Reflections of a Storyteller, part 1: When There Is No Snow on the Ground

zhaawano
Oct 12, 2022
4 min read

Updated: Aug 18

Binaakwe-giizis (Falling Leaves Moon), October 12, 2022

Updated: Waawaaskone-giizis (Flower Moon) - June 10, 2025

Boozhoo, biindigen, welcome to my storytelling lodge! Today, I will share a reflection inspired by messages and comments I recently received from some of my readers.

Every year around this time, I receive the same question from what I refer to as the "Only-When-There-Is-Snow-On-The-Ground Police." Some people contact me respectfully via Messenger, while others prefer to criticize me publicly. Each year, I respond with essentially the same answer:

The timing of telling a sacred story is not of great importance. I believe that respect is not determined by the time of year or day, but rather by your intentions. It's about how you narrate a story, the respectful manner in which you discuss those involved, and the humble, ritualistic way you invite the Spirits to leave their sacred realm and enter the human world. Some may be awake, others asleep; it truly doesn't matter. It appears to me that humans are more prone to taking offense than non-humans, spirits included.

I ask them, as far this taboo on "storytelling when there is no snow on the ground" goes: Am I really insulting the Spirits, or does it merely offend you? I advise them not to accept everything they hear without question. Be humble and consider wisdoms carefully before repeating them, I suggest. Blindly accepting what the media says and then displaying a "traditional" stance on Facebook does not make you a model NDN.

Oh yes, the ban on storytelling "when there is no snow on the ground" might pertain to oral storytelling. However, it doesn't extend to storytelling through writing or art. Consider it like a storytelling book or a painting. Bookstores and art galleries don't put away books or paintings when there's no snow on the ground, do they? I don't believe there's a rule against entering a bookstore during daylight outside of winter and browsing a storytelling book, flipping through its pages and viewing the pictures. I don't think this would offend the Spirits.

When a story is shared at night, perhaps around a campfire or at a kitchen table, the Spirits might hear our voices, which some believe is inappropriate. The sound of human voices can capture the Spirits' attention, haw sa, that much I can understand. However, stories written down or shared on social media won't awaken them or attract their attention (let alone offend them), will they? I'm sure Wenabozho wouldn't mind people discussing him online. It must be quite lonely where he resides, and knowing him, I'm certain the Internet vibes he might sense (since he's very clever) would bring a smile to his face. Besides, when did he ever shy away from controversy? He's always been one to challenge limits. In most tales about him, he's seeking mischief. He's never been afraid to stir things up a bit, never avoided a little commotion in his life or ours. I truly believe he enjoys these stories and likes to listen, along with the children, to the fantastic tales told about him. I like to think that not only does he play the leading role with his usual imagination and enthusiasm, but he also actively helps the storyteller in crafting these sacred Wenabozho stories and sharing them online.

On a practical note: In the old days, it was widely believed that during winter nights, the aadizookanaag (animals and spirits) "listened in" to the stories and occasionally even participated in telling them. However, how could these entities sleep and participate in storytelling simultaneously? This leads me to believe that the "protocol" prohibiting storytelling during the warm months and confining it to winter, to avoid "offending" them, is a relatively recent development. Similarly, the belief that telling a Wenabozho story in the warm season results in "a frog in your bed" might not be ancient. I really doubt our ancestors adhered to strict rules and protocols. Stories were typically being told during the long winter nights, simply because the hunting and growing and ceremonial season had come to an end, which meant our ancestors had more time on their hands. Winter thus became a time of family gatherings and communal reflection through storytelling.

Another reason this restriction on storytelling solely in winter might not be very old stems from a relatively recent past. It is highly likely that it was the European missionaries who introduced the "only when there's snow on the ground" rule, for reasons that aren't hard to understand when one thinks of their zeal to Christianize our people. Of course, they believed it was in our best interest to minimize the number of days during which there was "pagan" storytelling. So, this "tradition" to not offend the spirits may not be so traditional after all. More likely a myth, meant to rob us from our stories under false pretenses.

Another possible and very plausible reason for how this tradition began was shared with me by one of my readers. She said that "when the snow was on the ground, the people had time to hide themselves away from the Church. It may have been another way of keeping our stories safe and protected from the people who always were actively trying to kill our culture. Our elders worked overtime to see our stories, ceremonies, beliefs, and culture through. Only when the snow covered us was it safe." There is wisdom in these words, and they deserve reflection. After all, we are not ayatollahs; we are NDNs. I believe that as NDNs, we should focus more on honoring and preserving the old traditions rather than perpetuating modern-day taboos and misconceptions.

Mii i'iw, onjida.

Check out episode 2 of the 'Reflections of a Storyteller' series: The Indigenous Identity Question - How to Sit Firm in the Eye of the Hurricane

Illustrations, from top to bottom:

Reflections of a Storyteller, part 1: When There Is No Snow on the Ground

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