Thunderbirds and Fireflies
“Thunderbirds and fireflies,” in Basil H. Johnston, Tales the Elders Told: Ojibway Legends,
(Royal Ontario Museum: Toronto, 1981) at 40-45.
(40) Thunderbirds are not like other birds. Oh, to be sure, they have feathers – but they are
feathers that shine with many, many colours too bright for the human eye to see. Nor do
thunderbirds sing like songbirds. Their song rumbles and echoes from cloud to cloud until it
becomes a booming mountain of sound that shakes the ground blew. What is more, lightning
flashes from the eyes of thunderbirds in fiery orange chains or in glowing sheets.
(41) Yet in autumn when the cold sets in and the drumming rains dull the bright leaves, the
thunderbirds fly south to the sunny skies just as other birds do. They take the autumn storms with
them. Indeed the playful thunderbirds like to cause wild noisy storms.
When the thunderbirds return in spring, long before the last robin, the storms that follow them
are milder. Last year’s mischievous nestlings are older now and less playful. They think only
about building their own nests in the northern sky.
One spring when the world was young, all the thunderbirds flew north as usual. In their nesting
grounds they shaped their nests from scraps of clouds woven around spring ice and sleet and
sealed with night mists and late frost. Then the female thunderbirds laid their snowy, gold-
flecked eggs on beds of sparkling breast feathers.
Once the females were settled comfortably, the male thunderbirds began to race through the sky.
They talked to one another about the south and warm, lazy days in the sun. They talked even
more about something strange they had seen on their way north. Their flight had taken them
across what would one day be Michigan. There they had seen great eagles dipping their beaks to
the earth and producing very powerful whirling winds – much more powerful than any winds the
thunderbirds had ever created. The thunderbirds had been awed, and jealous as well. As they
talked about the tornadoes, they grew so excited that they created a terrifying thunderstorm.
The females were very upset and rumbled and squawked among themselves. They simply could
not leave the eggs they were sitting on. At last, however, their loud and urgent calls (42) brought
the males back to the nests. There the females stroked their mates ruffled wing feathers until the
males were quiet and calm again.
Perhaps it was the thunderstorm that caused the young to hatch early that year, and a noisier,
rowdier group of nestlings had never been seen. They clambered over one another, chirping in
high and noisy bumps of thunder. They demanded food, food, and more food. Their worried
parents flew back and forth, back and forth, to bring the nestlings all the food they wanted.
When the offspring left the nest – actually they kicked one another out – the tired parents
breathed a sigh of relief. Now that the little thunderbirds could feed themselves, the parents (43)
expected to be able to relax and enjoy some quiet. But that year they had no time to rest.
No sooner had the little ones taken to the clouds than the fights began. As their parents watched
in growing alarm, they fought over wisps of delicious black cloud. When they came to the nests,
they battled about positions near their mothers’ warm breasts. They tweaked out tail feathers, just
to tease. They were always wrestling. The nests were very noisy and very uncomfortable for all
the thunderbirds.
Not only were the young birds nuisances at home, but they looked for trouble in the sky. Their
favorite trick was to pile cloud upon cloud until the bottoms of the lowest clouds turned into
heavy black cumulo-numbus clouds of great power. Then the (44) little birds sputtered out
rolling grumbles of thunder and their eyes shot out tiny chains of lightning. The clouds tumbled
down upon one another until the whole sky was a mottled grey. Then, of course, the naughty
birds swooped back to the nests and their parents had to end the storm.
The fathers did not know what to do about their troublesome children. At last they decided to
teach them to play lacrosses. They hoped that the young would tire themselves out. Then order
could be restored to the sky.
The little thunderbirds learned fast. As you would expect however, they were careless and
thoughtless in their play. Some cut their beaks and others had all their tail feathers pulled out.
Still they wanted to play lacross. They played from horizon to horizon, from sunrise to dusk, all
day, every day.
Their wings grew sore from throwing the big ball their fathers had made for them from the
lightning of a tremendous storm. The little thunderbirds did not complain, nor did they rest. They
became stronger as they grew older.
Soon the little thunderbirds could throw the ball farther and farther and the game grew more
interesting. Although they were strong and quick, they were also very rough. One day a little
thunderbird took a mighty sweep and bounded the ball across the goal line, past the line of
clouds building up on the horizon, down, far down, to the earth below.
No matter how fast the small thunderbirds chased, swooping and diving, they could not catch it.
One of them hurried to the parents for help, but they could do nothing. Before their horrified
eyes, the ball plunged to the earth below, crashing with a roar that shook the skies.
The ball scooped out a huge irregular basin, which we now call Hudson Bay. As the ball broke
into pieces, it created all the little lakes in northern Ontario. What a roar of thunder and flash of
lightning followed!
There was so much noise and brightness that several stars slipped from their places in the sky.
They recovered, hung for a moment, and then fell headlong to the earth below. There they broke
into thousands of pieces, which blinked on and off, on and off. The fall had changed the stars into
fireflies.
To this day the fireflies can still be seen blinking on and off. People sometimes call them
lightning bugs, and so they are, since they were created by thunder and lightning which shook
the stars from the sky.
(Wahwahskgone)