(Images “Last Mohican” and “Water Boo” provided by by Drifter)
“The most manifest sign of wisdom is a constant happiness.”
– Montaigne
In Russia there was a television program about an enigmatic drifter named Fenimore who visited a summer camp to tell the children tall tales: about Native Americans, but also about extraterrestrials visiting Planet Earth.
The unusual name, Fenimore, was so well-known in Russia that even children recognized it.
Fenimore was the middle name of James Fenimore Cooper, an early American novelist, creator of The Last of the Mohicans, who was so well known in Russia that “everyone” knew who he was (and he was especially well known by his unusual middle name).
Cooper is less well known in Russia now than he was a few decades ago. But he’s still far better known in Russia than he ever was in his native land of the USA. And at one point, he was very well known in his native land, one of the best-known writers in America.
The Mohicans believed that the purest and best creature on Planet Earth, among all the uncountable creatures here, was the white dog. For the Mohicans, a dog of purely white fur ruled over all other creatures because of its beauty, goodness, loyalty, and spiritual intelligence.
Modern city folk would be horrified by what the Mohicans did with the white dog in turn, because they believed it was the purest creature created by the Great Spirit: they sacrificed it.
What modern people don’t realize is that: one: the animal was sacrificed quickly and without pain; and two: the Mohicans believed the animal was instantly passing over into a world exactly like this one, except without the pain, as soon as it died.
The Mohicans believed the white dog was leaving this world of pain and going to another world exactly like this one except far more perfect than this one ever has been or ever will be.
This is a challenging paradox, even a contradiction: that there could be a world exactly like this one, except without the pain.
No more physical hardship, no more fear, no more boredom, no more sense of betrayal. No more endless feelings of injustice, no more nonstop struggle for existence and survival (mental, physical, and spiritual), no more loneliness, isolation and alienation, no more feeling of being abandoned by the Creator of the universe.
But the beauty we see, hear, feel, smell and taste here will still exist.
The sun on your head, the wind in your hair, the ground beneath your feet, the green, breathing beauty of the plants all around you would still nurture your soul, except more so.
The grizzly bear will still be there, but he will no longer tear your head off and devour you; instead he will roll around with you peacefully and playfully in the grass.
The fear of death, the one multi-pronged, many-leveled, myriad-layered primal emotion that perhaps generates all other emotions here in this world, even our sense of beauty, or especially our sense of beauty, will be gone there. But the sense of beauty will still exist. It will simply be increased, heightened to a level we can’t even imagine yet, here on Planet Earth.
I went camping this week with my kids and dogs, at Warren Dunes State Park in Michigan, ninety miles from where we live outside Chicago.
It’s only ninety miles away from Chicago around the bottom of Lake Michigan, but it feels like a different world where the raccoons outnumber the people ten to one.
There are a lot of raccoons in Chicago and environs but they still feel vastly outnumbered. Not so in the Dunes.
In the Dunes, I felt closer (or closer in a different way) to the sun, the wind, the ground, the green, the blue of the vast freshwater sea and the sky above it, the yellow sand, the raccoons, fish, and birds, and so was reminded of my own Native American heritage.
I have never had my blood tested. But as a child I was told over and over that I am part Native American. So for me, in spirit, no matter what the genetic testing would or wouldn’t say, I am indeed part Native American. Nothing could take that away from me now, not even science.
And since I’m also a lover of Russian literature, including a few of the great Russians who were nature lovers, like Tolstoy, Chekhov, and Turgenev, I have a love for the Russian love of Native Americans, the Russian love of nature, and the Russian love of James Fenimore Cooper.
Drifting along on an empty trail walk among wooded dune hills with my two Siberian Huskies and one pit bull, I was feeling the feeling of free discovery that can still be found, somewhere, in all fifty states of the USA, if you look in the right way and in the right places.
And I realized that the Indians really are still alive inside me, because I worship their worship of, and their belief in, the white dog.
And their dream of a heaven that is like home.
Saragun Springs 
Happy Sunday, Drifter
I have been reading some of the old American authors lately, Hawthorne, Melville, Washington Irving and their works still stand up, especially Melville’s. I must revisit Mr. Cooper because he was assigned reading for me at an age (13, I believe) when I was not very interested in assigned reading.
