The Mi'kmaq Anthology

by Lesley Choyce

  Glooscap and Marten traveled many, many miles through and over Mi’kmaq lands. And, through many, many moons that had passed, a sacred knowledge was gathered by Glooscap, the ways of our earth mother’s spirit, her soul and all our relations (en’sig no’ga’ma). Glooscap worked hard for our spirit creator as peace warrior and protector of Mi’kmaq Territory and giver of life. Although all Mi’kmaq life was now into its third or fourth generation, there was still work to be done by Glooscap.

  It was approaching the time of dimming, day into night. Glooscap and his trusted companion Marten were making swift time in the Mi’kmaq homeland of Turtle Elder. Presently, this Mi’kmaq Territory is just south of Cape Breton Island as the crow flies. Glooscap and Marten wanted to visit and honour their good friend Turtle Elder. Turtle Elder lived deep into the woods and lived alone. When Turtle Elder saw the Great Peace Warrior and Marten approaching, he gave thanks to the Spirit Creator for their honourable company.

  Turtle Elder lived alone because he appeared to be very ugly to most two legged ones. Very few ever approached him or his home nor did they speak or greet him if by chance they passed his camp. Glooscap knew this. Glooscap and Marten took rest at Turtle Elder’s home that night and the next day Glooscap set Marten out to send a message to the next camp. The message to Glooscap’s children in the next camp was to prepare a great feast in honour of their arrival in their village. All was done as instructed in the next camp with great excitement and, of course, with meticulous care.

  Turtle Elder spoke to Glooscap, “Sir, Peace Warrior, please, I do not want to attend. Leave me behind at my own camp. I am old, and ugly, and will frighten most everyone there.”

  Glooscap would not hear of it. He spoke to Turtle Elder with compassion in his heart. “Turtle Elder,” he said, “We are all related and we are all worthy of our brother’s and sister’s love. Let us be worthy of yours.” Glooscap presented to Turtle Elder a most magnificent belt of copper pieces, teeth of animal spirit ones, shells, sand dollars, and amethyst. Every piece was woven together in a beautiful pattern with sweetgrass and reeds. “Wear this belt to the great gathering,” Glooscap instructed Turtle Elder. Glooscap continued, “Spirit Creator has told me you are most deserving of this gift.”

  Glooscap, Turtle Elder, and Marten arrived safely at the great gathering. Glooscap placed the belt around Turtle Elder’s soft archaic body (because at that time in Mi’kmaq creation Turtle had no shell). When the belt was placed around Turtle Elder’s waist he then became a two legged of very unusual beauty. The young and single women flirted with this stranger and became very much alive with curiosity. But Turtle Elder was still deep into his soul and the essence of himself. He found himself attracted to a Mi’kmaq woman who looked at him and into him a little bit differently than the others. He asked her to dance. They began to dance together as father sun fell to sleep into earth mother’s soul so deep. And under night skies they danced some more. The stars, the moon, the whispering winds smiled upon them. They danced until father sun rose from the soft rolling hills. It was time to go. Glooscap, Marten and Turtle Elder returned to Turtle Elder’s camp.

  Turtle Elder gave back the belt and said to Glooscap, “We’lalin (thank you), my great brother and protector, but I cannot live a lie. I am old and ugly, that is who I am.”

  “Oh,” softly breathed Glooscap. “You are so wise, gentle, and with such honour you live your life. I have been told by our Spirit Creator that our people have hurt you because they have misunderstood you. But here, my elder, take this protective shell, it is your shield from this day forward. It is painted with the many worlds of earth, sky, water and fire. It is all that is beautiful within your precious heart and it will protect.”

  Glooscap then sent for the Mi’kmaq woman in the next camp, the one that spoke a similar wisdom with Turtle Elder, a language through the windows of soul. When she arrived at Turtle Elder’s camp, Glooscap gave her the belt and told her of its power. Glooscap gave her a name of honour — Keeper of Turtle Love. Glooscap and Marten then left for home, Cape Blomidon.

