By the summer of 2007 I had settled into a routine at Moose Factory. There was less that was ‘new’ to write about.  My perspective was changing.  And I was busy.  I just didn’t feel like writing.

Here is where I leave the Journal, then.  Some day perhaps I’ll return to it and try to learn from it.  For now, it stands as is.

Well, the temps DID get WELL into the 90′s yesterday.  Nobody did nothing.  It was too hot to move.  Last night we chilled to 75 degrees.  Today we’re supposed to fry again.  It’s well into the 80′s now (at 11:30 AM).

The coming weekend will be cooler, I’m told.  Let’s hope so!

All is quiet on The Island, for the moment, concerning train service and other modes of transportation.

I still can’t figure out when I’ll be able to leave for summer holidays. There is no information (that I trust) on a summer schedule.

Global warming?

This morning the temperature is at 22 degrees and falling. Everything is covered with snow. The sky is dark, and the snow is still coming.

Global confusion?

Some people have shared some pictures with me. They’re over in the ‘Odds & Ends’ blog.

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Sent: April 30, 2007 11:33 AM
To: Bisson, Gilles
Subject: ONR Botches Customer Service

Hi Mr. Bisson,

I am sending you this e-mail to file a complaint towards the Ontario Northland Railway and the incident that left 68 people stranded in Cochrane this past Friday and Saturday. On Friday April 27 — I along with 65 or so other people — were onboard the Moosonee train to return to Moosonee. We were out about 12 miles when we were forced to turn back because of a washout. That was understandable. We arrived at the Cochrane station at approximately 12:20 pm with signs posted that the train would not be departing Cochrane for a minimum of 12 hours. During this time we waited for direction from Ontario Northland Railway Passenger Services Manager Mr. Terry Vachon. At no time were we offered food or water.

Mr. Vachon arrived at approximately 2:20, went to his office through the back door and called to OPP. When the OPP arrived at 3 pm on the Friday Mr. Vachon appeared from his office he bypassed 60 or so locals and proceeded to a French speaking couple first and told them what was going on and then proceeded to another group of “white people” and then when we asked him to speak to us as a group he said he was going to make an announcement on the PA. We asked him to speak to us in person and when we did the OPP moved closer. We asked if meals and accommodations would provided and he responded “no, this was an act of god and we will not be providing anything”.

A family that had just lost their mother/grandmother were on the train going to Moosonee with a baggage car load of flowers etc… for the family service at 7 pm that Friday evening, and were told that no alternative transportation would be offered. I then called the ONR in North Bay and was transferred to the Vice-President. The story was the same as they were not and could not do anything for us. When I threatened media coverage with the MCTV news, Timmins Daily Press and Toronto Star the tone changed and a call was placed to Mr. Vachon who played it out like he had been waiting for the call from the VP. It was then that the people were given meals and accommodations and flights were booked for the family to attend the funeral.

This is when we think the media was contacted by the ONR stating that they gave us everything and everything was fine. We all know that is what happened and were made to look like fools and also took our leverage away for negotiations. This was 4 pm, 4 hours that we had been sitting in the station, women and small children and elders. I along with my father and a couple of friends of the family took the family, flowers and baggage to the airport and got everything that we could in the seven and nine seat planes to make the family service. The ONR did not co-ordinate anything nor did they acknowledge that once on route they are responsible for the passengers.

We were then told at 5pm that the train would be leaving Cochrane the next morning, Saturday at 10:45 am to Moosonee. We were told to be at the station for the 10:45 departure. The tracks were fixed and then gave away again and now at 11:00 am we were told that we would be flying Air Creebec within the hour. Air Creebec were grounded due to the fiber optic break caused by the further damage and all long distance phones were severed. This means no clearance could be obtained to take off out of Moosonee once they landed in Moosonee. We were not told this but a pilot happened to be in our group and had indicated that to Mr. Vachon. Again we waited till 3pm, no water offered, but the Station Inn employees went into action returning all to rooms that were available and the ticket agents and baggage employees helped out with whatever we needed. The restaurant provided food once again, not the Manager of Passenger Services.

3:30 we were told nothing until Mr Lawrence Martin, Mayor of Cochrane, entered the station along with some of our help took over the situation and had 3 Thunder Air planes enroute to Cochrane airport. A manifest was created by the ticket agent as Mr. Martin and stranded people began the order of who is to go on the planes first, women and small children, elders and the Moose factory due to chopper times to get to the Island in daylight. It was now pushing 5 pm when the first plane left with the first load. We loaded baggage that we had asked the people to split up and take immediate needs with them as Oscar’s Cartage transported the bags to the airport. The rest of our luggage we hoped would follow but did not. I was on the last plane that evening arriving in Moosonee on a 45 minute flight and arrived at 9:10 pm Saturday. Another plane flew the remainder up the next morning around 9:00 am on Sunday. Mr Martin handled everything in 30 minutes and indicated that he asked Mr. Vachon if he needed the Town of Cochrane Emergency Plan’s help and he was told that everything was under control. This might have saved us 10 hours of standing around herded like a bunch of sheep being watched over by the OPP.

With this we have been treated poorly as the “bread and butter” of the ONR and it’s employees. DeBeers will come and go but we, not the tourists, will still be the ones who ride the train day in and day out. Some segregation, discrimination and humiliation happened this weekend. In this day and age we need a permanent road to Moosonee and Moose Factory Island.

We are still after all these years deemed “non essential service” and are held hostage by the ONR and it’s staff and Air Creebec, (owned by a native man) with the logo “we are here to serve our people” the only airline that cost more to fly from Moosonee to Timmins than Toronto to Jamaica and they are continuously employed for the evacuation of Northern Communities.

A Thank you from all of us to, Mr. Martin, Rochon Buslines, Oscar’s Cartage, ONR Ticket and Baggage Department, Station INN and Restaurant employees, Wabusk Air, Thunder Airlines and many Cochrane residents.

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From: Bisson, Gilles
To: Mike & Valerie Dumoulin
Cc: Gerteis, Helen
Sent: Monday, April 30, 2007 4:05 PM
Subject: RE: ONR Botches Customer Service

Mike just to let you know I received your e-mail and have asked my staff to draft a memo from me to Chair of ONTC, our James Bay Rep at ONTC Randy Kapashisit and the minister about this. We will keep you posted as to results of our intervention.

Gilles Bisson, MPP
Timmins James Bay

The ONR (Ontario Northland Railway) HAD stated (on the local cable TV channel) that we might get a train as early as yesterday (Wednesday, 2 May 2007). They didn’t make any promises then. And they’re not making promises now about next week, either.

A lot of track got washed out.

When the wash-out was (finally) discovered, the train had been on its way North. It had to back up — back to Cochrane. I don’t think it had to back up very far. I don’t know how many miles, exactly. The passengers, however, had to spend the rest of the day dealing with ONR.

The wash-out occurred about 30 miles south of Moosonee. When the passengers got back to Cochrane, I am told, they were informed that:

1. They were on their own and had to fend for themselves.
2. They were not the responsibility in any way of ONR.
3. The wash-out was an ‘Act of God’.

Soon after that, I was told, the mayor of Cochrane got himself into the situation and informed the motels, ONR, and Cochrane rather generally that they WERE going to take care of these stranded travelers.

Since then ONR has been flying those who *already* had train tickets on chartered aircraft. Northern Stores is flying in groceries. We’ll have some things to eat. But we’ll run out of plenty of others. I asked someone ‘who is going to pay for the additional cost of air freight?’ The answer, of course: ‘You, me, the customer.’

All of which brings me to two basic reflections….

One is that the washout was not an act of God. It was the result of supine negligence, indifference, incompetence. The situation is exacerbated by ONR’s persistent avoidance of accountability. Sadly, it isn’t just ONR that we are talking about. Assuming, as I do, that the flooding occurred because of mishandled debris, then, we are talking about:

• Hydro-One.
• The contractor for Hydro-One who did the actual construction.
• The Ministry of Natural Resources — which is supposed know what’s going on out there.
• And, of course, ONR.

The flooding — I am told — could have been avoided by proper disposal of the debris from the construction work along the tracks. Having failed to attend to that or to note that the removal was not properly carried out, someone might have understood that the rising water had nowhere to go. Someone might even have noticed that there was water out there. Trains DO have windows.

In New England, around Providence, anyway, it’s the drivers of all those cars who see things and report things like deteriorating bridges and over-passes. One might hope that the passengers on the ONR could exercise the same vigilance. But they don’t make the same run every day — as commuters on the highway do. The eyes of the train all belong to the employees. Were they looking?

The problem is that nobody cared. Or, nobody thought it was their job to bother with somebody else’s job. For that I blame management of each of the entities listed above. If the management of each of those entities depended on the train running for their jobs, they might care. And they might — just might — be able to communicate that new-found sense of vigilance to the employees.

That brings me to my second reflection — one that I have made before in this Journal…. The single most powerful — most compelling — argument in support of a highway all the way into Moose Factory is the management of ONR.

I am told that the culprit (or primary culprit) is Ontario Hydro — or the contractor for Ontario Hydro. People are blaming the Ministry of Natural Resources, as well, for failing to do proper inspections. And, so far as that goes, if the people in the train company REALLY cared about the service they provide — or are supposed to provide — they’d have noticed the mess a long time ago. But they don’t have to worry about their jobs, because they have no competition. The power line was none of their business. They never noticed. Ten to one they would have if there had been a highway parallel to the train tracks. Certainly a motorist would have noticed.

A new power line was installed over the last few months — a line that would power the mine site 150 miles to the north on The Attawapiskat River. Evidently the contractor for the new line built temporary bridges over the creeks draining the swamps through which the power line runs. South of Moosonee the power line parallels an existing power line — the one that powers Moosonee and Moose Factory. And they both are right next to the train tracks for the Ontario Northland Railroad. Makes a good deal of sense. However, when the job was done the contractor failed to clear the debris. That debris then clogged the creeks and streams. Those creeks and streams may appear perfectly innocent in the summer, fall, and winter. In the spring, however, they wake up and dance. This year they closed the railway.

Those who already have tickets are being transported by the train company by charter aircraft. The rest of us have to wait for the next train.

As though that were not enough … somebody at the construction site hit the phone wire on Saturday morning with a back hoe or something like that. The phone company has installed a fibre-optic cable in the railroad’s road bed. The cable runs from Cochrane to Moosonee. It’s our connection with the outside world. You’d think that a cable buried in a railway roadbed would be safe. It was — until the roadbed gets washed out — or, actually, until the crews start working on the washed-out roadbed. The ATM machines on The Island, long distance phone connectivity, and internet access all went down — suddenly and without warning. That broken cable affected more than Moosonee and Moose Factory. A large chunk of northeastern Ontario lost phone service as well.

By Sunday morning the phone line was back in business. There have to be some busy crews down there in the swamp. (Actually, it’s UP there in the swamp.)

There were bears in the back yards Friday night around 7 PM — when all the kids were out and playing. This was going on close to where I live, but I saw no bears. I suspect that if we get more reports of bears roaming in the back yards there will be numerous young gentlemen roaming The Island with rifles. Bears in the dump are one thing. But bears in Granny’s back yard are something completely different.

But, first, to catch up.

My last post was on Saturday, 27 JAN. The next Tuesday (30 JAN) I took the train to Cochrane. There I lingered for a couple of nights. That gave me time to get a hair cut, get a new glasses prescription. AND, surprise, surprise, get a new battery for the truck. I was lucky. The battery failed in a parking lot a block away from Canadian Tire. A delivery truck gave me a jump start. (This is Canada.) And ten minutes later I was begging the lady at the counter at Canadian Tire to squeeze the truck into their already chaotic schedule. She did. And I was off and running to Staples for fun and frolic.

Fun and frolic this time around included a new printer. I got a Brother laser printer. It works just fine. Sits on the desk and grinds out letters one after the other.

The Hewlett Packard monster had started going comatose before January 1. Fortunately it started going down by degrees — with intermittent failures. Eventually, by process of elimination, I guessed that the network server card had started to fail. I went to HP’s website, looked up the 4300 (which is the beast I have) and saw right away that there were just LOTS of network cards (refurbished) for sale. Mine (if that is what had gone wrong) had failed outside the warrantee period but well within the life expectancy of the machine. So, I picked up the phone and called HP’s 1/800 number.

I wanted to know if the part was available. It was. I wanted to know how they shipped. Usually by UPS. I said that if it was by UPS, I’d never get the package. Not to worry, they could ship by Purolator. They promised they would.

That sounded good, so I gave my credit card number. The next day (3 JAN) they docked my credit card by $600. The part had shipped.

To make a long story a little bit shorter … by Monday, 15 JAN, no part. No word of part. Even the Freight Office of the Ontario Northland Railroad had never heard of the part. I called Hewlett Packard to find out what was going on. This is where the fun begins. This phase of the project took ALL DAY. First I got an hour of rotten music. Then I got someone who really wanted to be helpful. REALLY. BUT, he didn’t realize I was calling from Canada. And he couldn’t really speak English. Two hours later, we had established the fact that the order HAD originated in Canada — and that I was calling FROM Canada. Actually, I was lucky to have gotten this far. Even though I had to ferret through the trash to find the relevant numbers — written on the back of envelopes and church bulletins, I did find all the code numbers, order numbers, and whatever numbers, so that they could find me (and my order) on their computer.

As soon as we had figured all of that out, my call was redirected to the warehouse operations in Toronto. Another hour of terrible music, and a very nice person came on the phone and wanted to know what my problem was. My problem was that I had not received the merchandise.

O, but I had. The computer said so. The package had been signed for. Perhaps my neighbor had received and signed for the delivery. I noted that UPS does not deliver in Moose Factory. AND, if there WERE a delivery for John Edmonds, the parcel would find him soon enough. “But the records from UPS say that the package was delivered.” I replied simply: “That is an outright lie.”

That comment got me transferred to another person. He may have been further up the Hewlett Packard food chain, because he actually spoke intelligible English. He had a sort of no-nonsense attitude, it seemed. (And, why not, a customer was calling somebody a liar.) I explained to him that I had not received the package. He explained to me that the package had been delivered. Now it was time for me to lay out the whole of the UPS scam. I told him that his company’s reputation was at risk, although the problem seemed to be simply one particular customer. Usually, I said that UPS just sends packages to the ONR Freight Warehouse — without notifying anybody. And there the package just gets lost. I noted that other carrier services — such as Purolator or FedEx work through Canada Post one way or another. Maybe it costs a little more. Maybe it doesn’t. You get the package.

Somehow in all of that conversation I noted that Moose Factory and Timmins are 300 miles apart from each other. THAT little fact DID catch in his mind. Evidently the package was traced as having been received in Timmins by the same person who delivered it (supposedly, personally) to me an hour later in Moose Factory. That little fact DID catch his attention. The entire tone of the conversation changed. He said he’d look into it. He noted that the investigation would take a week. I had to be patient. (Why did I already know that?)

So, I had come that far. The day was done. It was time for supper.

A week later, of course, nothing. No package. No messages. My friend in the warehouse had given me his personal phone number in the warehouse. I called that number several times and got an answering machine. I noted that time was running out on all of this.

Then I left for a week. And that’s why I got the little Brother printer in Timmins. Just in case I never got the HP working again and/or just in case it broke again, I had a handy little backup — just in case…..

Then I rode the train from Cochrane to Toronto. The train takes awhile. But I can relax and listen to music. On this particular trip — both going and on return — there were weather and traffic problems. In the end I probably saved time with the train. And I was rested.

I attended the Wilderness Canoe Association Symposium. There were a number of presentations on The Rupert. One presenter had some great slides of The Eastmain — which I instantly recognized. He also had great shots of The Rupert, of course. Some of those I recognized — but only because of my examination of other people’s slides. I have never been on the lower Rupert.

