Wild Iris and Panther
Written by Muriel Ammon
Art by Tori McConnell
Adapted from the Oscar Brown version of Iris and Panther, transcribed by Danny Ammon.
Mehsch’il’e:n• wild iris (Iris macrosiphon) •noun
Note: from mehł-ch’il’e:n ‘net-people treat it like’ Note: Used for netting.
Iris gets its name from the old Hupa word for fish net. Nowadays we say k’ixa:q’, but a long, long time ago, it was mehł. Mehł-ch’il’e:n. It must be, that all that time ago, our nets were made of iris twine, of mehsch’il’e:n. It’s right there in the name.
Strong fibers frame the leaves of wild iris. A mussel shell, or some such scraping tool, can unleaf a set of fibers from the cellular tissue. These are the fibers used for k’iwidits, twine. Have you ever seen a deerskin dress, shells sewn on entirely with iris twine? Or a fish net made the old way? How many artful and weathered, fumbly and developing, industrious hands twirled these fibers up!
I’m no master twine maker. I’m one of the fumbly ones. To all the twine makers out there: please send advice. It would take me a long time – months, maybe years, to gather and twist enough fibers to make even a necklace. Maybe now is the beginning of my lifelong dedication to iris.
I read the most interesting story in the 1999 Winter edition of News. It was an interview with Anthony Risling by Beverly Ortiz. He said, “It was not just the two strongest fibers that were extracted, but others as well. All the fibers were used in string, but cordage makers took care to always mix some of the strongest fibers with the weaker ones.” Resourceful. Now, I’ve heard that you can find three distinctly strong fibers in each leaf. The outer ribs and the mid rib. I’ve even heard that only the two outer ribs are suitable for cordage. I’ll hold off on any final opinions until I’ve managed to snare a deer myself.
Iris and Panther
There was a time, before humans. Ch’ixolchwe-dung. We still tell the stories from this age. About Coyote, Panther, Buzzard. We even have a story about Mehsch’il’e:n. It goes something like this.
Mehsch’il’e:n ts’isday Na:sa’a:n-tuq’. Dah ch’e’a’awh. De:di xutł’e-dung’ ła’ k’e’iloy’ k’iłixun.
Mehsch’il’e:n of Na:sa’a:n-tuq’ was a model of discipline. He spent his days twisting his fibers and rolling his twine. Each day closer to perfection – sturdy, even, and uniform. Every fiber placed in harmony, thin with thick, weak with strong.
As he spun, he dreamed about the sweet deer meat he hoped to eat. Perhaps it was on account of his repeated practices, perhaps his devoted prayers. In either case, he never missed a day and he never went hungry.
Hay ung’ hay ‘a:diq’it ky’a’te:lchwiw, Mining’-mił-łe:diliw xwe:da’ay ye’e’ina:wh. Mine:jixomił mining’-mił-łe:diliw ‘a:ch’ondehsne, “Dundi gya’awh ung’ hay ‘a’uniw? Na:se:ya:-te.” Haya:ł ung ch’itehsyay.
Old Panther must have cleaned his ears, for one morning he heard the bleating “UGGE!” of a deer. Sticking his head out, Mr. Big Nose tracked the scene of the cry. Stomach grumbling, he figured he’d rather swipe a deer than chase one down himself. So off he went.
Ch’iq:al-hit ‘ungya’ xontah sa’a:n. Mida’ninyay. Yehch’iwinya:-hid ungya’, xomit xowina: ch’e:ya:ntł’e:t.
There, at the fork of the trail, was an Indian house. Old Panther walked right in, without even a warning. His sharp eyes zeroed in on a figure sat by the fire. There was little Iris, with his big bulb of a belly bulging out.
Mehsch’il’e:n k’ige:s. Xokya:ng’ay de:q’i-xos ‘a:ya:łt’ik. Xots’ine-tah de:q’i-xos ‘a:ya:łt’ik. Xoqot’ wung’ ya:silay.
Iris sat there scraping down his fibrous arms and legs. Ooh he was skinny. Nothing but knees and elbows.
Haya:ł Mining’-mił-łe:diliw a:de:ne, “Digyung xowh do:ng’ sinday.”
“He:yung,” ch’ide:ne Mehsch’il’e:n.
Haya:ł Mining’-mił-łe:diliw ‘a:de:ne, “Ning de:gya’ hay k’iłixun ‘a:di-q’it ky’a te’ilchweh-tsiw.”
Haya:ł ung’ Mehsch’il’e:n ‘a:de:ne, “Diye” ch’ide:ne’. Whe: dong’ ‘a:’awhniw.”
‘That’s no hunter,’ thought Panther. “So, nobody else around here but you?”
“In short, he:yung.” replied Mehsch’ile:n. “This is my home, and my home only. Welcome.”
“Huh, so I guess that’s your deer out there…?” Panther ventured. ‘Wait a second, this little guy? This is gonna be too easy.’
“In short, yes,” answered Mehsch’il’e:n for a second time. “That’s my deer, for my lunch and my lunch only.” He could see right through Panther’s plan, and smiled to himself. ‘Gonna be easy, huh?’
Haya:ł ung Mining’-mił-łe:diliw ky’o’wila’n ‘a:xołch’ide:ne. Do: ‘un-ts’eh niwa:n no:yt’ah. Daydi na’ xowh xwe:da ‘a’aleh?”
“You’re such a little liar, Mehsch’il’e:n. You don’t deserve to eat that deer,” Panther jeered. “Somebody else must have caught that for you. After all, what could you even do with those skinny little arms or those snappy little legs? You’re nothing but strings.”
Haya:ł ung’ Mehsch’il’e:n xoky’elah ‘a:k’idyaw. ‘A:de:ne “Daydi na’ xowh xwe:da ‘awhlah-te?”
A glint of fury sparked in Mehsch’il’e:n’s eyes. Only his voice remained rational as he spoke, “You wanna see what I can do?”
Ła’ay-xw ‘ina:’usła:d Xo’ch’ing Mining’-mił-łe:diliw-ne’en.
All of a sudden, Iris leaped. He would have landed directly atop Panther, had the seasoned fighter not shifted moments before.
Xokya:ng’ay ch’iłkit, Mehsch’ile:n ‘a:t’ing. Yiduq’ no’tehłchwa’n Mining’-mił-łe:diliw xoky’a:ng’ay-ne’en. Xots’in’-tah xa’a’te:law.
Reaching out, Iris caught Panther tight by the wrists and squeezed his flesh up, leaving Panther bulging at the shoulders but with long skinny arms.
Next Iris reached for his ankles. Again he squeezed until Panther had long skinny legs below his strong haunches.
Hayah-hijit ts’ehdiwitse’ k’e:na’xołqots’. Xoning’-ne’en łe’yehna:dchwa’n.
Not finished yet, Iris lifted Panther upside down and crunched him to the ground. E:wa:k Mining-mił-łe:diliw! His face was scrunched flat. He scrambled up, trying to smooth out his arms and legs. He could no more unscrunch his limbs that he could unsmoosh his face.
‘A:xołch’ide:ne “De:q’i do:ng’ ‘a’awhliw.”
Iris said to him, “Now you see how I do it.”
Hay-ung’ de:di xa:’a:’unt’e: Mining’-mił-łe:diliw, hay Mehsch’il’e:n xoky’a:ng’ay yiduq no’tehłchwa’n. Xoning’ łe’yehna’tehłtse:tł’.
So you see, It’s because of Iris that Mountain Lion looks this way. His poor limbs all squeezed up and his face all scrunched in. Might have been easier to catch his own dinner.
Haya:h no:nt’ik’. The end.
