Interesting book~

http://www.ashgate.com/default.aspx?page=637&calctitle=1&pageSubject=425&pagecount=2&title_id=9924&edition_id=11001&lang=cy

Almost every culture in the world has held celebrations of thanks for a plentiful harvest. The American Thanksgiving holiday began as a feast of thanksgiving in the early days of the American colonies almost four hundred years ago.

On the fourth Thursday of every November, Americans celebrate Thanksgiving. Airports and roads are jammed. More than 40 million Americans travel from state to state to celebrate the holiday. On Thanksgiving Day, Americans give thanks for the blessings of the past year. They feast, celebrate, and play games.

My firend, Lisa, who is hosting a large thanksgiving dinner explains, “Everybody in the family: my two sisters, my two brothers and all of their families, we have the traditional turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and vegetables, all the cakes and pies after the turkey dinner. We usually eat kind of late. I think a lot of people here have their turkey dinner at around 3pm in the afternoon or so, earlier in the day. But we always have it a little later like 5pm or so, then dad watches the (American football) game.”

Makes me wonder what they are really celebrating?

It is our tradition not to celebrate this American holiday as part of the cultural norm.  Rather we participate in this day as a day of mourning and honor for those who have gone before us and those who gave of themselves, so that the puritans could prosper.

In our house, we light a smudge early in the morning and fast all day, as we prepare a feast of traditional foods such as turkey, salmon, moose sausage and wild rice, wild mushrooms, corn soup, corn bread, squash, succotash, fresh cranberry sauce, and a dessert with blueberries.  Blueberries are a staple at any feast for the Northeastern peoples.  Blueberries represent the ancestors at the feast; much like the Irish/Celts who would use apples, or the Mohawk people who use strawberries.

The smudge is kept going all day, much like a sacred fire and as the day wears on, there maybe some drumming and singing along with the conversation and the family effort to make the feast.  Everyone participates…even the littlest ones.

When everything is ready, we all come to the table and the spirit plates are made.  As the plates are passed, each person at the table places a little bit of each type of food that we have for the feast.  We do four plates, one for each of the four directions.

As the plates are being filled, my husband gives the teaching about the spirit plates.  “We make the spirit plates in honor of all our ancestors who have gone before us, so that they will not go hungry in the spirit world.”  The youngest ones of the family proudly stand ready to carry the plates out to the four directions.  The water glass is filled and passed around, as my husband also gives this teaching, each person takes a drink from the glass, leaving it half full.  “Water is our life force, without water we cannot live and we drink for the ancestor, so that they will live on in us.”

The little ones proudly take the plates outside to the four directions and place them upon the ground, so that the ancestors may eat with us.  They leave the glass of water too.

It is time for us to eat now and we all settle down for a good meal with much conversation and stories about ancestors and family who are gone from this world, however still remain each year to celebrate with us.

The cliche Thanksgiving portrayal of Native Americans and Pilgrims sharing a table together perpetuates that false idea, as well as another mistaken notion - that Native Americans celebrate the historical feast between Pilgrims and Indians. They do not.

For Indians, that feast is a symbol of the betrayal, of the killing and of the forced removal from their homelands that followed.

Many Native Americans struggle with the truth hidden in the American tradition of Thanksgiving - a reality that is nothing to be thankful for.

While most people with Native American heritage still celebrate Thanksgiving, it is a misconception that Native Americans and Europeans came together for a happy feast.

The myth of the coming together of the pilgrims and the Native American is a whole separate issue because originally there was very good contact; but it didn’t stay that way for very long. Fundamental cultural and land use issues divided the two people from the beginning. Europeans at the time thought they had entitlement to land that wasn’t necessarily theirs. The notion that Europeans had a God-given right to American land was a foreign concept, which was resisted violently by Native Americans.
The truth about Thanksgiving is that Europeans truly thought they were entitled to take land.  And they did so by genocide, poison or by deliberately spreading disease. There was a population loss of 90 percent after European arrival.

It is important to mention that while there are many conflictions with the holiday, many Native Americans still participate in it for a variety of reasons, including the fact that most now come from mixed-race backgrounds.

Because of their mixed heritage, some Native Americans celebrate the tradition with their families, because it is a modern American holiday, but others protest the holiday because much of the Native American history involved is nothing to truly be thankful for.

Yet, when the whole country is celebrating, it’s hard to be angry and not participate in taking part in family time.

It’s called Thanksgiving - giving thanks for what we are thankful for, and regardless of what history tells us, we all still have things to be thankful for.  In particular, our ancestors who have brought us life.

The pilgrims were rescued in 1620 from starvation and severe weather by a Wampanoag Indian man called “Tisquantum” or “Squanto,” who had learned English after traveling to England with explorer John Weymouth.

He brought them deer meat and beaver skins, taught them to cultivate corn and other vegetables and how to build Native American-style houses. He pointed out poisonous plants and showed how other plants could be used as medicine.
By fall, things were much better for the pilgrims and they decided to have a thanksgiving feast to celebrate their good fortune. Pilgrim leader Capt. Miles Standish invited Squanto and the Wampanoag leader, Massasoit, and their families to the feast, but were overwhelmed by the sheer size of Indian families. It became clear to Massasoit that the pilgrims had not expected the 90-plus people who came to feast and he ordered more food to be brought. Thus it happened that the Indians supplied the majority of the food for the three-day celebration.
A peace and friendship agreement was made between Massasoit and Standish giving the pilgrims the clearing in the forest where the old village once stood to build their new town of Plymouth.
The European population grew and the Indians’ help was not needed, mistrust started to grow and the friendship weakened. The pilgrims displayed intolerance toward the Indian religion and within a few years the children of the people who ate together at the first Thanksgiving were killing one another in what came to be called King Phillip’s War.

