After I received my second book, ‘When We Were Lions’, and read the finished product, I felt like I had done a good job of telling the story. My youngest daughter was at the table doing homework and we were just chatting a bit.
I said, “You know Josie, with my writing I feel like I am a real story teller.”
And like any loving eighteen year old daughter would, she said, “Duh! I coulda’ told you that.”
Aaah, the love. That was awhile ago now.
Here is a little peek behind the curtain if you will on how my brain and these stories come about.
So… I’m at work the other day, driving the front end loader and using a little bulldozer/road grader I built on our gravel roads and parking areas fixing dips and doodles and some doozy pot holes.
It’s slow work so your brain has time to think while you focus your attention out in front of the loader as you carefully watch ‘the cut’ and how much material you are working.
POP! A thought just like that, comes outta no where, it said, “What if you were in an elementary class and a snarky little boy comes up to you holding an empty flower pot, the real old kind, chipped, red clay and dirty and he says, ‘Hey Mr. Storyteller, what about this empty flower pot? Can you make a story about that?’ What would you say?”
Then like the sunrise on opening day of deer season or the finale of a fireworks display, I had a complete story unfold and pop off in my mind all at once like fire works and slowly like a very bright sunrise over a frosty forest. Here it is.
The Story Teller: Taking the empty flower pot he says, “This is no ordinary empty flower pot.” “This is an ancient flower vessel from ancient Japan used by the first and most famous Samurai warrior, Master Watashi-ga Saisho-deshita.”
Little Boy: “Samurai warriors did not use flower pots, they used swords.”
The Story Teller: “Did I not say, ‘the first samurai’?”
Little Boy: “Yes”
The Story Teller begins:
This very thing happened long ago, in ancient Japan. The Samurai were not known as Samurai yet but there were Masters of the Sword, Masters of the Bow and Masters of the Arts.
There was a little village nestled in the foothills of the mountains and in that village a little boy and his family. The little boy was about your age and he had a little sister, a mother and a father.
The little boy was not happy. He wanted to be like the other little boys who’s fathers were teaching them to fight and shoot bow and use a sword.
He was unhappy because his father was a farmer who was known for making flower arrangements in clay pots.
The little boy had to help his father all the time. His father would take him everywhere with him. He would help his father pull down bamboo saplings on the hillside tying them down so they would grow in shapes his father could use. He would climb the mountain with his father, learning how to stand, holding tools and supplies on the incline of the mountain, while his father replanted flowers and trees for the future. He would also go fishing with his father, for hours and hours, it would get so boring that the little boy would nod off to sleep holding his bamboo sapling that he used for fishing.
That was his life, he felt it was boring.
Then one day while his father was away something very exciting happened. There was a visitor.
But not just any visitor. This visitor was very famous across all the land. He was The Swordmaster from the capital city. He was coming into the little boys village with some of his men.
The little boy wondered who he was coming to see. The little boy climbed to the top of a hill on the edge of the village where he could see all the houses. He wanted to see whose house The Swordmaster was stopping at.
The little boys house was out on the far edge of the village. Off to the right of the road going through the village. “But he wouldn’t be coming to my house”, he thought.
He sat to watch.
The cadre of men were very fierce looking. They all had swords and bows and were riding war horses. The little boy was so excited, these were real men. Not farmers like his father.
The little boy watched with anticipation, wondering who they came to see. The riders were quiet. No one was speaking. They would look left, then right, then straight and just slowly made their way to the edge of the village. There they stopped and the fierce leader talked with one of the women from the village for a brief moment and then the company continued on.
They continued on, at their slow pace. Passing house after house. Passing even, Shichō-no-ie’s house. The little boy thought surely they would stop to talk to him. Methodically on they strode.
The little boy was ready to bust. They were almost to the far edge of the village and would be leaving, without stopping. They were at the edge of the village, they would be gone very soon.
Then! The leader gently pulled his horses reins to the right and turned his horse into his families yado! The little boy could not believe it.
He sat and watched in amazement as the leader, the fierce warrior, The Swordmaster, got down off of his horse AND BOW to his mother.
As The Swordmaster entered his home the little boy ran as fast as he could straight down the hill towards his home.
He was very out of breath when he came walking through the group of warriors surrounding his home. He made his way slowly and politely into the house.
His mother was talking to The Swordmaster about his father.
“Father? What would he want with my father.”
His father was deep in the mountains and would not return for a long time. His mother relayed this to The Swordmaster who seemed disappointed that his father was not at home.
Then the boy heard his mother say, “But you will stay the night and allow me to feed you and your men, and we will have tea, please do not dishonor me in my own home and refuse.”
The Swordmaster could not bear such a thought and with another deep, respectful bow he accepted.
The little boys head was spinning, supper with The Swordmaster. He had so many questions he wanted to ask.
But supper came and went in silence.
When his mother got up to prepare the tea the little boy had to ask just one question. “Sir, please forgive me. My father is just a farmer and does not know the way of the sword. Would you be so kind as to show me the first steps to becoming a sword master?”
Just then his mother stepped in and hearing this her faced blushed with embarrassment. But The Swordmaster raised his hand to calm the boys mother and said, “So that your mother is not embarrassed in the asking, and her hospitality not dishonored in a refusal, I will show you the steps to ‘the way’ on one condition, you must clean up in here so that your mother and I may enjoy our tea as the sun sets.”
Cleaning up was woman’s’ work, but the boy was not about to miss this opportunity, “Agreed”, he said, as calmly as he could muster. When he was done cleaning up and The Swordmaster and his mother were done with tea, he also cleaned up the tea utensils for them as his father had taught him to.
He could hardly lay still much less sleep. But eventually he finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
The rooster scared him awake as if he had missed the morning. The sun was up, just coming over the mountain. The mist of the morning was rising and out in the clearing was The Swordmaster. Waiting. Waiting for the little boy.
The little boy wasn’t so sure now. The sun was flashing off of The Swordmasters sword. The warrior was emerging from the morning mist and looked a lot bigger than he did last night sitting down.
The little boy had a feeling in his stomach. He was wishing, just for a brief moment that his father was there with him. Then he was angry at himself. How could his father help him with this warrior?
The Swordmaster didn’t say anything to the boy. He only handed him a renshū ken and the lesson began.
“How do I hold it?”
“As if you were bending a bamboo sapling.”
“How do I stand?”
“As if you were standing on the side of a mountain.”
“I feel tight, I’m too tense. How do I relax.”
“Relax as if you were on the bank of a river… fishing.”
The little boys mother walked up with a small package for the warrior and he bowed. He turned to the little boy and said, “You honored our agreement, you listened intently and did what I asked you to do. I too have held up my end of the bargain and have shown you ‘the way’ and so I must leave you now.”
The little boy was confused. He didn’t think he learned anything. The cadre of men had gathered and brought The Swordmaster his horse.
As The Swordmaster swung up onto his horse the young boy stepped up and asked, “Wait, what do bamboo shoots, standing on a mountain, and fishing… have to do with the way of the sword?”
The Swordmaster gently nudged his horse toward the road and as the horse started to move away, The Swordmaster looked back at the little boy and answered…
“Ask your father… for it was he… who trained me.”
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