Kaatje's Treasure - Dutch Folktale

In the land of Holland known for its windmills and tulips, close to the costal dunes of the North Sea stands a city of Haarlem. It has been a historic center of the tulip bulb-growing district for centuries. But the city also holds another treasure.

A long time ago, on the outskirts of the city of Haarlem, near the crossroads by the Old Inn stood a small farm. On that small farm with hatched yellow roof and white-washed walls stood a tiny hut, where Hans lived with his wife.

Hans was a cheesemaker and travelled to the nearby town of Amsterdam to trade his cheese for money and a few bulbs for his wife to plant in her garden. Hans had a good head on his shoulders, while Kaatje was a dreamer, but he loved her very much.

One day, as Hans was processing cheese in the dairy, he hadn’t heard one note of his wife’s humming. Kaatje, the dreamer, would normally hum over each bulb while planting it, but not this morning. So Hans asked her, “What’s wrong Kaatje? I haven’t heard even one note today.”

“Oh, dear. I had such a strange dream and it was so real,” she replied.

Hans chuckled as this wasn’t the first time Kaatje dwelled over her dream. “Tell me what now you have dreamed.”

“A voice so real told me to go to Amsterdam and walk around the Corn Exchange three times. After that I would be rich beyond the wildest dreams,” she whispered.

Hans laughed, but seeing how serious his wife was and not wanting to hurt her he agreed, “I’ll do it next time I’m in Amsterdam.” But it wouldn’t be for another three days. Kaatje was restless and the following morning slipped out of the house at the crack of the dawn and walked the long walk to the city of Amsterdam.

Once in the city, she was tired and hungry, but her excitement kept her walking. She walked around the Corn Exchange once, twice and the final third time. But she couldn’t see any difference. She was till poor and hungry and tired. She sat at the nearest bench with tears in her eyes.

“Do you need help?” a kind voice asked her. “I saw you walking around the Corn Exchange and thought you might be lost.”

Kaatje raised her throbbing head up and saw a man with a round smiley face. Before she knew she was telling him her silly dream.

The man laughed and said, “I once had a dream that I went to the dairy farm near the crossroads by the Old Inn outside the town of Haarlem, where a small hut stood. And behind it inside the dairy shed I dag out a chest of gold.” He chuckled and added, “I guess we all have those silly dreams. The only difference is not all of us follow them actually.” While walking away he added some more, “You better go home and forget your dream.”

Kaatje couldn’t believe the words she just had heard. She walked back home as fast as her legs would carry her. She forgot about the hunger and pain.

Hans, not happy with his wife’s fool’s errand, didn’t want to listen to her story. So she went to the dairy shed and began digging a hole in the floor.

The pile of earth grew higher and the hole got deeper and deeper with nothing in it. Hans despaired for his clean dairy, but then the spade made a noise such as of a hitting metal. Kaatje and Hans peered down into the hole. They dusted the earth with their hands and pulled a great chest. Inside it shining coins spilled out. The great amount of the gold coins kept them in great comfort to the rest of their days.

However, they were content with their way of life, so they stayed at the farm near the crossroads by the Old Inn outside the town of Haarlem. Hans continued his dairy work and went to Amsterdam every week. Kaatje continued to hum while planting her bulbs, but she never remembered a single dream of hers every again.

 

Source: 100 Classic Stories by Sandy Creek

Finger People - Mayan Fable

Central America is comprised of a chain of countries connecting North and South Americas. In the middle of this chain lays a country of Honduras. Mostly mountainous with narrow lowlands along the coasts, where climate is tropical and changes to temperate in the mountains. In those spectacular regions once lived Mayan people. And this takes us to the story.

A long time ago, the gods created the crystal clear waters, the lush green mountains, blooming flowers and chirping birds with other animals to roam the forest, but the gods where still lonely. They wanted something to love them. So they decided to create a man.

First they went to the river and out of its bank’s clay they formed a man. The God of Water said, “We need to test him if he is strong enough to live on his own.” He dipped the man under the river’s water and in short time the figure dissolved.

Then the gods decided to go to the forest. Out of a piece of wood they created a man. He passed the test under water. “But we need to test him under fire,” announced the God of Fire. And that’s what they did. It didn’t take long for the wood to turn into ashes.

