Luma knew he was different. He had never been interested in hunting and trapping like his friends; instead, he enjoyed sitting quietly and thinking. As a younger member of the Klamath tribe, Luma spent much of his time with his grandmother, who was a respected weaver in the tribe. He watched her when he was young, learning from her repeated motions as she made baskets, shawls, shoes, and hats. Luma often spent time alone in the summer, wandering across the flat land, gathering armsful of supplies his grandmother had requested. She kept the weaving supplies near her for use during the cold winter months. During the time, when the days were short and the air was chilled, she sat around the fire, listening to the Elders tell stories of their people as she quietly wove items for the tribe.

It was a proud day for Luma when the Elders called him to be a weaver, just like his grandmother. When she heard this proclamation, she smiled and lifted her proud head, nodding her approval. She knew her Luma would bring new wisdom to the art she loved so dearly. 

It had been many seasons since the land had changed for Luma and his people. He always listened with interest to the stories from long ago about the melting of the great ice and how that had brought water to their land, sacred water that helped the plants grow so they could be used for weaving. 

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