Your wilderness trek sounds as though it was wonderful and I can’t help but see the Call of the Wild (another book I was assigned to read, and did not give myself to) in Boo’s face and posture.
I also recall what Twain said about Bret Harte in his autobiography. Harte was universally beloved, but Twain felt him insincere (then again, they had a falling out, so there was personal antipathy involved). I have read some Harte since and must fall on Twain’s side. It is very dated. Calculated. Corny. But, mostly, the past did have pretty good taste and it is very good that James Fenimore Cooper is kept alive today by your words.
I invite everyone to return to this site tomorrow for a poetry week presented by the Drifter!
Leila
LikeLike
Illinois has an entire town and Michigan has an entire state park both named after Washington Irving’s great story. There’s a school around here named “Washington Irving” and me and Boo walk by it quite frequently…
LikeLike
To All
Leila Allison’s short story “THE ENDLESS NOW” is an example of a piece of contemporary writing which will NOT become outdated.
It will join the ranks of American Literature, and live as long as American Literature does (along with other works by the same author).
The Drifter
LikeLike
Hello Dale
Today is a resounding and deserved success for you. You have also been generous with your remarks about me, to which I give I give my humble heartfelt thanks.
I forgot to mention Henry James before, a truly elegant, and, in his quiet way, a subversive writer. The Turn of the Screw continues to spark critical comments a century and a quarter since it was published.
I found a book with short stories from the 19th to early 20th centuries in it. Bret Harte and Twain are both in it (Twain was right about the legitimacy of B.H., or lack of). Also Sarah Orne Jewett, Hawthorne, Melville (the great Bartelby), Dreiser (whom I have never yet read. Dorothy Parker once wrote in a review of his work “Theodore Dreiser ought to write nicer.” So, there’s that.
It is interesting to look back at this mostly impressive work. As you have stated we all, writers and readers alike, should do that.
Thank you! Looking forward to this week.
Leila
LikeLike
Leila
This is such an important point you made about Bret Harte that all writers should think about this for days (or years) before writing another word. Not all creative writers, ALL WRITERS of whatever kind, including those who write ANYTHING and put it on the internet.
David Foster Wallace is the Bret Harte of our own day and age. INSINCERITY, pages and pages and pages and more pages of it, enough to make you want to jump off a very high bridge. Harold Bloom was right to call Stephen King Cervantes compared to David Foster Wallace.
Corny and calculated are key terms that nail it. Writing in a highly tv-influenced mode without being aware of motivates you is more that can be said.
Time is the great leveler. And time doesn’t like corny, calculated, and insincere.
You are brilliant, Leila! You nailed the most important thing all serious writers should think about before they go on.
The Drifter
LikeLike
LA
My favorite Nathaniel Hawthorne short story is “Wakefield,” the one where a man walks out the back door while his wife is talking.
He then rents rooms in the same neighborhood a few streets away, buys a disguise, and lives this way for the next 25 years.
One day he walks back into the house and his wife accepts him again and they go on together again: but quieter now.
A lot of NH’s other work feels heavily dated, but this one story feels like it could have been made yesterday literally. He has a few other plotless psychological pieces like this that are also timeless; and less well known.
His things that were really popular during his own time seem like the most dated ones now!
D
LikeLike
“Fenimore Cooper’s Literary Offenses” by Mark Twain should be required reading for all readers of James Fenimore Cooper (and for all who write anything ever anywhere).
LikeLike
THE CALL OF THE WILD is Boo’s favorite novella!
LikeLike
I knew Boo had great literary taste just by looking at his picture!
LikeLike
I clearly remember as a child watching the television series and have never forgotten that exotic, to me name James Fenimor Cooper. Ha! so a memory stirred. You really can’t have anything better than being out in nature even if it is a small space but far enough away so that you can hear a butterflies wings. I have a little collection of Indian arrow heads. I don’t know what the morality is of taking them away. I found them when I was in Kentucky and they are very special to me. To live with those beliefs must be a wonderful thing. Another thought provoking post. Thank you. dd
LikeLiked by 1 person
Diane
That’s wild that you remember the show, thanks for sharing this memory!