On the train ride back — on the Cochrane to Moosonee run — I got to talking with some of the locals. Evidently, the ice highway was closed to DeBeers traffic — by The Albany Band. That, hopefully, was going to force DeBeers to the bargaining table, or so the folks thought.

Then, yesterday, I was in Moosonee. I was told that — again — the highway was closed. This time it was the Moose Cree (Moose Factory) Band that had closed the highway — again, just to DeBeers. And, again, now DeBeers and the Moose Cree Band were at the bargaining table.

Now, some thoughts about all of this.

The ice highway is a critical piece of the economic fabric in this region. It runs from Moosonee (which is at the end of the ONR line from Cochrane) 150 miles to Attawapiskat. It is operational whenever freeze-up is complete. And, it collapses every spring. The heavy trucks usually have to stop running in mid-March, I am told. This year the highway got operational somewhere near the end of January or beginning of February. Like the ice highway between Moose Factory and Moosonee, the traffic starts with skidoos as soon as there is enough of a crust. Often WEEKS later the road is safe for heavy trucks.

Once the highway is operational, the traffic rolls day and night, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. The train company has to haul so much freight to Moosonee that they have been running a special freight train almost every day. Drivers are hired from as far away as Labrador to drive the vehicles back and forth. The bread and breakfast business in Moosonee is an industry in itself. The road is critical to the operation of the diamond mine 150 mile or so north of here. When the road is useable there is only a very specific time period for the heavy machinery. This year it could be as short as six weeks. The trucks may have to stop rolling in about four weeks.

All of this (mine) traffic grinds to a halt when a Cree Band closes the highway, as they can, and as they have.

Some people are asking, WHY? Aren’t the Bands shooting themselves in the foot — or in the feet? There are other ways of getting a road into that mine that DeBeers is developing on The Attawapiskat. How much static is DeBeers going to take before they reroute their traffic? If they DO reroute their traffic and build a gravel road into the mine, say, from some place like Hearst, might not that then consign Moosonee and Moose Factory to permanent backwater status? And is that what people here (or their children or their grand children) really want — or really will want (when it’s too late to reverse the situation)?

So, some more thoughts. …
Any other road, also, will very probably have to go through territory controlled by The Cree. And, I’ll bet anything that the Bands along those possible routes are studying the present situation very carefully. The more they bargain, the better the deal. History is starting to show that.

Also, DeBeers has NO ONE to blame but itself for the stance taken by people in this region. Its initial interaction with the Attawapiskat Band led to confrontation. When Theresa Hall was Chief at Attawapiskat the issues — whatever they were — were resolved for the time being. But it was her insistence that brought DeBeers to the bargaining table — not their initiative. Either they didn’t hire a competent public relations consultant. Or they didn’t listen. Or they couldn’t hear. Folks here are used to corporations moving in and trying to just take things. Quebec Hydro betook itself to the bargaining table only after the Courts ruled in The Crees’ favor and after negative publicity in the United Nations. DeBeers had not read Billy Diamond’s book. Or if they had, they didn’t understand it. Or they didn’t believe it could apply to them.

I was told recently of two situations here near Moose Factory. One relates to illegal clear cutting on the part of a lumber company — on Moose Cree land. The office back here in Moose Factory didn’t know about the activity until one of the residents of Moose Factory discovered it and reported it. Representatives of Moose Cree Band had to go out to the job site by chopper and personally close it down.

Another story told to me involved survey markings up The Moose River. Locals started to look around the rapids and falls going up-river. Someone was surveying for a hydro electric project. The first that anybody from Moose Factory knew about the impending project was from those survey ribbons. People started talking. The project got blocked — or stalled, anyway.

This way of doing business with native people around here goes back a long time. And it will die hard. It may not die without a fight.

For instance, last spring, after the frost had gone — maybe in June — survey ribbons appeared around The Rectory — where I am staying now. Nobody — that I talked with — had any idea what those ribbons were about.

Then, some time later in the summer, one morning, I noticed some people walking around the church building with tape measures. They were doing this all morning. It’s possible they knocked on the door. But, if they did, I never heard them. (One doesn’t when the printer is running. Or I was on the phone and wouldn’t have heard, if I was upstairs.) Later that afternoon, however, I saw a white truck and two people outside. I stuck my head out the door and looked. Then they got out of the truck and came up to me and introduced themselves. They were from Northern Stores — from the head office in Winnipeg. And they were measuring off the lot which had been surveyed that last spring.

They were getting ready to sell half of the lot. St. Thomas’ Chapel (The Little Church) sits on one half of the lot. Another building (used by a local Pentecostal Church) sits on the other half of the lot. Presumably St. Thomas’ has leased one half of the lot — the parcel that the church building sits on. What no one realized when the lease agreement was established is that the plot of land that the Church Building sits on uses more than one half of the whole lot. That is, there is a hedge maybe 50 feet from my front door that marks the boundary between our plot of land and the other ‘half’ of the lot. The actual surveyed line lies much closer to the Church and to my front door. If our property’s line were on that surveyed line, we would have much less protection — or buffer — between ourselves and our abutter. Nobody realized this or thought of this when the agreement was signed. Further, the hand sketches of the property — reviewed by all parties at the signing of the lease — show that our boundaries lie along where the hedge is. The surveyor’s line moves that boundary to about ten feet from my front door. Given how the building is situated, that is a really critical change in the plot’s boundary.

I gathered from our conversation that Northern Stores intended to sell one half of the lot — the half of the lot that we were not using, that they didn’t know whether or not we intended to stay where we were (we had just signed a 75 or 90 year lease) and that it didn’t make much difference anyway, because there was plenty of room elsewhere on the lot for us, if we wanted to use it.

I noted that I hadn’t seen the lease, so I really couldn’t say much about it. I also noted that we both seemed to be in agreement that the map of the plot discussed at the time the lease agreement was signed was the hand sketch he showed me (though he didn’t give me a copy of it). And that sketch showed the boundaries of our leased land to be along where the shrubbery is now. So, … if he was proposing that the boundaries were somewhere else, he had some explaining to do. That is, he had some explaining to do, if he valued a viable and ethical relationship with St. Thomas’ Church. I noted that he could begin that explaining by informing St. Thomas’ Select Vestry of who the surveyor was and what the surveyor was doing and why, of who he was and what he was doing and why. And he could explain for Northern Stores what Northern Stores thought it was doing and why. I suggested that all of this be put into writing and delivered to The Select Vestry in the form of a letter, that someone from Northern Stores appear personally before the Select Vestry and explain what was going on.

As of this date, no letter has come in. I don’t expect one. I fully expect us to learn who is doing what and why when a bulldozer starts digging up the lawn.

You don’t have to dig very far into the past to see why so many people here just don’t trust the rich and the powerful who come from afar.

Some of my free market friends say: Well, it’s just the market at work.

Perhaps. But, if this is simply the market at work, the market is in the process of self-destruction.

Good people through no fault of their own, are being deprived of their inheritance. AND, any market — or positive human relationship — is based on trust. My thesis in all of this is that the corporations I have cited are borrowing against their trust. Sooner or later their bubbles will burst. But, more than that, if one people are eligible for victimization, then all people are so eligible; the market will decide. When a people become expendable, and when their land becomes expendable, all people become expendable and the planet becomes expendable. Eventually THAT bubble will burst. It could well be the end of us all.

UPS runs an outright fraud — or allows their agent to do just that. UPS has cost me, personally, hundreds of dollars of outright cash and hundreds of hours of lost productivity. The loss of cash has come from when I have had to re-purchase and/or re-ship merchandise they have deliberately and willfully abandoned — whilst advertising full service and billing accordingly. Lost time comes when I spend days on the phone or weeks waiting for something critical like a printer part. What is almost laughable about UPS is that they have even sent me bills for charges made on a COD shipment. (They never got the COD payment, because they never delivered the package. So, being UPS, they tried to collect, anyway.) It’s a fool proof system.

UPS, of course, doesn’t work for me. They work for the vendors who ship to me. If I complain to the vendor, sometimes the vendor accommodates me. Sometimes the vendor doesn’t want to hear about it. That all seems to vary according to how badly the vendor wants my business. People here don’t amount to a market worth worrying about. Some vendors actually are honest about that. Tiger Electronics tell me they only ship by UPS. Take it or leave it. That’s good to know. I go elsewhere. Undoubtedly, they never noticed.

Hewlett Packard DID promise to ship by Purolator, screwed up, and then promised to refund my money. I won’t know until I get my credit card statement if they actually made good on that promise. But other companies (Apple, Xerox, and Direct Dial, for instance) have simply sent out another shipment as soon as they knew there was a problem.

DeBeers supposedly is marketing the Canadian diamond as a ‘clean’ diamond. It is identifiable as Canadian. And supposedly it is clean of all victimization of the locals. The jury of public opinion is still out on that one. I think the crunch will come when the village of Attawapiskat has to be moved. The question(s), then, will be who pays & how much? Where does the village get moved to? And how much catastrophe happens first? While their corporate decision may have been to turn over a new leaf in dealing with indigenous peoples, their corporate culture is severely challenged. Their start with the Attawapiskat Band was just abysmal.

At the Wilderness Canoe Association’s Symposium there was a presentation on yet another river being surveyed (quietly) by Quebec Hydro for development. Someone in their system referred to the environmentalists as ‘dreamers in canoes’ — which is exactly what some of us are.

Quebec Hydro, as explained to me, has an interesting position in Quebec’s economy and society. In order to get a permit for the development of a water system, Quebec Hydro must pass an environmental inquiry. That inquiry is done through an agency of the Quebec government — which owns at least part of Quebec Hydro. By selling electric power to the northeastern United States, Quebec Hydro brings in money, then, for the Quebec government. That lowers taxes in Quebec — a point not ignored by the political establishment. Electric power is made cheaper, of course, to the extent to which the region it comes from is expendable — both the people and the land. Some may say I am wrong. But I believe that every entitlement or benefit that has come to the Cree has come because they fought for it. The Quebec government didn’t see any injustice in the development of the region until New York citizens started writing their politicians about the matter. Waskaganish (formerly Rupert’s House) only got hooked up to the power grid in the last year or so.

So, at the end of a long road of ice is the intersection of justice, ecology, and a workable market. One road leads to the inevitable destruction of all three. The other road may lead somewhere else. Probably it will be the people who already have lost most of their own culture and who are having trouble adapting to the prevailing culture who will be able to lead us out of this mess — if they are still around to be able to do that when the time finally does come when we realize we need them.

So the traffic is rolling — or most of it, anyway. I don’t know if the really heavy stuff is using the Moose Factory/Moosonee Expressway yet. I just don’t know about the coastal highway. Around here the crews have to wait for the ice to get thick enough (and strong enough) before they can really plow it. Once the snow is off the ice the ice can thicken and strengthen much more quickly. The Moose Factory side of our highway is in pretty good shape. There’s work that has to be done, however, on the Moosonee side. Part of the problem on the Moosonee side is a large chunk of ice (that we have to drive over) that heaves and sinks according to the moods of the tides. It’s sort of like driving a toy car over the bellows of an accordion. It can be done. But with care. You’re driving over glare ice. It wouldn’t do to salt it.

Our highway got going (finally) because the last week or ten days has brought us some nice nippy temperatures. We’ve been getting anything from minus 30 (Fahrenheit) to zero. Never above zero. That’s enough to convince The River that we’re in winter now. And The River has cooperated. Someone sent me some pictures of Niagara Falls frozen SOLID — in about 1918. I don’t think that will happen this year. But we will get February and most of March, probably, to move things and ourselves around a bit more easily.

For Moose Factory the ice highway is a great convenience. It also is a cost saver. Once the ice is in and thick enough really heavy loads can be trucked across The River — saving the expense, limitations, and the delays of the barge. For the coastal communities — and also the diamond mine on The Attawapiskat — the coastal ice highway is really critical.

The traffic rolls day and night. Families come to Moosonee — and often go further south — for shopping. The prices in Moosonee, I’m told, rise as soon as the highway is in. The ‘Coasties’, as the locals call them, roll into town — Moosonee AND Moose Factory — and buy EVERYTHING. It’s their once-a-year shopping spree. For instance, it’s cost effective to simply buy gasoline or oil in 45 gallon drums and transport the stuff up the coast on the back of a pick-up truck. For this reason many of the pickup trucks are overloaded — and THAT has people talking. Also, many vehicles have bright orange flags or even lights on tall poles a foot or so higher than the roof of the vehicle. This is so oncoming cars and trucks can see you coming — long before they can actually see you over the drifts of snow.

Next Friday is Groundhog Day. This, too, shall pass.

The temps are now up to 37 degrees (F). Now and then we get a soft rain. There *were* vehicles out on the ice — a few days ago. Some of the more adventurous taxi drivers had ventured out. Most did not, however. It just could not have been safe out there. There’s some question now as to whether skidoos will be able to cross tomorrow morning. There are several folks I know of who HOPE to take the train. If The River is simply closed (and that could just happen) — and if the choppers are grounded by fog (and that happens a lot this time of year) — we’re isolated until something breaks in the weather.

Last night — for me — was quiet. I heard a few shots fired off into the air at midnight. Someone told me they were going to ring the bell at The Old Church. This could be the last time.

The crowd here at St. Thomas’ has taken to doing fellowship, coffee, and snacks after The Service on Sunday. Today, those snacks will include moose stew, beans, chili, homemade bread. And who knows what else….. The Anglicans know how to cook (and eat….)

MANGE
The dogs have mange. The wolves have mange. The environmentalists are worried about the wolves. The locals are worried about the dogs. And the teachers are worried about the kids. Evidently, the kids are next in line for getting the mange — which we don’t want.

So, I’m told, the wolves will freeze out there without their long-johns. The dogs are getting shot — one by one — the ones that are loose, that is. And the kids are being kept in during recess — lest they get mangy or shot.

It’s a rough world out there.

This is late for freeze-up to start. The choppers have been flying somewhat half-heartedly for weeks, it seems. Yesterday, however, they were revved up and making money. Someone said that we’re supposed to get rain by the end of this week. If it gets warm enough, The River can get clear of ice again. That happened one year, quite recently, and the Barge was put back into the water for a few weeks.

But this is late for freeze-up. Ordinarily the ice would form now rapidly. A year or so ago we were driving back and forth to Moosonee before Christmas.

Of course everyone is talking about Global Warming.

23 November 2006 — THANKSGIVING DAY (American style)
It’s 8:30 AM. The temperature is up to 42 degrees (F). I’ll bet the taxis are back in the water. Maybe even, also, the Barge. How long this will hold remains to be seen. The River out in front of the Rectory is open and running free of ice.

Tonight I’ll cook up a turkey, and some folks will come over. They-all have started Christmas and can’t quite understand an American doing Thanksgiving in November. But turkey is turkey and always tastes good.

Friday, 24 November
We all survived the feast. Now it’s back to work!

Saturday Morning (25 November 2006) 3 AM…
Blue Hill is 28 degrees. Moose Factory is 34 degrees. Go figure….

Mostly they prowl around the dump — at the north end or ‘way-down’ as the locals say. However, last year a bear was seen in the parking lot of The Hospital — or, ‘way-up’. THAT got people talking. Early one morning another bear tried to climb through Marion’s bedroom window. Marion got really upset and called The Moose Factory Volunteer Fire Department. That bear got shot.

The other morning, I was told, a bear was wandering around The Church — right where I live. I never knew about it until I got told about it, perhaps fortunately. That bear, or a bear like it, also got shot. They do get dangerous when they get into the neighborhood. They already have lost their fear of humans. Most worrisome is a mother and two babies. We do not want to get between Mommy and Babies while we are on our morning walk. No! No! No!

