Indigenous Spirit

I often wondered how I acquired my love for indigenous peoples of the world  but North American Nations specially. As a young child I had an experience that triggered my imagination. I was probably three or four at the time and found myself playing in the dirt in front of our house. My attention was grasped by the sound and sight of the morning express train stopping at the station within a stones throw from Ma Vicker's house.The sound of the giant steam engines breathing heavily after its long pull sounded like the heart beat of some giant beast. The rhythmic  puffing of the steam being emitted from the overthrow valve stirred my imagination. It was part of my daily routine but was always exciting.

This morning  I captured a strange image coming down our lane. I surmised this thing came by way of the train but I couldnt quite get what it could be. As it came into focus I realized it was a women carrying a large white sheet filled with what and over the other shoulder were half a dozen clothes props. She stepped along swiftly and headed right for our house. I rushed into the house and shouted to Mom that this strange person was coming here to our house.

Mom stopped her washing and tusseled her hair, grabbed a clean apron and went to the front door. I was surprised to see that Mom knew this person. She was a Micmac Indian Lady who came from the reserve by train to sell her baskets and poles. She could not get in the door with her bundle, but managed.She left her close line poles outside. I sat quietly but wanted to see what was in the white sheeted bundle. Mom greeted her as a friend and she sat in Dad's chair and as Mom put on the teapot she took out her pipe and began to shuffle to find her tobacco.

Dad was at the coal mine but left his pipe and tobacco near his chair. I saw her distress and took dad's Old Chum pipe tobacco to the lady. Getting close to her gave me an oppurnity to see the many wrinkles on her face and her toothless smile was friendly and warm. She filled the pipe and lit up. The tea was ready and as Mom and her friend engaged in a conversation I peaked into the bundle. With a chuckle and quick movement of her hand the bundle flew open and there was the most colourful sight I ever saw.

Baskets of every size, color and shape were evident and all packed in a way that hid the true number. I played with the baskets while Mom and her friend finished their tea. As Mom paid her for a shopping basket which was coloured blue, yellow and red I helped to put the baskets back again. Getting close to this Indian lady gave me an aromic treat because she smelled like smoke from a campfire mixed with the tobacco and it was pleasant. I experienced similar smells in later life and it brought back this scene immediately.

Mom and her friend went outside and as she left she looked at me and said what a good boy I was for helping her. Mom bought one basket and two clothes line props for a dollar. As she left to go to my grand Ma's, mom told me about the people who lived on the reservations.  She also said to never refer to her as a squaw but call her a Indian lady. My mind often drifted to that moment when I first met a real indigenous person.

All through my life I have had a bond with our Canadian First Nations People and it began with that lesson from Mom and her friend.