Winter Feast or "A Caveman Christmas"

If you are among those folks like me who are susceptible to Holiday Melancholy, you might appreciate an alternative holiday story that still feels like Christmas but includes all humanity, regardless of belief or background. I wrote this story for myself, my kids, and also for you. Enjoy!

Too often, we cloud our understanding of Christmas and the winter holidays. There are a variety of clouds: commercialization, holiday over-spending, forced “sparkly happy face attitude”, the flashing raucous glare of social media highlights- snapshot moments airbrushed to facilitate the never ending cascade of Hallmark Channel movie “perfect moments”, and finally, the pressure of religious obligation. Yet, for many, this is a tough time marred by a miserable cocktail of memories, failures, felt absences, grief, and tragedy. Whatever Christmas means to you, I think there is always a solid core that transcends the clouds, we just have to stay centered to find it. We are alive, we have breath in our lungs, and we have someone else in our lives who cares about us. In the end, all the other crap is just like wrapping paper. It looks great before Christmas, but it quickly becomes trash by Tuesday. I’ll be honest. I wrote this story this Christmas Eve afternoon, 2017. I was rather miserable, mainly because I wanted Christmas to be so much more for all the people I love, yet I felt like I could produce only a small fraction of that. I wanted to give so much more. My faith has been on a see-saw for many years, so that aspect offered little solace. I often struggle to find the “Holy” I used to see in this holiday, especially spiritually. I almost tried to convince myself tomorrow is just like any other day. As I stood shaving two hours ago before I started typing, I suddenly wondered: what did cavemen do on Christmas, way before Christ, commercialism and Instagram posts? Then I pondered, what if a Caveman had a Christmas-like event, and he felt exactly like I do? Perhaps this is not something relegated to seasonal distemper- maybe it’s bigger, much bigger- part of the human condition. I liked the way the story formed so much, I wrote it on the spot. It’s a gift to my family and friends, and all those out there who are imperfect but trying to do as well as they can. I hope it makes you think, and also feel a little better if you’re having a tough season. I hope all of you realize that you are loved, and that if you truly stop, quietly listen and look, you’ll find so much to be grateful for- WE SHOULD TREAT EVERY DAY AS CHRISTMAS. Society just decided to make an example of 25th of December. Christmas spirit should transcend time, place, race, religion, currency and occupation. Good cheer must extend to all humans beyond calendrical limitations. We need to live Christmas every day. Much love to all my fellow cave men & women, happy Winter Feast- peace on earth, Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!!

By Michael Burns, December 2017

Sometime During the Last Ice Age…

Nngap left the cave, spear over his shoulder and bow in his left hand.

He started down the narrow path off the rock face, glanced up at the darkening sky and snarled, “Snow!”

As the first few flakes lighted on the bristly wolf skins covering his shoulders, Grandmother’s faint voice echoed from the cave, “Be safe, Nngap!”

     

He paused and looked over his shoulder up at the wide cave mouth. It was a dark shadow that framed the hearth fire, a dancing orange jewel that painted the cave walls with a red glow.

“Be safe father!” his son Alek’s solemn face peered over the edge of the rock. “Next time, I will help you hunt for winter feast.”

His daughter Yema’s face, smudged by the soot, peeked over the ledge next, “Come back safe old man- don’t let the wolves eat you!”

He grunted, managed a grimace that slightly resembled a smile, “Dark soon, stay warm. You are still sick. Go inside!”

They disappeared into the cave and he walked deliberately down the hill, threading between boulders and white patches of snow. All that remained of the sun was a faint red stain behind the dark trees at the canyon’s mouth. He picked his way carefully along the frozen stream, breathing great clouds of vapor.    The light was fading, and the flakes began to fall faster.

“Winter Feast,” he snorted, “Every year, Winter Feast. So many years, but so few good ones that I remember.”

He trudged through the snow and entered the forest. Each year, the clan worked hard to prepare for the long, dark winter moons. They stored up roots and dried meat, dragged great piles of fallen tree limbs close to the caves. It was supposed to be a time of sitting around the great hearth. They would be warm, mending clothes and carving toys while the old ones told tales and legends. Everyone pack in close, warm and content. They would sing songs & beat the drum, safe & dry. Far away, outside, wolves and saber-tooth tigers howled on distant hills. Just after Solstice and the release of prayers at the great stones, the men would go hunt and bring down a deer, maybe two. They would haul it back that night, and the clan would have Winter Feast, celebrate they had lived another year.

But the last winter seasons had not been so happy, Winter Feasts had been slim. They had survived, but the fires were small, many stomachs stayed hungry. Their clan had split several times. They lived on the opposite sides of the rock ravine in different caves and seldom spoke. There had been injuries, and just this season before Solstice, both Nngap’s children had taken sick.