Frustrated gods returned to heaven. The God of Gold suggested, “Why don’t we make a man out of gold. He won’t dissolve in water or burn in fire.” So they created a man out of gold and put him in a lush garden on Earth.

A monkey offered a banana, but the golden man would not eat it. A butterfly charmed everybody with its beautiful colors except the golden man, who wouldn’t even blink an eye. A bird chirped his melodious songs, but the golden man would not listen. The Gods were very disappointed.

Finally the Good-Hearted God spoke, “Maybe we need to offer a part of us, so the man has feelings as we do.” Then he took out his knife and cut off the fingers of his left hand. He did not worry about his fingers as he knew they would grow back quickly. As soon as the fingers touched the Earth, they turned into finger people.

The gods reached the Earth to test the finger people, but they ran away quickly in all directions. They didn’t want to be tested under water or fire. Dissatisfied gods left.

The finger people multiplied until they were in every corner of the world. They reached the low and high lands and stumbled upon the golden statue. It was cold. So the finger people covered him in blankets. It was still cold. So they carried him home.

They cared for him until one day he spoke, “Thank you for all your kindness.”

At the thunderous voice, the gods looked down at Earth and saw what the finger people had done.  

The God of Gold spoke, “We won’t punish them for running away, but from now on, the descendants of the gold man will be rich and the ones of the finger people will be poor and will work for the rich.”

The Good-Hearted God knew that the finger people were kind and caring and didn’t see it fit for them to be poor. So he responded, “The finger people will work for the gold people, but they must be paid fairly for their honest work.”

“Once in heaven they all will be equal,” agreed the gods.

Source: How the Gods Created the Finger People by Elizabeth Moore and Alice Couvillon

The Talking Vegetables - Liberian Folktale

The continent of Africa in a shape of parrot, points with its beak to the country of Liberia. The country of mostly flat plains full of mangroves and swamps by the coast, with each step away from the water it rises to rolling land with low mountains. In the northeastern part of this land, Dan people live, who are known for community farming. Every Dan village treasures a community farm as it feeds people and helps those who get sick and provides food for important celebrations. Everyone pitches in with work and everyone reaps at the harvests. If you don’t, then you will end up like a spider in this story.

Elephant was stumping the ground, he was on his way to the community farm, when he saw his friend spider, “Are you coming to work at the farm?”

“No! I am tired,” shouted Spider. “Besides I have rice to eat.”

“You need more than rice for your diet. There are plenty of vegetables at the farm.”

“I don’t need your vegetables!”

Everybody gathered at the farm to do day’s work except Spider. They cut down bushes, tore out vines, dug out roots. They raked beds and built a waterway.

The following day, Tiger on his way to the farm spotted Spider and asked, “Are you coming to plant seeds?”

“No! Stop bothering me! Go away!” responded Spider.

All the villagers gathered at the farm except Spider. They planted the seeds of cassava, tomato, squash, pumpkin, cabbage, beans and more.

A month later, Monkey jumping its way to the farm noticed Spider and asked, “Are you coming to weed the farm?”

“I didn’t plant and I won’t weed! Go away!” Spider could not be convinced.

The whole day, the villagers pulled weeds. Their backs ached and their arms were sore.

Shortly after, the ripen vegetables were ready to be picked up.

One day, the fresh scent of the vegetables reached the nose of Spider, who got tired of eating rice day after day. So he said to himself, “I’m going to pick some fresh vegetables to go with my rice.”

At the farm, Spider was about to pick up a juicy tomato, when he heard, “What are you doing?”

“What? A talking tomato?”

“The tomato responded, “You didn’t do any farm work. Do not dare to pick me.”

Spider backed away. He turned around and saw fat cucumber. “I’ll just pick one.”

The cucumber twisted and moved away on the vine, “Do not dare to pick me or any other cucumber. You didn’t plant any seeds.”

Spider ran to the other side of the farm, where he noticed an orange pumpkin sitting on the warm ground. He tugged and pulled, but the pumpkin wouldn’t move. “You can’t pick me. You didn’t pull any weeds.”