I had posted one bit on General Convention already — when the new Presiding Bishop was elected. After the Convention certain people said certain things, and I was dismayed. I got angry. Part of me said, ‘Don’t stoop so low as to get into this fight.’ The other part said I have to — if only to lend support to the young person contemplating self-destruction because he thinks he might be gay. There’s no way I’ll stand by idly while another destroys himself with the blessings of perceived church and culture. My doing nothing in this instance would be tantamount to abetting the mendacity.

After the election of the new Presiding Bishop, General Convention struggled with resolutions concerning sexuality and past behavior of The Episcopal Church involving sexuality. Of course they did a whole lot more, and all of my information is second or third hand, so expect me to be poorly informed. I have only seen what articles I have found on the web or that people have emailed to me. Any facts I cite stand to be corrected. …But…, from what I can tell…, all of the actions or inactions around the issue of sexuality stem from the presence of homosexuals in The Church and the various reactions (liberal or conservative or whatever) to that presence. Further, the reactions are inclusive or exclusive — depending on whether one approves or disapproves of that presence of those people perceived to be homosexual or self-identified as homosexual. In other words, the issue of sexuality — or the issues of sexuality — however they manifest themselves in specific resolutions, all boil down to the central issue of inclusion.

Also, much of the pressure brought to bear upon General Convention came from outside The Episcopal Church in The United States and included many Anglicans (and others) from around the world. A lot was riding on whatever decisions might come out of General Convention — consequences far beyond the geographic boundaries of The United States. Whatever General Convention were to decide would offend somebody. General Convention, being General Convention, did nothing — or didn’t do, one way or another, what many people hoped it would do. As far as I can see, nothing has changed canonically. Perhaps there’s a keener alertness to the elections to the Episcopate. The politics may be changing. I have no idea about that. The canons remain the same. That is, constituent dioceses elect their own bishops. The House of Bishops affirms or rejects. What else is new? What is most striking (and heartening) to me is that while Episcopalians (many, anyway) made all kinds of statements of empathy and sorrow, intended to pacify their critics, General Convention did not undo much of what has been accomplished over the years concerning the inclusivity of ‘The Other’ — in this instance the Gay People. Certainly General Convention did not lay down in the dirt, don sackcloth, smear ashes, grovel, repent, or beg forgiveness.

I AM disappointed by General Convention. From where I sit, then, General Convention could have improved on the good work already begun. It chose, rather, to stall. I think that some may have thought that would pacify Peter Akinola and his crowd. It won’t. Or, maybe it will for a minute — but not for long. They will demand repentance and the mending of the ways and so on and so forth — and complete agreement with their particular lunacy. They’ll never get it from the likes of me. Slowing the process down does give people time to talk — and think. That might be a good thing. Maybe the American Church just needs to educate the rest of Church people at home and abroad about what this fight is about. Maybe, in time, those of good will and good sense will see the wisdom of the American Anglican — or Episcopal — Church. In the mean time we read about the likes of Matthew Shepherd. And “Brokeback Mountain” continues to be a documentary of current events. That’s the cost of General Convention’s inaction. Make no mistake about it.

More generally, the American Christian multi-denominational establishment — such as it is — has been hijacked by hucksters and maniacs who have managed to ensconce parasites and imbeciles into public office through fraudulent elections. Maybe the American Imperial Culture really is in decline. And maybe one of the very few lights in the darkness is General Convention. Perhaps that light sometimes flickers only dimly. At least it’s not out completely — yet — as we stand at the abyss. I am hopeful for those who define themselves outside the main stream of their culture — just as I am hopeful for the dream that once was American. But I am not optimistic.

And the fight is about a lot more than sex. But, first, anyway, the sex. … (There are at least two realms of issues that have nothing to do with sexuality, although the controversy over sexuality is used in some quarters to exploit them. One set of issues, of course, relates to a workable hermeneutic. I’ve found “Christ Is The Question” by Wayne A. Meeks — especially the final two chapters — especially helpful. The second set of issues relates to the polity of The Anglican Communion and how The Episcopal Church in the USA and the dissidents fit into that. There is a letter from The Bishop of Florida to his diocese that helped me think more into that set of issues. I found the letter in the Blog from the Diocese of Washington.)

Some might say that the issue simply is about the inclusion of gay people in The Church — the question being: At what level might they be included? Or, Should they be included at all? In whatever way a parish, a diocese, or General Convention might respond to those questions, that response will influence or even determine decisions about whether to support the ordination of clergy living with members of the same gender or who identify themselves as ‘gay’, to elect such clergy to The Episcopate, or to bless ‘Gay Unions’, or countenance Holy Matrimony as an option for those of the same gender. In other words, along these lines of inquiry, a positive response to Gay People in The Church is a response of inclusion, for many, based on a passion for social justice. I certainly would applaud that response. And I have these further reflections on the issue of justice and Gay People in the church.

Whatever the response — whether positive or negative or nothing — it is a response. Doing nothing is a response. It is a response once the issue is on the table — as it has been now for decades. And that’s why I won’t do nothing.

I see the place of gay people as analogous to the place of Jewish people or Native people — or any people dispossessed or excluded by another people who are in greater number and of greater (physical) power. Not that these different out-groups always tolerate each other — or anyone else — for that matter. There is something about human beings that does this. Maybe it’s a survival technique from way back — when we were fighting over water holes and hunting grounds. Maybe that’s what’s going on as we fight over the oil or some day, again, the water. Regardless of my identity or your identity — or however we may be inclined to define that identity — there are groups of us that explicitly exclude groups of others. There’s always a justification offered. And the justification always fits the standards and specifications of the times. (Someone — a lot of people, in fact — actually believe the justification; they would have to in order for it to work.) But however fulsome or righteous or rational such argument may be, eventually, such justification implodes, because of its own internal rot and because people have (finally) woken up to its poverty and dysfunction. The questions for The Episcopal Church or any other morally sensitive organization are: Does it want to lend its support to the exclusion or to the inclusion? Does it want to be out in front and leading? Does it want to be tagging along behind, playing it safe and picking up the refuse left by others? Whatever it does, it is accountable to those whom it is called to serve and to God. And it can learn from its past, if it cares to look.

I am influenced by two categories of things. One thing is that I know of too many who have died because of the context this exclusion and bigotry foments. And, secondly, I am reminded of what some others have written.

I don’t have the books in front of me. And the argument may well have come up in other literature. And I probably have the details wrong. …But I have long pondered Raul Hilberg’s thesis — or one of them — ever since I first stumbled across it in “The Destruction of the European Jews.” It relates to anti-semitism and the roots of The Holocaust. That is to say, The Holocaust, while it was the work of a specific government in a specific era, began to be thought about and began to be talked about long before. Hilberg says somewhere that there was nothing particularly new or different about what the Nazis did. They simply were more efficient. That’s one of the really chilling elements of his presentation, because what he means, as I understand him, is that it all could happen again — with the right set of circumstances. In his book he delineates a process. And the process happened in all kinds of ways. And it continues to happen.

Well, if the roots of The Holocaust have a beginning, where is it? Hilberg begins his description of the process by noting the criticism of The Jews on account of their beliefs. Of course there were many critics long before the Christians came along. But the Christians were keen on the possibility of the conversion of the Jews to Christianity. Portions of the New Testament can be read in the light of that expectation of conversion and frustration where the conversion did not take place. Perhaps such passages as Matthew 27:25 can be read in that light. At the least of it Christians have always had trouble with Jews. And that trouble is documented in their very Scripture. At first, they tried to convert Jews to Christianity. And that attempt and expectation failed.

Despite all their efforts Christians did not convert all the Jews. The next phase in Hilberg’s thesis, then, was that Jews were expelled from certain areas. Or they were concentrated in certain areas. This happened all the way from the middle ages through to Nazi Germany.

But again that was frustrating to the now larger and more powerful group of Christians. And Jews were murdered in different places, at different times, in different numbers — whether few or many.

The Nazis, then, picked up on the spirit of the times which had now been nurtured for centuries and perfected the mechanized, depersonalized process of murder. The conversation that started all of this began in a documented way in Christian Scripture. That is to say, in the end, the major apology for the destruction of The Jews in Europe came from the Christian Church. I don’t see any way around that assertion.

And all through the Holocaust — even while the excesses of the bigotry were obvious — the Church did nothing — or next to nothing. And, no action is a particular kind of action, as I have already asserted. This is particularly true in the case of the Jews and The Church, because The Church had argued in its own Scripture the case against the Jews and never really retracted that argument. Once the implications of that argument became clear — with the Nazi Holocaust — the Church, on the whole, did not object. In the light of that, it stands condemned — and not simply in Germany.

Now, generations later, there is a conversation. Church leaders are sorrowful over what happened. And perhaps our present day repentance will save our souls. But that isn’t bringing the murdered folk back to life.

Similarly, the North Atlantic Slave Trade was centered in three of the Rhode Island ports — Providence, Bristol, and Newport. The loss of life in the North Atlantic Slave Trade was far more extensive than the loss of life in The Holocaust. Yet, only recently are we mounting an inquiry into that human catastrophe. It is encouraging that General Convention reportedly revisited the North Atlantic Slave Trade through the eyes of the DeWolf family — a family that figures significantly in the history of The Episcopal Church in the American Northeast. Again, we who have benefitted from our ancestors’ wealth in the Northeast may be moved to repentance for what they did and for what they and we were never held accountable. When Abolitionists first spoke up in 19th century America, they were in the minority. Like any minority they were dismissed, ridiculed, and judged morally inferior. The Episcopal Church remained silent for a long time.

The Church has known epochs of silence in the face of great injustice. Generations have gone by before The Church really admitted to itself what it had done — often by deliberately doing nothing. Often our realization of our injustices comes to us as our own consciousness is raised and our own personal conscience sensitized. This, I believe, is what is going on in The Episcopal Church. The progress is tortuously slow. The journey — in this day and age — is crucially important. There are lives hanging in the balance. You would think we could learn. For what and to Whom are we accountable?

Many good people argue that playing for time is a good thing for General Convention to do — in order to keep the Anglican Communion together and hopefully to share some of these concerns to good effect with others less sensitized to the issues. I can see that. But I don’t see that as an argument for doing what is wrong. And doing nothing is doing something wrong. It has come to that — for The Episcopal Church.

By now, if you disagree with me you may be grinding your teeth, though, probably, you haven’t read this far. Don’t worry, it only gets worse. Your argument is that that any sexual behavior outside the covenant of holy matrimony is wrong. Why? Because the Bible says so. In reply, I say, reducing Scripture (of any faith) to simple do’s and don’ts like that does the Scripture and the Faith it expresses no respect and renders false witness. It renders false witness, because it puts words in Scripture’s mouth and denies the complexity both of the formation and also of the expression of Scripture. In a word it avoids reality: the reality of what happened, the reality of what was said, the reality of what that might mean today. And, if you are a person of faith: the reality of God’s Word in the present generation.

… Which brings me to the point of this meditation on General Convention. It isn’t about sex or sexuality. Those sets of issues are incidental to what is going on.

The basic issues, then, are in two sets.

• First: How do we read our Scripture? How does that reading illuminate the examination of our past? How does that examination enable us to perceive accurately the reality of our present?
• Second: Who do we identify as ‘The Other’? What do we do about whomever so identified? And, Why?

General Convention will have an opportunity to come around to these quandaries again in three years. Perhaps, by then, they and the rest of us will have grown a little. There always is hope. But it’s an up-hill journey for all of us and thankless for many. Still, it’s the right thing to do.

You’ll notice that in all of my pictures of The Gorge — and in many of the pictures of other parts of The River — the human figures generally have their backs to the camera. They are looking at The Gorge or The River.

When I presented at the WCA conference in Toronto this last February, after I spoke, a canoe group leader from another camp (Keewaydin/Dunmore) came up to me and shared one of his stories. When the group had finished the portage around Clouston, they, like we, a year or so before, stood and watched The River cascading and roaring through The Gorge. One of their number took out his harmonica and played music for The River, The Gorge, The Twin Otters. And, of course, you couldn’t hear a note of it. But The River could. And I’m sure the Two Otters loved it — and played all the more.

The Service on Sunday morning was quiet. Several of us were away, resting — having spent long hours in Vigil with Roy. There were only fifty of us in The Old Church. The Old Church seemed empty, in a way. Roy was one of the reasons why St. Thomas’ is still going after all these years. He was an extraordinary person who faced his illness head-on. And, in his very quiet way, he was a resource to every one of us. We were a thoughtful lot.

Also, the Select Vestry is about to close the Old Church semi-permanently. That is, we’ll close it — board it up — until/unless we can find some basis of support for it. It’s an expensive building to operate. We need a million dollars to save it. And we need that soon. Norman preached this morning and spoke to these issues. It was stuff we all knew. We’ve known it for years. Now the time has come for us to act — before we fritter away the rest of our capital assets. We’ve seen this coming for quite some time. Now there’s action. On Sunday morning we were a very thoughtful lot.

I think that one of the reasons for action at this time is that people are thinking ahead about the money — and about our assets — and about the importance of those assets for what we are doing now and what we might be doing in the future. There are so many things that are really great going for St. Thomas’. We don’t want to jeopardize them by spending money on The Old Church — money that we really don’t have for a resource we don’t absolutely need. The primary ‘market’ for The Old Church are people from other churches — or with no really active church affiliation — having their Weddings, Baptisms, or Funerals. People like The Old Church for its quiet dignity, its history, its commodious space. Generally, they have paid little or nothing for that resource. The Select Vestry is trying to change that. Hopefully, closing The Old Church will bring the matter to a head for many, who might not otherwise have thought about the matter. Some people have advocated that we close The Old Church now — before the tourist season, because the ONR (Ontario Northland Railroad) and MFTA (Moose Factory Tourist Association) benefit from The Old Church. It’s a major tourist attraction on The Island — maybe THE major tourist attraction. But none of that tourist traffic has resulted in any significant support of The Old Church. Different people have different concepts about what should be done. Mine is that — one way or another — The Island community take over the ownership and management of The Old Church (and Cemetery) and run it for The whole Island. That already happens in a de facto way for The Cemetery. People generally expect that they can use The Old Church anyway they want — as long as the Anglicans pay for it. Those days are gone — finally.

And St. Thomas’ can go on doing what it has been doing for years: be the space where those doing The Lord’s work can come together for healing, ministry, and celebration — and a lot more. On the basis of my experience I don’t think that the Church is in any trouble. It’s the institution that is in trouble. Or, rather, it’s changing. Whereas The Old Church was the key to the operation of St. Thomas’, it now is a wonderful luxury. Wonderful, but unnecessary. St. Thomas’ has more Bible Study groups than I will ever know about. People are constantly doing things for each other — things that really are ministry in all kinds of ways. If we count those who are into Native Ceremonies and Spirituality, we have five houses of worship on The Island. All of us are trying to do more or less the same thing (though some would disagree with that.) The problem is that we can’t figure out how to do it together, except when there are major crises affecting all of us — bad crises like funerals and good crises like weddings and baptisms. And, even then, collaboration and cooperation don’t come easily.

None of this is new. It’s true all the world over. In this particular part of the world The Church started in the family teepee — not all that many generations ago. Worship happened at home, necessarily, amongst the extended family, out in the bush. Eventually there were buildings, such as The Old Church, in villages, where families gathered, at first, seasonally. The Anglican Church came over from England well after the show had started. For a while, all — or most of — things religious were gathered up in the Anglican/HBC Establishment, located in the village. Native Spirituality was driven underground — or out west. The Roman Catholics moved into some communities as well — Albany, Attawapiskat, Fort George. Sometimes the Anglicans and Roman Catholics got on with each other. Sometimes they did not. Kashechewan, evidently, is what happened, when they did not.

