I am told by a-wi a that when we last celebrated the festival of Green Corn during the summer of 1837 it was foretold famine would come upon our people.

But all thought it would be from the drought not from the forced march. By winters deep snow a group from each clan had gone to the Federal hall in Washington.

They filed a petition protesting the forced march of over seventeen thousand members of our people.

She told me that across all of Turtle Island (America) many raised their voices to the government in our defense.

But when the Red Bud and wild violets were in bloom, the worst drought ever known by our people had the land of the Cherokee in its grip the troops came to round us up like horses being brought down from the mountains. We were driven like Oxen I was made to push wagons out of ruts on the trail leaders were beaten if they refused.

A-wi a, heard that over ten thousand of our people were being held in the military forts and in the few moons were on the march a great many had died from lack of food and being made to live in their own filth, locked in buildings without light.

In the early autumn at the Aquohee stockade, The tribal Chiefs met and once again declared ours to be a sovereign Nation of Cherokee. John Ross was named superintendent of this forced relocation. When the leaves were turning and rain was blessing the land once more, our exodus resumes once more. Superintendent Ross did get more money that was to be used for food and clothing.

A heavy frost was on Mother Earth, the wagons and human chain were in movement to the Great River. One phase of the moon passed when we arrived at the bank of the Great River.

Ice covered the river and its banks as if Great Spirit was telling the Federal Troops it was not good to make us cross this river into the land of the Bear. Knowing my cousins are now as me, feeling lost and alone even though there are thousands spread along this horrid trail.

I squint into winters harsh sunlight. With sun this bright how can it be so cold at night? When night time does arrive I pray to Mother Moon that I will see my home again soon. I see shooting stars in the black of night I question why I am so filled with deep fright? I hear wolves sing from way off far I lay looking at the stars. I hear the soldiers tell the guards goodnight I wonder how many more hours until daylight?

I hear their fiddler begin to play I fall to my knees and pray. Pray to Mother Moon that I might see my home again soon. Knowing it is hours until daylight I languish into sleep dreaming this trail will lead to no where. I hear the ice as it breaks I know tomorrow they will take first loads across the icy flow.

This night I pray will move very slow. The longest night the shortest day I hear a-wa I say "Do not be forlorn the crossing starts in early morn". With such heavy frost on the ground there are no berries to be found. The food that was to be for us elders say are being sold to the people in Memphis town.

I must find food for a- wi a, she is so weak her smiling face now wears a frown. I have found flint along the trail I tie it to branch off an oak with vine . I climb up a tree and see a winter hare look up at me. I throw my makeshift spear I hear Winter Hare scream as he dies. I gently remove his hair knowing that our life again has been spared. We get aboard the boat and see much of our belongings float by.

It does no good to cry this day passes by. Reaching the other side into the vast land of the Bear. I begin to feel I do not care.

A-wi a, holds me near and sings her sad refrain. She sings of how once we were many now we are small soon there will be few if at all.