Native American history spans tens of thousands of thousands of years and two continents. It is a multifaceted story of dynamic cultures that in turn spawned intricate economic relationships and complex political alliances. Through it all, the relationship of First Peoples to the land has remained a central theme.

Though Native Americans of the region today known as New England share similar languages and cultures, known as Eastern Algonquian, they are not one political or social group. Rather, they comprised and still comprise many sub-groups. For example, the Pequots and Mohegans live in Connecticut, the Wampanoag reside in southeastern Massachusetts, while the Pocumtucks dwelt in the middle Connecticut River Valley near today’s Deerfield, Massachusetts.

Like the elders of other Native communities, Algonquian elders have traditionally transmitted important cultural information to the younger generations orally. This knowledge, imparted in the form of stories, includes the group’s history, information on origins, beliefs and moral lessons. Oral tradition communicates rituals, political tenets, and organizational information. It is a vital element in maintaining the group’s unity and sense of identity.

Creation stories, for example, help to define for the listener a sense of how human beings relate to the Creator and to the world. A creation story of the Pocumtucks explains the origin of the Pocumtuck Range, located in present-day Deerfield, and Sunderland, Massachusetts. The story tells of a huge lake in which lived a rapacious giant beaver. The people complained to the god Hobomok that the beaver was attacking them and consuming all of the local resources. Hobomok decided to kill the beaver. Following a titanic struggle, Hobomok vanquished the beaver with a club fashioned from an enormous tree. The body of the beaver sank into the lake, turned to stone, and formed the Pocumtuck Range.

Such stories and their settings establish the Native American presence on this land from time immemorial by relating how the Creator placed the First Peoples in their traditional homelands. Homelands are stable and permanent cultural and physical landscapes where Native nations have lived, and in some cases, continue to live to the present day.  Creation stories thus reflect the central place their relationship with the land occupies in the culture and history of Native peoples. Certain sites within a homeland might hold special meaning and thus serve as important gathering places or focal points. For example, in the Pocumtuck homeland, Peskeompscut Falls (today known as Turners Falls) served as an important fishing area and meeting ground. Wequamps (Mt. Sugarloaf) is the focal point of the creation story that describes the origin of the Pocumtuck range.

The Connecticut River Valley was a vital crossroads for Native peoples of the Northeast. Today, the town of Deerfield, Massachusetts lies at the heart of the Pocumtuck people’s homeland. Pocumtucks were part of a network of Algonquian communities in the middle Connecticut River Valley. Settlements lined the middle Connecticut River. In addition to the Pocumtuck, the Norwottuck homeland lay near present-day Northampton and Hadley, the Sokokis near Northfield, the Agawams around Agawam, Woronocos near West Springfield, and the Nipmuc homeland lay in central Massachusetts. These peoples were linked culturally, linguistically, politically, and through kinship.

These Algonquian communities together constituted a formidable power in Southern New England.

Numerous trails and waterways connected these settlements with each other, facilitating intricate and extensive trade networks. Algonquians also traded with other peoples living to the west, north and south. The fertile soil and plentiful game fostered a prosperous society that enjoyed a robust economy and a stable political structure.

Eastern Algonquian people resided in different parts of their homeland at different times according to their needs.  They often lived in smaller groupings connected by a network of trails or waterways. Environmental rhythms, kinship networks and ceremonial requirements together formed a calendar that regulated their movements. For example, a group might move to a location nearby to clear new land for their fields once agricultural land became exhausted. They also often located near good hunting or fishing areas. Groups at times might break up into smaller family units that would leave a village to hunt in other parts of their homeland. People also relocated to more protected areas with the colder weather.

Agriculture flourished in the milder climate of Southern New England, supporting larger concentrations of Native people than the harsher northern region. Archaeological evidence suggests that Native people of Southern New England (Connecticut, Massachusetts and Rhode Island) began growing corn over one thousand years ago. In addition to this staple, they cultivated many other plants, including kidney beans, squash, Jerusalem artichoke, and tobacco. The shorter growing season of northern New England led Algonquians living in this region (Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine) to trade with groups to the south to supplement their food supply.

Like their counterparts in many Native nations throughout the continent, Algonquian women worked together to cultivate common fields, as well as harvesting, preserving and preparing food. They also helped to construct their homes and produced many household accessories. Algonquian men hunted, fished, made tools and protected their communities. Working communally and dividing responsibilities along age and gender lines enabled Native groups to accomplish many necessary tasks such as building canoes and homes. Significantly, a good deal of children’s work and play revolved around activities that helped them to develop the communal and physical skills they would need as adults. Such activities included keeping crows out of the cornfields and gathering nuts and berries.

Sustained contact with Europeans beginning in the fifteenth century subjected lifeways established over centuries or even millennia to severe stress. Native Americans have struggled over the last several centuries to retain and sustain their relationship with the land in the face of changing economic relations, rapidly changing political alliances, demographic catastrophe, and warfare.

Much of the early contact between Europeans and Native peoples revolved around trade. By 1600, French, Dutch and English traders frequented the northeast coast of North America trading metal, glass and cloth for beaver pelts. A reciprocity-based system of exchange characterized initial trade relations. Successful trade depended on good relationships between traders and Native groups. These practices superficially resembled pre-existing exchange patterns among area Native peoples. It quickly became apparent, however, that these new relationships did not really replicate traditional trading practices. They lacked the social and cultural assumptions that provided structure and meaning to the old exchange patterns.

