by Nadine Neema
She continued even more quietly. I had to strain my ears to hear. “People picked the bottom branches to be healed. Higher up where the tree widens again and the branches are full, the people couldn’t reach.”
“The Prophet was travelling through our community when he passed away,” Alice added. “They say he was a traveller who still walks our trails.”
Layla reached into her pocket and started to say some-thing, but just then her grandpa yelled, “Come on. Let’s go.”
“I have to go.” I hugged them both and ran to my canoe. As we paddled away from the graveyard, we saw a bald eagle’s nest. There were two baby eagles inside. Grandpa said a prayer asking them to watch over us during our trip.
We’ve been paddling forever. Well, not me. I’m not allowed to paddle. Grandpa says I’m not ready. It would slow us down too much.
It seems like this lake is going on forever. Auntie Rosaline and Grandma look tired, but they won’t let me help. It’s not fair. Everybody else gets to paddle except for me. Why did Mom send me on this trip if I have to sit here and do nothing the whole time??
Well, it’s not true that I’m doing nothing. The good part is that the water’s really calm so I’ve been able to write and draw for the last couple of hours. It always makes me feel better when I create.
Even though everyone looks really tired, they keep laughing like little children. I wish I felt their excitement. They’re talking about celebrations and drum dances in Behchokò˛. Grandma says this year the Assembly is more special than other years. Something about land claims and self-government. Boring stuff.
Day 1, Later:
The Secret Branch
We finally arrived at our campsite in the early evening. There’s a large clearing very close to the water where people carried their bags and started setting up tents. The land is soft and spongy. The clearing is like a huge oval, so we can see all the tents at once.
“Ever beautiful island!” Alice exclaimed.
“There are blueberries everywhere!” Layla added.
“Did you know there are infinite shades of green?” Alice said dreamily, looking up at the trees.
I looked around. The greens all looked the same to me. I was thinking of Uncle Joe. The last time I camped on the land was with him. Since he died, the sound of his voice has been fading from my mind, almost as if he was just a dream.
Layla pulled me into a small space between the trees and Alice followed. It was just big enough for the three of us to talk privately. Layla held both my hands and looked very serious. I knew she had something important to say.
“We took this from the bottom of the Prophet’s Tree,” she whispered and pulled something out of her jacket pocket. It was a tiny branch about the size of a rabbit’s foot. She gave it to Alice, who handed it to me, creating a kind of ritual. “We want you to have it.”
“What for?” I said, feeling those tears rising up again.
“So it can heal you,” Alice answered.
“How?”
“I’m not sure how it works.” Layla thought for a bit, then looked at me softly. “Maybe you need to rub it where it’s hurting.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said, and hugged them both. I have no idea what I’ll do with the branch because it hurts everywhere. Besides, I don’t really believe in that stuff. But I’m grateful to have such good friends. I put it in my pocket, and we set off to explore the campsite. We ran around watching the different camps take shape—fires being made, tents coming up, clothes being hung. It was cool watching a little community emerge out of nothing.
Back at my camp, Grandma was making tea and cooking bannock and caribou ribs. Alice, Layla, her cousin Kyle, and I went to pick blueberries with Auntie Rosaline. Well, Kyle spent more time pretending to shoot imaginary caribou, but the rest of us picked a lot of blueberries.
Auntie Rosaline is a quiet, wise woman. She doesn’t say much but teaches a lot through her actions. She always has her hair braided and sometimes does mine too.
I love this time of year because of the midnight sun. It doesn’t get dark, so we stay up late playing outside. Whenever Kyle is with us, he follows me everywhere. It doesn’t bother me so much, except when we’re playing hide and seek because he can’t hide silently. He’s almost five, and I love how innocent his mind is. But he often has snot coming out of his nose that he wipes on his arm.
I’m lying in my sleeping bag. I can’t sleep. I’m sharing a big tent with Grandma and Grandpa, who are already snoring away. My feet are cold.
