Sometimes it can be very hard to find stories for winter time… a southern winter time, that is. Here in Houston it has been cold for us (read: ICE!) but there are no snowmen, no penguins, and no hibernating bears, and let’s face it, it’s really hard to find any charming winter songs without these things.
February in Houston does have its own personality, though. February is gray and icy cold fronts swooping down from the north, followed by the balmy days when you notice the white wing doves are back from Mexico and cooing outside of your window. February is stepping out one morning in a T-shirt, only to run back home an hour later for your winter coat and hat because that front has moved in. February is the time to grow paperwhites indoors, and prune the roses, and drive out to the prairie to see the last of the geese if you can.
I’ve been looking for stories that celebrate this urban southern Houston winter. I grew up with stories about snow and penguins in Houston, and while I have no problem with either, hearing only about this sort of classic storybook New England winter as a child made me rather dissatisfied with the balmy one I had. I always felt that there was something wrong with my native climate; that it wasn’t normal, wasn’t behaving itself, was somehow defective and therefore not worth much; it didn’t really count. I heard a lot about squirrels, but they were always the cute red kind found up north, not the big gray Texas kind as aggressive and capable of urban survival as the rat. And I never heard about the doves. My thinking is that never hearing stories about your own landscape leads to a kind of subconscious devaluing of it. And Houston has pretty much the worst self-esteem of any city I’ve known. “It’s ugly, it’s hot, it’s flat”- you hear it all the time. The prairies are paved with suburbs and we are losing them; we grow up into adults who don’t think our landscape is worth saving. It doesn’t “count.”
So I am offering a song about rain, and a Native American story about a freak ice storm coming down to a southern state from up north (sound familiar)?
If children value their own landscape, can this translate to more ecologically conscious adults? I absolutely think so!
And maybe someday soon, I’ll have a poem about the doves.
Rain Song by Connie Manson
It’s raining, it’s raining, the roofs are getting wet.
The rain will make the flowers bloom,
the mud, we’ll sweep off with a broom,
it’s raining, it’s raining,
the roofs are getting wet.
This tale is a Cherokee legend. I have adapted it for telling to children. I originally found it here. I like it for Houston children because, although we haven’t had snow this winter, we have definitely had a lot of sleet and ice!
Once upon a time, the people had make a fire in the forest, and by accident a big tree caught on fire. The fire was so big, it even burned down, down, down, all the way into the roots of the tree, and made a big hole in the ground. Even then the fire did not stop, but kept burning and burning, and the hole of fire got bigger and bigger and bigger. The people tried to put it out, first by beating it with sacks and then with water, but nothing worked- the fire just got bigger. The fiery hole grew so big they began to be afraid that it would swallow the whole world!
Finally somebody remembered there was a person who could help! Far to the north, where it was very cold, there was a little house made of ice. And in this house was a little man, and he had two long white braids that hung all the way to the ground. He was the Ice Man. So the people chose some messengers and they traveled for days and nights to find this man.
It took a long, long time, but finally they reached the little ice house. The little Ice Man said, “Why yes, I can help you.” Then he unbraided his long, white hair. He took it all in his hand in a big bunch, and then THWACK! He slapped it against his other hand. “What is he doing?” the messengers asked each other. But then, they felt a cool, soft wind blowing against their faces.
Once again the little Ice Man took a bunch of hair and slapped it against his other hand- THWACK! This time the messengers felt a light rain falling.
THWACK! Ice Man swung his hair a third time. Sleet started falling down, pointy, wet, fast and cold.
THWACK! Ice Man swung his hair a fourth time. CLACK, CLACK, CLACk! Giant hailstones the size of baseballs pounded down. The messengers covered their heads with their hands. Ice Man stopped, and laughed. Then he sent them all back home.
Back at home, every thing was just the same- except that the giant burning hole in the forest was bigger, and the people were even more scared. Everybody sat down to watch, and see what Ice Man would do, from his little ice house so far away.
Well, first a cool wind began to blow. But it didn’t stop the fire- it only made it blaze up higher!
Then a light rain began to fall, but it only made that fire burn hotter.
Then, that rain turned to sleet, so pointy, fast and cold, falling like needles onto the fire, and then hailstones big as baseballs came pounding down- CLACK, CLACK! HISS, HISSSS said the fire, as it began to steam, smoke and die.
By now the people were even more scared, but not from the fire- they were scared of Ice Man’s storm! Everyone knows when it is sleeting and hailing it’s best to get inside. So they ran into their houses and peeked out the windows. That was a good thing, because now a whirlwind came, full of ice and sleet, throwing hailstones big as boulders down on that fire, into every nook and cranny, smashing every flame and spark, until there was nothing left of that fire, nothing at all, not even the steaming of wood.
Well, finally the whirlwind went away, I guess back up north to Ice Man. And the people came outside, and do you know what they saw? That big hole that had been full of fire, was now full of water- a lake!
The only funny thing was… if you went to that lake and listened closely, it almost seemed to be making a crackly sound, like fire.
Snip, snap, snout,
My tail is all told out.