The presence and agenda of these new trading partners generated far-reaching consequences. Native groups heavily involved in trade with Europeans altered their living patterns to better position themselves to deal with the newcomers. That trade placed disproportionate attention on hunting for lucrative beaver pelts in place of traditional subsistence hunting. Native traders became increasingly reliant on European trade goods, adapting them to their own traditional uses. Competition among groups for a rapidly diminishing beaver population increased. The power balance shifted in favor of groups and individuals with connections to traders and European goods.

Trade with Europeans generated demographic as well as economic and political consequences. Native people used preexisting trade routes and communications networks to acquire the beaver pelts European traders prized. They received in exchange desirable trade goods such as textiles, various metals and firearms. In this way, European traders’ goods penetrated far into inland North America. Old World diseases traveled with those goods, triggering what one historian has termed a “demographic catastrophe.” Before European contact, the peoples of the Western Hemisphere lived isolated from many Old World diseases. They thus did not develop immunities to diseases such as measles and smallpox that plagued other parts of the world. European contact through trading set off widespread epidemics. Old World diseases reduced Native populations in some areas by up to ninety percent.  The cultural consequences of this demographic disaster were no less devastating than its economic or political effects. Astoundingly high mortality rates seriously compromised the oral transmission of collective wisdom and culture.

Early and seemingly limited coastal trade contacts with Europeans thus weakened and depopulated many Native nations years before European settlers arrived. The arrival of the English settlers in Massachusetts by 1620 brought into play another element into Native/European relations: colonization. As with earlier trading ventures, the Companies that funded colonizing ventures like the one at Plymouth also sought to establish lucrative trade relations with Native peoples. At the same time, English assumptions surrounding colonization introduced a new and ultimately incompatible component into European/Native relations. Unlike individual traders, English families came to establish communities and settle permanently on Native lands. The relatively positive relations that characterized early trade relations between European traders and Native Americans quickly deteriorated. Cultural clashes and disputes over land escalated as English towns grew and population pressures intensified colonists’ demand for more land.

The English settlement of Springfield is an example of how first European trader and then settlement affected pre-existing Native American trade networks and political relations. Settled in 1636, Springfield was the first English settlement in the middle Connecticut River Valley. Englishman William Pynchon and his son John quickly established a lucrative fur trade with local Native peoples. Native hunters traded furs for European products, while the English sold their furs back to England for high profits. By the 1650s, however, hunters had exhausted the fur supply of the region. Tensions between Native communities flared into open hostility as hunters traveled further into territories outside their homelands to find beavers. Warfare between the Kanien’kehaka (Mohawks) of the Haudenosaunee from Eastern New York and the Pocumtucks in 1664 pushed many Pocumtucks from the central area of their homeland.

When they could no longer supply beaver furs to European traders, Native people lost bargaining power and trading leverage. Land became the only resource Europeans were willing to accept in payment for European goods and to pay off debts accumulated through the English credit system. Land sales escalated and English towns began to line the Massachusetts portion of the Connecticut River between 1636 and 1685.

The ideological reasoning of the English who displaced Native Americans from their homelands reveals the radically different and ultimately irreconcilable worldviews of these two societies. English settlers viewed the land as a wilderness void of civilization. Where the English saw “virgin land”, they also saw God’s mandate to appropriate and “civilize” it. John Winthrop, the first governor of Massachusetts, explained the right of the English to take Indian land by claiming “[t]hat which is common to all is proper to none. This savage people ruleth over many lands without title or property; for they enclose no ground, neither have they cattle to maintain it, but remove their dwellings as they have occasion, or as they can prevail against their neighbors”.

Native American movement through their homelands was a sophisticated response to the change of seasons and the location of natural resources. In contrast, English society had evolved over centuries a sedentary agrarian culture and an economy based upon individual land ownership. For English people in this period, private ownership and permanent villages were evidence of true and appropriate land use. From their perspective, “New World” land appeared to be empty land.   With only rare exceptions, most English people could not recognize the way in which Native people used their land in accordance with their needs, cultures and belief systems.

In Native societies, land was home and communally held. People could not alienate the land any more than they could sell air or water. In contrast, individual land ownership conferred wealth and status in European society. Land was a commodity that could indeed be bought and sold. Having never before “sold” land, Native people in the Connecticut Valley may not have initially understood the European interpretation and consequences of land transactions.

Whether or not Native leaders could or intended to sell land to the English is debatable. Sachems were Native American leaders who commanded considerable religious and economic authority over a community. Evidence exists that some Sachems dispensed land use rights to various tribal members and negotiated treaties with other groups. To alienate land completely, however, may have been beyond the authority of any one individual. Some of the language in early deeds suggests that Native representatives viewed the agreement as a traditional transfer of land use. That is, in the first land sales, Native peoples acted as though they were selling use-rights, but not absolute ownership of the land itself.

For example, in 1671, soon after the Pocumtuck conflict with the Kanien’kehaka, Springfield land broker and trader John Pynchon brought land proprietors from Dedham (outside of Boston.) These Dedham proprietors purchased, surveyed, and laid out part of the Pocumtuck homeland for a new English town. The events and the language surrounding this land transaction reveal just how great was the cultural impasse between the English and the Native Americans on this issue. The Pocumtuck sachem Chauk reserved Pocumtuck rights to hunt, fish, plant, and gather wood on the very land he was “selling.” As in other early deeds, the document included land-use clauses enabling Native people to retain use of and contact with their ancestral lands. The language of this and other early deeds suggests that what Native people believed they were selling to English settlers was the right to plant and set up their homes on that land.

