Badgerblog

Sonai says colors from the fire determine our people’s fate. Sonai says I am too young to light the wooden ring in our people’s colors from the fire celebration. I say, I am nine years old and that makes me a woman. Father says, “Kaika, you are too young. What if the arrow drops and burns you?”

“Well,” I say, “what if the arrow shooter misses and burns you to the ground?”

Suddenly Father’s smile turns to a scowl, and I am sent to my family’s teepee. Later that night, when the snow white moonlight pierces my warm bright eyes, Sonai tells us it is time for our fate deciding. My mother Javen goes first. “Ah, Javen, you will be expecting soon!” Mother’s eyes fill with joy.

Next, Akzir, my annoying older sister. “Akzir, you will have good luck!” She starts prancing around like a pony, until mother stops her.

And finally . . . drumroll . . . me. “Ah Kaika, you will go through an adventure.” What did he mean? I couldn’t ask because he had vanished from behind the ivy green flames. Besides, nothing ever happens to me.

AWOO! Huh? AWOO! Wolves. I look up. Father is awake too. “Kaika, stay here, with your mother and sister,” he says. I knew he was out there fighting the pack of wolves. But I was worried. Last time Father fought a wolf, he ended up wounded.

“Ahhhhhh!” What now?

“Ahhhhhhhh!” Father! Suddenly, there is Father, hovering from a wolf’s jaws, cherry blood spilling from his face. When the wolf runs off with the last of our winter meat, I run too. I run past the trees, and onto the fragile, icy blue lake until I see the wolf. Step . . . creak . . . step . . . crack . . . step . . . crack! Then boom! As I fall into the freezing water, the wolf falls with me. I open my eyes: pain. But I see the wolf.

The meat falls from its jaws as it falls into the darkness of the lake. I catch the meat and climb to the surface onto the icy blue frozen lake.

Whoosh! The flaming arrow goes through the hoop. My feather earrings sway along with my porcupine dress. “All hail Kaika the Great!” my father says.

That’s when it hits me. The colors of the fire don’t determine our fate. We do.

I look at my wooden medal. It says: To Kaika Lavfenta Khant, for extraordinary bravery. My new pet fox prowler lays on my leg. The sunset fades as winter ends.

THE END

Taylor, middle school, north summer camp

When I asked the Great Wall of China, “How long are you?”
The Wall twisted. Creaking noises and dust filled the air.
It trembled and shook.
And right in front of me, a hole opened up in the Wall.
Dust filled the air once more.
I peered down the hole.
“What?” I said.
A ruler spat out.

Walter, middle school, south summer camp

the eager upturned faces of the amphibious vegetarians
peeking morally from out of the organic murk
the hundreds of anonymous grey minnows
viciously darting about, trading positions like atoms
riding on the submerged backs of their musky-shelled
brethren
politely expecting, staring, asking, wanting
pushing forth their geometric little bodies
shoving, coyly swimming at various paces
jabbing the sunny shadows of patchy light
meeting neck to orange-striped neck in comical aggressive embrace
patrolling the wet sludgy perimeter
beware of granddaddy grey, wise fishy intruder
observing the leafy corralled island
dunking spherical shells and limbs and nosy heads
beneath the occasional sapphire flitting dragonfly
dreamily watching the optical illusions of the shallow depths
the affectionately brief nose kisses.

Cali, ninth grade, downtown summer camp

Today, I took my sidewalk chalk
my sidewalk chalk of assorted colors.
I went outside
out on my street
and started to rub my chalk on the sidewalk
the old concrete sidewalk.
I had time
maybe a little too much.
I had spent all day there
in the hot, hot sun
just rubbing, rubbing down my sidewalk chalk.
And when I finished,
I swelled with pride
at that masterpiece
I created.
Then, it started to rain.

Eliana, middle school, downtown summer camp

Soft but sharp and blue like the sky,
Bright and yellow as the sun goes by.
Dolphin jumps high above the water,
As deer run fast in the evergreen forests.
In the sky, flying in a “V,”
Swans fly North across the sea.
Cherry blossom trees
Swaying in the wind.
As I sit and watch this
The day is coming in.

