The Legendary Algae Hunters of Olden Timeth

May 15th, 2009

Long ago in the days of yore….

As pink and purple dusk woman shot magenta rays across the little water.

In the season of bone baking fire time…

Only the most skilled and brave men would be sent forth to load their sailing vessels with the sacred crop of algae.

So that the tribe could feed itself… and make clothes… and build the simple tent like structures… woven from the sacred algae threads.

The hearty and brave men placed themselves in great peril to get the sacred algae, but they all loved to suffer so much that it was almost fun for them.

Deeper and deeper into the murky depths they ventured, carefully avoiding the snapping turtles and the water snakes…

Neighboring tribes had long ago abandoned the algae harvest.

They had begun to sprinkle the mystical powders and to use the magic enzymes to keep the algae from forming.

They had forgotten the ancient rhythms of olde.

And so the last lone tribesman worked on and on… as mother sun descended to her cave of night… and father moon rose to his lofty perch… the tribesman trusted to the wisdom of the song frogs to guide him.

Neck deep he continued… scooping algae…. loading algae….
He mused quietly that the more he scooped… the more there seemed to be.

It was as if the algae muse was granting him a blessing of an unending algae tide.
He drew the algae vapors into his nostrils and felt complete.

Night descended. The tribe slept. The algae drifted and multiplied and the tribesman drug his heavily laden boat up on the shore. His shoes squished with the mud of his ancestors. He dug his hand into his mountain of algae and raised it to the sky in triumph and felt vast relief knowing his tribe would eat, and be clothed and be sheltered for the algae harvest had been bountiful.


Dripping water and mud he wandered back into his hut.

Tomorrow they would feast, and weave and build.

But tonight he must rest.
He shut his eyes and slept the sleep of the deeply satisfied.
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