I pull the little branch from my pocket. I look at it carefully. It’s soft if I rub it downwards, and it smells nice. I try to think about where it’s hurting. I rub it on my heart. I do it for a while in case it might help me heal from missing Uncle Joe. It feels funny, but I continue anyway.
Day 2:
No Fun at All
This morning was ever peaceful. I woke up still holding the branch against my heart. The sky was so clear that a few people said it was the perfect day for paddling. We ate blueberry pancakes that Auntie Rosaline made. She makes the best pancakes. Then we packed our tents, picked up all the garbage and burned it. After that, everyone from the twelve canoes gathered behind Grandpa at the edge of the lake. He prayed for our safe travel to the next camp by making an offering of berries from our breakfast. Then we were off, under the sunny blue sky.
We hadn’t been travelling for very long when the sky turned completely dark. A massive storm came out of nowhere! Everyone paddled really hard to get to shore. The water was rough and kept coming into the boat. I was scared we would tip. I started to cry.
“Stay calm,” Grandpa said, as he paddled swiftly and steadily. “Keep your body low. Worrying won’t do anything.”
When we got to shore, we covered our canoe with a big tarp and crouched under it, waiting for the storm to pass. The rain came down hard on my back, and the thunder was really loud. My heart was racing. I wished Mom had come. Grandpa told me to sit still and wait, so I held Grandma’s hand until it was over. Finally, the rain stopped, and the sun returned. We removed the tarp, and the perfect day was back! We set off paddling again in the calm water.
The lake went on forever, and again I had nothing to do. My urge to paddle returned even stronger than before. So I pleaded with Auntie to let me try. She gave me her paddle and quickly showed me how to dip it into the water with solid, even strokes. I had paddled a couple of times with Uncle Joe, but that paddle was smaller and we travelled at a much slower pace. Most of the time we were in a motorboat. This paddle was heavier than I thought, and I couldn’t keep up with the speed that everyone was going. The paddle slipped out of my hands and into the water. We had to turn the canoe around to get it. Grandpa was not happy.
“When the time is right, I will show you,” he said firmly. “Right now, we need to keep going, and you are not ready. Everything has its time. Yours will come.”
I felt bad for letting everyone down, but Grandpa made me feel worse. I wanted to yell at him at the top of my lungs: It’s so boring sitting in the canoe doing nothing while everyone else gets to paddle! I want to go home! I don’t care about travelling the paths of the ancestors! They aren’t even my ancestors!
Grandma looked at me with her big smile and kind, gentle eyes. Her long salt-and-pepper hair was tied back in a ponytail. She put her hand on my cheek and said, “Be patient, my girl. Look at the land. It’s better than television. Look at the life around you. Enjoy the view.”
So that’s what I did. And just before reaching our new camp, we saw two moose swimming across the lake. They were so big and right in front of us! They looked majestic with their gigantic antlers shooting up above the water. It was like a nature movie. We saw lots of loons too. I love that they have so many different songs. I could hear little Kyle imitating their calls from his canoe.
The new
campsite is cool. We have to walk up a long trail through the trees to get to the opening in the forest. All the tents and campfires are in different places and more spread out than yesterday. I had to climb over rocks and run around trees before I found Alice and Layla. When we finally found each other, we pretended to be explorers looking for hidden treasures.
We searched by the edge of the forest, crouching near the ground. “Look what I found!” Alice yelled over to us. She was holding a piece of birch bark twice the size of her hand. We gathered around her. “Look here,” she said, pointing at a straight line of little holes all along the top edge. “These holes are obviously manmade, but what do you think they’re for?”
“I have no idea!” Layla answered, inspecting it carefully. We found her mother, who told us it must have been from a canoe or a basket made a long time ago.
“Wow. It really feels like our ancestors have travelled here before,” Layla said, raising her eyebrows.
Alice declared it was time to play hide and seek. We ran around playing for a while, but Kyle kept following me and giving me away. I was always trying to run from him. Just as I was ducking behind a big rock, Grandpa spotted me.
