This is a story from the Cherokee. Once there lived a chief named Big Tree. He had no sons, but one daughter whom he adored. Her name was Little Dawn-Bird, and Big Tree taught her everything he normally would have taught a son. One morning out in the woods, Big Tree and Little Dawn-Bird came upon a creek. “Where does the water come from?” asked Little Dawn-Bird. Her father pointed up a steep slope that was covered with tall pines. “Do you see that rock which juts out? That’s where the creek begins.” “I want to climb up by myself and see it,” declared Little Dawn-Bird. “All right,” smiled her father. “Remember everything I have taught you. Use the rising sun as your guide and be sure to mark your trail carefully. Rest for a while at the top. There will be berries to eat and water from the creek to drink before you come down. I will be waiting for you.” Little Dawn-Bird felt proud and confident as she set out. She broke a twig here, bent a leaf there, and twisted some bushes farther on. After a while her hands became sore so she sat down on a rock to think of a better way to mark her trail. At her feet lay a large handful of shiny white pebbles. “These are perfect for making my trail,” thought Little Dawn-Bird and gathered a large handful. As she climbed up the slope, at regular intervals she carefully picked a leaf and placed a few white pebbles on top. When at last Little Dawn-Bird reached the rocky outcropping she was very tired. She drank water from the mouth of the stream and picked berries to eat. There were lots of them, just as her father had promised. After her meal she laid down to rest and soon she was fast asleep. While Little Dawn-Bird was napping a hungry mountain lion passed nearby. Smelling a tasty morsel, he crept stealthily through the grass towards the little girl. He was just about to pounce when Big Tree shot an arrow into the mountain lion's heart and killed it. He had been close by the entire time watching over his little girl. The snarls and yowls of the big cat woke Little Dawn-Bird. She leapt up and ran for the woods looking for her pebbles. At first she could not find any. Then she heard a tinkling sound and when she bent down to see where it came from she recognized the very leaf she had laid across the trail. Now it was attached to a stem and growing out of the ground and the milky white pebbles had been transformed into tiny flower bells. More soft chimes rang from the forest and as Little Dawn-Bird followed the sound, she discovered that each leaf and every pebble had been turned into beautiful blossoms. And when she reached the bottom of the mountain, there was her father waiting for her as though he had stood there the entire time, never leaving the spot. And that, say the Cherokee, is how the lily of the valley came to their land. (adapted from Vernon Quinn, Stories and Legends of Garden Flowers) ********************************************************************************** In the Language of Flowers the Lily of the Valley means “Return of Happiness.”