As the patriarchal establishment weakened, the Native Traditions began to surface again. Many are exploring their Spiritual roots — roots that predate contact with any Europeans. This is an exciting time — for them and for people like me who applaud their work. I believe that from the context of Native Spirituality they may understand far better what Christians brought to Europe centuries ago than the local indigenous in the first few centuries of the Christian era.

Evangelical and Pentecostal groups also have started in many communities around James Bay. They are growing. In some communities they are displacing older Anglican and/or Roman Catholic groups. The Anglicans, anyway, are being challenged to re-invent themselves, on the whole, as a non-Establishment Church. This is an exciting time and place to be an Anglican, because everywhere one is confronted with questions like: What is Church? What do we do? What do we stand for? Who are we? And so forth…. This is what’s going on with Moose Factory and St. Thomas’ Church. And everywhere there’s life in the Church the answers come from the story and person of Jesus. We’re being challenged to understand ourselves in a way for us that may be quite new for many of us, challenged as to what we believe and what we are doing about (or in response to) that belief.

St. Thomas’ is a self-supporting Church. We get no subsidies from outside our congregation. Many people around here don’t know that or don’t believe that. And the more distant they are from the active or participating congregation, the more that seems to be true. Structures — whether they be buildings or organizations — are all subject to review and revision: Do we need them? Can we afford them? What do we need in order to do what we are called to do? The Old Church is just one big piece in a big puzzle. The show will go on with whomever, or wherever, or whenever. All I we have to do, is to keep the faith — and act accordingly. The rest will take care of itself.

All of which brings me to general Convention. (And, you ask, how’s that?) The Convention just elected a woman to be the next Presiding Bishop. After all these years of numerous functionaries and judicatories harping on one issue after another, fulminating endless bigotry, and finally threatening The Episcopal Church that if it doesn’t shape up (repent, apologize and mend its ways) they’ll expel it from the Anglican Communion, what do we do? We elect a woman to lead us. Not only a woman, but a rather intelligent woman at that. Finally there is hope.

So what if they DO expel us? It won’t be a good thing, if they do. But in the end, they’ll thank us — or their successors will thank us — for what we did. After all, someone has to lead if we are to go anywhere (forwards). And General Convention stepped to the plate, answered the Call, and did something immensely creative. All of the debate — or most of it, anyway — has been simply an excellent means by which to avoid what we can do, what we ought to do, and what we are called to do. The debate can go on for ever. So can ministry. It’s our choice. It looks to me as though General Convention made a choice for ministry.

Tonight we have the Family Service for Roy. The Funeral will be tomorrow. Both will be at The Community Center. The Old Church would too small for the crowd, although we will read The Commendation in The Old Church for those who can squeeze in for a minute. Trudy will have a training session this week for some of the young people who will soon sit at Vestry Meetings. Bobby will start preparations in a day or so for the Great Chinese Take Out Extravaganza scheduled for this coming Sunday evening.

And the show goes on. Praise be to God!

I’m not sure exactly where or how this one fits in, and I’ve already mentioned it somewhere in these pages — but altogether too long ago, I think. An Elder once told me that the best dog-sled teams had a female in the lead. All the rest, who followed, were males. There were several benefits from this arrangement. One was that a female almost always was smarter than the males, and there are stories and legends about the lead dog finding the way through impossible and unimagineable conditions. Another benefit was that the males spent all their time, energy, muscle, and brains trying to catch up to the female. They never quite made it, of course, but the sled moved. Oh, did it ever move! Now, how does that relate to The Church?

There already were roads into that region when I was a kid. But most of us — of my generation — could get to Chiniguchi only by canoe. That was in 1960’s. By the 70’s I was paddling to The Bay. And then the years went by. But Chiniguchi and Pete Peloquin have always remained fresh in my memory.

The Harricanaw River lies on the traditional route taken by various paddling groups from Temagami on their canoe trips to The Bay. In one season a group could set out from Temagami, cross Temiskaming, portage The Indian, paddle Kipawa and the chain of lakes to Grand Lac Victoria. There they would head north. (If they headed south, they soon would be on The Dumoine — and in a few days, back on The Ottawa.) But this time they would head north, cross the divide remarkably easily. And then they would be on waters flowing to The Bay. If they nudged to the east and north they could connect with the rivers and lakes south of The Rupert: Bell, Waswanipi, Broadback, Nottaway. If they got on to The Broadback, they could then cross over to The Rupert. Or, they could head through to Mistassini Lake which is drained BY The Rupert. From The Rupert they could then cross to The Eastmain (which is what I did, with Wabun’s Section A, in 1973.) Or, they could go out of the north end of Mistassini and connect with the Upper Eastmain. AND, they could keep heading north and a little east, and then they would get to Nichicun. That lake could connect them with the La Grande River route to Chisasibi (once upon a time, Fort George). Or, maybe they’d like to head further north for the Great Whale River, as Keewaydin has done more recently. Or they could continue north and east and arrive (eventually) at Ungava Bay. Yes, you can paddle from Granny Bay to Ungava Bay, if you have the mind, the time, and the food. But a (relatively) quick way to James Bay from Temagami was via The Harricanaw. And that was one of the early routes of the Temagami paddlers.

The natives of the Moose Factory area also know The Harricanaw. They have known it for generations. It’s a few days’ paddle from here to Hannah Bay into which The Harricanaw flows. We have records here at Moose Factory of folks born at Hannah Bay or on The Harricanaw. The Hudson’s Bay Company managed a satellite post there for several tears. It was the site of the Hannah Bay Massacre — one of the few instances of open hostilities between the races in the James Bay region. Later George Elson (who guided in BOTH Hubbard expeditions — husband’s and then widow’s) managed his own store or depot there. I was told that he died on the way back from Hannah Bay to Moose Factory. A storm came up on The Bay suddenly. The boat swamped. Everyone got through ok — except for George. He died on The Bay and was buried at Moose Factory in the Cemetery behind Old St. Thomas’ Church.

Families here have maintained goose hunting camps and trap lines for generations in and around Hannah Bay — and between here and Hannah Bay. Patrick, an Elder, tells me that the run from Hannah Bay to Moose Factory by dog sled is two days — “IF you feed the dogs.” With present day freighters and gas engines, the trip over the water is quite manageable. The choppers do the trip in minutes. For the most part the trip to Hannah Bay or to The Harricanaw is quite routine.

But there are tragedies. In September 1999 two freighters headed from Moose to Hannah Bay swamped. Eight people perished — several from the same family. Today, the memory is fresh. Memorials are installed on Big Stone Island — along with a large white wooden cross. Shrubs and firs are planted each year — as memorials and also to keep the soil stable. Each year since the accident, usually over Labor Day Weekend, there have been prayers, remembrances, and a feast on Big Stone Island.

Canoeists from Temagami have perished, as well, on The Harricanaw. There are two accidents that I know about: one years ago and another quite recently. Neither, as far as I know, had anything to do with any fault of the guide. Who knows how these things can happen? Some folks have suggested that the danger of the water was misunderstood or under appreciated. The locals around here, as well as elsewhere around The Bay, usually are very cautious around moving water. Often they just don’t understand — simply cannot fathom — what drives the canoeist’s passion for shooting rapids. Maybe they know something we haven’t yet learned. Maybe we have something they have forgotten. (The only time George Elson really chewed out Mina Hubbard was when she got too near the water.)

As best as I can get the gist of the present story, Derek and Zanna met in their teens, had been married about four years, and started this year in their mid-twenties. They loved to canoe together. They were experienced trippers. Derek listed out some rivers they had traversed — rivers that I had never heard of and which flow way to the north and west of here. I believe these folks to have been technically adept, young, strong, full of adventure, and smart. They had decided to take a canoe trip on The Harricanaw. I don’t know yet exactly how they approached The River or accessed it. They could have come in from the west, from Cochrane, on something like The Turgeon River. Or they could have taken one of the roads into northwestern Quebec and accessed The Harricanaw that way. The papers stated that the accident happened on The Kattawagami. The Kattawagami joins The Harricanaw at the very end. And it can be approached from the west — from Cochrane. However or wherever it happened, the accident occurred just before Hannah Bay.

I understood from Derek that they were on the second to last rapids before the final falls when the accident occurred. That was about eight days ago, as best as I can tell from Derek’s story. They swamped. Then the two of them got caught in an eddy. He thought he had pushed her out of the eddy — to safety. That’s the last he saw of her. He went unconscious. By his estimate he was out for 20 minutes. When he came to, he was on a rock. The current had stripped off his shoes and clothing. He could not find his wife — and love of his life — Zanna — anywhere. For a while he staggered along the shore looking for her. Nowhere to be found. Nothing. He did find the canoe. It had a paddle in it. He paddled and searched the shore. Bits of gear presented themselves — floating on the surface of The River. They had had a little dog with them on this trip. That, also, floated, lifeless, on The River. Still, no Zanna.

So, he went for help. Finished The River and entered Hannah Bay. From there he paddled along the shore about halfway to Moose Factory Island — as far as Big Stone Island. There he was discovered by a Moose Factory resident heading out to Hannah Bay. Of course, immediately that boat turned around and headed straight for The Hospital. The alarm was sounded, the OPP notified. This was six days after the accident and this last Friday afternoon (9 JUNE 2006).

On Saturday the search commenced: first by chopper; and then, if necessary, by ground search party. I don’t know if the guys on the ground ever got there. By afternoon Zanna had been discovered, and she was brought to the morgue at The Hospital. Derek identified the body and headed straight to Cochrane to meet up with his and her families. Those folks had headed to Cochrane as soon as they had heard the news.

As someone noted, “He will never be able to come back to Moose Factory.” Maybe that’s true. I hope not. Folks here know what happened — instinctively. It’s in their blood and in their history. And as I told him, “There but for the grace of God go I” — and countless others, who — filled with the spirit of adventure and curiosity — set out with only what they can carry on their backs. And it’s in that frame of reference — and only within that frame of reference — that you can SEE and know what’s real — about yourself and about each other and about the world in which you live.

And the paddlers understand that about themselves and about each other — although they can’t explain it very well. And it seems like shear madness to everyone else. And maybe it is.

But I’d do it all over again, if I could. And I hope Derek will, too. Meanwhile, Zanna rests with her grand daddy, Pete Peloquin, and the paddlers and others of adventurous spirit who have gone before her and him. May her spirit, as it sleeps in The Lord, remain fresh — and be there for the rest of us — when the time comes — that, again, we all may be one.

*********************************************

There still are some details of the story to be worked out or verified. But these are my thoughts this Monday after Derek arrived last Friday at Moose Factory. This is a Journal. I want to get things written while they’re still fresh. My apologies for any errors or mis-statements.

Life is expensive in these Northern communities — and especially so in the more remote villages. (At least we have train service from Moosonee.) Electricity is really expensive, even though it seems to be the primary means of heat in the winter. In Peawanuck the HYDRO company is threatening to cut power on some of the families who haven’t paid their bills. The following letter is written from that context……

***********************************

Subject: an open letter to canadian citizens
Date: Tue, 06 Jun 2006 14:57:18 -0400

An open letter to Canadian citizens,

I am number 14600***01 and I live in Peawanuck, a Cree community of 250 located on the Winisk River that flows into the Hudson Bay (northern Ontario). It is one of the most beautiful places in the country filled with all the abundance that nature can offer. It is also a First Nations reserve and its citizens are classified as a number, under the Indian Act.

There has recently been more talk of the soaring prices throughout the country. In Peawanuck, this has been a harsh reality for many years. Our current price of gas is $2.75 a litre. Our current price for hydro is 16 cents per kilowatt. We pay over $1600 for a return plane ticket to the closest city, which is Timmins.

Can we afford to live with these costs? No we can’t. We are a typical remote First Nation community dictated to and living under the Department of Indian and Northern Affairs (INAC), and this is not by choice.

Historically, treaties of “good faith” have brought us rights and the Indian Act maintains our status. In truth, treaties were signed under the premise that they would be nation to nation agreements, not the servant and master agreements as they now seem to be.

In my community there are many issues that need to be addressed and resolved. I would like to bring your attention to our latest, it is one of hydro that directly relates to our economy. We pay an excessive 16 cents per kilowatt in comparison to the regulated 5-5.8 cents of our southern neighbors.

In a discriminating act, INAC lowered our funding to the point where we couldn’t afford to run our diesel generator and then gave a company based out of Manitoba, Pritchard Industrial, more money to run it. This act is now generating more than our electricity. It is generating an increased state of poverty for our people and an economic leakage to the province of Manitoba. Pritchard is making a profit at the expense of our poverty.

The funding we receive is based on per capita and in addition to our small population, we are the second most northern community in Ontario. Why isn’t geographic location taken into consideration for these so-called funding formulas? It is certainly taken into consideration by the companies who charge us.

It needs to be understood that we rely on funding agreements. In accordance to the ‘Indian Act of Canada’, it is unlawful to carryout the same economic investment activities that other citizens of Ontario and Canada have and enjoy. Living on Reserve, we cannot secure loans at the banks. Our community cannot get a credit rating so we cannot borrow money similar to municipalities. There is no chance for economic opportunity because of the law, not because of our communities inabilities or lack of know how.

Next week on June 8th, Pritchard Industrial will be paying a visit to Peawanuck to disconnect the electricity for some households. This comes under the direction of Indian and Northern Affairs. They came last year for the same reason and at the time and among the disconnected was a disabled single mother with three small children. Is this how Indian Affairs treats the people whose rights they are meant to protect?

You now may be saying, reduce your consumption, pay your bills. This is not always possible with the combination of the high cost of living and no economy. It is a continuing struggle. So what are the options?

INAC Minister Jim Prentice, MP Charlie Angus and MPP Gilles Bisson, you are invited to be here when households are being disconnected. To watch as the rights you are obligated to protect are being crushed again.
So lets scratch ‘genocide and assimilation’ and pencil in ‘establish meaningful relationships and a more certain dialogue’.

We deserve more than band-aid solutions.

The only downside to seemingly beneficial decisions is this, when the government does decide to help one First Nation, another First Nation suffers. The end result? Divide and conquer. This is a tactic that has gone on long enough.

I dare anyone in this country to bring up the issue of moving the First Nation’s population to mainstream society to relieve them of their hardships on Reserve. This act would be one of assimilation and genocide.

Assimilation is the stated purpose of the Indian Act and yet we are still not assimilated. We do not want to be assimilated. We want to be allowed to live in our own traditional way and lands without being penalized by mainstream society for being First Nation people.

We are not a minority. This is a misconception. We are a distinct society, one filled with a history so vast and steeped in tradition, yet this fact is conveniently absent in the history books. The next time you wish to speak ignorantly about your Native neighbors, look up the word ‘ethnocentric’ in the dictionary and think twice.

We need to be educated, both native and non.

There are a lot of Reserves who are forced to live in third world conditions, it is an every day reality for many. Is this Canada? No, it can’t be, can it?

As citizens of this country there are basic human and distinct rights that must be protected despite our differences. How much aid has gone to other countries when the problems they deal with are also right here in Canada? Poverty, genocide, death, discrimination and natural disasters.

As our history is slowly revealed, it will tell of our situation, one of uniqueness and accountability. In fact it is not us who need to be accountable to the Federal Government and Indian Affairs, it is they, who need to be accountable to us.

