GLF Intro.txt
The Big Book of Great Lake Folklore
as told by Osphalanu
Edited by Craig Philip Richard
Introduction
I first met Os-phal-ANu in 1987, while I was still studying Anthropology at Olivet College. I had driven up to Interlochen to visit my parents for a long weekend. It was an unusually hot August day but I had decided to hike, in my typical rustic fashion, from Interlochen to Acme, with the intention of camping somewhere in the state forest along Five Mile Road, just outside of Traverse City.
Osphalanu's olive skin glowed in the light of the evening sun. His build was slight but he was well muscled, and his legs resembled those of a marathon runner. He wore his midnight black hair in the traditional Ottawa fashion: all combed up toward the forehead, rather short, and sticking straight up. His chestnut eyes were graced with long eyelashes and thick, black eyebrows. His cheeks were ruddy and his broad, florid lips glimmered in the late evening sun.
I was startled by this handsome boy's appearance. What I was seeing was impossible; no one had actually dressed like this for generations. My shock quickly turned to amusement as I realized that he was probably taking part in some kind of ethnic festival or historical reenactment in a nearby neighborhood. I wanted to compliment him on his authentic accoutrements and careful attention to detail. A smile started to form on my face; until I spied the large knife resting in his belt. I was immediately struck by its composition; I had only seen such things at the Museum of the American Indian at Michigan State University. The blade was of hammered copper, and the bone handle I believed to be of the late Dahagan family. Such a thing had not been locally produced in over eight hundred years! But the blade showed no signs of corrosion. It appeared to have been hammered the day before.
Osphalanu's smile was sincere. His teeth were large and straight, and as white and shiny as wet marble. As he introduced himself his eyes immediately began to investigate me. Sweat poured down my face and I felt as if I need to sit down. "I have been pursuing you for quite some time," he whispered, lifting a hand and resting it over my heart.
At that instant I must have blacked out. I suddenly found myself standing in a clearing. All around me was think forest. Five Mile Road had all but disappeared. The blacktop was now just moss-covered rubble, small trees shooting up from where the solid pavement used to be. Traverse City had disappeared. In its place there was a huge lagoon, stretching from the hospital grounds, across where Boardman Lake had been, and over the airport. Everything was under water. Leelinau and Old Mission Peninsulas appeared to be half their normal sizes.
As I surveyed the treetops further up to the north all I saw was occasional wisps of smoke rising from what I assumed to be small campfires. These were the only signs of human life in the area. The sun shone down through the hazy atmosphere and the humidity was unbearable. The sun was at its zenith but still very low in the southern sky. That would be its winter position, but the air temperature was about sixty degrees.
In fear I spun around and around, looking for any familiar landmark. Nothing. Just thick forest as far as the eye could see. And then to my astonishment I realized that in order for the Peninsulas to be inundated, the water level in Lake Michigan would have to be many feet higher than it should be. "Ice age?" I thought to myself. "No, the water would be exceptionally low."
As the significance of these clues began to sink in, my mind came undone. As I stood there I began to cry, and tears ran down my face. My knees buckled and I started. Suddenly I found myself in Osphalanu's arms. He gripped me tightly and straightened me up. "What happened?" I mumbled. "I think you fainted," he said, gazing up into my eyes.
As Osphalanu spoke, a large turkey vulture soared into view over the hill to the southwest. As he rotated his head to follow the flight of the large scavenger the sun glanced across the surface of his left eye. For about a half second I thought I saw some kind of tiny digital readout in the iris. There appeared to be four quadrants in the readout, and the numerals were not Arabic. Their appearance did not resemble any system with which I was familiar, although there were some stylistic affinities with Old Kingdom, Egyptian glyphs. The numbers were in constant, rapid motion.
To this day I have no explanation for the strange appearance of Osphalanu's eye. It may simply have been the heat of the day and my exhaustion playing tricks on my mind. I asked him more than once about it but he seemed not to even understand the question, and I soon gave up the inquiry.
By nine-forty-five p.m. the light of the sun had all but disappeared from the sky. The air had finally begun to cool but I still did not feel well. I rubbed my face in my hands, and when I looked up again Osphalanu was gone. I called out his name repeatedly, but to no avail. I would not see him again for months. All of our subsequent meetings would have the same air of ephemeral and spontaneous mystery to them.
In many respects the material here presented is no different than for the Odawa and Ojibwa peoples. But there are significant divergences from this norm. And anyone at all familiar with the work of Sigmund Freud as pertains to boyhood sexuality, and C.G. Jung's analysis of medieval Alchemy, will be astonished at the correlation between their findings and the mythological motifs strewn about the creation cycle and the wonder tales here related by Osphalanu. I am as of yet unable to reconcile Osphalanu's accounts with the standard ethnography. And I doubt I ever will.
To be continued...
copyright 2009 Craig Philip Richard
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