O-na-tah is the spirit of the corn, and patroness of the fields.
The sun touches her dusky face with the blush of the morning, and
her dark eyes grow soft as the gleam of the stars that float on
dark streams. Her night-black hair flares in the breeze like the
wind-driven cloud that unveils the sun. As she walks the air, draped
in her maize, its blossoms plume to the sun, and its fringing tassels
play with the rustling leaves in whispering promises to the waiting
fields. Night follows O-na-tah’s dim way with dews, and Day guides
the beams that leap from the sun to her path. And the great Mother
Earth loves O-na-tah, who brings to her children their life-giving
grain.
At one time O-na-tah had two companions, the Spirit of the Bean and
the Spirit of the Squash. In the olden time when the bean, corn, and
squash were planted together in the hill these three plant spirits
were never separated. Each was clothed in the plant which she
guarded. The Spirit of the Squash was crowned with the flaunting gold
trumpet blossom of its foliage. The Spirit of the Bean was arrayed in
the clinging leaves of its winding vine, its velvety pods swinging to
the breeze.
One day when O-na-tah had wandered astray in search of the lost dew,
Hah-gweh-da-et-gab captured her, and imprisoned her in his darkness
under the earth. Then he sent one of his monsters to blight her
fields and the Spirit of Squash and the Spirit of Bean fled before
the blighting winds that pursued them. O-na-tah languished in the
darkness, lamenting her lost fields. But one day a searching sun ray
discovered her, and guided her safely back to her lands.
Sad indeed was O-na-tah when she beheld the desolation of her
blighted fields, and the desertion of her companions, Spirit of
Squash and Spirit of Bean. Bewailing the great change, she made a vow
that she would never leave her fields again.
If her fields thirst now, she can not leave them to summon the dews.
When the Flame Spirit of the Sun burns the maize O-na-tah dare not
search the skies for Ga-oh to implore him to unleash the winds and
fan her lands. When great rains fall and blight her fields the voice
of O-na-tah grows faint and the Sun can not hear. Yet faithful she
watches and guards, never abandoning her fields till the maize is
ripe.
When the maize stalk bends low O-na-tah is folding the husks to the
pearly grains that the dew will nourish in their screening shade, as
they fringe to the sun.
When the tassels plume, O-na-tah is crowning the maize with her
triumph sign, and the rustling leaves spear to the harvest breeze.