While living in Akaluktutiak in the high Arctic I was fortunate to choose a path that led me to integrate with the Inuit culture.The real bonus was the friendship I developed with the children who lived nearby on TuTu (caribou) and Okaluk (Arctic Hare) Streets. I first met these children through their parents who worked with me at the Hamlet. One of my favourite young persons was Alice who used to visit frequently with her younger sister Palouk. Alice used to pack her sister in her shirt and had no problem as all young girls were called to perform this task to help their mothers who often had several young ones at the same time.
There were concerns in the community at first as to my intentions as a white man befriending young chilren. To eleviate these concerns I met and socialized with their parents and gained their confidence through time.The process was slow but rewarding as it gave me a sense of family.I would invite the children to my home for dinner and make it a rather formal ritual. We would set the table with all the silverware and even napkins. Full dressed tables were not the norm up there but we followed good manners and proper eating etiquette. The children relished these meals and soon learned to appreciate our dinners. Always we ended with cookies and pop and cleaned up the dishes.
Sometimes I invited the parents but they felt strange with our way but never complained.The favourite white mans food was spaghetti and meatballs. Alice always came to visit packing her sister.Alice lived with her grandmother and mother and there was no visible father in the picture. This was not uncommon as young girls had children and they were looked after by them or their parents.It is not uncommon for girls to give their babies to their brothers or sisters through informal adoptions. I have never heard of an orphan in Nunavut.
One day Alice came to my home and informed me that on my birthday she and the children would supply a special meal. At about six o'clock I heard Buck barking and opened the door to six kids carrying a steaming ten gallon pail and very happy children. They came in out of the cold and dark and took off the many layers of clothing. Since this was a traditinal Inuit meal cardboard was placed on the floor and contents of the pail was emptied on the cardboard. Two steaming caribou heads made up the dinner and the only thing you needed was a knife. Alice took over and became the boss. I was a little hesitant but took my place and prepared to partake of the specialty.
We were seated and Alice took over, "Henry, you like eyes?". Before I could answer the eyes were eaten and so on for an hour where each part of the animal was offered and without a quick response it was devoured by the girls. I did manage the tongue which was delicious and other parts as well. The girls called this a feast and it would not be the last during my stay. Traditional meals are called feasts and are a strong part of the Inuit culture.
The feast ended when not a speck of flesh remained. The girls tried to see who could make the biggest burp and one backfired and made everyone laugh. Since it was my birthday they presented me with a small gadget which was a measuring tape and a pack of needles.We ended the evening with cookies and pop and they informed me that the people in the hamlet called me Elenok which means friend. I was happy.
The lesson I learned from this was you can find happiness anywhere if you open your heart and mind to accept people for what they are, not what you want them to be.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Learning To Drive In Cape Breton
Today many young people learn to drive while taking lessons from a teacher at school.The program is very successful and has financial perks when the courses are completed. In the olden days where there were no driving courses at school we learned to drive in the backyard.
It usually started when your father let you move the truck or car ahead and back a few times. Later we would lengthen the drive by starting the truck and actually moving it all the way up to the house or whatever. This was sometime around 10 or 11. On the farms young people drove horses when they could walk and tractors at an early age. My father had a coal hauling business and he allowed us to drive with him in the truck at age 14 or 15. Not alone until 16 but on country roads when going fishing he would give us a turn.
It was very informal and people like us could get a work permit from the RCMP for driving when needed at a young age. Dad never did get this permission but he monitered our driving skills and judged us accordinly.
I had a sister who bought two cars and never drove either one as she never had the proper training and had a few mishaps which instilled fear in her progress.I am sure now at a later time in life she is an excellent driver.Boys were seen as having an easier path to the freedom of driving and that was not fair. Today this does not exist.
