Growing Up Abenaki
Growing Up Abenaki Growing Up Abenaki My name is Joseph Bruchac, and I am an Abenaki storyteller. For thousands of years the Abenaki Indians have told stories that teach people to care for the earth and to respect each other. I retell these stories for children all over the world. I was raised by my grandparents in a small town at the base of the Adirondack Mountains. The Abenaki Indians lived in this area. There is an old Indian burial ground a few miles away from my grandparents’ home. Bu
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Growing Up Abenaki
Growing Up Abenaki
My name is Joseph Bruchac, and I am an Abenaki storyteller.For thousands of years the Abenaki Indians have told stories that teach peopleto care for the earth and to respect each other.
I retell these stories for children all over the world.
I was raised by my grandparents in a small town at the base of the Adirondack Mountains.The Abenaki Indians lived in this area.There is an old Indian burial ground a few miles away from my grandparents’ home.But my grandparents never told me that we were Abenaki, too.
The Adirondack Mountains are located in northeastern New York state.
When I think of my grandfather, I see a tall man with brown eyes and skin as dark as the earth under his feet.He seemed taller than the tallest trees.As a child, I followed him everywhere.
I loved to walk with him through the forest near our home.Because he named every tree, I could recognize each one.He also pointed out the animal tracks.I could follow the trails of deer, raccoons, and foxes.
Grandfather taught me to follow animal tracks.
Every spring we searched the forest for bloodroot flowers.Grandpa would break off one of the plants.Then he would paint lines and circles on my forehead and cheeks with the orange liquid that dripped from its roots.
“Spring paint,” he would say and smile at me.
One spring I looked in a mirror, pleased with the paint drying on my face.I turned to Grandpa and said with delight, “I look like an Indian boy, don’t I?”
He looked unhappy as he shook his head and said, “We’re French!”
This bloodroot plant has an orange liquid in its stem that looks paint.
When I was in fourth grade, I visited an Old West theme park.There I met a Pueblo Indian named Swift Eagle.He told me a Native American tale about a fox and a bear.
Even though this was the first Native American story I had ever heard, I never forgot it.I began searching for stories like it, especially animal stories.I read as many stories as I could.
I dreamed of becoming a naturalist, a person who studies living things.Then I could work outdoors, close to the animals.
Near the end of high school, I talked to a teacher about my future.He told me that I needed to go to college to become a naturalist.
One day a letter arrived in the mail. I opened it.
Cornell University; School of Agriculture; Ithaca, New York
Dear Mr. Bruchac:
Cornell University is happy to tell you that you are accepted into its freshman class….
I was happy to go to college and begin a new journey that would lead me toward my dream.