Alexa, middle school, south summer camp (poem and illustration)

The desert awakes with a whispered sigh.
A jackrabbit scurries through the brush
while far above a raven cries.
Dawn breaks from a frozen hush.

A jackrabbit scurries through the brush
bent on finding food to eat.
Dawn breaks from a frozen hush,
the cold chill of the night retreats.

Bent on finding food to eat,
a roadrunner darts across the sand.
The cold chill of the night retreats
as fiery warmth fills the land.

A roadrunner darts across the sand
in the shadow of a towering saguaro.
As fiery warmth fills the land
the cactus wren peers at a beetle below.

In the shadow of a towering saguaro
a bevy of quail march by in a line.
The cactus wren peers at a beetle below.
On a sunny rock the lizard reclines.

A bevy of quail march by in a line
while far above a raven cries.
On a sunny rock the lizard reclines.
The desert awakes with a whispered sigh.

Mallika, sixth grade, north summer camp

Walking down a numbered street
I have just left my father’s car
and the air conditioning is still settled
in the bottoms of my shoes
encasing my feet, the feeling
soaking through my soles,
up into the muscles of my legs.

I continue to walk forward,
noticing tar spots on the sidewalk,
the concrete looking like
the floor of a painter’s studio.

I walk past a man
who is deflated on the curb,
returning to reality roughly,
piece by piece.
His eyes are closed
and his breath creaks like
the wind creaks through an abandoned house.
He coughs, and I avert my gaze,
walking forward.

The sunlight has had hours now
to soak through the sidewalk,
the asphalt, and the buildings.
I look away from the shimmering cityscape,
and focus on the sun.
I feel the heat sink in and replace the cool air in my shoes.

Olivia, tenth grade, downtown summer camp

There is a wilderness that
no one can access, except for
a select few, and even then
they cannot imagine how far
and wide it stretches or how
different it is from their own world.
They assume what the rest of
the wilderness is based on
is what little they’ve seen,
but they have no idea.
With snakes ready to poison,
vultures waiting for death,
and lizards hiding in the sand.
No one understands this place.
Not even those who live in it.
This wilderness is my mind.

Stewart, middle school, downtown summer camp

In the very beginning, God created animals and placed them where he thought they’d go best. He also picked a ruler or a “king” of each habitat, like Tiger: Ruler of the Amazon. He made special privileges and responsibilities for them. All was well for a certain amount of time. That was before King of the Pond started taking advantage. God had put Toad as the pond ruler, or Toad: King of the Pond.

“Everyone look at me! I can stand on one leg and hop up and down,” said Toad. Everyone ignored the toad. It was true and clear that God had given Toad very strong legs to hop on. When he saw that no one was paying attention, he said “I am the best song singer of all of you, listen: “la de mi sooo.” Indeed, God had given him a beautiful voice. But no one liked him bragging. “Why does no one respect me anymore?” Toad wondered. Well, the question should have been re-phrased but the simple answer was—you brag too much.

“Look at me, I’m slick and green, I am beautiful. I catch food by the mouthfuls with my tongue.” God had given Toad a slick beautiful body and a huge tongue to catch food to share with his fellow animal friends, not to brag about. God saw that Toad was bragging too much, so he gave Toad a consequence.

“You will grow a bump each time you brag.”

And so each time the Toad bragged, he grew an ugly bump on his slick body. Toad still was too boastful to stop bragging. God added, “Your legs will now be weaker so you have to hop on two legs.” This didn’t stop Toad from bragging. Now God saw that all of this was still not stopping Toad from bragging, so he did one last thing. He gave him a small, skinny, catching-one-fly-at-a-time tongue. Toad did not care, he could still sing and brag just the same with his mouth. So God gave him an ugly voice. Finally, Toad stopped bragging. He was too ashamed. He had nothing else. This saddened and embarrassed him so much that he ran to the nearby marsh and hid under the moss.

Toad finally learned his lesson. That’s why you rarely see toads in ponds now and why they hide in dark green marshes.

Gloria, sixth grade, Austin Waldorf summer camp