As time passed, the English definition of land ownership overwhelmed Native interests and interpretations. Towns and individual settlers increasingly enforced their legal understanding of the deeds as transferring to them an exclusive right to the land. New landowners accordingly sought to prevent Native “trespassers.” Such interpretations forced Native groups to adapt to English life-ways in order to remain in homelands where English had built towns.

The rapid decline of the fur trade and English geographic expansion heightened tensions between Native people and the settlers. Up and down the valley, unhealthy patterns of unequal and discriminatory relations intensified between English communities and displaced Natives.  Colonial governments fined Native Americans for breaking Puritan religious laws such as traveling on the Christian Sabbath. The English further strained relations by selling Native prisoners into slavery or forcing captured Native children to work as farm laborers.  The law afforded some protections to Native people only so long as they conformed to European standards and lifestyles such as dressing like Europeans and cutting their hair.

Native Americans throughout New England experienced removal and restriction from their land and the mandated compliance to English laws and culture. Mistrust, resentment and anger grew. In 1675, armed conflict broke out in the east among the Wampanoag of southeastern Massachusetts. Other Native groups quickly followed suit.

The uprising that became known as Metacom’s War, or King Philip’s War, involved over 11,000 Native allies from Native communities on both sides of Narragansett Bay (in southeast Massachusetts and Rhode Island) northwest through central Massachusetts to the Connecticut Valley.

The war produced terror and tragedy on both sides. Thousands of colonists and Indians met terrible deaths. Both sides killed defenseless men, women and children. New Englanders lived in a constant state of terror for the next one and a half years. It seemed as though only a few seacoast cities would survive. Panic-stricken colonists abandoned outlying farms and settlements and crowded into garrisons. In September 1675, Native American forces ambushed a convoy of farmers from Deerfield escorted by soldiers from eastern Massachusetts transporting grain south for safekeeping.  The ambush was in retaliation for earlier killings of Natives, which included  women and children.  Sixty men died in what became known as “The Bloody Brook Massacre.”  Hostages were taken to replace the lives lost by Native villages.

Meanwhile, Native Americans in southern New England suffered devastating losses. On May 18, 1676, Captain William Turner led an attack on Peskeompscut Falls (Turner’s Falls) on the Connecticut River in Massachusetts. Approximately 300 Pocumtuck, Norwottuck, Wampanoag, Narragansett, and Nipmuc people were encamped on the falls building up food supplies after a winter of near starvation. Over 240 mostly unarmed Native people died in this attack.  The English renamed the Falls to commemorate what was to them a notable victory. The slaughter at Peskeompskut Falls demoralized the Native people and greatly weakened their resistance. Lost battles in the spring, disease, and impending starvation among the Native people, brought Metacom’s War to a virtual halt. The Native attempt to push English settlement off their homelands in southern New England dissolved in 1676.

As overt Indian resistance collapsed, the English began to “round up the hostile Indians,” executing some and selling others into slavery in the West Indies. The Pocumtucks, Sokokis, Norwottucks and Agawams of the middle Connecticut Valley could no longer live safely in their homelands. Although some stayed, most fled for their lives. Some Native people of the Connecticut Valley took refuge in Schaghticoke, outside of Albany, New York. A Mahican community established by Governor Andros of New York, Schaghticoke provided sanctuary for Algonquians from the Connecticut River Valley area.

Other groups eventually followed their Abenaki and Sokoki allies to live at Odanak (St. Francis) in Quebec. Odanak had not yet become a French Jesuit mission when it began welcoming Native people fleeing from the aftereffects of King Philip’s War. Pocumtucks, Norwottucks, Sokokis, and Pennacooks were among the refugees. This mixture of Native peoples at Odanak eventually took on a “Western Abenaki” identity, since the Abenaki from what is now Vermont and New Hampshire once formed a majority of the population. Still other Connecticut Valley Natives joined allies at Pennacook in New Hampshire and Maine where forceful resistance continued.

As people from different groups came to Odanak and Schaghticoke to live, they maintained close relationships with kin that had relocated to other refugee communities. The persecution and loss these communities of Algonkian exiled had experienced at English hands kept resentment alive. These shared resentments contributed to the willingness among northern communities to participate with the French in future wars against the English.

In the years following Metacom’s War, the Connecticut River Valley remained a crossroads for Native peoples of the Northeast. The former Native residents of the valley, though living largely in New York and Quebec, maintained their connection to their ancestral land in the Connecticut Valley.  Deerfield, lying on the northwest edge of English settlement in New England, was on a common path that formed the middle ground between New England and New France. That there remained no permanently settled Native American communities fed a popular misconception among non-Native residents that the Indians of this region had “disappeared.” In fact, Native Americans remained in the Connecticut River Valley. They were living in the area, visiting friends and families who stayed in the valley, hunting in their traditional lands, trading with the English settlers, and passing through on the way to other villages. In this way, Native peoples maintained their connection with their homelands, a connection that persists to the present day.

Re-printed with permission from Anistara:

“I think most of California central to northern have a bear dance. They’re all pretty much the same, different dancers and songs vary, but the medicine is the same, good and strong. Our family grows smudge for this particular event and so each season it carries new ceremony for healing. I am in the bear mode now and find it in particularly uncanny that we moved to Los Osos recently, which means, The Bear.

More on our annual ceremony/old school way

The origin of the bear dance is told this way. Two brothers were hunting in the mountains and stopped to rest. One of the brothers saw a bear clawing and singing as he danced around a tree. As one brother went on to hunt the other watched the bear, who taught him the dance and the song. The bear told him to teach this to his people as a sign of respect for the bear’s spirit which gives strength.

