The Wood

Part 1, Entry 2

Day Two, First Moon, Hunting Year Five Hundred and Four

Once a week, Mama makes me follow her around the house to replace the herbs and salt in the corners of every portal to the house -- doors, windows, even the hearth and chimney. I get to replace the wards on the chimney, along the stone wall, and around the barn on my own. She says it's because she trusts me and I'm grown enough to do it without help, but if that was true, she'd let me do the house by myself, too. I think it's because she gets tired quickly. Mama takes a rest in the middle of the day, otherwise she has to go to bed before dinner, and she wants to be awake when Dad and Grandpa come back from the fields. Grandpa says it's because a witch cursed her as a child. We're not allowed to talk about it because she might get in trouble. We know she's not going around cursing other people, but if something bad happens in the Village and people know Mama is cursed, they might think she's a witch.

Mama says she's worried that someday she will start seeing signs that I'm cursed, too. On days that I think about her curse, I feel like standing away from her so that the curse won't jump to me. I don't do that, though, because I think it would make her sad if she couldn't be near her children. We have plenty of herbs hanging around the house to ward off curses, so I think I'm safe. She's scared that it will be her fault, that she will pass her curse to me. She worries about Michael sometimes, but not as much. I don't really know why -- maybe because he's a boy and he spends all his time outside with Dad and Grandpa when we aren't at the schoolhouse, so he's not around her as much as I am. Maybe worry is just part of being a parent.

Mama got me my own copy of the Book of Generations -- well, it's not the real book, and it's definitely not complete. The only full copy of the Book of Generations sits in Grandfather Seth and Grandmother Margaret's house. They aren't really my grandparents. That's just their titles. Everyone calls them that, even if they are the same age. We call them our Grandparents because they are the elders who lead the Village. We call their helpers aunts and uncles. Aunts and uncles run the school, apprenticeships, the Temple, and most other aspects of life in the Village. They also help Grandfather Seth and Grandmother Margaret protect us from witches. Aunts teach us protective wards and prayers and dedicate themselves to discovering new ones. The uncles make up the night watch and conduct the questionings. They have the special duty of hunting witches and expelling them from our community. They say that cutting the curse off at the source is the only way to prevent it from spreading.

No one besides the elders are allowed to read the original Book of Generations, the copy held by Grandfather Seth and Grandmother Margaret. It makes me wonder what is on the pages they don't want us to see. My pocket copy has a warning about witches and curses, suggestions on how to identify the Curse which transforms people into witches, and a list of wards, their recipes, and the procedures for hanging and distributing them. The real book is much bigger, and it has secrets that most of the Villagers will never see. I've never held it, but I've seen it from far away.

Sometimes, Grandfather Seth will carry the Book around the Temple so that we can see it. He writes in the back of it at the end of the weekly service. Some people say that it includes a history of the Village, other people think the laws are written in the book. Some people whisper that the Book of Generations contains a running list of every witch since the first Grandfather discovered them. I think that's a likely notion. I wonder if that's got anything to do with the writing he does after service. Maybe he's adding people he things might be witches. I'm not sure. We don't have much choice but to trust the only people allowed to read the complete version of the Book of Generations, so when they tell us to do something because the Book says to, we don't have a choice but to trust them. Sometimes the rules about witches get so convoluted that I wonder, though -- I'd better not finish that thought.

On the days that Dad and Grandpa take Michael out to shoot bottles by the trash pit, Mama drills me on herbs -- how to grow them, pick them, dry them. Which ones go in doorways and which ones go in windows. I don't know why you wouldn't just put all of them together in every spot. Seems silly that a witch would care all that much if I had window herbs in the doorway and door herbs on the windowsill. They all do the same thing anyway. But I listen, and I give the answers as I remember them because Mama gets upset by the idea that I might not be able to protect myself from the curses. When Michael grows up, we have to make sure he marries a woman who knows her herbs well and can grow and prepare them the right way.

Protection from the tangible is men's work -- that's why Michael has to learn how to shoot. He need to be able to fight off physical threats that we can see and touch and feel, like wolves and bears and witches. It's women's work to battle intangible, invisible things that no one can see, but that affect all of us everyday. Mostly, this means protecting the household and the community from sickness and curses. That's why I have to know all the herbs, salts, and their combinations to ward off evil.

The task I have the most trouble with is making sure that the herbs stay dry when they are in the dehydrating stage. The air in the valley is humid and if I miss a drop of condensation, I might lose that sprig to mold. I have to check them everyday. I don't know how Mama used to dry the herbs, and cook and clean, and look after the pigs and chickens, and pour soap to trade all my herself. It's too much work to do in just the daylight hours. Maybe that's how she got cursed in the first place -- maybe she ran out of time and the wards failed and now she's cursed. That's a lot of pressure.

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Thanks for joining me on this journey! This story will take a while to tell, but I hope you'll stick with me.