  She found Turtle Elder alone on the rocks. And the magic of the belt did not matter to her. It did not matter. Turtle Elder looked at her in his four legged form and their windows to soul spoke. Together, from that moment on, they moved through time, forever young and protected.

  Elsie Charles Basque

  The Radio

  I was about eight years old when radio first came to Hectanooga. Oliver and Nellie Saulnier had just arrived from the States with this new invention.

  A box-like contraption sat on a table. A large disc-shaped gadget about three feet in diameter hung on the wall. This was the speaker. If the audience consisted of several people, wires were adjusted, knobs were turned, and voila! voices, music boomed out of the wall. If only one or two persons wanted to enjoy this phenomenon, then earphones were easily accessible. What a marvelous invention!

  It was sometime in November when Papa and I went to see/hear/explore this wondrous discovery.

  We sat in the holiest of holies … the living room or parlour as it was commonly called, way back then. Only the priest, on his yearly visit was allowed in there, but now … this new miracle introduced us not only to the world, but to the parlour as well.

  I was so enthralled. Voices, music seemed to be coming out of the wall. There was a lot of static but in my child mind, that was the way it was supposed to be.

  Suddenly, sleigh bells were heard, at first from a distance, then, closer and closer. Santa’s voice boomed loud and clear… “Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas everybody…”

  I climbed on Papa’s knee, speechless and spellbound. I had heard Santa’s voice! I had really and truly heard Santa Claus’ voice! He was calling boys and girls by name. I was too excited to know if he had called my name or not. Unbelievable! As I remember it only lasted a few minutes, but what a few minutes it was.

  On our way home later on, Papa carrying a lantern in one hand, and mine carefully tucked in his other hand; he talked about the miracle we had just witnessed.

  “Voices spoken as far away as New York! Heard as plainly as if they were in the very same room. This new invention will be improved upon. Some day we’ll hear people from all over the world talking to us…” Papa prophesied.

  Nick Boudreau, who owned the only store in Hectanooga, was probably the first to invest in this new media. A large console model sat in the middle of the store. On “Fight Nights,” the whole neighborhood gathered to listen to such greats as Jack Dempsey, Joe Louis, and Max Schmelling among others.

  Our world was getting smaller.

  Lindbergh

  Papa said that a young man named Charles Lindbergh was going to fly to Europe, and if we were lucky we might see or at least hear his plane as it passed overhead. Lindbergh was to leave New York, probably stop in Newfoundland to refuel. This was as yet an unheard of feat in 1927.

  I remember Papa asking me to listen, telling me if/when I heard a strange noise, it would be like an automobile only much louder, and it would be coming from the sky.

  We did finally hear a loud, rumbling noise. Papa and I gazed up in the sky, but we could see nothing unusual. I was more scared than anything else. So frightened that I held Papa’s hand as tightly as I could. He marvelled not only at the feat itself but at the courage, the daring of this young pilot. Flying solo across the Atlantic. A new world was opening up. “Some day, not in my lifetime,” he said, “but in yours, a man will fly to the moon.” Papa was truly a man ahead of his time.

  Years later when astronauts began to fly into space, and ultimately conquered the moon — Papa was very much on my mind.

  My children were aware that their grandfather had predicted man landing on the moon. On this particular voyage into space, all the elements were ideally perfect so that one could hear the astronauts’ voices as they soared over the midwestern states. Brian was in Minneapolis at the time. Recalling the story I had told about Lindbergh and his grandfather’s prediction, he went outside an
d listened. It was a particularly clear night. Not only could he see the star-like aircraft but he could hear the voices of the astronauts. His voice was still ringing with excitement when he contacted me by phone a short while later.

  “Mom — just like my grandfather predicted!”

  A Childhood Memory

  Papa said, “We don’t have much for supper, unless you run to Nick’s for eggs.”

  I had just got home from school, a little later than usual. The icy surface of the wide sled marks made for lots of running and sliding all along the way. To turn around and go back to the only store in Hectanooga meant another few minutes of fun.