I have to say that my father was a driver who drove for his job and never suffered a major accident that I know of. He had two sets of rules for driving. One was for him and the other was for all the rest.When driving with him as a young person he owned the roads in Sydney Mines. He also owned the stop signs and the one light that existed at the time. He used to say that he did not have to stop at signs and when he would be cautioned by the local police he would lecture them and tell them to go catch a criminal and leave seniors alone. It was convenient that the chief and others on the force knew him.
Dad is no longer driving and the town is a safer place for it but he was one of a kind when it came to driving. I hope I did not emulate his stop sign etiquette but I loved his free spirit on the road and we often talk of his driving skills and have a smile when we think of all the family he taught to drive.
It usually started when your father let you move the truck or car ahead and back a few times. Later we would lengthen the drive by starting the truck and actually moving it all the way up to the house or whatever. This was sometime around 10 or 11. On the farms young people drove horses when they could walk and tractors at an early age. My father had a coal hauling business and he allowed us to drive with him in the truck at age 14 or 15. Not alone until 16 but on country roads when going fishing he would give us a turn.
It was very informal and people like us could get a work permit from the RCMP for driving when needed at a young age. Dad never did get this permission but he monitered our driving skills and judged us accordinly.
I had a sister who bought two cars and never drove either one as she never had the proper training and had a few mishaps which instilled fear in her progress.I am sure now at a later time in life she is an excellent driver.Boys were seen as having an easier path to the freedom of driving and that was not fair. Today this does not exist.
I have to say that my father was a driver who drove for his job and never suffered a major accident that I know of. He had two sets of rules for driving. One was for him and the other was for all the rest.When driving with him as a young person he owned the roads in Sydney Mines. He also owned the stop signs and the one light that existed at the time. He used to say that he did not have to stop at signs and when he would be cautioned by the local police he would lecture them and tell them to go catch a criminal and leave seniors alone. It was convenient that the chief and others on the force knew him.
Dad is no longer driving and the town is a safer place for it but he was one of a kind when it came to driving. I hope I did not emulate his stop sign etiquette but I loved his free spirit on the road and we often talk of his driving skills and have a smile when we think of all the family he taught to drive.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Horses Come Before People
As a youngperson growing up with a father who always had horses and loved them I learned a lesson the hard way.On a very cold,damp, November day I was getting a load of shore coal from the Cranberry Beach. The wind was strong and I was ill prepared for the turn in the weather. My horse Charlie and I had good luck with the coal and were making our way home when the cold wind became a gale force event.
We were about two miles from home and I was freezing. I usually rode the wagon but I was so cold that I jumped off and ran along beside the horse. This helped but my hands were so cold that I could hardly hold the reins. In cold weather we used rope reins instead of leather as they felt warmer. Our trip home seemed like an eternity and I was thinking of getting to the house and putting my hands under warm water to bring back feeling.
We finally arrived at the gate and I threw the reins uver Charlies back and began to run to the house. My Dad was in the barn and shouted for me to come back.Always take care of your horse before you think of yourself he scolded. Not knowing my condition he had me take Charlie from the cart and in the stable. It only took a minute and I quickly fed him with oats and hay. A bucket of water and I was off to the kitchen and under the tap went my hands. Mom cautioned me to use cool water but I knew best. I paid the price as my hands began to come to life. Come to life indeed as I experienced the most dreadful pain.
That day I learned not one but two lessons.The first was to look after your horse first and the second was that Mother knows best.
We were about two miles from home and I was freezing. I usually rode the wagon but I was so cold that I jumped off and ran along beside the horse. This helped but my hands were so cold that I could hardly hold the reins. In cold weather we used rope reins instead of leather as they felt warmer. Our trip home seemed like an eternity and I was thinking of getting to the house and putting my hands under warm water to bring back feeling.
We finally arrived at the gate and I threw the reins uver Charlies back and began to run to the house. My Dad was in the barn and shouted for me to come back.Always take care of your horse before you think of yourself he scolded. Not knowing my condition he had me take Charlie from the cart and in the stable. It only took a minute and I quickly fed him with oats and hay. A bucket of water and I was off to the kitchen and under the tap went my hands. Mom cautioned me to use cool water but I knew best. I paid the price as my hands began to come to life. Come to life indeed as I experienced the most dreadful pain.
