Tonight I heard the story of the 7 chicken children. It went something like this:
Once upon a time a __________ (word I don’t know) came to a grandmother and a grandfather and asked for food. The grandmother and grandfather did not have much food, but greatly desired to feed the stranger. The only meat they had was a chicken, but they did not want to kill it because its chicks were still small.
As the grandmother and grandfather discussed the need to properly care for their guest the mother chicken overheard. Knowing what her fate would be, the mother chicken told the oldest of her children to look after the other chicks. She instructed the oldest to model for the younger ones the moral life.
When the mother chicken was gone the chicken children did not wish to live alone so they climbed into the sky and are now a seven star constellation.
I’m afraid I can’t tell you which constellation they are. There were too many clouds tonight to pick out the seven chicken children. I was told that there are all kinds of animals in the sky. My guard (who told the story) said the older people can tell all their stories and can tell the meanings/morals of all the stories. My guard can’t remember them all.
During the rice harvest when a lot of people live out by their fields (rather than commuting in and out of the village), the evenings are great times for stories. Because it doesn’t rain at that time of year a lot of the stories are told while sleeping under the stars. My guard clearly has fond memories of this time. He described the sound of the frogs and the crickets, the cool breeze (that keeps the mosquitoes down), and so many other details that made me want to lie in a rice field at harvest time.