  Papa was already preparing the home fries so I knew I had to hurry.

  In the days before egg cartons, paper bags were used to carry eggs from store to home. One always needed to handle with care — special care.

  Nick (the storekeeper) told me he didn’t have a dozen eggs — not even a half dozen — but he had four. Those he carefully put in an ordinary paper bag, handed them to me and off I went again, running and sliding on the icy surface.

  Happy as any child could be … run … slide … run … slide … run … oops … paper bag and eggs lay on the icy surface … The bag torn, irreparable by now … soaked with broken eggs. What was I to do?

  Papa expected eggs for supper. Nick had given me all the eggs he had in the store and there they were — splattered on the icy surface of the road.

  In a jiffy, I scooped them up, as much as I could, put them in my mitten. I had a whole mitten full.

  Papa was still standing by the stove, waiting patiently for the eggs. The home fries were already done. Seeing no paper bag, he looked at me rather quizzically and asked, “Didn’t you get eggs?”

  “Here,” I said as I handed him my mitten full with all I had scooped up off the road.

  Dear Papa — all he said was, “Now you have no mittens to wear.”

  The next morning I wore Papa’s gloves to school. That night I found a new pair of mittens that a good neighbor had knitted for me.

  Every time I fry eggs and home fries I am reminded of my childhood adventure.

  Entrepreneur — circa late 1920s

  After school every day we all picked mayflowers. Their sweet aroma filled the air, white, pink crusted blossoms.

  We bundled them carefully into bunches, tied them with a string, sat them in a basin of water, so that they would be perfect when we met the train the next morning.

  We’d climb on board as soon as the train came to a halt and proceed through the train cars trying to sell as many bunches as we could for ten cents a bunch. A fortune!

  Much to our chagrin, Maurice always seemed to make the largest sales. He could run alongside the train and jump on, before it came to a halt. He could always stay on longer than the rest of us too, for he had learned how to jump off a moving train. Papa had forbidden me to try the same shenanigans, and for once I obeyed, and grumbled. He must have grown tired of listening to my frustrations and suggested, “Why don’t you go to Norwood? You can get on the train there and have all your mayflowers sold before you get to Hectanooga.”

  Sounded like a good idea. Why not ask my other disgruntled friends to come along?

  From that time on, Mary and Delorie would come along with me — down the railroad track to Norwood about three miles away. We’d put out a flag which was the train’s signal to stop. We’d each get on a separate car — and sure enough our mayflowers sold like hot cakes.

  Starting at the Yankee Camp one morning, I almost didn’t make it. Norwood was six miles away, and I had to do a lot of running to get there on time. Mary and Delorie were already there. The flag was out. The DAR was just a-whistling around the bend.

  I earned whatever I made that morning … a dollar? Probably.

  In the fall, Papa set rabbit snares and mink and weasel traps. He said that if I tended the snares and traps within a mile radius from our house I could have the profit.

  I’d have to hurry home from school to do this before it got dark. My dog, Yawie, always came with me. I had an automatic .22 rifle that I always took along for protection.

  I’d hang the rabbits by their hind legs, on the front porch for everyone to see and buy. Any weasel or mink I caught, I’d have to skin and put on stretchers to dry. These would be included with Papa’s catch when he sold them to the fur buyer.

  Rabbits were twenty-five cents each. Prices for the mink and weasel varied according to the quality of the fur. Over the course of the winter I may have made as much as fifty dollars. A real fortune back then.

  From here to there

  The ’48 Mercury was packed to the roof — three kids, Hilda Joudrey and me on October 21, 1951.

  “Packed to the roof” pretty well describes the interior of that small car.

  We were moving to Connecticut. And a family’s needs had to be moved too, which meant not only clothes but bed clothes, etc. The etc. included Wilfred’s new bike, which had been dismantled and tucked in somewhere between the pots and pans. There even was a “pee-pot” for Beverley tucked away in the back seat.

