The Robin’s Medal

Life Before the Arrival of White Settlers

Long before white people arrived in North America, the Red Indians lived there. During the day, the braves—strong young men—went hunting for buffalo or fishing in sparkling streams. Meanwhile, the squaws, or wives, cooked, cleaned, and looked after the children. In the evenings, all the grown-ups gathered outside their wigwams with their children, sharing stories until it was time for the sleepy little ones to settle down on their straw pallets.

Mockawawa, the Storyteller

One warm evening, as the sky turned a brilliant purple, Mockawawa sat by the fire. Once a great chief, his glory days were long past and was now largely forgotten by the village’s younger inhabitants. All they knew was that he was their favorite storyteller.

Mockawawa puffed his pipe, and as the thick white smoke drifted away, he placed it down beside him. The Indians gathered around, and even the crows in the treetops paused their cawing to listen. The wolves in the forest ceased their prowling, quietly cocking their ears toward the fire.

The Call for a Story

“Tell us a story,” begged the children. “It’s nearly time for us to sleep.” Mockawawa turned to look at all his listeners. When he began to speak, the old warrior’s voice was remarkably clear and deep for a man of his age. “I will tell you how the robin got its red breast. Listen carefully, my children.” A hush fell over the whole village as Mockawawa began his tale.

The Origin of the First Fire

Long ago, far to the North, where it is always cold, the very first fire burned brightly, a blaze of orange and red that crackled like a thousand snapping twigs. All the animals, from little mice to big brown bears, crowded around the fire, seeking its warmth and glow. No one was afraid to approach it, and sometimes, people would come to cook their dinners on its flames.

Even though the animals occasionally left to hunt or gather food, they always returned. One of them remained by the fire to feed it with wood, ensuring it stayed alive. Both animals and people understood the fire’s importance, teaching their young ones to look after it. They all felt a deep bond: “We like our warm fire,” they said.

The Arrival of Skim the Polar Bear

Farther North, by the home of the North Wind, lived a great white polar bear named Skim. Skim was mean and unkind, possibly lonely, which made him bitter. Hearing about the fire, he decided no one else should have it. “I do not like fires,” he muttered to himself. “I am warm enough in my thick white fur, so why should those other animals have a fire? I’ll go and put it out.”

Skim trudged south through the snow, growing increasingly sulky and irritable. It was evening, like this night, when he finally reached the fire. Waiting for dusk, he observed as the animals gradually went home to sleep, except for a little robin perched on a nearby branch. Back then, no robin had a red breast; they were all plain brown. The little bird longed to be beautiful.

The Brave Robin

When all the animals had fallen asleep, Skim seized his chance. He gathered snow in his paws and hurled it onto the fire, trying to extinguish it. After stomping around, he was confident he had succeeded and went back North, believing the fire was out.

As soon as Skim disappeared, the little robin fluttered down to the ground. She felt sadness for the animals who would wake up without warmth and for the people who would find no flame for cooking. Searching for a solution, she noticed a tiny spark among the sticks. She flapped her wings vigorously, fanning the spark until it grew larger and caught on the surrounding sticks.

A New Beginning

As the flames blazed up, the brave little robin stood near, ready to fan them again if they began to fade. With a sudden burst, the flames leapt at her, singeing her breast. She flew back to her branch, now sporting a bright red patch where the feathers had burned.

Mother Nature, witnessing this act of bravery, whispered to the robin in the gentle breeze. She promised to heal her breast, and the robin wished to keep the lovely red feathers. Pleased, Mother Nature granted her wish, ensuring that from then on, all robins would possess red breasts as a symbol of their bravery.

Conclusion

Mockawawa finished the story and lit his pipe once more. The wolves, satisfied, returned to the forest, while the birds nestled in their nests, tucking their heads under their wings. The mother Red Indians called to their children, “It’s bedtime!”

“Goodnight, children,” Mockawawa called. “Don’t forget to put crumbs out for the robins.”