Many years ago, when the tribe of Ottawa nor the many islands in Lake Huron, lived to be called today Manitulin Islands, lived in one of the villages a great magician named Massawaweinini. Massawa-weinini was everywhere respected and feared, because it was said wonderful things about his art. His name, the Living Statue meant each one inspired awe, because you saw it, that he could bring himself carved figures to life when he wanted.

One day it happened that the villages of Ottawa by the marauding Iroquois were attacked. Throughout the summer the war lasted, and as it was winter had destroyed most of the villages. Painfully were the people through the winter alive. In the spring, however, the chiefs decided to retire, and Ottawa left their old home. Only Massawaweinini, the old magician, remained on the largest island, for here lived the Manitoulin, the Ghost, which he had been served and he did not want to leave. Two young soldiers were also left behind and should serve as a scout and report the movements of the chiefs of the hated enemy.

For days, the three Indians hid in the numerous bays and reed stands of the islands. At night they moved her to the shore Rindenkanu it hidden in a dense thicket and took care to leave no traces. One morning the magician awoke very early, leaving the sleeping companion, and went on the hunt. He carefully kept within the forest's edge, but after a while he had to cross a clearing. With rapid strides he hurried through the grass as he middle of the clearing a little man arrived, who seemed to have come from the earth. The little man was wearing a rust-colored feather in her hair and did exactly as if the magician was a good friend.

"Hey, where are you going so early?" With these words he took a whistle from his neck and stuffed it with tobacco. After he had done a few puffs, he offered it to the magician who stood puzzled and explained the whole process could not. "You seem very strong and powerful to be," said the little man with the rusty red feather, "Come, let us see who is stronger. If you can force me to the ground, then call> Wa-ga-ma-na <>, I've Fallen '. "

The magician was in agreement, his guardian spirits called out to help and put his arms on the grass. Then both began silently to wrestle with each other. For a long time the fight went back and forth, the little man with the rusty red feather in her hair seemed to be exceptionally strong and nimble, and the magician had all the trouble to think on their feet. But in the end, he succeeded by a surprise attack to throw the opponent to the ground. "Wa-ga-ma-na! Wa-ga-ma-na," he cried, and at the same moment the little man was gone!

When the magician amazed looked around, where as his opponent could have fallen so suddenly, he found at the spot where he had thrown the odd fellow in the grass, a small piston corn, sat at the end of a tuft of rust-red fibers. Shaking his head he looked at the insignificant thing, as the corn cob uplift to talk at once: "Take me out, pull me out!" he asked again and again. The magician did him the favor and freed the pistons of the yellow corn straw envelope. Then he saw all these little yellow grains, lined up in wonderful order. The piston, however, was heard again: "You have to break up me! Take the seeds from my back and throw it anywhere on the clearing. Come back here after a month."

The Wizard scattered the yellow grains across the clearing until he finally only the empty flask had at hand, but threw it carelessly on the edge of the forest on. When he came back to the guards, he was still surprised by his experience, the two said nothing. After all, they understood so little about such things were, and his spirits far more familiar.

After a month, he sneaked one morning back into the clearing, from the little man with the rusty red feather far and wide to see anything, and the yellow grains were gone. Instead, all grew a strange grass that he had never seen before. At that point, however, where he had thrown away the körnerlosen piston, the ground was covered with long tendrils, and tendrils at the ends of small fruits were seen. Shaking the magician went back to camp.

Over the summer, watched the three who remained behind the Iroquois, their war canoes in fast pile shuffled off the shores of the lake, always in search of prey. But then it was autumn and the leaves of sugar maple glowed like yellow fire. Again, the magician went one morning to the place where he had wrestled with the spirit. The entire clearing had changed! Everywhere was the strange plant, which had now grown very much. At the shrubs but were heavy piston, and each of them was wearing a rust-red scoop!

The fruit on the vines were swollen to huge balls, so that the wizard had trouble to raise them. Full and yellow lit the pumpkins between the dark leaves out. As the astonished man broke off a corn cob to see if it were also about those yellow grains, all of a sudden he heard a familiar voice: "You have conquered me, from now on, I belong to you. Every time the spring comes, you shall take me fall apart, and sprinkle the yellow grains of the country. you follow my advice, so there will never be hungry to the people. "

Massawaweinini, the magician, looked around astonished and finally asked, "Who are you?" I do not even know your name, tell me who you are, so we know how we should address our benefactors. " Once again the voice of that young man came with the rust-red feather from the cob, which was the magician in his hand: "I'm the Mon-da-min, the spirit of the corn." Then there was silence, and only the rustle of corn leaves in the wind could be heard.

The magician soon returned to his tribe, and brought the Ottawa the gift of the little man with the rusty red pen. In gratitude, call the Ottawa corn today Mon-da-min, and organize every year a special celebration in honor of their benefactor.