That day I learned not one but two lessons.The first was to look after your horse first and the second was that Mother knows best.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Up Up And Away
Today I had a wonderful experience with an older gentleman who flew B 24 bombers during WW11. The Callings Foundation is an organization which strives to maintain a presence with the public in the history of air combat from the wars. They have the only B24 ( Liberator..flying fortress) in the world and tour the country with it to show the public. They also have a B17 and a P51 Mustang which take people up there for half hour flights.
I have always been a little crazy about flying and went to see the planes at Ft. Myers. I was up and early being the first one to get to the gate. I was met by a Lt.Col who was one of the guides for the day. I was given a personal guide through all the planes and sat in all the seats that I could fit in. As large as the planes were ,there was little space for the occupants or crew. This 85 year old man scrambled up those ladders and through the small hatches and after taking a look at me suggested that maybe I would not be comfortable in the belly gun station. He was correct as I couldn't get in and was afraid that if I did I would never get out.
He flew 30 missions over Germany and his aircraft never suffered damage from enemy fire but he did straggle home on two engines because he had to close down two engines to preserve gas. He hit a head wind and his squadron lost three aircraft because of mother nature. He had so many stories and after an hour or so he took my picture in front of the B17 and went his way. I was so impressed with the aircraft but not as much as I was impressed with this older gentleman.
He would make a perfect grandfather and his manner was so gentle it was hard to imagine him as a wartime captain with a crew of ten being fearless in combat. After the war he returned to university to become a history professor. He formally left the air force in England and told me with a grin that he would not fly home unless he could keep the plane so he waited for a ship to return to the USA.
He said he had a fear of flying when others were at the controls and now travels by car, train and any other means except flying.This day was special for me and I picked up some pictures and took many for my grandson who is an air cadet. He also took glider training and wishes to be a pilot when he is through his education. The only thing that would make today better would be having him with me for the experience.
I have always been a little crazy about flying and went to see the planes at Ft. Myers. I was up and early being the first one to get to the gate. I was met by a Lt.Col who was one of the guides for the day. I was given a personal guide through all the planes and sat in all the seats that I could fit in. As large as the planes were ,there was little space for the occupants or crew. This 85 year old man scrambled up those ladders and through the small hatches and after taking a look at me suggested that maybe I would not be comfortable in the belly gun station. He was correct as I couldn't get in and was afraid that if I did I would never get out.
He flew 30 missions over Germany and his aircraft never suffered damage from enemy fire but he did straggle home on two engines because he had to close down two engines to preserve gas. He hit a head wind and his squadron lost three aircraft because of mother nature. He had so many stories and after an hour or so he took my picture in front of the B17 and went his way. I was so impressed with the aircraft but not as much as I was impressed with this older gentleman.
He would make a perfect grandfather and his manner was so gentle it was hard to imagine him as a wartime captain with a crew of ten being fearless in combat. After the war he returned to university to become a history professor. He formally left the air force in England and told me with a grin that he would not fly home unless he could keep the plane so he waited for a ship to return to the USA.
He said he had a fear of flying when others were at the controls and now travels by car, train and any other means except flying.This day was special for me and I picked up some pictures and took many for my grandson who is an air cadet. He also took glider training and wishes to be a pilot when he is through his education. The only thing that would make today better would be having him with me for the experience.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The Ice Wagon
I heard the ice cream truck go bye yesterday and it reminded me of one of many happy times from the past. The ice cream truck was a brightly painted vehicle with music to capture the interest of the children. Two dollars bought you a small ice cream cut in squares and held with a wooden stick.
When I was a child we had the experience of having a ice delivery service to our homes. At first a team of horses pulled a huge wagon of ice covered with saw dust and the whole wagon covered with a tarp. Ice boxes were the best way of keeping food cool if you did not own a fridge. Most people in our end of town had these boxes and Allan's Ice Service came twice a week and delivered the ice directly to your door and ice box.