The Annual Bear Dance was held in the spring at the first sound of thunder; about the middle of March. But preparation was made all winter: around the campfires the story teller told tales of the way of life and the singers practiced songs which had come in dreams.

As the time came near the men prepared the Bear Dance arbor and did other necessary work, while the women made the family’s clothes for the dance. The bands would come and set up camp.

After a long winter the festivities began. The men and women would enter the arbor wearing plumes that signified their worries. At the end of the dance on the fourth day, the plumes would be hung on a cedar tree at the east entrance of the arbor and they would leave their troubles behind.

Cameras are allowed for this social dance.”

The Mi’kmaq

The Mi’kmaq are part of the Algonquian linguistic family. There are 22,295 in the Atlantic Region, of which nearly 16,121 live on-reserve.

When the Mi’kmaq first encountered Europeans in the 16th and 17th centuries, their territory stretched from the southern portions of the Gaspe peninsula eastward to most of modern-day New Brunswick, and all of Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island.

This area was divided into seven smaller territories loosely united by a common language, kinship and political alliances. Unlike some of their southern neighbours, their society was not based on agriculture; they hunted, fished and gathered their food. This meant their settlement patterns were largely governed by the rhythm of the changing seasons.

The Maliseet

The Maliseet are part of the Algonquin linguistic family. There are 5,269 in the Atlantic Region, of which nearly 3,030 live on-reserve.

The Maliseet are the only other Aboriginal people living in the Maritime provinces today. Their lands once stretched along the banks of the St. John River (in present day New Brunswick and Maine) and extended as far west as the St. Lawrence. The Maliseet, like their Mi’kmaq neighbours, are Algonquin. But while the two nations share a similar natural environment and way of life, their languages and culture are quite distinct. The Maliseet are closer to the neighbouring American Native peoples in Maine, New Hampshire and Quebec than to their Mi’kmaq neighbours to the north and east.

The Innu or Montagnais-Naskapi Indians

The Innu are part of the Algonquin linguistic family. There are 1,235 in the Atlantic Region.

The Innu (or Montagnais-Naskapi people) of Quebec and Labrador Peninsula trace their ancestry to several regional groups. The Naskapi (or Mushuau Innu) - sometimes called the “Barren Land People” - occupied the desolate interior lands of the far north; the Montagnais (or Mountain People) lived in the forests of the south. Both groups belong to an extremely ancient caribou-hunting culture.

The Inuit

The Inuit are part of the Inuktitut linguistic family. There are 2,634 in the Atlantic Region.

The Labrador Inuit live in the northern reaches of Labrador peninsula. They are kindred to a much larger nation, with traditional homelands that stretch from Soviet Siberia to the northern Canadian Arctic, from Alaska in the west to Greenland in the east. While they speak a dialect of the shared language, their technology, culture and organization set them apart.The present day Labrador Inuit are descendants of the prehistoric Thule, hunters who were drawn to Labrador by its abundance of whales and other wildlife, Labrador Inuit are one of the founding peoples of Canada; a maritime people, deeply connected to the environment. In Inuit culture, they speak of “the land” as encompassing the land, sky, watersheds and ocean areas on which the Inuit has depended for thousands of years.

*Population statistics for the provinces are taken from the Indian Register Population by Sex and Residence - 2003.

*Population statistics for the Inuit communities in Labrador are taken from the Statistics Canada 2002 Census.

Intersesting read :

Researchers ponder the curious human tendency to view all sorts of things as alive.

http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1200/is_23_155/ai_55017618/pg_1?tag=artBody;col1

Another interesting film from Aboriginal Perspectives:

If the Weather Permits

In 2003, three teenagers from the village of Kangirsujuaq in Nunavik, Northern Québec, find a cross carved in stone and share their thoughts in Inuktitut about heaven and hell, “white” religion, ancestral spirituality and shamanism with filmmaker Elisapie Isaac.

www.nfb.ca/enclasse/doclens/visau/index.php?mode=view&language=english&filmId=51256

Going Fishing

By David J. Boyle

July is traditionally the best month to go salmon fishing on the mighty Miramichi River. The big run has come in from the Atlantic and there are plenty of fish in the pools along the main river. After lunch I went down to the river and found a nice spot where I could get a good view of a local pool. Three people stood about 15 feet apart fishing in a line.

The first man wore a wide-brimmed hat covered with colourful dry flies, chest waders and a brown vest. He pulled his line from the water and then cast it back out. His line went through the air and the fly on the end of his leader fell gently on the water covering a distance between 40 and 50 feet. As soon as his fly landed, the second person pulled his line in and with an awkward quick swing attempted to cast it out. The line didn’t get very far. He pulled it in and cast again. This time was not any better than the first. He was a young fellow, I think probably around 15-years-old. A bright red ball cap sat on his head with the peak to one side. He wore a white short sleeved shirt with a cartoon race car on the front. The straps of his hip waders went under his belt and seemed to be pulling his pants down. Part of his previously tucked-in shirt now hung from his side.

I thought the third person could be a woman or a man. I reached for the miniature binoculars hanging from my neck on a black cord and used both hands to position them over my eyes. Once I got them focused I could see the three-inch dangling earrings. Her blond hair was tucked in a bun on the back of the head. Resting against the bun was a dark green brimmed hat tied under her chin by a cord. The ends dangled against a pale green fishing vest. Sunglasses and chest waders made her look like a man. As soon as the young fellow’s line hit the water she pulled her line in and with a slow smooth motion cast out again. The fly fluttered onto the water.

These three people worked their way slowly through the pool. Whenever the first person moved two or three steps to the left, then the others would follow. I thought they could be father, mother and son. A couple of times the woman said something to the young fellow when he didn’t move. He just looked in her direction for a moment, said nothing, and then moved ahead.

