I am one of many in my camp. I am the one who keeps care of the hut. I am the one who shakes the bedding when the sky lightens, and again as it darkens – to get rid of the dust and the grit that falls always, and the bugs that find us. I am the one who sees that there is always clear water in the bag by the portal. I tend the small fire and make sure the smoke gets out. I give the young ones their jobs and see that they are done. I keep my hut safe and ready for sleep. I tend my loom and mend tearings. I put the baby to my breast when it cries, clean it and pack it with fresh moss when it shits. I gather things from the land that are good for us, and bend my back at the cookfires. I wash that which gets soiled and I make foot covers with hide. I weave fibers into baskets and twist strings into ropes. I am the one who knows when it is time for gatherings. I make something out of nothing. I do a thousand things. I am the rock. I am the strong stone.