Tired Spider ran back to the village, where he continued eating plain rice day after day.

Source: The Talking Vegetables by Won-Ldy Paye & Margaret H. Lippert

The Stonecutter, Japanese Folktale

In the far away land, surrounded by deep waters, stretches the Island of Japan. At its heart lays a small Island of Honshu on which majestically stands Mount Fuji. Its white peak seen from afar is an enchanting background for the vast lands surrounding it. Once, the foot of the mountain was a home to a stonecutter, which takes us to the story.

A long time ago, at the foot of Mount Fuji a lonely stonecutter by the name of Tasaku hammered and chiseled his way through the mountain. The pieces of stone created splendid temples and vast palaces. And this pleased the spirit of the mountain to see its precious stone being used to build places of great meaning.

One day, a prince with his servants had passed by the mountain. He was carried aloft, clothed in bright silk robes. Tasaku thought to himself, “It would be nice to be a prince, free of hard work.” The spirit of the mountain heard the stonecutter and transformed him into a prince during the night.

Tasaku was thrilled with his happiness. He no longer cut the stone. Now, he lived in a stone palace made for him. He wore the finest silk robes. Musicians played the finest tunes for him. And the servants bowed low to him. But all this made him happy just for some time until a scorching summer day, when he saw the strength of the sun burning the petals of the flowers in his fine garden. Then he thought to himself, “I wished to be a powerful sun.” The spirit heard him and transformed him into a sun.

Tasaku with his radiating powers burned the fields, dried the rivers, and depleted people of their food. The people begged for water. A cloud heard the people’s cries and covered the sun. Then Tasaku thought to himself, “It looks like the cloud is even more powerful than the sun.”  So he asked the spirit to transform him into a cloud.

Now as a cloud, he sent thunders across the sky and made violent storms, overrunning the banks of the rivers and flooding the fields. All the food and huts were washed away except the mountain. Tasaku got angry and demanded, “Make me into the mountain!” The spirit made the wish, and then departed, for there was nothing more he could do.

Tasaku became the mountain. He was more powerful than the prince, stronger than the sun, mightier than the cloud. But at its foot he felt a sharp sting of a chisel. It was a stonecutter, chipping away at his feet. Now, he trembled inside.

Source: The Stone-cutter by Gerald McDermott

Golem of Vilna - Yiddish Folklore

Lithuania, one of the three Baltic countries, has its capital of Vilna in its southern lands. And in those lands and its capital, once lived a famous Rabbi Elijah, better known as the Vilna Gaon. He was the creator of this city’s golem, taking us to its legend.

In the 18^th century, in the city of Lithuania, lived a smart rabbi of Jewish people, who created Golem. Out of clay, he created a figure. As he was a scholar of great knowledge, who knew the five Books of Moses by heart and the secrets of the Cabala, he also knew the words to put on a piece of paper and attach it to Golem’s ear. This way giving life to Golem in order to help his people with providing fish for the Sabbath.

“Golem, I need you to go to the river and trap the fish into a net. Once out of the water, distribute the fish to the Jews,” commanded the Rabbi. And that’s what golem did.

There were times, when Jews were not allowed to observe their holidays in peace and for such occasions, the Rabbi would use golem for different reasons.

“Defend the Jews,” the Rabbi would command.

Golem was of great strength, but as he was not a creature of God, he could not think. With his strong arms he would defend his people by breaking the bones and skulls of the opponents. Nobody in its way would escape him and nobody would escape him alive. Such news reached the governor, who demanded the Rabbi to appear in front of him at once.

“Once the Golem is gone, will we be allowed to celebrate our holidays in peace? asked the Rabbi.

“You have my word,” promised the governor.

Since all the buckets were filled with fish and the Rabbi had the governor’s word, he removed the piece of paper from Golem’s ear. Golem turned into a pile of clay at which the Rabbi looked and said, “I hope there is not another day, when another Golem has to be created to protect its people.”

Note: Other Golem versions: Golem of Prague (February post) and Golem of Chelm (March post)

Source: The Golem of Vilna, Yiddish Folktales by Pantheon.