The folding blue canvass chair felt comfortable as I sat about 100 yards from the river and the fishermen. I ran my eyes up and down the pool for probably an hour thinking I might see a fish jump or someone hook one, but the only movement was a mother duck with her eight little ones swimming along the other side of the river. Later in the afternoon, white clouds hung over the river; the sun breaking through once in a while—a perfect day for fishing. I kept my eyes glued to the water’s surface. The polarized glasses cut down the sun’s glare when it peeked through the clouds. I heard a dog bark and to my right could see two men dressed in full fishing gear, rods in hand, coming along the riverbank in my direction. A mature black Lab ran a few feet in front of them. The dog stopped about six feet from me and began to bark. The taller man with a red shaggy beard and smoking a cigar said, “Josh, be quiet.” The Lab lay down and resting his head over one paw stared at me for a moment then closed his eyes. The other fellow said hello and then, “It should be a good evening for fishing. The weather is right and I can see the tide is just about out. A man up on the hill where we parked said the water temperature today is 68 degrees. You know it won’t be long and the water will be too warm. Have you seen any fish jump?”

I told him nothing had jumped in the last couple of hours. He said, “Well it’s still early and in an hour or so the sun will go down a bit and maybe there will be some movement. I hope to hook one tonight. I’ve been out six times and still haven’t landed a fish. Two nights ago, I hooked one but then lost it.”

The taller man stood looking toward the river and said nothing. I wished them good luck as they headed down the bank and out onto the bar getting in line at the top of the pool to wait their turn. At the water’s edge the tall man hollered to Josh, “Come on down here.” The dog gave me a quick sniff and then bounded over the bank. The two men stood side by side talking as they tied dry flies to their leaders then waded one after another into the water up to their knees. Standing about 10 feet apart, they began casting their lines. Josh sat down on the sandbar directly behind them.

I continued to watch the water for about another half hour and just as I began to think it might be time to head back to the trailer, a salmon about four feet long jumped out of the water and fell back in on its side making a large splash. This salmon fell back into the water just like a dolphin in a fish tank at Sea World. The woman and the young fellow took a couple of steps backwards and stood looking toward the ripples in the water. Josh began barking while running back and forth along the shore. The woman turned to the tall man with the red shaggy beard, “Did you see that?” She slowly waded back out in the water. He shook his head, “I don’t want to catch him.”

I decided it was time to leave. While I folded my chair I saw and heard more people coming down the path for a few hours of evening fishing. As I walked along the riverbank toward the path and the trailer, I thought I would get up early the following morning to be the first one in the pool.

At 4am the alarm went off. The night before, I had set the coffee machine to start brewing at 3:45 so I poured a cup before getting dressed. I glanced at my watch as I chewed my toast with fresh strawberry jam and downed a second cup of coffee. My list of things to do was on the table: fill coffee thermos, get ham sandwiches from fridge, and take a banana. I had put my raincoat in a backpack and left it hanging from a chair by the table. Mindy, my four-year-old black terrier poodle with white paws, wanted out. While she was outside I packed the thermos, sandwiches and banana in the backpack. A scratch at the door told me she was ready to come in. My fishing rod was in the front porch, just outside the door. I reached for the rod and replaced an Undertaker fly with a Shady Lady. Tying a fly to the end of the leader was much easier with some light than it would be down by the river in the dark. Mindy sat on the floor near my feet and watched me. I think she anticipated going. “Not this morning,” I told her. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Go and lay on your blanket.” She headed toward her blanket on the floor by the stove, stopped, and looking over her left shoulder gave me a disappointing look.

I put on my chest waders, fishing vest and grabbed the faded beige and maroon ball cap hanging on a hook by the door, then slung the backpack over my shoulder. With rod in one hand and a flashlight in the other I went out the door. I shone the light on the ground ahead as I went between two older trailers, careful not to trip over a water hose or an electrical cord. I crossed the field and went down over the embankment to the winding path that led to the river. The day before someone had seen a black bear in the bushes along the pathway. I shone the light down the path from one side to the other, just in case the bear might still be around.

The morning was quiet, except for the occasional splash coming from the direction of the river. The splashes got louder as I got closer. It sounded like someone was throwing a rock the size of a basketball into a pond of water. I made it down to the riverbank without seeing or hearing the bear. I think he must have left the area. Standing on the shore I surveyed the sandbar and beyond with the flashlight. The pool lay just past the sandbar. I set the backpack on the ground beside a large grey rock about three feet high. Someone painted a Canadian flag on this rock the year before as part of Canada Day celebrations. Last spring’s ice jam had removed some of the paint, but you could still see the outline of the flag.

I shone the light ahead trying not to trip over any small jagged rocks as I crossed the riverbed to the pool. I was alone, the first person to get in the water that morning. The only light came from a dusk to dawn lamp near the top of a pole by a travel trailer on the opposite side of the river. With the reel end of my rod on the ground I began to pull the leader and floating green line through the guide rings being careful not to get it tangled. Once in awhile, I heard the sound of a fish splashing into the water further downriver but otherwise the morning was silent.