The ice man was very skilled and with his ice pick he could cut a 25 cent block and every size upward. There was little waste but we children followed the wagon until we had our fill of really cool ice. This was a great treat on a hot summer day and sometimes the driver would let us carry ice to our homes with the big tongs.
We got to know the iceman and respected him and we were appreciative of his generosity. One day he made a mistake and the cut was such that it was unsuitable for sale. He gave me the ice and I wrapped it up in my shirt and ran home to mom. Mom was quick on her feet an decided we should make ice cream that eve. We had an old three paddle ice cream maker and with our own cream , what could be better.
That evening after supper we all took our turn churning the cream until we had the most delicious vanilla ice cream. There was never enough to satisfy our hunger for this treat but Mom said it all came about because of the generosity of our ice man. I can still taste it and I have never had any since that could match Mom,s ice cream.
When I was a child we had the experience of having a ice delivery service to our homes. At first a team of horses pulled a huge wagon of ice covered with saw dust and the whole wagon covered with a tarp. Ice boxes were the best way of keeping food cool if you did not own a fridge. Most people in our end of town had these boxes and Allan's Ice Service came twice a week and delivered the ice directly to your door and ice box.
The ice man was very skilled and with his ice pick he could cut a 25 cent block and every size upward. There was little waste but we children followed the wagon until we had our fill of really cool ice. This was a great treat on a hot summer day and sometimes the driver would let us carry ice to our homes with the big tongs.
We got to know the iceman and respected him and we were appreciative of his generosity. One day he made a mistake and the cut was such that it was unsuitable for sale. He gave me the ice and I wrapped it up in my shirt and ran home to mom. Mom was quick on her feet an decided we should make ice cream that eve. We had an old three paddle ice cream maker and with our own cream , what could be better.
That evening after supper we all took our turn churning the cream until we had the most delicious vanilla ice cream. There was never enough to satisfy our hunger for this treat but Mom said it all came about because of the generosity of our ice man. I can still taste it and I have never had any since that could match Mom,s ice cream.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Smoking
In the summer of 1945 the celebrations for the end of WWII were over but the real celebrations were just getting started for our family. On this day two of my uncles arrived home from the war and landed at the station in Sydney Mines. The station was no more than a hundred meters from Ma Vickers' house. All the family and neighbours were at the house to welcome the heroes safely back in Cape Breton.
Hugs and kisses all around and tears of joy for their safe arrival. Tears of sadness for the ones who never returned and specially for my uncle Purvis who was killed in action. He was the youngest of all who volunteered and Ma Vickers' youngest to go overseas. I do not remember if there was drinking on that day but I do know everyone was drunk on happiness.
My two cousins and I found ourselves outside and my older cousin had a pack of cigarettes in his hand. He picked them up off the counter and with all the fuss nobody missed them. We were 8 and 9 years old and scrambled to the middle of the yard where an old apple tree became our hiding place for our adventure. Tall grass and some bushes covered us well and we each took a cigarette from the pack of Camels. There was no cork tip or filter but just a small bit of raw tobacco sticking out from the end.
With all our experience of watching people smoke we were having difficulty in getting the cigarette in our mouths the right way. The taste of that tobacco was was horrid but we persisted. My cousin scratched match on rock and after three attempts he lit his and our tobacco sticks. We puffed, inhaled and our heads exploded. We gagged and came close to getting sick when two shadows hovered over us. Two of our uncles stood there and under any other circumstances we would have been treated harshly.
I was glad for the intervention and lucky to get off with a scolding. That day taught me a lesson I am thankful up to this day that I never smoked another cigarette. Yes - I did puff a few cigars while fishing to keep the flies away, but I never inhaled. This was one thing I had in common with President Clinton - he never inhaled either.
