CHAPTER ONE
If someone had told me long ago of all the things that would happen by the time I reached the ripe old age of twenty, I would have slapped them and then insisted they buy me a double of whatever they were drinking. It seemed I would need it.
I don’t know about too many things in this world. However, I do know that I was born to a Native American Indian maiden who left me for Granny to find as an infant. I know that I love the mountain I grew up on and the Cherokee Indian tribe that I consider family. I now know just how easy my life with Granny was. I was loved, safe, comfortable, well fed, and never looked down upon by anyone. However, it was all the things I didn’t know that were hardest to learn – aren’t they always?
Granny had been a teacher at one point in her youth, leaving the mountain for a short time following her husband.
When he died, she returned to the mountain to resume her medicinal work learned from her grandmother.
She not only prepared me well for life on the mountain located in the southwest of North Carolina, but taught me to read and write and act like a lady. Although she had slid back into her mountain talk, she wouldn’t allow that of me. I thought I would never leave the mountain.
People did not move to the mountain; they were born and died there with many having never left. Everything you needed to survive and raise a family lived within the woods, flowed in the stream or grew on the floor of the forest.
The Cherokee Indians inhabited a large portion of the state but the Wind Clan were the only tribe that lived on this particular mountain and they called it béecét edoda or the Hands of God.
The silhouette produced what looked like two hands praying. Where the thumbs crossed, there were natural passages that helped facilitate travelers on their way to the north and east or further south to the Gulf Coast.
A Creole trapper who often traded with the Indians couldn’t pronounce the Indian word but had a similar translation of Nan Bondye and Bondy Mountain it remained.
Granny had told me the story of finding me many times and never tired of repeating it whenever I asked. She had been visiting what she called “God’s medicine cabinet,” foraging among hills surrounded by pines, willow and elm trees. Granny was always on the lookout for the valuable plants, roots, bark, mushrooms and berries used to create the herbal medicines that treated daily ailments and homeopathy medicine used to treat illnesses and injuries for the people she helped on the mountain.
While digging up a very stubborn, but valuable ginger root, Granny looked up to see an Indian maiden holding a small bundle. Indians on the mountain were friendly; her best friend was the mountain tribe’s medicine woman.
Granny smiled and started to rise and greet the woman, but the maiden laid the bundle on the ground by a fallen tree and slowly backed away, motioning for Granny to approach. She slowly went to the tree to see what the girl had left and glanced at the maiden in surprise when she pulled back the swaddling and saw a newborn. The girl nodded her head, turned, and melted into the forest.
Confused, Granny picked me up and looked for the woman, but she had disappeared. Not sure what to do, Granny took me to the Indian Village
Silver Cloud was the medicine woman for the A ni gi lo hi tribe of Cherokee Indians, also known as the Wind Clan, a subdivision of the Long Hair Clan. Known for being a peaceful tribe, they often took in prisoners of war, and orphans whether they were Cherokee or not. Their camp was located in a lush and fertile valley perfect for the Indian farmers who grew crops and lived on the mountain year-round, except when they traveled to participate in a large group hunt with the other seven clans of the Cherokee Indians.
Silver Cloud greeted Granny with welcome and great surprise. When Granny explained how she found me, Silver Cloud reassured her about her apprehensions.
“You must know that if the maiden had wanted the child, she would have never abandoned it and will never except it once she has. I know that this child belongs to no one in our tribe. She must live off the mountain. Perhaps with another Cherokee clan, and fell for a white trapper or trader and was not allowed to keep the child. It is a shame; our tribe welcomes mixed blood. This infant is yours if you choose; if not, our tribe will welcome her.”
“I have always wanted a child of my own. After Jeb died, I never figured on ever having one.”
“The Great Spirit has blessed you, my friend.”
“He has, indeed. But, how do I feed a newborn without mother’s milk?”
EverRose, Silver Cloud’s daughter, spoke up not taking her eyes off me. “You need to find a digaliyanvhidv; donkey’s milk is most like breast milk, at least until she can drink cow’s milk.”
“Donkeys are insufferable beasts,” she shook her head in disgust, “but if that’s what she’s needing, then I guess I ought to locate a damn donkey. Jeremiah might have one among all those horses he raises; at least he might know where to find me one.”
“Look at how beautiful she is. She has the perfect rosebud mouth.” EverRose turned to Granny. “Do you have a name for her?”
“I ain’t had much time to think on it, any ideas?”
“We name our children after specific events related to the birth, either before or after. I can’t get over those beautiful little red, rosebud lips,” said EverRose, stroking my tiny mouth.
“Rosebud?” suggested Silver Cloud.
“Granny, what is your last name?” asked EverRose.
“Winter.”
“What about Rosebud Winter...no, Red Winter…Red Rose of Winter! Roses hold the promise of hope and new beginnings. What do you think, does it not fit her perfectly?”
“Yes, yes, it does. It’s perfect,” said Granny and Silver Cloud agreed.
From that time on, my name was Red Rose of Winter, but everyone called me Rose.
