Prospectors
Domains of the root people are far reaching. Their colonies are linked across plains and prairies; their tunnels straddle underground streams and follow subterranean veins and rich deposits of ore. From coppery burrows in mountains high, to silvery veins in desert valleys low, habitats of root people lie snuggled safely away in places that only little creatures know about. The scene for “Prospectors” comes to us from deep within the forests of Northern California, and yes, “There’s gold in them thar’ hills!”
The actual location is not for anyone to know, except that it is within a radius of fifty miles around this snowcapped peak. You might recognize the mountain, Mount Shasta; notably enough, its glacial melts of crystal clear water supply a constant runoff for the gushing forth, nearby, of the headwaters of the Sacramento River. There are several prominent peaks in nature’s pearly-white necklace along the Cascade Range. Mt. Lassen lies to the south; Mt. Hood, Mt. St. Helen’s, and Mt. Rainier all lay on points north of Mt. Shasta.
Topsider prospectors might study this picture for clues, I realize. Let me go ahead and help them, then. With the mountain at the center and magnetic north at twelve o’clock, we are stationed between one and two o’clock; but, let us give ourselves an extra half an hour on that dial, making the circumference of our search an arc of roughly thirty-six degrees. Also, we might shorten the radius to about twenty-seven miles without that being a reckless estimate. It can’t alter the fact that the towns of McCloud, Dunsmuir, Mount Shasta, and Weed all lie along line extensions from five, seven, nine, and twelve o’clock, respectively. Besides crows, birds in migration, and me, isn’t anyone else excited by that?
There are bountiful reserves of Ponderosa pine, Douglas fir, Cedar, and Spruce in these forests. There are icy streams, and rivers filled with trout, salmon, and steelhead. The land has yielded up gold, platinum, and mercury to miners. It is a land of ancient lava cones, and of legends. One such lava cone, Black Butte, stands solemnly alone, mute in its solitude at the base of Mt. Shasta. Shasta, itself, actually has two prominent peaks; the lesser peak, Shastina, soars to 13,000-feet, yet it is visible only from certain viewpoints.
One favorite story among Root people is a Native-American legend that concerns the origin and formation of both Shastina and Black Butte. (In the painting, neither one is visible from our vantage point.) Black Butte is a solitary cinder cone that soars to 500 feet and must seem, at least to Root People, like a virtual “Mt. Everest of the Siskiyou’s.” What Everest doesn’t have, and Black Butte does, is a pimply little ranger station at the top. But, the structure at the top of Black Butte only looks small and pimply. As seen close-up by Root People, it becomes, to them, “Grand-Cone Castle.”
Local Indians tell this tale about their tribal ancestors, and an ancient chieftain whose name has since gotten lost in the clouds. According to legend, the great, White Mountain once had a single peak which, the ancient chieftain proclaimed, was a monument to him. The chief was proud of the mountain’s cragged splendor, proud—of its glacial fields, its ice and snow. He was proud of the mountain’s long arms that reached down, keeping thickly forested slopes locked in its embrace. The chief knew no shortage of praise for his mountain, for his people also revered the cold spring waters that ran down into streams, and over waterfalls, where droplets fell and regrouped in places for fish to hide. Sparkly pools, made deep by beaver dams, attracted the attention of herds of deer, foxes, coyotes, and cougar. Countless other creatures all visited streams in the meadows, as did one day, the lovely daughter who had been born to the chief.
The chief’s daughter loved seeing black bear there, always on the prowl. She adored seeing eagles on the wing, adored hearing tall pines whisper, “Look up, look up!” As her reflection in the water grew maidenly, fair unto a blossom, with cheeks to rival the blush of two wild-rose petals, ’twas then that the chief called for his tribe to come together at the second rise of the full moon.
Speculations stirred up much excitement around campfires that first night of the full moon. Rumors erupted like unto flames of a lighted manzanita bush; because, everyone wanted to know what notions the chief had under his bonnet. There would be a feast, some said, so young huntsmen hurried off to bring back rabbit. One lad, a mere boy who fancied himself to be ready for marriage, brought back a small quail, much to the delight of squaws with toothless grins, who all weighed the bird with their fingers and laughed. When at last, the moon arose a second time, everyone gathered near to hear their chief’s business.
He told them that he wanted a monument to his daughter, and that they would build it. When he told them that, there was a rush of surprise. The news disappointed as many as perhaps nearly all of them, except for the squaws. The chief’s daughter, herself, maintained a modest lack of interest while the murmurs got repeated. There were nods, and sighs, all preludes to some agreement. But, the chief wasn’t finished, not until he said, “You will build it up there, next to mine!” The work would begin at sunrise, he told them: “As soon as the sun kisses my snow-covered peak on the cheek,” he told them.
As work began on his daughter’s monument the next day, workers carried baskets upon baskets of rock up the mountain. Some had to pull sleds; some had to push them. A Squaw with a papoose on her back had two arms left free to carry a single, sizable rock. Little children clung to mothers’ skirts with one arm and carried rock with the other. Day by day the mountain continued to grow new length and breadth. With the passing of many more moons, a second peak appeared, and it rose higher until it became, in a word, monumental.
As the chief looked on, beholding this new wonder, he became concerned. What he saw was a fine, new monument to his daughter; but, if the work was allowed to continue everyone would soon see a monument greater than his own! Therefore, the chief commanded that work be stopped on his daughter’s monument, and it was. As a result, his own peak remained as majestic as ever, while the lesser peak (next to his own) paid lovely tribute to his daughter. Satisfied with that, the chief commanded his workers to carry their baskets down the mountain and dump the remainder in a single pile, which they did, and cinders dumped from their baskets formed a near-perfect cone 500 feet high. That cinder cone is called Black Butte today.
Another legend that is dimly persistent among topsiders concerns the fabled lost continent of Lemuria (now extinct, of course.) Legend says that Mt. Shasta is an ancient, surviving remnant of Lemuria. Lemuria is believed by some to have once existed where the Pacific Ocean is today. Its disappearance supposedly predates the loss of that other fabled lost continent, Atlantis.
Shasta means white in Russian, and our name for the mountain comes to us from an early Russian explorer. As much today as in ancient times, the mountain emits a consciousness-raising energy, the hallmark of a certain, environmental purity that matches the air around it. Root people have known for ages that the land is beneficial to healing and recuperation. Nothing could be nicer because, the root people know that mankind needs to reconnect to its roots, to its nature–and to find a balance–a Oneness–with the nature of mother earth.
Root people give us a challenge repeatedly, and we are meant to learn it: “Heal your divisions, your divided natures, and become One. One is everything; One is all there is!”
Root people do enjoy prospecting for gold, except that they do it for fun and relaxation. As seen in this painting, they are having a good time at it. “Gold is where you find it…and so is 24 -karat spiritual awareness, known as “Inner-Gold.”
“Take off some tarnish here and a little there,” they say, “you’ll find it; you’ll see the glow, and you will feel it, too; that is what getting back to nature is about—it is all about Inner-gold!”
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