On an end note, my heart goes out to our neighbors from Kashechewan. They are facing one of the hardest times they will have to face as a community. They deserve our support and they deserve their integrity for the immeasurable amount of strength they have maintained. Do not give up.

WE DESERVE BETTER.

Sincerely,
Catherine Gull, #14600***01, under the Indian Act

But it happens. And it did happen.

Yes, His Excellency, Archbishop Luigi Ventura, Papal Nuncio to Canada, on Saturday evening at 7 PM, May 20, 2006, did visit Moose Factory Island and St. Thomas’ Church!

About a dozen of us met him at the docks at 7 sharp and welcomed him to our ‘Little Venice of The North’ after his trip across the Mighty Moose in our own localized version of the Venetian Vaporetto. (Hey, if a dozen other communities can call themselves “The Venice Of The North”, so can we!) We had been graciously loaned a school bus by the Moose Cree Educational Authority Head Start Program. Expertly controlled by Thomas Jolly, we eluded ditches and pot holes — well, the ditches, anyway — of Moose Factory Island — which we toured for about an hour. Our unflappable and indefatigable Tour Guide was the Esteemed Local Historian, Donald Faries, Certified Guide and Renowned Raconteur. And then, being Anglicans, we repaired to St Thomas’ Chapel (which had been the Roman Catholic Mission on Moose Factory Island) and enjoyed a sumptuous repast of tea, bannock and assorted (and delectable) delicacies & tidbits, thanks to the ACW and Elsie Chilton, Nellie Faries, Pauline Corston, Caroline Chum and Anne Tomatuk.

And we took pictures — a lot of pictures. We presented him with the traditional Cree tamarack sculpture of a goose. We read a letter of welcome from OUR Archbishop, The Most Reverend Caleb Lawrence.

And we visited with His Excellency — until he was whisked away to another meeting in Moosonee with the folks from the Roman Catholic Diocese of Moosonee which has its Cathedral of Christ The King there.

We hope the visit was enjoyable for His Excellency. We certainly enjoyed this moment of fellowship that transcended so many boundaries. It was a privilege. We were honoured.

There are some fotos over on the St. Thomas’ Site.

Sometimes we only get a taste of the really BIG things happening…. Just recently I wrote up the Moose at Flood — all very exciting. At the last moment we were saved. The Flood subsided. The Albany, however, went on to flush out Kashechewan. Some of those folks will not return ‘home’ until their houses are built anew — on a new townsite. It will be months before they are ‘safe home’ again.

When I was 18 years old I left Millville — leaving my cradle, in a sense, forever. I’ve been back — physically, for isolated moments. But it’s never been ‘home’, even though it’s where I was born and where my roots still lie.

I left because I had to. That is, I succumbed to the pressure to go to college — and move along in life. But I also left, because I wanted to. The real world, I thought, lay beyond — yet to be discovered. And I was hungry for that experience and embraced it when it came. Eventually I ended up here where the bush is at hand, the Rivers are wild, and life is real. And wouldn’t you know it, The Turkey now is at flood, washing out bridges, buildings and dams. Millville is evacuated. The Paulies have gone ‘home’ — wherever that ‘home’ may be.

I hope that SOMEBODY is paddling from Big Turkey Pond to The Merrimack. I would — if I were there. If I had waited 50 years I could do it now — maybe. I’m not sure the wait would have been worth it, but I think about that. Sure, The Moose is majestic. The Albany is world-class. But The Turkey on the rampage is once-in-a-lifetime. Wouldn’t miss it for anything. If I were there now, I’d go hide out in the woods and play in the water. And I’d be ‘home’.

Some good pix — all taken by others — can be found here….

The rest of the world may consider itself reconnected to Moose Factory — so, there’s nothing more to worry about you guys!

This is one of the good things about a dramatic breakup. At least the ice gets out quickly….

AND, the taxis dodge ice that sometimes comes a floating down The River. But the way is clear enough now so that the choppers have stoppped their regularly scheduled passenger service. They still bring over freight. The Barge has to wait until landing is safe on both sides of The River.

Be all that as it may be, … there IS an increasing slick of open water on The River on my side (the eastern side) of The Island. Solitary chunks of ice are racing down this channel. The current is very strong. On both sides of the slick, along both shores of The River, in other words, there remains a great deal of stationary ice. It’s all piled up in different directions. But the general water level gradually is getting lower every day.

The roads on The Island are thawing out. And flooding. And eating cars. One has to plan a trip across The Island now with some care. Several roads are blocked off to traffic, or impassable, or just not worth the wear and tear. The mud is up to our noses. Everything is getting covered with a light beige powder once that muds dries out — not the best time of the year. The choppers have gone into a frenzy. There was snow this morning. Everything is covered with white. At 8 AM the temperature is 23 degrees Fahrenheit. But spring is in the air.

And we are very, very lucky. Kashechewan has not done so well.

One would think, looking at Kashechewan, on a map, that The Albany River would be kind to it at break-up. After all, the village of Kashechewan is on the mainland, on the North shore of The Albany, astride a small channel (relative to The Albany). But all of that is to underestimate The Albany. The Moose — with all its fits and moods — is nothing like The Albany. And this has been a bad spring for Kashechewan.

Their airfield is closed. The ground is too wet. Ice hit their water intake apparatus and destroyed it. They have no water. And they have no sewer sysetm. The flooding water is within inches of their power plant. Power may have to be cut any time now. The entire community is being evacuated (again). Life in that community is difficult in the best of times; and this is not the best of times. Moosonee, Timmins, and Cochrane all are taking refugees. Other towns also are helping. Churches and volunteers are gearing up to do what they can do help these displaced and seriously stressed people. It’s all tough — all the way around.

Dear Colleagues in ministry,

I have just received word from Rodney and Lisa BrantFrancis that Kashechewan is in imminent danger of flooding and the community is on evacuation alert. There has apparently been an ice jam and the river has risen rapidly and is threatening to breach the dykes which encircle the community. The community water intake has apparently been crushed and the community is without water and electricity. Water is starting to seep into the church basement, backing up through an old creek bed through a drain in the dyke. Some bottled water has been flown in, but the airport runway is now flooded and planes are unable to land there. When I asked Lisa how the people will be evacuated she thought that helicopter was the only way to get people out. Hopefully, the runway in Fort Albany is clear, and it will be a short shuttle to move people across there.

I understand that a couple of planeloads have left earlier, to carry evacuees to Cochrane, Ontario. Timmins has also been designated as a receiving area, and a third is St. Regis, near Cornwall.

I have asked Rod and Lisa to keep me posted, but I will be leaving early Sunday morning to attend National House of Bishops Meetings in Southern Ontario. I have also asked Sharon Murdoch to report on what, if anything is happening or planned for Cochrane.

I hope that most of you might pick up this message before Church services tomorrow, and that you will hold the community of Kashechewan, its people and especially Rod and Lisa in your prayers. (As you know St. Paul’s Parish was a special focus for our prayers in the Cycle of Prayer we share with the Diocese of Nova Scotia/Prince Edward Island this week.) Lisa has had a severe cold for the past few days, and the stress of the flood watch is not conducive to good health!

Sincerely yours, in Christ,

Caleb

The Moose continues to be about to flood. Last night — at around 8 PM, the water had come up high enough to touch one of the Hospital buildings near the Hospital docks. For those of you who have used the canoe ‘taxi’ service, this is the area where the taxis dock. There’s a sign there that now stands in water. The road going down to the docks is all under water. One of the Hospital sheds is now at the water’s edge. The old boathouse was emptied yesterday or the day before — just in case the Boat House itself became a boat. On the far side of the channel, the water just about touches the utility poles. In the center of the channel the current is very strong.

This morning The River seems to have less ice congestion in front of the Rectory. The water level continues at about 5-10 feet below the surface of the road in front of The Little Church.

Paul Lantz has posted some really great shots of the ice and Break-up on the Moosonee side of The Moose.

As you might expect several people out in The Bush on The Spring Hunt have had to be brought back to Moose Factory by chopper. Their camps have been flooded out. Once or twice a day now the Moose Factory Volunteer Fire Department/Search and Rescue is running chopper flights to assess the level of threat to the Moose Factory community. I’ve been surprised by the fact that there still are rivers feeding The Moose that are still holding on to their ice packs. Not all of them are open. But many are. Maybe most. I still think that while we may see lots more ice, The River has already crested.

There was a steel railing along The River’s edge behind the Eco-Lodge. The ice simply removed it.

4:30 PM

This afternoon there still is plenty of ice out there on the east side of The Island — in front of The Rectory where I live. Some of the floating piles are 50-60 feet high (above the surface of the water.) But the general level of The River seems to be a foot or so below what it was at this time yesterday.

I learned that The River crested last night at 9:30 PM. That was the critical moment. The water level had been creeping up all day, it seemed. At the Hospital docks the water actually did get up to the Hospital maintenance buildings. But it got no further. Sometime about then an ice jam (and dam) around Shipsand Island broke free. That released the pressure — or started to.

Also, I’m told that many of the rivers feeding The Moose are now running open and free, whereas only a day or so ago, they were clogged. That means that there is a diminishing amount of ice coming down on us. The troops will keep watch, however, until they KNOW we’re safe.

This is the most dramatic it’s been in years. In many years the ice just gets soft and disappears, quietly, in the middle of the night. Not this year!

Yesterday people were calling from the south — wondering if we were having any flooding. The only thing I had heard was that people were worried about the Chapleau area. No one in Moose Factory was worried about Moose Factory.

I guess the people down south knew something we didn’t. Or I wasn’t talking to the right people.

The water is now just about up to the road in front of my house. It hasn’t covered the road. But the road is blocked off to traffic. I could move the car now if I wanted to. But I have no idea of what is really safe on this island when The River floods — as it does, from time to time — and as it might now, any minute.

The Moose in flood is humbling. It’s over a mile wide in front of my house. That’s on the east side of The Island. To the west of Moose Factory Island is about as much River. Then the town of Moosonee.

So, The River is wide. And we’re only 5-10 miles from the open water of The Bay. What’s happening? The spring flood has brought down lots of ice. That now is jamming up against the ice pack still on The Bay and maybe some of the islands between us and The Bay. And it’s making an ice dam.

To get as high as my road The River has to rise 30 feet — which it just did — tonight.

Now, of course, everybody wants to know how much farther the flood will go. I’ve heard nothing.

7:00 AM
The River is down five feet. Temperature is hanging at 30 degrees. Dawn broke around 6 AM. We’ll see.

The road between me and the Quickstop is still closed to traffic. A mountain of ice was deposited onto the road — right by the Quickstop, right in front of Emily’s house. On The River’s bank, in front of the Rectory, it looks as though the high water came within two feet of flooding the road. People are saying that’s it for the spring/year. The River crested. They may be right.

The drama started at The French River which enters The Moose ten or fifteen miles upstream from here, at The Old Reserve. The Moose had got itself blocked at that intersection. Evidently the ice dam broke loose last night, and released the torrent of water and ice. Theoretically the same thing could happen again at the mouth of The Moose — that is, on the islands between us and The Bay. But, already, the water is much lower, and the ice has become much less bunched up.

When the conditions are just right — or just wrong — the ice piles up on itself, making conglomerated icebergs that tower over everything else. When these ‘icebergs’ get too congested, they start to crowd up on each other. Then they can make islands or walls or dams. The force of the current locks them into place. And, BINGO! We have a dam.

2:30 PM
We’re not out of this yet. Another ice dam has formed on the Moosonee side of The Island. The water on that side of The Island is coming back UP-River around through ‘the gutway’ — a passage between two islands between here and Moosonee. If that starts to happen on my side — the east side — then we’ll get flooding. The problem now is that The Bay is so filled with ice that the ice from The River has nowhere to go — except to pile up on itself and then block everything.

3:30 PM
I’m told that evacuation has started at Kashechewan. And evacuation is being talked about at Moose Factory. If we get evacuated, it all will have to be done by chopper. That means that the last of us will be out by Labour Day…! Maybe only the Hospital patients and Elders will get moved — if it actually comes to pass. Some of the people on my stretch of Front Street were evacuated from their homes last night. Either I never heard about it or no one thought to come running for me or I slept through the phone and/or pounding on the door. Anyway, I’m still here.

And the water is rising again.

Shipping is always an issue. UPS never delivers in this area. They collect their money and then abandon packages — usually without informing the presumed recipient — in Moosonee at the ONR Freight Warehouse. No amount of phoning or letter writing on my part has ever had any effect. In addition to all of that, they collect — or try to collect — exorbitant fees to handle any customs fees at The Border.

So, the trick here is to use vendors who do NOT ship by UPS. Those worthies include: J&R in NYC, Lands End, LL Bean in the States; you don’t even have to give those guys a ‘heads-up’. They KNOW.

Direct Dial, Mac Warehouse (or CDW), Chapters (Booksellers) in Canada are fine if you specify — ie warn them about UPS. Tiger Direct Canada and the Apple Store in Canada are hopeless — simply impervious to Customer input, complaint, or direction. Direct Dial usually has the best prices, anyway.

When I have dealt with Small Dog Electronics, I have always visited their store in VT, so I don’t know about their shipping methods/policies. I DO know they are prohibited by Apple from shipping Apple products into Canada. Also, they were very good to ME in warning me that if I purchase an Apple product in the USA, the guarantee is not good in Canada — and vice versa. That’s something to think about if you are in Canada (or in the States) for a limited amount of time. They don’t always have the most recently released stuff. They DO have excellent prices.

Good people to ship with include: CanadaPost, FedEx, Purolator. If you are in the States shipping to Canada, the United States Postal Service is also excellent, especially if you use their expedited or international service. J&R does this. And, as best as I can tell, they never have a problem. LL Bean uses FedEx which also works just fine. I think Lands End does the same. In Canada, anyway, Purolator is very good. In Moose Factory Purolator packages just come into the local Post Office. The same is true for FedEx packages which get dropped into the Canada Post system, I think, somewhere around Toronto. The shipping companies to AVOID are UPS (of course) and also ‘Same Day Right Away’.

But the BIG thing about the weather has been the storm. For two days, it seemed, the wind did nothing but BLOW. We didn’t get a great accumulation of snow. But what we got blew all over the place. That gave us extended whiteouts and spectacular drifts. Yesterday, Sunday, the taxis didn’t even awaken until just about noon. And the roads were impassable in several places, anyway, because of the drifting snow. I got snowed in and plowed in. I shoveled the church steps twice Sunday morning — all to no avail. Twenty minutes later they were buried under three feet of snow.

Still, about 45 of us, of every generation gathered for church. Some came by skidoo. Some had 4 by 4’s that actually were able to more. Most simply tunneled under the snow until they got here. All day the snow came down sideways, and another crowd showed up last night for a baptism — including, of course, the 4 month old star of the show.

In addition to all that The River was closed to traffic. Our precious ice highway was flooded out by the tides. All that snow that had fallen and drifted had turned to slush. A complete and total mess.

Today we don’t have any sun. But there is no wind and, so far anyway, no new snow.

At 10:30 PM, 1 MAR, the temperature in Moose Factory is 14 degrees F — with light snow. Blue Hill, ME, has 12 degrees and is overcast. (!)

18 March 2006

We’re back to 9 degrees above zero — Fahrenheit. Not cold. But seasonable. For a day or so, I think, the winter road up the coast was closed, as it lost its surface. Now the traffic is back. The roads have never been this winter what they once were in years past. But at least the freight and the passengers get through.

You can always tell the ‘Coasties’ from the rest. Their trucks are rigged for the road. Really good tires. Four wheel drive. A 45 gallon drum of gasoline in the back — or five gallon cans on a rack. Often a flag on a long fibre glass pole — so that you can see the rig coming when otherwise it would be hidden behind snow drifts until it was upon you. Many people say that because of those snow drifts, the safe time to drive the road is at night — when you can see at least the lights of an oncoming vehicle.

