The Mi'kmaq Anthology

by Lesley Choyce

  I can now see that the stage is set. If there is a fire glow in front of our wigwam, if there are people are around it, if there is a watch dog to protect, if it is a full moon, if the air is filled with the smell of sweetgrass, if a lunch is being served, if the millers are flying about, if the teapot is set beside the flame on a rock, then we know that the setting of the stage is completed.

  Mother makes a sign to us by raising her hand above her head to get our attention. “Now I will tell a story (Na hay, nana nige atugwei).” She points toward the Sandy Desert Road, which is about a quarter of a mile from our house, and says, “We are all Mi’kmaq women, and there are eight of us. We had made a commitment during the winter months to welcome the spring season. So it was time for us to live up to what we had promised.

  “In those days it was customary for us to welcome each season in a spiritual manner.” Mom continues talking as she puckers up her lips toward the road, indicating direction, and says, “It was a long time ago (Sagjijna). I am one of the four elders. The four younger women came along to learn from us about one of the most sacred spiritual rituals.

  “I have chosen to be one of the fire-keepers, and my duty is to make sure that the fire does not cease to burn while we are at the sacred place.

  “Annie had chosen to be the drum carrier. Everyone brought with them food to share, and medicines of roots and herbs to be smudged with sweetgrass was the order of the night.

  “It was late in the day when the women arrived at the place they have decided to meet in the thick wooded spot. The moon is bright enough for them to see their long shadows on the frozen ground. I say to the women, ‘This is the last day of winter, and the birth of a season is about to take place at midnight.’

  “Aunt Bridget, who is an elder and is known well by that name, agrees by bowing her head and adds, ‘Do not break your fast, and always remember that before every birth, there is pain.’

  “Aunt Annie tells them too that a little bit of fear will be with us on this night. Then she adds, ‘I want you all to be brave, and not to worry too much.’

  “One of the younger women, whose name is Mully, explains, ‘Everything that is good is with us, for we have good intentions for good reasons.’

  “It is close to midnight,” Mother says. “Being the fire-keeper, I gather enough wood to be burned for the long, cold night. The younger participants of the ceremony rush to help me with the fire wood. The fire glows brightly as it sends millions of sparks flying high into the darkened sky. And the fresh spring water well nearby is making sweet music as it rushes away from where we are standing. Two pots of water are being boiled for everyone who might be on a water fast, or anyone who might want to steep medicinal herbs.

  “Most of the eight women are dressed in their traditional Mi’kmaq regalia. One of them wore a hand-made wool parka with a hood sewn on it. Her mittens matched her parka and were made with the same material. Within an hour it will be midnight.”

  There are a few exchanging words between Mom and Auntie. Father is lying on the ground beside the fire. A spark from the fire flies onto his big toe. He jumps up quickly, and there is much laughter from all of us. He pokes at the hot coals, and adds two more sticks to the fire.

  Mother pours tea for the elders, and we settle own once again. But the dog barks without causing any disturbance to the story teller. In my thoughts I can see a group of Mi’kmaq women with the beads sparkling like the night sky. Along with the fire brightness that brings out the sparkling reflections, there is a strong feeling of sincerity, self-empowerment, and dignity that must be within the hearts of all the women there.

  “It was a night filled with overwhelming excitement,” Mom says. “While we were dancing with the drum beat, I became so awe-inspired that a lump in my throat caused me to shed a tear. The age-old chant sung by the drum carrier, joined by everyone, invigorated my whole being. I had to step aside for a drink of medicinal herb tea, for I will not break my fast until the new birth takes place after midnight. I danced with the seven women for a long time.”

  One of my brothers is yawning for all to hear. It is like a chain reaction. Everyone is yawning.

  We have a lunch break where tea is served. Aunt Annie’s molasses cake and cookies are passed around. Uncle Peter, who is Annie’s husband, comes to join the party of listeners. He is a quiet man who wears a thick snow-white mustache. If I remember correctly, he too chewed tobacco. Chewing tobacco was a habit that many of the elders did at that particular time. Uncle sits by the fire with his arms around his knees. He is listening intently.