I am eternally grateful for the lesson I learned as nearly every friend I had who is no longer with us smoked and died way to early.
Hugs and kisses all around and tears of joy for their safe arrival. Tears of sadness for the ones who never returned and specially for my uncle Purvis who was killed in action. He was the youngest of all who volunteered and Ma Vickers' youngest to go overseas. I do not remember if there was drinking on that day but I do know everyone was drunk on happiness.
My two cousins and I found ourselves outside and my older cousin had a pack of cigarettes in his hand. He picked them up off the counter and with all the fuss nobody missed them. We were 8 and 9 years old and scrambled to the middle of the yard where an old apple tree became our hiding place for our adventure. Tall grass and some bushes covered us well and we each took a cigarette from the pack of Camels. There was no cork tip or filter but just a small bit of raw tobacco sticking out from the end.
With all our experience of watching people smoke we were having difficulty in getting the cigarette in our mouths the right way. The taste of that tobacco was was horrid but we persisted. My cousin scratched match on rock and after three attempts he lit his and our tobacco sticks. We puffed, inhaled and our heads exploded. We gagged and came close to getting sick when two shadows hovered over us. Two of our uncles stood there and under any other circumstances we would have been treated harshly.
I was glad for the intervention and lucky to get off with a scolding. That day taught me a lesson I am thankful up to this day that I never smoked another cigarette. Yes - I did puff a few cigars while fishing to keep the flies away, but I never inhaled. This was one thing I had in common with President Clinton - he never inhaled either.
I am eternally grateful for the lesson I learned as nearly every friend I had who is no longer with us smoked and died way to early.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Resilient Farmers
Ten days after the coldest day in southwest Florida's history, the farmers' market opened. All the usual items were on sale but because of the frost damage there were some quality loss. The farmers were talking to their customers and explaining that the damage was not dangerous or inedible, only a little less attractive.
It was interesting to hear the exchanges between the farmers and customers. Numerous questions beginning with, "what do I do with my" ...."which was frost damaged". Time was taken and excellent advice shared by all who asked. People bought the corn with tips damaged, tomatoes with tiny black spots and peppers slightly wilted. It was the people who were saying keep up the good work and we support you.
In many cases the prices were lowered to make up for the lack of quality in the produce - we never cared. We wished to keep this market viable and we empathized with our farmers. This tragedy was a natural occurrence and nobody lost their life, only their living for a time.A couple of hundred miles to the south there was a human tragedy of mammoth proportions and the result was the loss of so many people,s lives. So when we look at our situation it fails to even register in comparison to Haiti.
World events make us realize that we are people of the planet and everyone is impacted when some of us experience pain and suffering. We hope there will be lessons learned from the Haiti earthquake and we will plan for situations in a more constructive way. No blame can be cast but everyone realized the lack of co-ordination and leadership caused many needless deaths. In our world with climate change about to cause many huge destructive situations we need a world plan to provide aid to the victims.
It was interesting to hear the exchanges between the farmers and customers. Numerous questions beginning with, "what do I do with my" ...."which was frost damaged". Time was taken and excellent advice shared by all who asked. People bought the corn with tips damaged, tomatoes with tiny black spots and peppers slightly wilted. It was the people who were saying keep up the good work and we support you.
In many cases the prices were lowered to make up for the lack of quality in the produce - we never cared. We wished to keep this market viable and we empathized with our farmers. This tragedy was a natural occurrence and nobody lost their life, only their living for a time.A couple of hundred miles to the south there was a human tragedy of mammoth proportions and the result was the loss of so many people,s lives. So when we look at our situation it fails to even register in comparison to Haiti.
World events make us realize that we are people of the planet and everyone is impacted when some of us experience pain and suffering. We hope there will be lessons learned from the Haiti earthquake and we will plan for situations in a more constructive way. No blame can be cast but everyone realized the lack of co-ordination and leadership caused many needless deaths. In our world with climate change about to cause many huge destructive situations we need a world plan to provide aid to the victims.
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