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“Once upon a time, long, long ago, far, far, away in a kingdom by the sea…” Thus began a thousand stories my father told. Sometimes the stories were set in the Yukon, where my father worked summers staking mining claims. Often, those stories featured whistlers (marmots) or whiskey-jacks enticed to bridge the divide between human and creaturely worlds. Sometimes it was a mountain goat or grizzly bear. When you heard “once upon a time…” you knew to listen carefully, because something good was coming.  Maybe that’s where I developed the habit of listening carefully. Most of the stories I hear these days don’t start with, “once upon a time…” though it’s still a formula I use to start a story or to coax one from my grandchildren, all of whom are wonderful story-tellers. The stories I hear now are more likely to start with, “Have you got a minute?” or “Can I come in…?”

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