Papaw Foraging

Today I felt the spirit of the old squaw,
She hopped across the creek where I did.
Across the smooth stones polisher by the glacial ice and running waters.
Knowing that the papaws were ripe and falling from the trees.

She went across the creek and up the hill to the groves.
What I could learn from her. How did she prepare them?
Did she just pull the skin off and suck in the sweet gelatinous fruit like I did?
Did she save the seed and trade, plant them, are they medicinal?

But the most important question is how she saved the harvest.
For the cold days that always come when the Sun dips low in the South.
Oh what I could learn from these elders,
of harsh times and survival.

We all know this culture that has engulfed us in its raging flow,
is taking us to the unstoppable current, over the edge we go….
Stop, we must get the children to shore first.
I miss you Grand Father.