Winter is the mobile time for folks. Construction materials move. Mountains of freight for the Victor Diamond Mine just west of Attawapiskat move. People move. And alcohol and drugs move.

The alcohol and drugs have awakened the police — for the moment. There are trucks now with OPP markings along with NAPS markings that drive and patrol the Winter Road. Of course, a lot of that has to do with safety, search and rescue, and the like. But, drugs are a problem.

They are enough of a problem so that the OPP also boarded the northbound train — at least twice that I’ve been told about. With ‘sniffer dawgs’. Lots of things got jammed into the toilets. Panic & Chaos. I don’t know what arrests, if any, took place.

In fact, people always are talking to me about drugs and complaining about them. When they live near a house that has a party going, no one sleeps. It gets a little obvious when week after week there is the same house with a loud party every week on the weekend. And the same house has a constant flow of people in and out — at all hours. Often it is common — community — knowledge not only which house has drugs for sale but also who in that house sells drugs. When people talk to me about it, I ask: Does anyone ever tell the police? The answer is: They don’t do anything. They are afraid. It’s at the point now, when one of these days, I might just ask the local police what they ARE doing.

I remember a conversation I had when I was in Newport with the Mayor of Newport. It was at a public meeting at City Hall. I had provoked the meeting by complaining about the blatant buying and selling of drugs in and around the bars. One of those bars was near where I lived. And one night three people overdosed on Ecstasy. There was mayhem, as ambulances and police cruisers all collected under my bedroom window. I had had enough. I talked with the Board of Directors about it. Together, several of them and I showed up at a meeting called at City Hall. At the meeting were all kinds of law enforcement people: city police, drug squad specialists, Coast Guard officers, US Customs officials, maybe even someone from the State Police. And each had cell phone numbers (for 24 hour personal access) and 1/800 numbers that they freely distributed to all and to any. Evidently what we — from the community were saying — was exactly what they wanted to hear from the community. A second meeting was scheduled about a month later just in case someone had another two cents to offer. It was at this second meeting that the conversation I remember took place.

There were just as many law enforcement people present. But there were fewer residents from the community there. The meeting was shorter. There really was nothing more to be said. But the Mayor did feel moved to opine that maybe — just maybe — I was being a bit of a spoil sport. After all, good people came to Newport to have a good time. What did I have against that? Why was I complaining about good people enjoying themselves? It was bad for business. I’m sure he got re-elected.

On another note… The Church Van is broken again. It’s having its annual relapse. Bobby and I have been begging the garage (in Moosonee) to come and get the thing and tow it to Moosonee — before break-up starts — so that maybe, just maybe, they can start to work on it. Things move slowly in the winter. But we’re near the end. You can feel it now in the sun. Several finches have arrived. The days are longer.

Finally, after all these weeks, I’m taking pills for the cold. It’s gone on since the end of January. Nothing would stop it, and I had lost every bit of my energy. Last Monday several nursing types landed on me more or less at the same time in a pre-meditated and coordinated attack and ORDERED me to go to the Hospital to get ‘checked out’. The physician — who can’t be a day over 17 — gave me pills that would kill a horse. I’m told I’m getting better now.

On 5 FEB I posted a transcript of my presentation to the Symposium. It’s posted on the on-line version of the Journal and also on the Paddling Section of my website. The (old) folks that remembered The Eastmain (when it was) loved it. I’m not so sure about the others. Anyway, I tried to give a sense of where the culture was now — at least as I have come to understand it these past few years.

I certainly had fun — preparing and delivering the speech. We also got Theresa to present in the same module (about James Bay). She spoke of the doings around Attawapiskat. There was a third presenter who spoke about a cultural exchange going on between high school students in Vermont and Quebec around Chibougamau.

There were somewhere between 600 and 800 of us. The presentations started on Friday night and went through Saturday night. We presenters were invited to George & Linda Luste’s home for a brunch on Sunday. Theresa, Ted Nye, and I flew out of Toronto for Timmins on Sunday afternoon. The weather kept Ted and I stranded in Timmins until Wednesday morning — when we finally got to Moose Factory.

When I got back to Moose Factory I realized I had a nasty cold. Ted kept an eye on me for a week before returning back to The States.

For the rest of the month I did the cold and a wedding and funerals — all four of them. Each of thoe folks who had died was well known to me. We had been friends, in each case, for months or years.

I paced myself and managed to get the cold under control. This last Sunday, finally, I actually felt like a human being. But Monday and Tuesday I was exhausted. I’m keeping quiet these days.

Other dear friends are going back and forth to Kingston and Timmins — for tests. We all seem to be pre-occupied looking after our collective and individual health. Maybe this has been an exceptionally bad winter. There have been serious swings in the temperature. It’s been weird. The ice highway to Moosonee and the winter road up The Coast have only recently become good — or fully functional. That’s about six weeks late. The spring thaw will have begun by the end of March.

Other news…. The Moose Factory municipal bulldozer has a new name: ‘Elizabeth’. Elizabeth in person is a young lady, about 35 yrs old, built like a refigerator — whose brains got fried when she was a very young child. She now is watched over by her Mom and sister — and family — and Moose Factory more generally. A few weeks ago, while the ice was still forming on The River (There were still patches of open water.) Elizabeth took a walk. Out on to The River she walked. AND she found the bulldozer. It was parked on the shore of an island and turned off. The crews were trying to get some kind of start on an ice highway. Sometimes they can begin this process by teasing some way through along the shore of an island here and there. The trick is to get the snow off the ice so that the cold can then really go to work. (Snow acts as an effective insulation against the deep cold.)

Elizabeth climbed aboard. Started the damn thing. Threw it into gear. And headed for The Bay, down the center of The River — full gear — full throttle.

By the time the OPP (Ontario Provincial Police) the Choppers, the Mounties, the dog teams, the family, and everyone else in all creation caught up to her, she was on Charles Island digging pits.

The next day, while being operated by a licensed heavy equipment operator, the bulldozer went THROUGH the ice. It goes through the ice every year. We’re used to that.

But we’re not keeping our engines running when we go inside the Store for groceries. We don’t leave the keys in the car anymore. We lock the car. (!)

And EVERYONE is keeping a sharper eye on Elizabeth — who is doing fine and enjoying her celebrity status immensely, thank you very much.

It should be fun. Be sure to come!

No one knows what happend — apart from the obvious. Inquiries will come. And then we’ll know more. Or maybe we won’t.

Cliff Dee, priest in Waskaganish and Dean for the Jsames Bay Deanery has already gone to Kashechewan. He went up last night on the winter road — which is just beginning to work. Others from around the diocese may go there as well. The Moose Cree Band has sent help; they have been continuing to aid their brothers and sisters in that beleaguered community.

Meanwhile, in Moose Factory, we had a death. I’ll bury Leslie tomorrow.

The choppers (for passengers) are threatening to cut back on service. The skidoos have taken up most of the passenger business. A skidoo ride costs something around $10. Many of the taxi drivers have little enclosed sleds that they can pull back and forth, so they can haul that many more passengers — comfortably. Since Moose Factory rarely plows its roads — and never sands! — the skidoos can deliver door to door service. Sometimes on land, even, they seem to be the only thing that will get through. A chopper ride (one way) is $35 and extra for baggage. The freight choppers will keep working, I assume, until vehicles are out on the ice.

I, of course, will have none of it. I won’t pay the $35 that the chopper costs. And I don’t like the skidoos. That is, I don’t trust the ice under them. I will be one of those people riding in a warm Church van, behind the second School Bus that crosses. I announce this loudly and proudly to anyone who will listen. Everyone has learned by now not to listen.

But every year or so tragedy does strike. And it did, this year, at Albany. A young mother, around twenty years old, was on her way from Albany to Kashechewan — to meet up with her husband and child. There was no ride available, evidently. And, although pregnant with a second child, she decided to walk. That’s what a lot of people do. It saves money, and walking is good exercise. And if the ice is thick enough for the skidoos, it definitely is thick enough for someone walking.

The problem was that she got off the trail. I’m not sure whether she went through the ice or fell into slush on top of the ice. Whatever it was that happened, she got wet. She got to shore, up onto firm ground, wrapped herself in whatever overcoats she had, and waited for help. It never came. She may have been too far away from the trail. She froze to death.

In other sadness, Pauline died this afternoon at Moose Factory. So often Christmas is like this.

So we’re stuck with the chopper. And it’s grounded today. At least, it’s 8:30 in the morning, and there are no choppers. The culprit is the freezing rain. It scared away the skidoos and grounded the choppers. The Canadian Bible Society person (Dale Broadworth) is here — waiting to get off The Island in order to catch the Tuesday train. When weather like this settles in, we can be isolated for several days. I warned him of that.

BLOGWARE:
Last week — or the week before — I played with WORDPRESS. I thought I’d move the blog/journal over to that. I’ve changed my mind. TYPEPAD is just too easy to work with. I’m hooked.

I moved the church site over to SQUARESPACE. Those of you who are doing church sites, have a look. It also is EASY to work with. I’m hoping that a number of people will take it on — manage it and add content. They will not need particularly robust machines, special software, or technical expertise. We’ll see.

I’m starting to put all the Church stuff on this Typepad account — and consolidating my stuff at my own site (jedmonds.net)…

In other words — depending on how things go with the WORDPRESS application — and depending on what people say — this may be the last post at this address.  And everything hereafter will be on the WORDPRESS blog.   Both addresses/links are presently at the SITE.

Anthony died on Friday morning, 28 OCT, just after midnight, in his second night on Moose Factory Island.  He had been in Kingston for several weeks, in Hospital, until the Staff there decided that no more could be done.  He was being sent to Kashechewan to spend his final days at home.  He got as far as Weeneebayko Hospital, Moose Factory. He was 33 years old.

He never made it to Kashechewan because of the water crisis.  As his immediate family kept vigil in Moose Factory, Kashechewan was being evacuated.  For a while some of the locals here at Moose Factory even wondered if it might not be necessary to have certainly the funeral and maybe even the burial here at St. Thomas’ — depending on how the evacuation proceeded.  Several of the family would have to come NORTH for the funeral (wherever it was held).  They already had been evacuated.

After the family reviewed their options, however, they decided to have funeral and burial in Kash.  Rodney and Lisa (the incumbent clerics) were away from St. Paul’s, Kashechewan, while all of this was going on.  At the Vigil in The Hospital I talked about some of these things with Tony’s mother.  When the decision to have funeral and burial in Kashechewan was made, the family asked me to be at the funeral, and I was.

The funeral was at 3 PM on Tuesday afternoon, shortly after I arrived about an hour late.   My flight was late because of the demands placed on the system by the evacuation.  When I got to the Church, the Lay Readers and family had organized the entire Service and were ready to begin.  I simply had to read the relevant passages from the Book of Alternative Services and preach.  The family and lay readers did all the rest.

St. Thomas’, Moose Factory, and St. Paul’s, Kashechewan, are very different parishes.  OK, you can say that about any two parishes.  But here an important difference is that, on the one hand, part of St. Thomas’ genius is its stable and historic multiculturalism.  St. Paul’s, Kashechewan, on the other hand, is quintessentially CREE.  The predominant language in St. Thomas’ is English.  In fact, very few people are fluent in CREE in Moose Factory.  Just about everybody speaks CREE at St. Paul’s.  Many speak very little — or no — English.

The Service had been created from a blend of personal recollections, hymns, songs from pop culture, traditional ceremonies, and Anglican liturgy.   The constituent pieces were expertly joined and managed.  The Service flowed.  Even when the microphone was ‘open’ there was process and dynamic to our gathering and worship.  Our time together evoked memories of Tony and encouraged each of us in our faith and hope.  It was for all people — inclusive, that is; and it was all straight from the heart. I felt like I was there — not because I would have had to have been there to make the Service work but because my being there could be represented for what it was — a gesture of support from many outside the family and outside that particular community.

Before the Service began, as I was standing outside on the steps leading in to the Church, I was approached by the CBC for an interview.  (Please, any time but this for an interview!  How about after the Service?  No.  It had to be now….)  I can’t remember half the questions they asked me.  I do remember that the conversation turned to some of my observations about the peacefulness of the people in this part of the world.  I had remarked that if folks like these were in other parts of the world, there might be a whole lot fewer wars out there.  The interviewer asked me why this was so.  I answered that I had no idea.  I had come here to learn.  I don’t think that was what he had expected from me.

After the Service in the Church, there was the walk to the Cemetery.  And then we all stood there until the last shovel full of dirt was thrown.  And then I walked back to the Rectory.

The next day I was to fly out.  I noticed some graffiti around — welcoming us outsiders to the Community.  Some of it was bittersweet. Thanks, in one instance, ‘for letting us live.’ A large Hercules aircraft had landed that morning.  And it took off while I waited for my flight.  Also, yet another planeload (37 at a time) of folks departed.  This flight was bound for Sault Ste Marie.  There was talk that there might be another two flights that day — Wednesday.

By the time I was ready to  leave, the water had been pronounced safe to drink.  (I waited, however, until I got back to Moose Factory for my shower….!)  Some of the papers to the south seemed to think that all of this evacuation business was an overreaction.  My take: yes and no.  Yes, in that airlifting an entire community isn’t going solve the problem — which isn’t the water, really, anyway. And, a lot of useful work could have been accomplished with the money that went instead to the airlift.  But, very simply, there are NO excuses for bad water.  If the plant had been built right and/or managed right, in the first place, there would never have been an evacuation.  Evacuations are expensive.  When Dr. Trussler (Chief of Medical Services at Weeneebayko Hospital, Moose Factory) was consulted, he found the community of Kashechewan medically unsafe: bugs in the water, bugs in the people, and no evident plan of action by which to deal with the matter.  In other words, the place was not fit for human habitation.   In the face of his wholesale medical condemnation of the community the authorities had no choice then but to get the people out while they fixed the problem.  All in all, a very expensive object lesson.  There are several other communities (native communities, reserves) that have bad water.  I’ll bet their water systems get fixed really soon…..

But the larger problem…..  A beleaguered community.  Recently, several papers have opined that the reserve system just doesn’t work — because people don’t have their ancestral way of life; and they don’t have a way of life they can adapt to that they feel OK about.  The problem, in other words, is in the morale of the community: lack of self-esteem, depression, self-destructive behavior(s).  The remedy, many say, is: more jobs, adapt to the world outside — become part of it.  And, as roads are built in to the North, I suppose that for many that is exactly what is happening.

The Economist, in one of its recent issues (I forget which one) had another take.  They said that some of the healthiest aboriginal communities are those which have intentionally gone in the reverse direction.  They have become culturally MORE conservative.  They have aggressively nurtured their mother tongue.  They have been careful about who is a member of the band and who is not.  They have successfully carved out for themselves a niche in a larger world.  The Economist described them as landlocked nations — culturally autonomous in their own right.

I have no first hand experience — except for the community in which I am living.  And it certainly wouldn’t do for me to tell people how they should be thinking about these matters.  I don’t have any answers, anyway.  My job is to be helpful, as much as I am able, as people figure out where they want to go and how they are going to get there.  And to stay out of the way.  I do have an attitude, of course.  I hope that — whatever changes there are going to be — and the changes are going on as we speak — that spirit I encountered as a young adolescent remains unbroken.  It nurtured me and it taught me.  And it had quite a bit to do with who I am.  I was one of its adopted children.  I think that most of North America has no idea of the presence of this resource, no idea of what to do about it, no idea of how precious it really is.

