The Legend
of Onarga
Among the great oak trees twinkled the tiny campfires of the Iroquois. It was the time of the Harvest Moon and
the Great Spirit had been kind. Never had there been so good a crop of Indian corn, the herds of buffalo
roamed in ever increasing numbers over the great plains, the streams abounded in fish, and the Indians were
happy.

At the door of his wigwam sat the great chief of the Iroquois and by his side sat his daughter, Onarga, fairest of
the Indian maidens. Together they looked out to where the leaves of corn rustled in the gentle breeze, and
then to where the moonlight filtered through the branches of the giant oaks and danced upon the thick, wavy
grass.

"Father," asked the girl, "Why does the North Wind rustle like waves of many waters through the leaves of the
oaks and across the fields of corn?"

"Daughter," replied the old chief, "The Great Spirit has been kind. He has sent you to the people of the Iroquois
where you step, the grass of the fields grows green and there is plenty of feed for the buffalo and they stay
with our people; when you touch the corn it bears big ears and there is much food for our tribe, and when you
sing the birds of the forests sing with you. The ripling waters of the springs and rivers laugh with joy when they
hear your voice and the Great Spirit smiles and is glad.

"What your hear, Oh Fairest Daughter of the Morning, is not the wind among the trees but the sound of many
waters and the dipping of many paddles; it is the sound of the Great Canoe."

The next morning, when the Sun God climbed above the mighty oaks, there was sadness in the camp of the
Iroquis, for during the night the soul of Onarga, the Indian maiden, daughter of the great chief, had gone
Northward in the Great Canoe to the happy Hunting Grounds of the Iroquois, the sand of Shawandossee, the
home of the White Rabbit.

Each year when the great fertile plains of the Iroquois are flooded with the pale, shimmering light of the Harvest
Moon, the Great Canoe floating on the billows of mist that overhang the rivers, and manned by the spirits of the
Iroquois warriors, floats with the North Wind to the far-away hunting grounds from whence it came.

There are some who claim to have seen it passing in the night and in it the form of a beautiful Indian maiden
Princess, her left hand raised to Heaven with the palm outward, the Indian sign of benediction and farewell.

Each season the Harvest Moon shines between two mighty oaks where sleeps Onarga, the little Indian maiden,
and on her grave in the still quiet of the night the "shadow things and all the moonlight things come out to play."
Under the great oaks, where twinkled the camp fires of the Iroquois, there stands the Village of Onarga.

Written by Bonsall Schroeder, Sales Manager of the Onarga Nursery Company, for a 1918 Christmas Card
sent out to customers.
The Legend of Onarga