  We were green, very green as far as travelling experience went. The day before, my good friend Irene (Gloade) had spent the day at our house baking goodies for us to take along for lunches. We had a box full of sandwiches, cookies, a cake, even an apple pie. Like I said, we were green — very green travellers.

  Hilda Joudrey from Shubie was on her way to Peabody, Mass. to visit relatives. She had asked to accompany us. I liked the idea of having an adult along to help with the children. In October 1951, Wilfred was seven, Brian had just celebrated his third birthday and Beverley was thirteen months. Hilda was a godsend. I thought.

  We had said our good-byes the day before. A bit sad about leaving our new house, but we were off to new beginnings. Adventure lay ahead — right around the corner.

  Our first stop was on the side of the road somewhere in Cumberland County. We hauled out the sandwiches, the cake and pie. Hilda had brought sandwiches too, but ours must have looked tastier and we shared with her. Then away we went again.

  We had made good time considering that I had never driven more than two hundred miles from home. It was about five o’clock when we hit Saint John. That was our nemesis! Trying to find my way out of that eternal rotary, we got a flat tire right in front of a garage. The good Lord and St. Christopher were watching over us.

  Cooped up in the car all day, we stretched our legs, went for a walk around the block. By the time we got back to the garage, the tire had been repaired and we were ready to be “on the road again.” At the last minute, Hilda came running back to the car, carrying a sack full of goodies.

  Hilda was a gratis traveller. In return she had promised to help with the children. All day long Wilfred had taken care of his little sister’s needs in the back seat. Hilda had not once volunteered to assist in any way. I was somewhat annoyed but said nothing, hoping things would get better. After all, we were still a long way from Connecticut. I was sure everything would improve after our flat tire episode. But then Hilda shelled her peanuts, ate her grapes right under the hungry eyes of my children and never once offered them any. That went down in my record book and I guess some forty plus years later, it’s still there.

  Time to stop for the night. About half way between Saint John and St. Stephen we spotted the Half-Moon Motel and Restaurant. It was the children’s first adventure in a motel, lots of exploring and chattering. Above all the commotion was the need to use the bathroom facilities — now. Hilda had already stationed herself inside the only bathroom.

  When one’s gotta go, one’s gotta go. Several loud knocks, a few desperate “hurry ups,” in what seemed like ages, Hilda finally opened the door. The surprise, the shock overwhelmed us. I can still see Brian pointing his finger at her and saying, “Who? Mom — who?” While we had been exploring, she had been busy too. She had applied layers of make-up and now resembled a lady of the night ready for action.

  I was n
ot about to be seen in public with her. I asked her to watch over Beverley while I took my two little boys out to supper. On our return we brought a bowl of soup, crackers, milk and cookies for Beverley. Hilda went out by herself. My disgust was mounting.

  The next morning we set out on our second day of adventure.

  It had been decided that I would drive to Boston with the children. Isaac would meet us at my sister Lucy’s home in the Jamaica Plain section of Boston. I had been there in 1938. I had no idea of how to get there — from here — but … I was on my way with three kids.

  Immigration and Customs loomed just ahead. All we had for identification was a slip of paper from Mr. Rice, the Indian agent, stating our names, address, and that we were bona-fide Micmac people entitled to border privileges. As I look back now, years wiser (I hope), I realize that I talked too much. We were going to the States — to live — permanently — Isaac worked there. I was somewhat overly excited about the whole deal.

  My excitement and happiness was short lived.

  I quickly learned that persons leaving Canada, entering the United States as permanent residents must apply for “green cards” right here and now. Proper IDs had to be issued. Pictures had to be taken. Picture-taking facilities were not available at the Immigration office. That had to be done at a private photographer’s in St. Stephen. Fortunately, the photographer was kind and understanding. That accomplished, surely now, we could proceed on our way. That is when I learned about “duty.” I would have to pay duty on the car before I would be allowed to enter the United States. I can still hear the officer’s stern voice as he pointed towards the ramp that led to the U.S. “If you so much as try to go across that ramp, I’ll have you stopped and your car impounded.”