Now it’s time to make plans for the funeral — always a difficult project.  This time around it’s made more difficult, because Kashechewan presently is being evacuated.  The Village drinking water is making everybody sick.

The water is contaminated with ecoli –  even with a LOT of chorine added.  The intake for the water supply is downstream from a sewer lagoon.  People have been complaining about the water for years.  A couple of years ago a report came out condemning the water and the water system. Nothing ever got done about any of that.

Last night in The Hospital one of the Staff told me that Hepatitis also is showing up in Kashechewan.

Now there are a lot of news stories going around.  The Provincial and Federal Governments are squabbling with each other in a blame game.  However, so far, anyway, the evacuation is proceeding.  There’s talk of rebuilding the village — on higher ground, with potable drinking water.  But that will take time.

Of course this reminds me of Katrina: neglect of an impoverished population, politicians ducking for cover when the problem hits the news media.

Here the problem seems to simmer under the surface for years.  When I first got here (now three years ago) I used to hear “Well, that’s the way things are” all the time.  Being an American, and rude, I would speak up just about every time I came across prejudice and discrimination. I wrote up a lot of stuff on UPS, because their corporate/systemic blindness/cynicism exemplified the attitude white outsiders had towards Native People up here.

I had an interesting conversation with another (white) cleric on this matter.  He suggested that, as an American, I had a much keener sensitivity towards racial issues than many Canadians.  His remark was that ‘they just don’t see it’ — the way Americans often do.  His point was that we had been sensitized by our own racial issues over the years.

Well, now there are plenty of Canadians who DO see the racial connotations in Kashechewan’s drinking water, and they are speaking up — judging from the correspondence that’s gone into some of the papers (Globe & Mail, I think…)  One correspondent called the Kashechewan matter a national disgrace — like, a political moral failure.

We’re talking about a couple of thousand people here in Kashechewan…..  Did George Bush ever call Katrina a disgrace?

Meanwhile plans for the funeral go ahead, in the hope that, finally, perhaps, Anthony might come home.

Some links that may last for a while and lead to some relevant newspaper articles…

Globe & Mail Story

National Post Story

London Free Press Story

An update/footnote on the Eastmain Journal that I did after the Eastmain trip in 1973. …

I just spent an hour chatting with James Cheechoo. His family had worked their ancestral lands which lie just to the south of The Eastmain and from the Village to about where the new James Bay Highway now lies. James is ten years or so older than me. His is the last generation to remember — first hand — the life in the bush.

Somehow we started talking about Conglomerate Gorge. I had remembered the spring in the middle of the portage — where the campsite was. James also remembered the Gorge — and particularly the custom of sprinkling tobacco over the water at the end of The Gorge — so as to pacify the great big eddy that is there. Hopefully this would pacify the eddy enough so that it would not roll a canoe. Evidently everybody knows about that eddy…..

That’s exactly what the eddy did when we came through. It rolled Bruce and Sty. And Bruce was the one who forgot his tobacco! The eddy wanted the tobacco and was offended that he could have forgotten!

Evidently the bears here are not to be out done. This last spring — just after breakup — Bobby’s nephew was out on Shipsand Island. He took a nap on a driftwood log, then awakened only to see two Mommas and a baby headed his way.

Over the last two weeks, while I was off to the south, four bears were shot at the Moose Factory dump. Then another six appeared, and they also were shot. Over in Moosonee similar bear sitings and bear shootings were recorded.

In addition to all that a SKUNK was seen on Moose Factory Island.

Even more recently, various moose have been getting close to people. Stephanie got some pictures of a moose in her back yard.

This was the situation that began to develop in Attawapiskat during that particular breakup a year or so ago. The water was rising and threatening to flood all of the town. (Some of the village was already flooded.) The authorities knew that when/if the airstrip was flooded, the ability of the outside world to bring in help would be seriously restricted. Theresa was Chief then. After consulting with the Council and the Elders she made the decision. Attawapiskat was evacuated. Planes brought people to Moosonee. Lots of folks stayed with relatives and/or friends — and, wherever. Special trains brought lots of folks south to Cochrane, as Moosonee could handle only so many. The motels in Cochrane absorbed the horde. They had to — by law.

Memories of that evacuation come to me as I hear about New Orleans and the Gulf Coast — and how people were stuck in their homes during KATRINA, because they could not afford to leave; how wonderful the politicians say they are, while bodies are piling up to rot in the sun and people continue to die in fetid hospitals. What the Canadians do, as a matter of practice, with their First Nations People, the Americans cannot approach with their Blacks (and forget the First Nations People; they’re off the map) because the Americans (in power) really don’t care. And they never did.

There are two trains that run between Cochrane and Moosonee: The ‘Little Bear’ and the ‘Polar Bear’. The ‘Little Bear’ runs all through the year: Northbound on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and Southbound on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. The ‘Polar Bear’ runs only in the summer, and it provides a round trip daily except for Monday. The ‘Polar Bear’ is for passengers only and goes a little faster than the ‘Little Bear’ which is a ‘mixed’ train consisting of passenger AND freight cars.

Both trains have special cars that deliver electrical power to the entire train. These are not engines; they don’t pull the train; but they make all the electricity for the train; the power car on the ‘Polar Bear’ has three BIG generators. Northbound, on the ‘Polar Bear’, this car is the first car — behind the engine(s). Southbound, this car, then, is the last car on the train. (At Moosonee, the engine doesn’t turn the train around; it just goes to the southern end of the train and pulls out what it just pulled in….)

On Thursday, at mile 118, on the southbound run, one of the generators on the power car caught fire and began to burn. Also, one or a number of hydraulic hoses broke and sprayed hydraulic fluid all over the place. The train stopped.

Any help from from either Cochrane or Moosonee would take hours or days to get there. However, on the train were six members of the Moose Factory Volunteer Fire Department. They were on their way to a baseball tournament way south — in Espanola, near Sudbury.

Without skipping a beat they detached the about-to-explode power car from the rest of the train, grabbed fire extinguishers from anywhere, got into the burning unit, and extinguished the fire — all before the fluids really ignited.

The Ontario Northland Railroad (ONR) estimates that these kids saved the train company at least $300,000 in just the cost of replacing the power car. That estimate doesn’t include possible/probable injury to other passengers, damage to other equipment on the train or road bed, or forest fire. Thanks to the Moose Factory Volunteer Fire Department, the power car was operating the next day — safely.

Last night the newly elected Band Council and Chief for Moose Cree First Nation were all sworn in. The ceremonies, then, were followed by a feast. This year, in all of that, time was taken to acknowledge and thank the guys who had saved the train. Dignitaries from ONR were there — saying ‘Thank You!’ every way they could muster.

At dawn the sky was all red. And now (at 7 AM) we have heavily overcast skies from the smoke. The smell and taste of the smoke permeate everything. It’s all strong enough so that some folks with asthma may have real trouble.

I was told a few days ago that on one or a number of nights one could see the red glow of the fire(s) in the east.

The heat wave is still going — and not expected to break until the end of the month.

Tomorrow we have the Funeral Service for Clarence. Between Family Services, Memorial Services, and Funeral Services, it will be the eleventh on The Island since I got back from vacation on June 27. And that doesn’t count what’s been going on in Moosonee in the same time frame. Also there was some real sadness here while I was away. Everyone is now just tired, worn out. Every family on The Island, one way or another, has been affected.

No one knows quite why the bears are coming in so close.  Maybe they are just very, very hungry — to come in this close to a settlement.  That happens up north.  But this seems a strange time of year for a bear to be hungry.  Maybe they have lost some of their fear of man.  After all, they are a protected species now.

Whatever the reason(s) for their being around they are very dangerous.  We human types are definitely NOT at the top of the food chain.  They are.  AND they are VERY unpredictable.  Of course, no one willingly or knowingly would ever get between momma and baby or between bear and food. Still, what happens when you are a group of ten to twelve canoers? How much do you have to worry?  Locals here — and especially further north — have been puzzled that I never carried a gun in the summer — because of polar bears.  I don’t think the bears were much in evidence thirty years ago.  We certainly never heard of them — being a threat or otherwise.  When they show up now — this close to a settlement — they’re all anybody can talk about.

Blue Hill, Maine, presently has 48 degrees.

Go figure……

• It’s warm up time for the mother-of-all-nuclears — the appointment of a Supreme Court Justice.
• Some of the judges have already been turned down.  They’re that bad.
• Nuclear george will change the government (destroy the Senate) to get the judges he likes.  He has good reason.  Remember, it was the Supreme Court that (illegally/unconstitutionally) gave him the election.  He got a good thing there.  Why not go for more?
• The Democrats should have hired George Galloway on the spot while he was over here.

Move-On-America — or something like that — ran an ad on their website.  The ad was a parody of something in Star Wars.  The Republican National Committee opined that the ad was ‘outside the pale of proper political discourse.’  Gimme a break.  Carl Rove is jealous he didn’t think of it first. Roger Ailes or Lee Atwater would have.    So the Republicans missed it.  That makes it outside proper political discourse.  Actually, The Republican National Committee may or may not have run it.  No matter.  They easily could have commandeered one of their fringe/hate groups to do the dirty deed.  So, the real question is: If one of those far-right groups had run a similar ad, would the Republican National Committee have objected — or even commented — or noticed?  I don’t think so.

I googled move-on-america.  Nothing there.  I DID come upon ‘move on FOR america’.  Wouldn’t you know it. It was a hate-the-democrats-site.  Then, I tried ‘move america forward’ .  Another hate-the-democrats site.  But that site mentioned how much better it was than ‘move-on’ — a site produced, they said, by the likes of Howard Dean.  YEE-HAW!!! Bulls Eye!  I found it.  Thanks folks!  I went over to moveonpac.org, where I found the ad.

It wasn’t much of an ad. But who am I to critique political ads?  I don’t like any of them.  I WAS interested in a project, elsewhere in the site, to get Tom Delay fired.  But, actually, I think Tom Delay may be good for the Democrats.  As long as he sits in the House, he exemplifies why one should not vote Republican, even if the candidate is a Olympia Snow or Lincoln Chaffee.  AND, news about him is news taken away from W’s — and others’ — political agenda.  Right now he is — or has the potential to be — the Monica Lewinsky of the Republicans.  I find that deeply satisfying.

On the news last night the Canadians were worried.  Martin’s government survived, yesterday, by one vote.  Now there won’t be an election, we were told, until maybe next winter.  So, what happens in the mean time?  Will the politicians be able to work together again?  One of the analysts being interviewed commented that character assassination has always been around in (Canadian) politics.  But heckling and interrupting had come to the point where debate sometimes was impossible.  That may be changing even now, however, as the electorate has started to make its displeasure with the raucous ‘debate’ known.  The important thing, here, to me, is that evidently the voters were saying something, and the politicians managed to hear it. And the news people noticed it.

American politics have degenerated into mud wrestling.  There may be no way back from this.  And it has people like me worried — or despairing.  And that’s what the electorate wants?   Very possibly that’s exactly what the voters want.  But I want to doubt it.  A small percentage of potential voters turn out on each election.  What keeps the others away?  Indifference?  Sloth? Or, Disgust?

Some day, some historian might start to ask:  Where did it go wrong?  Some are asking now, Have we gone past the point of no return?

In church meetings up here First Nations people are positively Entish.  Everyone has their say.  And meetings can go until 2-3 in the morning.  I just can’t do it.  I can’t sit still that long.  I can’t listen that long.  I can’t stay awake that long.  I wish I could.

And they aren’t even filibustering.

And, maybe, just maybe, they’re the last people on earth who know how to do politics, who understand that consensus is the foundation of human community, is worth working for, is worth waiting for — tough as that may be.

…….thanks to Anne Tomatuk for Moose Factory shots and Paul Lantz for Moosonee shots………

ALSO, try Paul’s sites for more great shots:

paul’s site

paul’s other site

The locals here are talking about spring. Evidently there was mud somewhere on the Albany Road. The Albany (ice) Road up the West Coast is good only as long as it remains completely frozen.

For our reference: The first Easter I was here was March 31, 2002. I arrived on Saturday, the day before Easter, and left on the Wednesday following Easter. In 2002, Bobby brought me from the airport in Moosonee to Moose Factory in his pickup truck. The road was not perfect, but we got through without incident.

The problem with the ice roads, as Spring develops, is that the surface deteriorates. At the very beginning of breakup, a vehicle is not going to go through the ice. The ice is much too thick to be dangerous. BUT, a vehicle will eventually get mired in the soft ice, water, and slush that lie on TOP of the ice. The quality of the road here (across The Moose River) also is affected by the tides. As spring develops, the road is worse at high tide, and better at low tide. The difference can be such that cars, for instance, just can’t safely cross The River, but skidoos can — at high tide.

That is what happened for Bobby and me on the Wednesday right after Easter. The road was not safe that day — or that moment of that day — for vehicles. We used Bobby’s skidoo.

When the ice has deteriorated further, of course, the day comes when a vehicle CAN go through the ice. For this reason, the heavier the vehicle, the less willing the driver is to stop — for anything. Also, if a vehicle DOES get stuck in the muck above the (solid) ice, the pressure is on to get it moving and out of there just as soon as possible.

THIS year, the road remains firm — or was yesterday, when I made a crossing — and retrieved the Church Van from the garage — after nearly five weeks of repairs….. The night before last the temperature had gone down to just below 0 degrees (Fahrenheit). There was no mud on any of the roads on Moose Factory Island or in Moosonee. The ice was firm on the ice road — no water, no slush.

But the sun was out, and the temperature climbed up to freezing — and maybe a hair above. By late afternoon, there were several stretches of road on The Island developing stretches of mud and slush.

If we had had 0 degree temperatures last night, all the roads would have become firm once more. But last night the temps went down only to 25 degrees. It takes a zero reading to keep the status quo.

So, Spring is coming. But this year, it’s late and it’s slow.

I never did like automatic transmissions. I like them less now. And I’ll never trust another one again. I was lucky this time, however. I could have been out on The River or on the Winter Road to Albany, Kashechewan and Attawapiskat. As luck would have it, I was in downtown Moose Factory.

***Hopefully*** the van will be fixed by next weekend — when we have the Great Chapter Meeting. There will be dozens of us roaming around Moose Factory AND Moosonee then. And, of all the times when we really need that van, Great Chapter will be the one. I figure it’s about a one-and-a-half-hour walk from my place to the church in Moosonee.

I’ve been walking everywhere these last several days. It’s been good for me and is something I should have been doing all along. I hope I’ll have enough self-discipline to keep walking once I get wheels again.

The Americans and the Canadians have been requested to dis-invite themselves from the ‘Anglican Consultative Council’ — at least temporarily. Further, they have been requested to repent themselves for their transgressions — errant bishops ordaining or consecrating the wrong sort of people; misguided priests blessing gay people in their relationships.

I have been a priest over 35 years. This is the first I ever heard of the Anglican Consultative Council. I can live without it.

The Africans need the North Americans a lot more than the North Americans need the Africans.

Anyway, I have these points (and a certain amount of attitude…)

• Repent/reform — for what? We did the right thing.
• The compromise buys time. It does not resolve issues. (Typically Anglican….) Either the Africans will cut the North Americans some slack or the North Americans will have to jettison gay folk as yet another disposable group. (Some are warning that if the American/Canadian Church does NOT do this, then the ‘conservatives’ will leave….)
• All of this provides a perfect excuse for the Church to avoid doing anything useful or meaningful.
• A priest may bless a battleship or an airplane that has one purpose only — the mass destruction of property and life. But I am not allowed to bless two broken people who have found stability and happiness in their lives? (And I call myself a priest? There’s a parish in New Haven that has stopped doing any weddings until this thing is resolved….)