  Annie reminds Mom that it was Bella who talked to the owl. Bella was one of the elderly women at the gathering. In the story, she is special in that she had the ability to converse with the natural surroundings.

  “Yes, yes (Ey, hey),” Mom agrees, and says, “We heard sounds coming from a large tree. We looked up and saw an owl (guguwes) perched on one of the branches. We stopped and listened to the owl-midnight-call. In the far off distance toward the western sky, another owl answered the owl signal. Owl communications added to the mystique and wonderment of the spiritual last-day-of-winter night.

  “Bella walked toward the tall, leafless tree, and spoke aloud to our guguwes visitor.” Mom speaks these words, and looks up at the ceiling as though she is seeing the owl on her envisioned tree. Annie bows her head in agreement, and sips her tea. Dad clears his throat, and takes a bite of his Club Chewing Tobacco.

  Our story teller (atugwewinu) looks squarely into Uncle’s eyes as she proceeds. “It’s true (Teliag na). Bella tells the owl these words, ‘Guguwes, I see that you have joined us on this night. As you are our sister with wings that fly into the darkened nights, we welcome you. Pray with us, as I say these words with our sincere hearts and spirits.’”

  Mother is silent for a moment. Uncle Peter rekindles the fire, and sparks are flying all around us. Dad is silent, and Mom puts her freshly-braided sweetgrass on the ground, and says, “Bella held up her owl feather, and began to speak with her lamentable words that affected us all, in a way that brought tears to our eyes. She said, ‘Our daily tasks are heavy, in that we see our sacred rituals disappearing at a fast pace. In order to fit in the mainstream of things, we must learn to speak in an alien tongue. Maybe things are going too fast for us to grasp. I can only hope that the change is for the betterment of us.’”

  It is not quiet, for we, as children, distract Mom from time to time. The family dog barks at every little movement in the thicket near the wigwam. Annie dishes out the blueberries and the biscuits that Mom placed aside for the story time occasion.

  Continuing with her composition, Mom says that the owl made muttering sounds, and “Bella looked up holding her two spotted owl feathers, and she is silent. Guguwes has one of her wings placed on her side. For two or three minutes, all was quiet. Just the crackling of the fire is heard, as the sound echoes to hit against the tall trees. Lizabet, who is the youngest of our group, gets frightened about the owl and human communication. Tears stream down her face as she watches the hot, bright flames. She recalls the words told to them earlier, ‘Before a birth, there is pain, fear and tears.’”

  Raising her hand above her head to get our attention, Mother says, “Mully puts her hand on Lizabet’s shoulder, and says that a new birth is about to take place. The owl folds her wings to a natural position. She looks at us with her head tilted as though to bid us farewell, then flies away into the darkened cold night.

  “The hot herbed tea that is offered to Lizabet by Annie helps the young woman to relax. Me and Mully build up the fire to a high flame. Suson is a close friend to Lizabet, and they are about the same age. They fetch some water at a nearby well, and steep more herbal tea that is called Gold Thread. Each of the young women wrap themselves in a thick, colourful, wool blanket. But an unexplained fear comes over us all, as if we do not know what to expect. Now we see Bella coming away from the tree where the owl visitor had perched earlier. We brace ourselves, and wait for what Bella has
to say.”

  Uncle Peter and Father are talking in low voices, and there is laughter between them.

  I will not let myself forget the messages Bella spoke about. The words will always be in certain corners of my mind. The golden treasured memories refuse to go away.

  “It is about two minutes before Bella says a word,” says Mom. “Facing the women at the circle they had formed, Bella tells them the owl had messages for them, and for all who might take heed. ‘Our way of life will be going through a change. All Mi’kmaq are compelled to accept what is expected with this different way of life. Things that are not good are difficult to talk about. But they must be told.’ I would think that Bella had the gift of prophesying for the days ahead. And maybe she passed it down to others within her family or friends.”

  Mother says that Bella pointed towards the reservation of Indian Brook, and said, “Many houses will be built, and the reserve will grow in size and population. It is good that homes are to be built. So we are to be educated to learn a language that is alien to us. Whether we are ready or not, changes will take place. But from the time we lived in wigwams, we have adapted to things that were new to us, and we can do it again if need be. Like the roads in Halifax (Jipugtug), our paths will be worked into smooth, wide roads. Many of us will find it very difficult to adjust at first. Again, we will adjust to new things in time.”