I waded into the water about a foot above my ankles, then stopped, put the flashlight in a side pocket and began to cast a little to the right. In the dark, it was hard to know where the fly fell. I brought the line in and cast again, stood and waited. The morning stillness was again broken by a splash, nearer this time. I pulled my line in, cast again and waited. It was time to move and I took two steps to the left. Something brushed against my left leg just below the knee and then there was a large splash at my feet. With heart pounding and breathing fast I stepped backwards, stumbled and fell, still holding onto the rod. I got up and just stood there in the darkness scanning the water. The splash scared me the most. It was like standing alone in a dark room and being tapped on the shoulder. I took the flashlight and shone it over the water, seeing nothing. What hit me? Was it a beaver with his tail? Or maybe a large salmon had moved in from the deeper water and was just laying there until I moved and hit him with my foot. Whatever it was, it gave me a momentary fright. I kept the light on the water for another five minutes or so. Nothing moved. I put the flashlight away and moved slowly back out into the water.

When daylight began to arrive, the shapes of trees and an outline of the trailer up on the hill became visible. Looking over my shoulder, I could see the outline of two more fishermen. They moved into the water and stood a couple of hundred yards behind me.

The sun came up over the hill behind the trailer and I could see the fish when they jumped. The spot where I stood was called the hot spot. I decided to stay there until the two men behind caught up and I was forced to move ahead. Every now and then I glanced in their direction. The first man was about 20 feet from me when a salmon about four feet long jumped out of the water. “I hope he doesn’t come for my fly. You couldn’t keep it anyway, too large.” I looked in his direction and responded, “Yes, you are right.”

Fish continued to jump as I moved through the rest of the pool and from the farthest end I looked back to see five or six more people standing, holding rods, chatting and waiting for their turn to get into the water. I decided to make another run and reeled my line in as I backed out of the water and headed across the sandbar to the top of the pool. Seven people stood waiting their turn in front of me and I thought it would probably take an hour to get back out into the water. Some of the people chatted, while others just looked over the water watching other people fish. Once in a while someone said, “There is a grilse.” And someone responded, “Yes I saw it.” Another voice said,” I heard there was 10 fish caught yesterday and they were all caught with a Shady Lady or a Green Butt Bear Hair.” Immediately some people took their small silver fly boxes from their pockets and started looking for the particular fly. Three or four people changed flies. One man said, “I use a Green Machine and never change, spring or fall. Every year I always have good luck with this fly.”

I made another run through the pool with no luck and decided to get the sandwiches and coffee from my backpack. As I walked along the riverbank an eagle circled overhead and seagulls squawked in response to a fish having been caught and cleaned on the shore. It was a beautiful morning with only a few clouds in the sky. I leaned against the big grey rock, ate both sandwiches and had two cups of coffee. A few more fishermen came and stood in line for their turn. The tide began to come in and when people got to the end of the pool, some stepped out of the water and headed back up along the riverbank. The line got smaller and by mid-morning there were only three people fishing.

That morning only four fish were caught. Three were caught with a Shady Lady and the other by the man with his Green Machine. With rod in one hand and backpack over my left shoulder I headed along the riverbank to the pathway leading to the trailer. I turned to take another look at the beauty of the river and then went up the hill. Afternoon is naptime for fishermen along the river and as I lay down, I thought back to the morning and wondered what had hit my leg while I stood alone in the dark. It had to have been a big salmon.

David J. Boyle lives in Upper Derby. A member of the Writers’ Federation of New Brunswick and the Miramichi Writers’ Guild, he writes poems and stories, many for children

In the time before The Change (arrival of Columbus at Hispaniola (Dominican Republic) - 1491), Indigenous storytelling was a “sacred” process and the soul of The People. Without a written language traditional culture and customs were handed down using the Oral Narrative as the base. They provided social, cultural and historical contexts, and acted as a social cohesive for the entire tribe. In other words, they constituted the ‘cultural grounding’ of Indigenous people.

Storytellers were respected and were usually Elders or Spirit Doctors who carried the history and knowledge of their people and were much revered in the tribes for the simple reason that it was assumed that with age came wisdom and experience. Children were taught gently about their Nation’s traditional beliefs. Hearing the words from an Elder who told it with solemnity and dignity added weight to the importance of the knowledge.

In other words, the oral narrative was a highly developed, sophisticated medium supported by ages old teachings and explanations that were based on fact, observation, oral claims and contracts (in front of witnesses), and a complex set of social and cultural customs for dealing with the sacred and the supernatural.

Native people did not distinguish between the physical and supernatural because everything was viewed as a vast continuum; whether it be animate or supernatural, the world existed in ‘real time’ and in a conscious state of existence. Every living thing was a member of one large family: the four elements (earth, air, fire and water), plant, animal and human worlds were connected to each other in often complex and sophisticated ways. In other words, every object that existed in the physical world or sprang from the rich imaginations of the storytellers was in effect in possession of ‘real’ life and co-existed in perfect harmony with all other living beings - all were considered human.

Later science and technology explained a lot of the workings of Mother Earth, why the tides come in twice a day, why the world is in light and in darkness, the origins of the star nation, etc. In the time of the Ancestors, however, it was the rich imaginations of the storytellers who tried to explain the relationship of humans to their natural and supernatural environments.

Just like any human, Native people were eager to understand their place in the cosmos and in the long winter months the storytellers obliged by weaving magical tales. Spectacular stories are found on the Pacific Northwest coast and all across Turtle Island for that matter.

The People were kept enthralled with the relationships between humans and animals, humans and the cosmos, they laughed and cried with Culture Hero Raven as he sought to bring order to the world. Stories and dramas abounded through the Sun Dance ceremonies of the northern Great Plains (Blackfoot, Peigan, Blood, Sarcee); the Central and Eastern Woodlands (Ojibwa, Cree, Huron, Iroquois); Inuit; the wondrous stories of the Mi’Kmaq and other maritime tribes.

