The Sisters Who Married Stars – A Washoe Tale
By Sadie Jo Smokey-Crews
Loney Meadow. Photo by Dave Weixelman.
Long ago, near Dawgošášiwa (clear water), the present-day Taylor Creek, two orphaned sisters argued with their grandfather. They expected more than he was willing or capable of providing. The grumpy elder couldn’t be bothered with the frivolous wants of moody teenagers.
The next morning, when the old man went fishing, the sulking girls ran away. The girls walked for hours into the wilderness. When they came out of the pine forest, into a meadow skirted with aspens, they set up camp. The last remnants of sunlight faded into sunset, dusk, and then moonrise.
As they had for many nights, the sisters looked at the bright, glittering stars. But tonight was different. They were alone. They talked low, sharing their dreams, hushed musings of foolish girls.
“I’ll marry that one,” said the elder sister pointing to Mirfak, the brightest star of the Perseus constellation. “My husband will have big eyes like mine. He will be a great hunter. I’ll never go to sleep feeling hungry again.”
“I’ll marry that one,” said the younger sister pointing to Algol, the winking star. “His eyes are smaller, like mine. He will give me a son. I’ll never go to sleep feeling unloved again.”
The stars heard the sisters and made them fall into a deep sleep. They drew the sisters up into their land of no sunrise, no sunset – a land where the breeze is warm yet smells of ice and snow.
When the sisters awoke, each was in a new home where they were told by a star man, “You are my wife.”
Unknown to the sisters, the day before, the grandfather returned to their empty home by Dawgošášiwa. The old man regretted his angry words. Worried for the sisters’ safety, he started searching for them.
Up in the stars, the sisters had new lives. The elder sister was worn out actively butchering, dressing, cooking, and preparing meals. Mirfak was an excellent hunter and he brought home many good things to eat. The younger sister often had to make do with roots, nuts, and berries as Algol was not a reliable hunter. Mirfak insisted his wife not share their food with her younger sister. Mirfak said he needed fuel to shine bright.
By and by, a star child was born to the younger sister. A babe, with shimmering eyes like his proud father, was named Atik. The young mother couldn’t put her fussy child down, and neither she nor Algol could sleep for the colicky, inconsolable infant.
Every day, the men went hunting. The sisters would go out to dig for wild onions, potatoes, and roots. They were not allowed to dig in one meadow. Seeing lilies like ones they harvested near Dawgošášiwa, the elder sister marched into the forbidden meadow with her digging stick, intent on disobeying her husband. Digging deep, she leveraged the stick to pop up clumps of soil. The younger sister, exhausted, and nursing her unruly son, begged her sister to stop.
But the elder sister continued, distracted by her cravings. She was pushing hard on her digging stick when it suddenly broke through the crust. The elder sister pulled out a clump and looked down through the hole.
Even though he was smaller than a chipmunk, she recognized the grandfather, far from Dawgošášiwa, looking haggard.
Eyes filled with tears, the elder sister called the younger sister over. “Look,” she said. “We shouldn’t have left Grandfather alone. He has no one. We must go home.” She carefully replaced the clump of soil, and the sisters came up with a plan.
For the next few weeks the sisters saved strips of deer sinew. When they had enough, they braided the sinew into a thick rope. One day, after their husbands left to hunt, the sisters ran to the forbidden meadow.
They tied one end of the sinew rope to a small scrub pine. In the ground near its roots, they dug quickly, pieces of the night sky falling to Earth, creating a shower of stars. The sisters soon made a hole big enough for them to climb through. Holding tight to the sinew rope, the sisters started down. Atik, strapped in the cradleboard to the back of the younger sister, shrieked and wailed. The nearer the sister came to Earth, the more Atik wriggled and kicked, fighting the leather ties that held him. Soon, he freed himself and flew back up to his home. Weeping, his mother continued down the rope.
When Mirfak and Algol returned home, they found a crying Atik and no wives, and the star men started a search. At the forbidden meadow they saw the sinew rope jumping with tension. Looking down the hole, they saw their wives. Angry and offended, the star men took out their knives and cut the rope. The sisters fell, crushing their grandfather to death.
If you look at the night sky, you can still see Mirfak, Algol, and Atik. Every August, the Perseids meteor shower reminds us of the young women who left a hole where pieces of the night sky falls.
***
I’ve adapted this story, told to me by my sámaʔ, my Great-Aunt Joann Smokey Martinez. The story is recorded and retold by many Washoe elders. I know this story, and other Washoe stories, like I know the names of my ancestors. It makes sense to me that details vary, just as memories of a same event change over time. The Washoe names of the stars, if they had names, are lost to time. In my modern version, the sisters are looking at the Perseus constellation. As the mother of teenagers, I expanded on the “Don’t wish for foolish things” lesson.
The Washoe people were the first inhabitants of Lake Tahoe and the Truckee River Basin. We have a special charge to protect and manage our lands and water. This is apparent from so many of our stories, which take place in and around our watersheds. The responsibility of caring for these, and for the land, and our night skies, is a fundamental aspect of Washoe culture. As told to me, stories are memories not made with our own eyes. Over time, members of the tribe have recognized the value of dark skies as a resource to protect and conserve. We must ensure that future generations of Washoe youth can see the same constellations of stars as our ancestors, so we can see our star cousin, unimpeded by the honey haze of light pollution. The stars, Lake Tahoe, and our Truckee-Tahoe watersheds are an enduring presence of the Washoe people.
Sadie Jo Smokey-Crews is an enrolled member of the Washoe Tribe of Nevada and California.