As nights grow shorter and days grow warmer, the sap begins to run, and it's time for the year's first harvest. And while the Sugar Moon shines, it's time to tell tales of Hare, as we of Great Lakes Country have always done.
Well, nights were growing shorter and days were growing warmer, but in the lodge where Hare lived with his grandmother, the birchbark buckets were empty and the last of the food was gone.
Woe, woe, said Hare's Grandmother.
Woe on an old woman with no relatives left but one no-good grandson who can't hunt for shit. Shame, shame on a worthless grandson who would let his old grandmother starve to death.
She kicked him out of the lodge and told him not to come back until he'd found something to eat.
