12/17/2025
Makiawisug — The Little Ones Who Walk With Us
A Mohegan Tale
On Mohegan Hill, where the stones remember older footsteps, the Makiawisug still live. They are the Little Ones, not small in power but close to the earth, moving between what is seen and what is felt. When night settles in and the whip-poor-will calls, our people know they are near. That call is not only a bird’s voice—it is a signal, a reminder.
The Makiawisug are good spirits, but they live by their own laws, and they expect respect. Our grandparents taught us to leave food for them—corn cakes, berries, sometimes meat—placed gently in the woods. At night they come, wearing moccasin flowers upon their feet, gathering what has been offered. Their name, Makiawisug, carries this meaning: those who wear whip-poor-will moccasins.
There are ways to behave when they are near. You do not stare at them. To look too long is rude, even dangerous. If they catch your eyes fixed upon them, they may point a finger and hold you fast to the earth while they take what you carry. And in the summer, when they are most active, we do not speak of them carelessly. Some names are not meant to be spoken aloud in certain seasons.
Because of the kindness once shown to them, the Makiawisug shared their knowledge with our people. They taught us how to plant corn so it would grow strong, and how to recognize the medicines hidden in roots and leaves. They help keep the land in balance. Those who honor them may receive favors, though these gifts are never demanded—only earned through respect.
When the English came and our ways were disrupted, many forgot the old agreements. Offerings were neglected. Songs were silenced. Soon sickness spread—not only among the Mohegan people, but among the Makiawisug as well. It was a time of imbalance, when bad spirits moved freely.
In those days there lived a medicine woman who still listened. One night, during a fierce storm, she heard the call of the whip-poor-will. When she stepped outside, the bird was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a small boy stood in the rain at her doorway. Though he appeared young, his spirit was old. He told her his name was Weegun, and he asked her to come—someone was very sick.
Though the storm raged, she followed him deep into the woods. Then, without warning, the wind fell silent. The rain ceased. The ground opened, and they descended into the earth, entering the realm of the Little Ones.
Weegun led her into a chamber shaped like a beehive, built of stone. There lay an ancient woman, weak and burning with illness. The Makiawisug told her this was Granny Squannit—powerful, ancient, and deeply connected to the forces of weather and healing. When Granny Squannit quarrels with her husband, storms are born.
This storm, they said, came from her sickness. Worse still, when healers are desperate, they often call upon Granny Squannit for help. Now she was the one in need.
The medicine woman stayed nearly a full moon, tending Granny Squannit with prayer, medicine, and patience. Slowly, strength returned. When Granny Squannit healed, balance returned with her.
In gratitude, the Makiawisug gave the medicine woman a basket and told her never to forget them. They blindfolded her and led her home. Only when she was safely returned did she open the basket. Inside were quartz crystals, painted skins, and bundles of healing herbs—gifts of remembrance, power, and responsibility.
And so we remember. The Makiawisug still walk the hills. The whip-poor-will still calls. The agreements still stand, waiting for those who listen.
Painting by: Percy Sacobie Art
Artist Inquiries: [email protected]
Subscribe to Our Page Today To Support Mishkiki & Get Access to Exclusive Content!
https://www.facebook.com/becomesupporter/Mishkiki.Org/
Chi Meegwetch / Big Thank You!