“Hey, what are you girls doing over there?” he scolded. “You think you don’t have to help?”
Layla, Alice, and I all emerged sheepishly from our hiding spots as Grandpa began his lecture.
“In the old days, when I was your age, before we built houses in Wekweètì, we lived in tents. When we ran out of supplies, some of the men had to go back to Behchokò˛ by dog team. While they were out getting supplies we waited in the community in our tents. In the middle of winter it was very cold, and the four corners of the tent were covered in snow. We would all gather in the centre around the fire. But to keep the fire going, the women and older children would have to go out in the bush and collect wood. If we didn’t have snowshoes, it was difficult because the snow was deep, so we would make sure to get lots of wood when we went out. When we returned to the tent, all the kids would come out and help chop the wood and prepare for the next day.”
From now on, he said, he expected us to help. “First thing we do when we get somewhere is to collect wood, make a fire, and set up camp. When all that is done and no one needs help cooking or doing something, then you can go play.”
I felt my blood boiling. I spend the whole day bored in the canoe, and now that I’m finally with my friends I have to work? I wanted to yell. This trip is no fun at all!
But what else could I do? Layla and Alice returned to their camps, and I reluctantly started cleaning up. I dried the dishes after Auntie washed them. Then we wrapped them in dishtowels and put them away. I helped put the food away too. When we were done, I went off to find Alice and Layla.
We pretended to be explorers again. We ran around to all the different camps. Some people were playing cards, some were telling stories or jokes around a fire. Clothes and shoes were hanging on ropes tied between trees. Tea was brewing at every camp.
As we ran through the trees, Alice hit her head on one of the hanging shoes. “Ouch!”
“You okay?” Layla and I both said, turning around and banging into each other.
“Owww!” We both fell down.
“Are you okay?” Alice asked. We all started laughing. We laughed for a while. I couldn’t stop, which made Alice and Layla laugh even more. It turned into a crazy laughing fit. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much.
We kept exploring. We saw Uncle Jimmy, Auntie Rosaline, Alice’s older brother, and others playing poker. We watched them for a while. Uncle Jimmy has short black hair and a missing tooth on the bottom front. He laughs with a deep chuckle that sounds so joyful. He’s also a good bluffer. I saw him double down even though he didn’t have a pair, and half the table folded. I wish I could play too, but they play for real money. It isn’t for kids.
Later, we went back to my camp and sat around the fire next to Grandma. We listened to Grandpa talk about Chief Monfwi, one of the greatest Tłı˛cho˛ chiefs of all time. Once he started a story, he could talk all night.
“Every summer, some of us Tłı˛cho˛ travel the trails of our ancestors, the same trails Chief Monfwi and our ancestors walked for thousands of years,” he said. “In the old days, we travelled with dog teams. When we were travelling, our parents knew the good spots for fishing and hunting, and we would camp there because that’s how we ate. It was really hard in those days. We had to get enough fish to feed the dogs too. Under their paws they would get sores. We would make them little mittens out of caribou hide if they cut themselves on rocks.”
I was starting to feel sleepy. Grandpa continued, “Some days, if we didn’t get enough fish, we couldn’t feed the dogs enough. If this happened too often, we would stay in the same place for a couple of nights to catch more fish and make sure the dogs ate and got stronger. Sometimes, when there were caribou up ahead, the dogs would notice even before we did. They would forget about their paws hurting, and they would start running fast to catch up to the caribou.”
I lay down with my head on Grandma’s lap and watched the fire.
Grandpa started talking about how the annual gathering this year would be different. “We will finally have our own government and become owners of our land,” he said. I think I drifted off to sleep, because I don’t remember what came next. I dreamt I was walking the trails with my ancestors. We were singing and dancing, and we could fly.
