we lack everything—food, warmth, and stories.”

Raven’s heart softened. He transformed into a young man with raven-black hair. “Fear not,” he said. “I’ll provide for you.”

And so, Raven danced. He summoned salmon from the depths, berries from the forest, and fire from the stars. He taught them songs and laughter, weaving joy into their lives.

But Raven was also a trickster. One day, he turned himself into a clam and hid inside the giant shell. When the people gathered, they tried to pry it open, hoping for more treasures. But the clamshell remained shut.

“Perhaps we need laughter,” Grandma Aanika said, her eyes twinkling. “Raven loved mischief. So they sang silly songs, told jokes, and danced until tears streamed down their faces.”

And lo and behold, the clamshell cracked open, revealing Raven, laughing uproariously. The people joined him, their laughter echoing across the island. From that day on, they cherished joy as much as food and fire.

Kasko listened, his black eyes wide. “And what happened to those First Ones?”

Grandma Aanika smiled. “They became our ancestors—the ones who shaped Metlakatla. And Raven?

He still dances in the wind, reminding us to find laughter even in the darkest storms.”

And so, dear friend, whenever you hear a raven’s caw or feel the warmth of shared laughter, know that Kasko’s spirit lives on, weaving magic through time and memory.

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