Totem Pole

For hundreds of years, I grew in a misty forest on the coast of the Pacific Ocean. I was not a carving yet, just a giant, strong cedar tree. I felt the rain on my bark and listened to the songs of the birds in my branches. Then one day, a carver from a First Nations village came into the forest. He looked up at my tall trunk with a special kind of respect. He knew I was the one who could help him tell his family’s important stories. I felt a shiver of excitement run through my wood, from my roots to my highest leaves. I knew I was about to be given a wonderful new purpose. I am a Totem Pole.

The carver and his family worked together to gently lay me down on the forest floor. This happened a long, long time ago. Many of my brothers and sisters were carved by talented artists throughout the 18th and 19th centuries. Using special tools called adzes and sharp knives, the carvers began to shape me. Slowly, chip by chip, amazing faces started to appear on my wooden skin. I saw a clever raven with a shiny beak, a strong bear with powerful paws, a watchful eagle with sharp eyes, and a mighty whale with a big tail. Each animal is a special symbol that represents a story, a family crest, or an important memory for the people, like the Haida, Tlingit, or Tsimshian nations. To make me beautiful, they mixed berries and special minerals to make bright paints. They brushed on reds, blacks, and blues, giving me colors that sang in the sunlight and told my stories to everyone who looked at me.

When all the carving and painting was finally finished, I was ready for my big day. The whole village gathered to celebrate. It was a very exciting moment. With strong ropes made from cedar bark and lots of happy cheers, the people worked together to raise me up. Up, up, up I went, until I stood tall and proud, facing the wide, blue sea. I am not a god that people pray to. I am a storyteller, like a history book made of wood. I show everyone who lives here and share the great tales of their ancestors, the people who lived long before them. At special celebrations called potlatches, people would gather around me to feast, dance, sing, and share even more stories. My job was to watch over them all and remind them of who they are and where they come from.

Today, you might see me in a big museum where I am protected from the rain, or you might see me still standing in a village along the coast of the Pacific Northwest. I am very old, but the stories I tell are still alive and full of meaning. New carvers are creating new totem poles, keeping the wonderful tradition strong for their children and grandchildren. I remind everyone that stories can be told in many ways—not just in books, but in wood, stone, and art. I am a symbol of family, history, and the beautiful art of the First Peoples, connecting the past to the future for everyone to wonder at and enjoy.