He was tired, and felt all of his 39 winters. Usually, he would have already hunted for Winter Feast, but their clan was very small now. Every day he was very busy: cutting wood, hauling rocks up the hill for the cave mouth, ice fishing on the frozen river- it never ended and there were many things left undone. He felt like the world was very big and he was rather small. It was a new sensation, and he didn’t like it.

He was going out alone tonight. As he threaded through the silent trunks in the forest, he heard the first distant howl of wolves, “A far cry not- if I become Winter Feast for a pack,” he grumbled.

He rotated his left arm, still feeling the stiff scar from the arrow wound he received several years ago. The full moon rose, and painted the snow covered trees silver. The heavy snow fall tinted the world blue. His toes felt cold in the straw stuffed skins wrapped around his feet, but he focused on the faint elk tracks on the ground. He was a dark shadow, bulky in furs, darting from tree to tree.

About an hour later, he approached a clearing. Everything was absolutely still. His breath slowed, limiting the vapor cloud escaping from his mouth. He saw a faint movement, stopped.

There was a majestic elk. It stood in the clearing, head bowed quietly, enormous. Massive antlers bobbed and jerked as it ripped leaves from a bush poking out from the snow. This would feed them for weeks!   Carefully and in silence, Nngap nocked an arrow to his bow, took careful aim. There was a “twang” of his bowstring. The Elk’s head jerked up as the arrow lodged in its neck. It writhed and then took a great leap.

His heart fell. He had only wounded it! It would run all night and the wolves would get their winter feast. Nngap would return to the cave with nothing to show for all his work.

     

 Suddenly, there was another “twang”, then another. The great beast took two more steps and fell. It kicked and then lay silent in the snow.

Nngap gasped, and strung another arrow.

Other hunters! They were all tracking the same Elk.

He watched and waited. Suddenly, he heard a low whistle. He heard a short laugh from across the clearing. Nngap shook his head.

Loflak!

Then came Gaknar’s whistle.

He called out, “It’s me Nngap. I’m coming out.”

Cautiously, three men slowly emerged from the dark tree line. Nngap kept his arrow nocked, advanced slowly.

Gaknar swung his club to his shoulder, and Loflak rested a spear across his chest. They met in the center of the clearing, facing each other, a small circle around the fallen elk. They squinted at each other.

Finally, Gaknar grunted, “My shot was the killing blow.”

Loflak leaned on his spear and swung his head, his beard bristling, “No, look. My arrow. Right in the eye.”

Nngap scowled, “I shot him first.”

The men were silent, fuming.

Gaknar spoke, “My woman is with child. The baby comes soon. We need this meat.”

Loflak growled, “I have a cave full of young ones. We need the food and skins.”

Nngap raised his hand, “We all need meat. We all have families. This elk is huge. One of us can only carry some back, but together… Perhaps we could put old angers aside. All of us just want to bring home Winter Feast.”

There was an extended silence. Gaknar laughed. “Let’s ask the stars.”

They tilted their heads back, looked up at the wide expanse of glittering lights. The great bear wandered on its way across the glistening path, a millennia of sparkling lights. The whole earth was silent except for their beating hearts and quiet breath- great clouds ascended skyward like smoke.

Loflak smiled, “Well brothers, I hear no argument. The stars agree. Share we will!”

       

Nngap pulled out his flint knife, and prepared to get busy.

Gaknar spoke suddenly, “Nngap, wait.” He tossed the club aside and held out his hand. 

“It was a foolish argument over the bear. Truly, I am sorry.”

Nngap grabbed his forearm, “All good, brother.”

He grinned, “Let’s hurry, this Elk meat freezes fast.”

Three hours later, Nngap and Gaknar trotted out of the forest, lugging huge chunks of Elk behind them on tree limbs covered with pelts. Loflak scouted and provided security from predators, darting from tree to tree.

“The night is not yet too old brothers,” Gaknar growled with a smile. “Winter Feast may still begin!”

They paused at the river, making sure each man received the parts of Elk his clan needed most. They had a silent moment where they clasped shoulders.

“We should do this every season, not just on Winter Feast,” said Nngap.

Gaknar laughed, “Agreed! But only if we hunt bear.”

He poked Loflak in his hairy chest, “and only if this one hauls the beast out on the wood litter.”

Loflak grunted, waved his hand, but as he walked away, grinned.

They parted ways and Nngap made the short climb up to his cave. The fire was burning brightly, and the clan lay around it, staring into the flames.

