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Chapter Three:
Tending Our Fire: Why We Make Story
This material is edited from a much longer chapter with hopes it will intrigue you to discover the fullness of the book, Storycatcher, Making Sense of our Lives through the Power and Practice of Story, by Christina Baldwin. Each chapter is carried by a tale about people, family, or community, intertwined with philosophical and practical instruction about the nature of story, how it works and how we can practice it in our lives. The Storycatcher reading group guidelines show the list of questions that appears at the end of each chapter.
Dusk, twenty thousand years ago. The man is wet to the skin and shivers. The lifeless body of a rabbit bounces against his shoulder as he hurries through twilight. The woman trotting at his side pauses in the fading light to gather a few leaves, scratch a surface root free with her toe and deposit it in the skin pouch at her waist. They move in this fashion along a trail they hope will lead to welcome, warmth, and company for the night. They smell smoke before they can see it, then hear voices. Finally they round a bend and there is it — fire-glow on a cave wall. Other travelers have already gathered. Not wanting to be mistaken for prey or foe, the man grunts loudly, making the sound for "man-friend." The people at the fire are alerted now, and shush each other, listen cautiously. "Man-friend, man-friend." His word travels through the dark to the fire. There is chatter, then one among them grunts back, "Man-friend, man-friend." The woman opens her throat and ululates the haunting cry of female greeting. The women at the fire call back to her. They have two things to offer: food and story. They will be welcomed. And so it has always been.
 Even now, though we live in a world that glows with a manufactured brilliance to dim the stars, when we light a candle on our dining tables, roast marshmallows over the backyard grill, or place a night-light near a child's crib, our twenty-first century bodies remember how important it has always been to find the fire and tend the flame. With offerings that feed the body and stories that sustain the soul, we return to the fire for a primal sense of belonging. Something about firelight welcomes us. Something about story informs, inspires, and connects us. And so it has always been.
. . .
I spent fifth grade pouring through a cache of National Geographic magazines I'd found stacked in my Grandpa Anderson's basement, their muskiness adding an aura of antiquity and authority: these were not comic books. That spring for my birthday party when my mother came up with the theme, "Come as what you want to be when you grow up," I was ready. In a room full of nurses, secretaries, and mommies (this was after all, 1957), I descended the stairs wearing khaki shorts, a big white shirt, and a pith helmet. I had just learned a new word: anthropologist.
Biologists note that brain tissue is "expensive" for the body: it requires more protection, and increased blood and oxygen supply. Animals develop only as much brain tissue as they need to fulfill their function. The mental capacities of a mouse, a horse, and an elephant are all determined in part by the size and configuration of their brains. The mental capacities of a human are determined by brain size, configuration, and the ability to retain complex systems of information and bodies of knowledge that are based on symbolic transfer: language.
 Lest we get too enamored with our specialness, in his book The Language Instinct, Stephen Pinker writes, "Though language is a magnificent ability unique to Homo sapiens ... in nature's talent show we are simply a species of primate with our own act, a knack for communicating information about who did what to whom by modulating the sounds we make when we exhale."
Pinker makes the case that language is biologically innate. He says, "Language is not a cultural artifact that we learn the way we learn to tell time or how the federal government works. Instead, it is a distinct piece of the biological makeup of our brains. Language is a complex, specialized skill, which develops in the child spontaneously, without conscious effort or formal instruction, is deployed without awareness of its underlying logic, is qualitatively the same in every individual, and is distinct from more general abilities to process information or behave intelligently..."
. . .
Science and story have always been partners. The impulse to understand our lives and the world through science is almost as ancient as the impulse to understand our lives and the world through story. Science-mind led to capturing the secret of fire tending, studying the properties of plants, learning from animals, figuring out the seasons and the stars, and building the standing stones of Great Britain and Easter Island, the pyramids of the Mayans and Egyptians, and every marvel under heaven. Story-mind fills in the significance and imbeds information inside narrative so that we remember it.
. . .
 Behind all the distraction and gadgetry and technological hyperbole, dusk is gathering in the real world. We need to find our way to the fire. We need to bring what we hold dear and sit down and stare a while into the flickering and unembellished light that holds the darkness at bay. We need to call out to each other, "man-friend...woman-friend...," and have that call returned. We need to sing our coming into the circle around the flames, and to hear the chorus of welcome that gives us courage to step into the light. We need to proceed boldly, arms open with the fruits we have to share, and mouths already singing the tales of our journey.
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Tell Me This Story: Your Opportunity to
Share Your Story
Tending the story is a privilege bestowed on Storycatchers by their willingness to receive, report, and protect the world's stories. Storycatchers become the librarians, taking care of the stories that are already there, adding stories to the shelves, and ensuring that the stories remain available for the future.
What is the story you're tending, the one you'll never let be put out?
Let's start there.
Tell me that story.
Click here to respond to this question with a story from your own life >>
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