  Mother says that without any hesitation, Bella talked about the results of the conversion. “A bad sickness will be upon us, and we will be unable to fight against it without help. It will hit our spirits like a poisoned arrow. Many will die from this bad sickness. It will affect the young and the old alike. Some of the grandparents will be unable to escape the cruelty of the sickness, and so will the grandchildren.”

  One owl hoots from afar, and another answers the call. Annie imitates the guguwes, and brings some laughter. We all make sounds like the owls. I have to say, we got carried away, and we distracted Mom’s story-telling. Uncle Peter bites off some chewing tobacco, and Annie pushes the spittoon by his foot. Mother proceeds on with her story of great interest.

  “Ever so softly, Suson cried out, and said ‘Stop it! I do not want to hear anymore. It all sounds so terrible. I do not want horrible things happening to us.’ She then left the circle. Wiping her tears she rejoined the circle once again. Bella looked at every one of the Mi’kmaq women present, and said, ‘The sickness that I’m speaking of comes from the abuse of the mind, body and spirit.’” To interject here, I would agree that ‘It all sounds so terrible,’ as it was described by Suson earlier.

  Looking back, and taking heed of Bella’s words, I can see that her predictions came to be true, for in her days telling the future was almost an everyday practice. Mystical, and no doubt, overwhelming.

  In the book Stolen Continents by Ronald Wright, the author says, “The point is that by believing they had foreseen the conquest, they established control over events that were otherwise uncontrollable. By linking the new conquest to previous ones, they gave themselves confidence that they would survive yet again.”

  “When Mi’kmaqs witness that their mother tongue is fading, they will be disheartened. They will weep for their offspring because their language and traditional Mi’kmaq beliefs will also be put on hold. But for how long, it was not known.”

  Mother sighs and says, “With mixed emotions overtaking us, we wept silently. Mully shook the rattle, and broke the silence. And Bella stood by the fire saying, ‘Na Teliag (It will happen).’ We sing our chants for awhile as the dawn is approaching. Bridget and Lizabet bring a hot tea to us all, and we dance for the new Spring Spirits. The seeds that sleep during the cold months will allow themselves to be born into this world that we call Mother Earth.

  “Singing an age-old chant, ‘Quan No Dey,’ Lizabet points to the eastern sky. We see that dawn is breaking, and a new birth has taken place. Sweegrass is brought out to be burned to gladly welcome the spring season. For a long silent moment we bow our heads, and hear the water sound. The eastern sky horizon is brightening up. Then we smudge ourselves, and give thanks to the Great Spirit.

  “There is excitement in the air, and all of the fears, concerns and anxieties have disappeared. There are no tears for sad emotions, for it is a time to celebrate. Shared food is unwrapped, and everyone can eat a hearty lunch, after waiting on a long, cold shivering night. The menu consists of lusgnign, beans, deer meat, molasses cake, vegetable soup, and jams. Bella brings out her share of apple pie made from dried apples. Before we eat, I bless the food with sweetgrass, and take a plate to the woods where I leave it on the ground for the Spirits of the forest, the birds, the fishes, the four-legged and all Creation.

  “The sun is now rising to give life to the seeds that are in the ground. The eight of us take special notice of the nature that surrounds us: things like the air; the sky; the trees; the waters; the frost; and the ice beneath the surface of the ground that is still frozen beneath our feet.”

  One of my brothers is snoring. One person yawns, and in no time at all, everyone is yawning.

  Mother then tells us about the “give-away” (ignemuetu). “A give-away now takes place at the area of the Spring Celebration, where the participants have brought with them something to give away. I brought with me a small basket which I made for the purpose of ignemuetu. This special basket I gave to Mully. I was presented with a carved, wooden medicine woman. Gifts like skirts, braided sweetgrass, woolen shawls, pouches of the sacred tobacco, leather medicine pouches, beaded belts, hand-knit mittens, and all sorts of things were given as a generous donation of kindness. Give-aways bind people together as a family. They are also reminders to never let this form of practice get lost in time.”