It was clear that Alek had fed the fire well, but the overall mood suggested they did not expect a Winter Feast.

Grandmother saw him first, “The light preserve us! Nngap brought a beast!”

Everyone stirred and looked up at him.

He smiled, and set the huge chunks of Elk down. He rolled his shoulders, walked to the fire and warmed his hands. Then he walked to the front of the cave and faced everyone, raised his hands until he had their attention.

“Clan family, it has been a long year. We have had a difficult journey over many rocky miles. We are all tired. I did not think this would be a good Winter Feast.”

He searched their faces, shrugged, “But I was wrong. The light shines on us. We have choices. We can be jealous. The other clan has many bear skins and turquoise beads. Across the river, they have more fish and clay pots. We can be sad, even angry, or we can look at each other and be happy.”

He looked around, “This is a good cave, a warm fire, and we have Elk tonight. I see a son and daughter I am glad to return home to. We have good elders, and I am grateful for our people”.

He gave a long pause, looking in their faces. Finally, he asked his son, “Alek, do you have anything you want to add?”

Alek shook his head, “I’m starving! If I barbeque this beast, do I get first ribs?”

They laughed, and suddenly the cave was filled with great activity as people worked to prepare the Winter Feast.

Hours later, Nngap rested by the cave mouth, looking out over the valley. Everything was white under a silver moon, all except the distant orange twinkles of other cave clan fires. Suddenly, he heard a baby’s cry echo distantly in the night. Gaknar’s wife had given birth.

Nngap smiled, then looked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Grandmother stood beside him, smiling.

     

She listened, closed her eyes, “A child is born.”

Nngap grinned, “To Gaknar, a son is given.”

Grandmother smiled, “A good omen… winter birth! New life for the small tribe of men and women!”

She looked at him, “Nngap. I see how the last moons have been for you.”

He sighed, lowered his head. “I have spent too many hours pulling my beard in worry instead of working.”

She shook her head, “No, you cared for us, for the children. You took care of your people. I know what I’ve seen and I am grateful.”

She raised a finger, “But you must never give up. Do not act like an old cave bear and hide in your cave. Never.”

She gently patted his cheek, “What do I always tell you?”

Nngap sighed, tired and a little humbled, “The light always shines on us.”

She smiled, “Yes, but I think you are ready for a deeper truth, something our shaman taught me.”

She pointed at the moon, then towards the East where the sun would soon come, “The light does shine on you. But often storms come. Some years, the great wolf eats the sun. Too many winters, bears and lions… other clans- they block out the light.”

She gently poked his chest, “The greatest light shines from WITHIN you. No darkness can put it out. All you must do is believe. It is a little light, but it will never go out as long as you keep it lit.”

She smiled, patted his cheek. “Tonight was a good Winter Feast. One of the best.”

Nngap got to his feet and hugged her. “You are good, old mother!”

She laughed, “Your beard tickles, son! Stop that.”

She bustled away, “Time to put these young ones to sleep. A hungry cave bear will steal them!”

She looked down at the two kids curled up by the fire. Alek snored like a buffalo. Yemma gave a contented, gentle burp, belly full of barley, berries and seeds. (This was a cave girl who did NOT eat meat).

Nngap grinned. He leaned on the wall, looked out over the sleeping valley.

They had a great Winter Feast, he had made amends with old friends, and Gaknar had a new little one in his family.

The earth was quiet, resting. Tomorrow, they would all go deep within the cave. They would mark another season, leave their hand prints and give thanks to the Elk by painting him on the wall.

He put a hand over his heart, “This little light, I will keep it bright.” Everything was going to be alright.

Grinning, he turned away and stretched, “Good Winter Feast to all, and to all a good night!”

                           

MERRY CHRISTMAS & HAPPY WINTER FEAST!!

      

Epilogue

If you are among those folks like me who are susceptible to Holiday Melancholy and appreciate an alternative holiday story that still feels like Christmas but includes all humanity- this story is for you. Wrote it myself for Alexander and Emma when it was a tough year.

Here are a few tricks I learned for surviving and actually enjoying part of these pesky holidays.

First, it's about others, PEOPLE...

Next, it's not about what you DO or WHAT you HAVE, it's accepting yourself and loving others for who they ARE, you don't get sad if you're too busy paying it forward.

FINALLY, Christmas Spirit should be slow speed ALL YEAR ROUND!

The point of Caveman Christmas is that love and family and community stand outside any human holiday cycle.

Back in the paleo-lithic era, before religion or no religion or whatever people profess, people must have come together in gratitude that they made it another year...

Once again,

Merry Christmas...

Happy Winter Feast!