ears of the heart

Taki put the palm of her hand on the trunk of the tree.

"When I was a little girl, my aaka, my grandmother, held this hand and walked me outside of Point Hope," she said, "and talked with me about the plants around us, the ones people can and cannot eat, the ones people can use for medicine.

This, Little Salt, is called the Balm of Gilead tree."

Little Salt looked closely at the buds on the lower branches of the tree.

He breathed in deeply the sweet smell of the resin.

He whistled at the wonder of it all.

"Balm of Gilead resin can soothe a cough or keep a small wound or cut or scrape from getting infected.

Maybe it could help a mute boy talk, huh?

You can rub the resin on your skin or gargle it with warm water.

It helps burns and sore throats.

It grows here, even out of the hard, cold ground.

Look at the heart shaped leaves. 

They remind me that the heart is the place where we learn to share, cooperate, take responsibility, avoid conflict and respect others, all the qualities the old ones try to pass along to us.

Aaka told me, she said, 'Taki, these are the values of the People. 

They keep hearts beating in this frozen land.'"

She closed her eyes.

She put her ear on the smooth, light brown bark of the tree.

"I hear the tree," she whispered. 

"It’s saying, 'Take only what you need from nature. 

Use what you have to help others. 

Always speak your own language.'"

Little Salt put his hand on Taki’s hand on the tree.

He closed his eyes. 

He put his ear to the leaves.