As noted above, speeches/stories were a crucial part of ceremonial occasions, such as ceremonies. Again, without a written language, the dance/music/storytelling dramas sought to ground The People in their history. Often long and complex, they covered a variety of topics and claims in the the best of the oral tradition were designed to pass on knowledge, history and ownership of, for example, important crests, totems, names, beliefs, history and territory.

Stories of how to behave, of overcoming obstacles, of exceptional courage and sacrifice, how to make clothing, prepare food, build long houses, carve totems, deal with cowardly denial, selfishness and jealousy, generally how to behave with others (i.e. manners, protocol), understanding the world of the supernatural, and explanations about the place of humans in the natural world were vital to the overall health and future of the tribe. Storytelling and Truth were interconnected and it was with the utmost trust that The People received the tales of those who had gone before.

Most Native stories contained malevolent and evil-doing spirits which had to be confronted or counteracted by an opposing positive power. Power was an important concept for Native people. It primarily was the property of the spirit world, therefore the ‘crying for a vision’ to acquire guardian spirits was an important event in the life of a young person, since one had to possess at least minimal amounts of spiritual power in order to carry survive in often harsh environments.

In the Mi’kmaq tradition, Glooscap was chosen by the Creator to take a portion of the heavens for the Mi’kmaq people.

The messenger sent by the Creator to perform this task was Loon; who instructed Glooscap how to create Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick, Newfoundland and the St. Lawrence River.

The Mi’kmaq say that when Gisoolg, the Great Spirit, was making the Continent of the New World, he found that he had much material left over in the shape of rocks, swamps, and useless trees. So he formed a big rubbish heap by casting it all into the sea to the northeast, and called it Wee-soc-kadao. A millenia later, it was to become known as Newfoundland.

After the Mi’kmaq world was created and after the animals, birds and plants were placed on the surface, Gisoolg caused a bolt of lightening to hit the surface of the land. This bolt of lightning caused the formation of an image of a human body named Glooscap. He was the first human. And was shaped out of the basic element of the Mi’kmaq world: sand.

After Glooscap stood up on his feet, he turned around in a full circle seven times. He then looked toward the sky and gave thanks to Gisoolg for giving him life. He looked down to the earth or the ground and gave thanks to Ootsigamoo (Sand Spirit) for offering sand for Glooscap’s creation. He looked within himself and gave thanks to Nisgam for giving him his soul and spirit.

Glooscap then gave thanks to the four directions east, north, west and south. He was then instructed to shoot an arrow into an Ash Tree, and as it split down the middle, two human forms emerged, ones Male and one Female.

The Mi’kmaq suffered through many long winters, the snow refusing to abate because it had put Glooscap to sleep. He finally awoke and travelled on the back of a whale south where he met a beautiful maiden called ‘Summer’. Their combined powers were enough to expel winter and create the Seasons.

Glooscap’s essential role in Mi’Kmaq creation stories was to bring order to a world that was in chaos before he arrived. As is the case with most Transformer Figures, Glooscap was not responsible for ‘creation’ but responsible for organizing it.

Shared with other Algonquians the concept of a Supreme Being known as Gisoolg the Great Spirit (The word Gisoolg in Mi’kmaq means ” you have been created “). The word does not imply gender. Gisoolg is not a He or a She because gender is not important. It also means ” the one credited for your existence.” In pre-European contact time, the Mi’Kmaq identified this Creator as the Sun, to which they prayed twice daily; lesser deities included humans who were immortal and had supernatural powers. Glooscap, the most important was one such figure. Another Great Spirit figure was Kji-niskam who controlled the destinies of all things. Although invisible his power was manifested through the sun, moon and Father Sky.

Another supernatural figure who could bestow supernatural powers of humans was M’Kmuesu (Mi’Kmaq is derived from the word). Like most Native nations, all animals and plant life have souls. For example, Wa’so’q was a wondrous place where the souls of all living beings lived in perfect harmony, there was no hunger there.

Mi’kmaq also believed in Reincarnation when the the life-soul (physical body) and the free-soul (animism) which existed apart from one another, but at the end of days combined to bring an individual back.

Like most hunter-gatherer peoples, the Mi’kmaq had spirit doctors called puoin. They had the power to cure ailments (and to cause them - Sorcerers.). They were relied upon to interpret the spiritual world to the people. Although Christian missionaries tried to discredit the puoin and the world-view that they represented, many traditional beliefs and practices persisted, some down to the present day.

As is the case with most Native beliefs, the Mi’kmaq people do not explain how the Great Spirit came into existence only that Gisoolg is responsible for creating everything.

The beautiful but possibly dangerous winter wonderland

The Crystal Carpet

Inuit goggles made from caribou antler.

* Snow blindness is a painful condition, typically a KERATITIS caused by exposure of unprotected eyes to sunlight reflected from snow. This is especially a problem at high altitude and in polar regions. Snow blindness does not usually cause permanent vision loss. Resting the eyes in a dark room for several days will cause the pain and symptoms to disappear.

The Inuit carved goggles from Caribou Antler to help prevent snow blindness. The goggles were curved to fit the user’s face and had a large groove cut in the back to allow for the nose. A long thin slit was cut through the goggles to allow in a small amount of light. The goggles were held to the head by a cord made of caribou sinew. Today we have many types of goggles and eyeglasses to choose from, and they should be worn at all times to protect the eyes if you are travelling in snow covered regions.

Sun block is also a necessity because the reflected sunlight from the snow can cause a very painful sunburn, and possible scarring of the face. Be careful!

Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe is a retired Registered Nurse living in Shoal Harbour, Newfoundland, passionate about photography, writing and her family. She has two grown children and one granddaughter, who all live too far away from her in Alberta. An anthology of short stories called Up Til Now is available through www.shopdownhomer.com.