How the Baltic Sea Became Salty - Polish Folktale

Baltic Sea, nestled in Northern Europe, is surrounded by nine countries. Its southern waters brush the shore of Northern Poland, where in the Gulf of Gdansk many ships drop their anchors. In the city of Gdansk, snuggled in the gulf, once lived a young girl with her family, which takes us to the story.

A very long time ago, one winter season, on a very cold December day a young girl by the name of Natalia was rushing home in the port town of Gdansk. Her parents owned a small inn and on this evening they were expecting some guests. Bundled in a warm long coat with a wool scarf covering her face against the big snowflakes and cold wind, she was about to enter a familiar gate, when she noticed a man lying on the ground. He was almost covered in snow. She didn’t hesitate for a moment and asked, “Can you get up and lean on me?”

Natalia was able to lead the man home. “He is almost frozen,” commented the mother as soon as the girl arrived. “Here, sit him next to the fire and brew warm herbs.” The mother warmed the man’s hands and feet meanwhile.

It took a few weeks before the stranger fully recuperated. During those weeks, he observed the girl. She was good-natured and helpful to her parents and others. One such day, while she was preparing food for supper, she realized that they were out of salt. “It’s gone again and it’s so expensive.” The man pondered upon her words.

The following day, he asked for a small piece of wood, not revealing what he needed it for. Upon receiving a block of wood, he became very busy.

“What is he doing?” whispered the owners of the inn.

The guest only smiled and continued his carving. In the evening, he handed a small windmill to Natalia saying, “Next time when you need salt, put the windmill on a clean cloth and say those words: Windmill, windmill, please move your wings and drop me some salt. When you have enough of salt say: Thank you my golden windmill, you’ve done enough work for today. But remember this gift is only for you and cannot be sold.”

The next day, the man fully recovered left the inn. Natalia put the windmill on a shelf, not believing in its magic.

It didn’t take long, when the need for salt presented the occasion to test the windmill for which she reached. Oh what a stoned face she had when upon her words the windmill produced salt.

From now on she produced plenty of salt for her family and all their friends and those in need.

One day, a small ship dropped its anchor in the port and its crew came to the inn for supper. There was plenty of food, and almost enough of salt, but toward the end of the evening a tiny bit would make a difference in the taste. Natalia quickly rushed to the kitchen, grabbed the windmill and spoke the words.

One of the sailors curious about Natalia’s rush, followed her to the kitchen. He peaked through the door and his mouth fell wide open, when he heard the girl saying the magic words and the white salt dropping on a tablecloth.

The girl with her back to the door did not notice the sailor, who left quickly and murmured to himself, “I have to have it.”

When the crew was ready to leave the inn, the man complained about stomachache. He asked the owners, if he could stay for the night instead of going back to the rocky boat.

“Of course, you may lay on the bench by the fire. I’ll get you some blankets,” responded the girl’s father. “And Natalia will brew you herbs to easy your ache.”

“We’re leaving at the break of dawn,” reminded one of the sailors before they left.

At midnight, when everybody was asleep, the sailor sneaked into the kitchen where he grabbed the windmill. “I’ll bring it back the next time we’re in Gdansk,” the sailor tried to make himself feel better, while sneaking out of the inn. “I need it to make enough salt to buy my own boat.”

As soon as the ship left the shores, the sailor took out the windmill and said the magic words: Windmill, windmill, please move your wings and drop me some salt.

A stream of white salt cascaded onto the boat’s floor. “It’s working,” announced the happy sailor. “Enough for now, until I am on land again.” But the white stream of salt continued to gush down. “Enough, enough!” panicked the sailor.

The windmill’s wings kept making circles. He tried to stop it with his hands, but to no avail. The pile of white salt was getting bigger and bigger. The boat was getting heavier and heavier, tilting to one side.

The sailors yelled at the man, “Throw it into the water or we will all sink!”

Hesitating for a moment, he threw it into the water.

The windmill made splash with its wings and the dissolving salt made the water saltier and saltier with each moment…

Note: Similar version of Strega Nona (March post) is where one character knows the magic words for making some kind of food and stopping its process, and another character who overhears just the first words for making the food, but not for stopping it. And a lesson has to be learned.