I agree with you, in order to commune with nature it doesn’t always have to be much, but it has to be something. A patch of trees in a park or even just a lot of grass can sometimes be enough nature. One doesn’t need the whole globe and a part can stand for the whole. Stand in a lot of grass away from everyone and watch the clouds float over. It can be just as amazing as being on a boat at sea.
I believe it was very moral of you to collect those arrowheads – because you have given them meaning.
Thank you!
Dale
LikeLike
I learned a lot from this article. I may have been to the dunes, have to check with Michigander wife. In Oregon, I like the land and I have native American in me from a great grandparent.
LikeLike
Doug
Glad you learned a lot! Doesn’t surprise me that you have Native American in you.
The Dunes in Indiana and Michigan are beautiful areas. The ones in Indiana are a national park now (not just a state park), one of the only national parks in the Midwest.
Dale
LikeLike
Hi Dale
I thought this international view of James Fenimore Cooper was an intriguing way to start your column.
I like the way authors become famous in other countries. It is a national compliment. After reading Chekhov, I feel like I have been granted a view of the Russian peasant, landowners ( The Bear), and all kinds of interesting characters. I like to think of Russia from a Chekhovian view instead of the hatefulness that has overtaken her, this beautiful country. Kind of like how I see America in this very moment.
I was at first shocked by the white dog’s sacrifice. Your writing brings strong emotional swings with it (excellent). Like getting hit in the face then you put a cool compress on it and told us why the Mohicans did such a thing. Then I wanted to go to this pleasant place. Where the lamb lies down with the lion.
I once knew an old man who was part Mohawk Indian. Tom tried to help me with the soul sickness of alcoholism. He had this calm natural view of the spirit world and gave me an eagle feather. He went to pow wows and was an ordained minister. He’s also a writer and a retired captain in the Fort Wayne FD– pretty impressive guy. Tom presided over my father’s funeral.
I love the Indian peoples, to me they are the best people who have ever lived. I don’t say this in a romanticized way. Indians lived with nature and didn’t waste it by producing all of these strangling industrial products that addicts everyone and destroys every living thing in the process. Simply put they were wise beyond any other people. And their native language is also full of beautiful names for lakes and rivers, and beyond.
I haven’t read any of JF Cooper’s work. I saw the movie with Daniel Day L. The closest I’ve come in reading him is probably Ambrose Bierce. But Cooper, I think, was before A.B. and his specialty was the Frontier. I really like that time period when America was barely America. The more America becomes America the less it is. Great and awful sins have bloodied these shores. They can stick Jamestown and the slave ships!
Great topic, precise, colorful, emotional, and altogether, as we’ve come to expect– excellent in the writing craft!
Christopher
LikeLike
Hi Christopher!
Thanks so much for this great feedback and commentary in the form of a wonderful, warmhearted and wise letter! You know how to give a writer a sense of what their writing is and isn’t doing and this is an invaluable gift. Your letters about my columns are as good as the columns, as I’ve said before! The dialogue between us sings with literature. You also have a great sense of America itself which informs everything you write, whether commentary or fiction. There are too many specialists these days who know everything about one tiny field and nothing at all about everything else (many of these are doctors, surgeons, lawyers, politicians, etc.). You are a generalist in the best sense of the word. You see, and understand, and have a realistic perspective on, the bigger picture. It’s rare, and it’s needed, now more than ever!
Your thumbnail sketch of Tom creates a picture of his whole life. It’s a great sketch by you, and he sounds like a great person. Thanks for sharing!
Your truly deep appreciation for the Native Americans and your awareness of America’s sins, now, and historical, makes you, truly, a great American, as well as a great writer.
I was in Indiana this past week on my way to and from Michigan. I drove through the Indiana Dunes area on the Dunes Highway, which has got to be one of the coolest and most scenic roads in the USA. Most people are off on the highway so it’s not crowded, either. A gem of a road.
I have Poem/Images coming out every day this week, so check ’em out whenever ya can! No prose this time: only Poem/s, and Picture/s. (They’re each stand-alone works, but they’re also arranged in a deliberate sequence.)
Thanks again!
Dale
LikeLike