I mentioned earlier that I met a young woman named April, and in writing, also referred to a woman I met named Willow. I saw Willow today.  I see her on occasion because she works in the community. When I first noticed her name-tag, oh say, three years ago, I thought, “how unique!”  I notice names, and inevitably pry into why a person got his or her name, but didn’t ask Willow the first time I met her, nor the second, nor the third.  The name took time to settle into my psyche, and finally, today, when I saw her, I wanted to know the story behind her name, so I asked, “Why is your name ‘Willow?’

This is what she said:  “My parents were hippie types who lived in the Woodstock Valley.  Tree huggers that lived off of the land, a custom my dad still practices today, in the same place.  They did everything the natural way, when I was growing up; kept a large garden, split their own wood, and canned all the vegetables.”  Willow continued;  “When I was born my parents deferred to my grandmother for help in naming me.  Grandma was an Algonquin Indian born on a reservation, not full blooded herself, but married a full-blooded.  (Willow has blond hair and blue eyes so the story of the Native American background was a bit surprising.) When I was born grandmother said, ‘you shall name her “Willow” after the beautiful willow trees whose branches reach for water in the stream, and so “Willow” I was named.  Along came my other sisters, and they were also named with respect for Mother Nature.  One is “Rainy,” and other “Dawn.””

And so the story goes.  It’s almost a fairy tale.  I loved the story.  I hope you did too.

The End

By Tiffany Creek