  The wigwam flames are allowed to die with the morning dampness. On the spur of the moment, Mother ends her story the same way that Annie ends her stories. And that is to say just one word. The one word is “there” (Na). So ends this beautiful, true story. Na.

  Uncle Peter and Annie light up their lantern, and leave for their home just fifty yards away. Mother will conclude the drama at a later time.

  It is another day. Father is making hoops and handles for his baskets, while Mother is dyeing splints of all the different colours of the rainbow. It is another hot day, as I remember well. My brothers are making sling shots, sitting under the shade of a maple tree. My younger sister (ngwejij) is attracted to the colours of thin splints hanging over the fence. She knocks them down, and they scatter and roll on the ground. Mother picks them up. I’m making mud pies using a baking powder tin cover for a cookie cutter. We all have something to do. I ask Mom when she will tell us more about the Spring Celebration story. She promises, and says, “When Annie comes over again.” I do not know how many days passed. It may have been one day or one week.

  I always look forward to story telling nights, just as I look forward to some television programs in my living room. If some transient happens to pass by on foot, he, she or they, are welcomed to stay and listen if they wished. Ruth Holmes Whitehead, author of The Old Man Told Us, says that, “No wonder they could tell stories, because there was no radio, no gramophone, or no nothing in the evenings when it got dark. Might keep the home fires, keep the bonfire going, inside a camp. If it was outside, good enough — outside. Sitting all around it. And there would be nobody say anything. And then somebody would say, ‘Ke’skw a. Ke’skw a,’ which means something like “Once upon a time.”

  I will explain how the stage was set as I remember it.

  I think that our elders waited for nights that were clear of clouds, so that we could see the starry skies. But on this particular evening we were in our living room and kitchen combined. The wall paper had daisies with green and pink vine prints. I thought that the winding clock ticked forever, like there was never a stop to it. The holy picture on the wall was always there. And when we prayed at nights, we all knelt before this sacred object. The squeaking rocking chair squeaked more than it rocked, it seemed. And the hungry mosquitoe
s never ceased to sting.

  In the darkness of late evening, we see Annie coming with her dim lighted lantern, as she trails behind her dog on the narrow path between her house and ours. The dogs bark and the cats meow. Night bats fly about, and a cry of a baby bear in the far distance adds suspense to our lamp-lightened room.

  Me and Joe, who is my eldest brother, fight over a reddish feldspar carved stone. The face on it had large eyes that stare at your spirit, though it seemed like it could speak to you at any moment. It was as big as a man’s fist. I am sure that this reddish stone would be recognized as a first-rate mystery in today’s museums. But as time passed, we lost this toy, just as we had lost many other toys. But this is what it was — just a toy, and nothing else.

  As usual, Annie has with her some food, and some kind of sweet-smelling substance she has mixed to keep away the mosquitoes, and the bite-um-no-see-ems. Unconsciously, we all take our places on stage so Mother could begin the second chapter of the Spring Celebration episode.

  Mother continues on where she left off with her story.

  “As the cold morning fills the frosty air, just before the day begins, before the sunrise, I break my fast. But first, I must share the food I have brought for the sacred gathering. The shared food consists of what we call lusgnign, better known as bannock by the non-Natives. The participants share their food also, and their shared foods are butter, boiled eggs, bread, cakes and cookies, sliced roasted porcupine meat, deer slices, jams, and milk. Along with the delicacies of sharing, we have with us herbal teas of different varieties. My favourite of the teas is the teaberry tea (gagajuman).

  “The spring water supply from the well nearby is silver clear, and enjoyable to drink. In spite of our tiredness, and the long, cold night of fasting, everyone shows their best of humour. Much laughter fills the new spring day, and the ordeal of the past night is quickly forgotten. Mully welcomes the new birth as she gleefully smiles with great admiration as the sun-beam peaks through the trees. Bella blesses the food, and we eat under the morning sunrise. We enjoy immensely, eating the long-awaited breakfast (esqitpugoweia). The topic of the morning is about the new birth of spring, as though it were a new-born child.”