Then I heard Uncle Jimmy laughing and I opened my eyes. I still had that glorious feeling of being able to fly. I left everyone by the fire and came back to our tent to write about the day. I’m done now and ready to fall back asleep. Goodnight.
Day 3:
Working Together
I heard today would be the first day of portages, so I was very excited to get going. I wouldn’t have to sit in the canoe all day. We packed up and gathered around Grandpa, who led our morning prayer. He asked the Creator for our safe journey to the next camp and for the Spirit of our ancestors to guide us.
At the start of one of the portages, we saw a bird’s nest that was so perfect it looked like a precious piece of art that someone had made for Easter. Inside, there were eight or nine eggs placed in two circles. It was just sitting there by itself in the long swampy grass. Grandma told us they were duck eggs. I couldn’t believe that was made by a duck.
The trails went on forever. I lost my sweater on one of them, and Uncle Gordie had to go back with me to look for it. Uncle Gordie’s very strong. He looks like he could carry anything. I always see him working when I pass his house, building a new shed or fixing a vehicle, and never without his blue cap. He doesn’t speak much English, but we always manage to understand each other. He looks out for me a lot.
We searched for my sweater for a while before we finally found it on a rock where I had stopped with the girls for a break. Grandpa was ever mad.
“You have to look after your own things,” he scolded. “We are only passing through. We will not be coming back on our tracks, and we do not have time to search for things left behind. We still have a long way to travel to Behchokò˛. You are careless, and that can be dangerous. Pay attention.”
I hate how Grandpa is so strict with me, but Grandma explained it’s his way of teaching me.
“In the old days, this was our way of life,” she said softly. “We were always travelling, and if we forgot things along the way we could find ourselves in serious trouble. Our boats were made of canvas. We would paint them. Sometimes when we went over rocks, we would get a hole in the boat. We had to go to land and get spruce gum from the trees to patch up the holes. We always kept extra gum with us because we knew we would need it. If we forgot to carry the spruce gum with us and got a big hole in the middle of a lake, it could cause our boat to sink.”
Grandma is so patient when she explains things to me. She ma
kes me feel better. She amazes me. She is old, has pain in her knees, and walks with a hunched back, but she always works very hard. She carries her own bag on the trails, helps chop wood at night, and always cooks dinner.
We walked so much today. Some of the trails went on for hours. We walked and walked and walked. Then lots of people walked back to the beginning of the trail to get the rest of the stuff. Uncle Gordie carried a huge canvas bag with the strap against his forehead and another huge bag on top. I saw several men doing that. I don’t know how they do it.
All the bags and all the boats had to be carried across. I carried my knapsack and the life jackets. I could hardly carry my own body by the end. It’s really hard work. By the time we got to the campsite, I thought my feet would fall off.
I helped set up our camp. Uncle Gordie and Grandpa cut wood for the fire, and I helped gather kindling. That’s what smaller pieces of starter wood are called. I searched for the driest pieces because those burn the best. Afterward, I saw Uncle Jimmy and Auntie Rosaline tying a rope between two trees so we could dry our wet clothes. I helped them hang stuff. Our clothes and shoes are always getting wet, from a storm or a swampy portage or water in the canoe. It’s impossible to stay dry!After that, I watched them set up our tent and helped put our things inside.
Grandma showed me how to pick orì to sit on. “Go to an orì tree and break the branch off like this.” She cut branches off a spruce tree. “Then you can weave them together to sit on.”
The men made a tipi with a fire in the middle. We connected one orì branch to another and another so they were interlocking, until we had made a carpet big enough for everyone to sit on. We gathered around the fire to eat. It felt good to help set up our camp.
“I remember Chief Jimmy Bruneau’s wife,” Grandpa said. “She was such a hard worker. She would wake up at 5:00 a.m., make the fire, get a pan full of snow, and put it on the open fire. If there was black soot in the pan, she would drain it through the spruce bowl, and clear water would go in the basin. Then she would take the basin with clean water around to the people and tell them to wash their faces and hands before the day started.
