I Heard The Owl Call My Name
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15
Ratings6
Average rating4
Amid the grandeur of the remote Pacific Northwest stands Kingcome, a village so ancient that, according to Kwakiutl myth, it was founded by the two brothers left on Earth after the great flood. The Native Americans who still live there call it Quee, a place of such incredible natural richness that hunting and fishing remains a primary food source.
But the old culture of totems and potlatch is being replaced by new culture of prefab housing and alcoholism. Kingcome's younger generation is disenchanted and alienated from its heritage. And now, coming upriver is a young vicar. Mark Brian, on a journey of discovery that can teach him-and us- about life, death, and the transforming power of love.
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For those with limited reading time, another short but wonderful book about cultural identity and living ‘closer to the bone,' is Margaret Craven's I Heard the Owl Call My Name (1967.)
I read it a couple of weeks ago on the plane returning from California. The more I read, the tinier the plane's cabin became. British Columbia here I come.