Then, another 4-5 hours to Sault Ste. Marie — the nearest Port of Entry to Moosonee and Moose Factory — as best as I could figure. My route went along a the side of a river. The road twisted and turned through the hills to Thessalon. A wolf sauntered along on the shoulder, as I rounded one bend.

I crossed over into the States and approached Canadian Customs from the States. I had wanted to get the view from the bridge.

At the American Customs gate the attending officer looked at my passport (and I guesss, the Canadian Visa) and said: “Well, what did we do to make you leave like this?” I wasn’t going to get into a political symposium then and there, and I said that I wanted to be able to keep working in the North, which, actually, was the truth. My projection, I know, but he looked at me as though I was a coward.

I lingered on the American side long enough to get a cup of coffee. Then I headed back to Canada. On the bridge — still at the American end, at the tolls, there were several heavily padded young men with very large guns. They were stopping some of the cars on the way through. I slowed down and waited for one of them to stop me, if he wanted to. He waved me on, yelling: “Get the Hell out of here!”

I did. And stopped at Canadian Immigration. The routine there took, at most, 20 minutes. At the end of it the clerk shook my hand, and told me I’d be getting my card in 3-5 weeks. Then, in time, if I wanted to, I could apply for citizenship. The Canadians would not require me to give up my American citizenship. Now I had lots of things to think about.

On the way back, on Thursday, a rabbit darted across the road between Timmins and Cochrane. I got back to Moose Factory last night, Friday. The train was late. I didn’t get home until 8 PM.

Custom provides that on Shrove Tuesday — Fat Tuesday — Mardi Gras — we eat pancakes. Last night we ate pancakes — and sausage — and bacon — at the Parish Hall. Lots of warm fellowship and hot tea.

Custom also provides that on Shrove Tuesday we burn the palms used in last year’s Palm Sunday procession and celebration. The ashes, then, are used on the next day at the Ash Wednesday Liturgy — when we make a little smudge on our foreheads — a little reminder of where we came from and where we will all end up — someday.

Up here, however, we don’t use palms. We use cedar branches. For my last two Ash Wednesdays here I had used palm ashes that I had brought with me from the States. Yesterday, however, I burned cedar branches, so that we might have cedar ashes today.

I had a plastic bag with several of the cedar branches left over from last year. I rummaged around in the bag; whatever wouldn’t ‘snap’ came out; the rest I poured into an old roasting pan. Most of what I had was the dried out foliage from the branches. Anything amounting to a stem would break easily. I figured I had a combustible mix here.

It was a warm day — only around 0* (F). The sun was out. I brought roaster and cedar outside. I wasn’t going to take any chances so I poured some rubbing alcohol on the pile and lit a match. The mixture definitely burned! With a stick I mixed it around while it was burning. I wanted everything to burn as much as it could.

Within the hour I had a roaster with lots of ashes. Now came the hard part. I brought everything inside and mushed the cinders around with a spoon. I then ran them through a rough meshed sieve. That took another half hour. I would have done better if i had worn a mask. A lot of the dust went up my nose. My work resulted in a pickle jar full of fresh good ashes.

St. Thomas’ now has ashes enough for the next 25 years. But maybe I’ll try to talk the kids into doing it next year. It’s easy, and it’s fun.

The Rectory was carpeted — top to bottom — wall to wall — maybe in the late eighties or early nineties with an indoor/outdoor/industrial variety of carpet. When I arrived, it was dark green — sort of beige/green — and singularly unattractive. The carpet just killed light.

Also, the carpet was not properly installed — at least in the Living Room. Large wrinkles or carpet wandered through the center of the room.

And that’s not all! The carpet in the basement was subjected to a number of nasty floods and never quite recovered. It DID breed mold — lots of it. By the time I came on the scene several devout souls could not enter the building without enduring asthmatic attacks.

The Vestry finally was compelled to meet upstairs in my living room, because of the foul & moldy air in the basement. This provoked two reactions. One was guilt. The Sunday School meets in the basement. “If we can’t stand it, what must it be like for those poor dear children?” So folks started thinking about fixing up the basement.

However, when we met upstairs in the living room of the Rectory, people didn’t like that either. The Vestry found the carpet distracting.

At Annual Meeting, somehow, the subject came up. Instantly there was a pledge of a donation for a new floor in the living room. Bobby became a man with a purpose. The next day he went out and bought new tiles for the living room floor.

I’m afraid I may have done Bobby wrong at that point. There were ladies in the Rectory soon after the tiles arrived. I showed them the tiles. THEY disapproved of the tiles. The color was wrong. AND they objected to not being consulted about the color of the tiles in the first place. When did men ever know anything about the proper color?

Bobby heard of this and announced that what he got was what was within the budget. And that was that. More ladies visited and inspected and discussed the matter.

Then another donation came in — for a better floor.

So Bobby went out and bought better tiles for a better floor.

The originally purchased floor went to the basement for installation there.

This last week, Lawrence and Bobby put in the new floor.

Somehow a new floor wants new furniture. Another donation came in. New furniture was ordered and arrived yesterday. Everyone seems content. If, indeed, furniture (or floor) maketh the man, I am reborn! It’s better than anything I was ever used to!

It felt just grand!

Today, it’s warmer. We’re up to 36* (F) at noon, today. And there’s no sun. Instead we have a Scotch Mist — sort of a fine fog/drizzle combination. This is not good for our transportation infrastructure — the ice/winter roads. But a few days may be ok. I haven’t heard of any closings — yet.

The demand for gas around here is intense this time of year. Folks drive in from Attawapiskat, Albany, and Kashechewan — over the ice highway. They fill 50 gallon drums in Moosonee and cart them back up North in the back of pickup trucks. That’s the cheapest way to transport gas up there. (And, while they’re in the big city of Moosonee, they’ll also stock up on groceries and whatever else.)

Evidently one of the tanker cars on the train had leaked some or all its load on the trip north to Moosonee. Moosonee got caught short in the middle of the crunch. No new gas arrives until Friday’s train pulls in — in the late afternoon, at the earliest.

Typepad has an interface so that I can manage the weblog from their site — on the internet. I can do it therefore, on any machine, off any platform. “ecto” — a $17 piece of software — allows me, also, to write material on the desktop. I think ecto is available in Windows format as well as in the MAC format. In some respects Mariner’s ‘MacJournal’ is a better application, as it has options for ‘saving’ that are very nice. But ecto conveniently manages two blog accounts. None of the other blog applications I have played with are quite so easy in this respect. And, since I’m running (or learning how to run) two blogs, (this and the MOOSEblog for the diocese) that’s a priority.

Electricity IS a major expense here at Moose Factory. It’s expensive, but it also is a common source of heat. I’m told that oil and hot water also are really expensive.

The cost of heating, of course, is what keeps us out of the Old Church during the winter. The ‘Little Church’ (or, St. Thomas’ Chapel — or, the ‘Way-Down-Church’, because it’s way down The River) is newer and more energy efficient. I live in an apartment at one end of the building here.

Occasionally we DO use the Old Church in the winter — usually for funerals. We had one such funeral a few weeks ago. The lady we buried was from out of town. She was one of those who came back to Moose Factory after a life of being away. Her roots, however, were in Waskaganish. The Vestry here at St. Thomas’ has told folks that if we crank up the heat in the Old Church in the winter, we need help. We just can’t afford those hydro bills on our own. So, the families chip in; the community chips in; the Bands are very good about providing help when help is needed. In this case, we buried in Moose Factory a lady from far to the south with money from Moose Factory and also from Waskaganish.

If you’re shopping around….

Both iBLOG and BlogWave work on the MAC (OS-X) platform and utilize the iDISK that comes with the dotMAC account. Very easy to use. I was happy with neither, however, so far as comments were concerned. DreamHost (the server I use for non-.MAC pages) offers a free version of WordPress. However, I’m not advanced enough to take advantage of its flexibility. I tried ‘Blogger’ from Google for half a second. For some reason I just didn’t like it.

My priorities were/are to have considerable control over format and comments. But I didn’t want to have to write code myself. Everything would have to be ‘off the shelf’ — so that anyone else could step in and continue managing the blog — or so that I could manage it after i had forgotten everything I had already done to it. That effectively ruled out WordPress (because of formatting issues) and iBLOG (because of comment issues).

BlogWave is a close competitor to what I am using now (typepad.com). And I might even go back to it. The difference between the two: BlogWave is an application residing on your MAC; it utilizes your .MAC account. That makes it really great to work with — when you’re working at your MAC. But you can work with it only with a MAC with the right software on it. (Not good if you may have to use more than one machine — not good for me when I’m on holidays, without a machine.)

I doubt I’d be blogging/journalling much while on holidays. But, if I’m going to allow comments, I have to be able to delete one or a number rapidly — or turn them off. There’s a scourge of spammers out there.

The RSS feed for this is:

http://moosonee.typepad.com/moose_factory_journal/atom.xml

or

http://moosonee.typepad.com/moose_factory_journal/

I can’t figure out which…

Last night the deep freeze eased. The temperature now (at 6 PM) is up to -6*. A few snow flakes dropped last night. Down south, Massachusetts and Rhode Island got slammed.

There is a wolf — or there are wolves — in the parking lot at the Community Center. They have been seen in the early morning and after dark in the evening. One man, reportedly, had to flee to a nearby house late one night. I was told not to go out walking at night by myself. Or, if I did walk by myself, I must carry a ‘big stick’. (I think I’ll just not walk…..)

Ordinarily the wolves are much less anxious to connect with humans than the humans are inclined to connect with the wolves. So, something is going on. They could be starving; their usual food supply (rabbits, etc.) may have disappeared. Or, there could be something else; it was rumored that someone left food or garbage out where they could get at it.

Anyway, … it’s got the neighborhood talking.

The only issue with the ‘Visitor’s Letter’ was that it was good for only a year. I had to get a new one *within* the year. Once I had the ‘Visitor’s Letter’ I could then get two other important items. One was the Ontario Health Card. The other was paper allowing my truck to be driven (legally) in Canada. The Health Card and the vehicle’s papers, also, were issued only for a year; that is, they would expire when the ‘Visitor’s Letter’ expired. Each year, then — over holidays — I’d have to get all three going again.

Now I have a visa. Evidently, I have to go to the Border to activate this visa. The blurb that came with it, anyway, states that I have to present myself and my papers at the Border — whilst entering Canada.

And I’m not clear about how long, once activated, this visa is good for. I don’t have any worries about the next three or so years — the time I’m Rector at St. Thomas’ — before I have to retire at age 65. It’s the time after I’ve turned 65 that’s in question. My papers, now, from Canadian Immigration allow me into Canada only as long as I am holding the position I presently hold.

In other words, once I am officially ‘retired’ from the Anglican Church in Canada, at age 65, my options for living in the North remain obscure to me.

One step at a time….

Vermont Public Radio just came on with the Inauguration. I switched over to Berlioz’s Requiem

I had reported to friends and relations when I first got here that Moose Factory never got much snow. Well, it didn’t in 2002, 2003, and 2004.  We’re making up for it now in 2005.  More snow came in last night — after the evening Service.  I’ll need the back-hoe for another visit, before I can get the car out of the drive way.  That will be the third visit this season.  I think I got plowed out three times last year.  And we’re only in January — with February and March to go!

It’s warm.  We have 10* above 0 (Fahrenheit.)

News of the great tidal wave has reached us. We hear of close to 50,000 dead.  It is beyond my imagination. I have been sending out emails trying to find out if anyone has heard from or about the former priest at Eastmain, Nirmal — who is from Sri Lanka.  No word yet on him or on his family.

There is a GREAT DEBATE going on now in high gear: whether to hold Christmas Eve Services in the Little Church (smaller & warmer) or in the Old Church (bigger & c older).  The reasons for the Old/Big Church are: Tradition! AND, there are too many of us for the Little Church.  The reasons for the Little Church: We’ll save at least $600 on the heat, and while we’ll be crowded at 7 PM, there should be just the right number of us at the late Service.  Tuesday night brings a Vestry Meeting.  I already know what we are going to be talking about.

This morning the kids did their annual Sunday School Concert in the Parish Hall.  Multiple generations enjoyed the event.  Dale Broadworth from the Canadian Bible Society was also there — with lots of Bibles.  The kids sang; Dale sold Bibles.  We munched out on cookies and sandwiches.

I’m told there also has been skidoo traffic for a week any way — between Moosonee and Albany & Kashechewan.

I have come upon and have been playing with a number of digital toys.  Probably, they are old to you. They are new to me, however, and I have been having FUN — figuring out (or tryingto) how they work.  Maybe some day one or a number of them will prove useful.  They’re all on my website — somewhere on the site.  They tend to move around, so whatever I tell you here will probably be not quite right by the time you read it.

1.
I got the CBC to display some of its headlines on my home page.  This is for all you Americans out there who hunger for news — about the world, the north, and maybe even the USA.

2.
I put together a Guest Book.  This is something you can sign.  And you can see other people’s signings-in.  No matter that no one has signed it to date.  It’s fun.

3.
The ‘Bulletin Board’ — generically known as a ‘BLOG’.  Peter & Marnie weighed in on that one just after I got it going.  One can post messages or notices for everybody (who reads the Bulletin Board).  It’s tucked away in the Paddling Section.  I don’t know that it will have much use for a while

4.
The ‘Moose Factory Journal’ now, as I get to it, I’ll post in a ‘blog’.  When there’s enough material, then, I’ll bundle it up in a downloadable file.  The pdf format seems to be best for the most people.

To go to the page directly — not thru my website:

http://moosonee.typepad.com/moose_factory_journal/

—very, very cool….. You can have my very most personal and inmost THOUGHTS right while I am having them — delivered directly and immediately to your desktop.  I think I will never have to write another letter again.

5.
Calendar…  This presently includes the activity (or some of it) at St. Thomas’.  Whatever I type in to my desktop calendar appears in a facsimile posted on The web.

Whether any of that stuff ever becomes particularly useful at my Site, I don’t know.  (I tend to doubt it.)  But it may be useful in church work.  So, I’m learning how to make the stuff work.

I’ve had a rather half-hearted but persistent cold for a week now.  Every time I think I have shaken it, it reappears.  Colds here are weird.  For one thing, they are common.  For another, they act a lot like allergies.  I’m not so sure but that half of us suffer from the dust and/or mold.  There’s a lot of both — until everything freezes solid for a while.  Then, of course, however, all the houses are sealed up tight, so any kind of dust inside STAYS inside.

The Train was supposed to leave Cochrane around 10:30/11 AM — sort of, more or less, this is The North. Arrival time at Moosonee, theoretically, is 4:30 PM — just after the choppers stop flying.  This time The Train didn’t leave Cochrane until around 6 PM — with an ETA of 10 or 11 PM. People were not happy.

The Archbishop of Canterbury sent out a ‘Pastoral Advent’ letter a few days ago.  There’s quite a bit on ‘repentance.’  For what?

I had managed to get a head cold — which, thankfully wasn’t bad on Friday.  On Saturday it was. It’s now Tuesday, and I’m only starting to get out from under it.

We had rain last week.  Evidently some canoes were still running. Today the temp is back down — to 18*.  That’s enough to close The River to the boats. But it’s not enough to get the ice highway going. We’ll have to wait until January for that.

Then this morning at three thirty I was up with Matthew’s family, as they kept watch.  Matthew left us around noon today.

We finally got some freezing weather last night and this morning.  It’s now mid afternoon, however, and we have 34 degrees.

Someone tell me if I got this one right…..
The Republicans are revising their rules, so that if Tom DeLay gets indited, he will not have to resign as Speaker of The House.

The litigation or investigation in question relates to a Grand Jury in Texas.  Evidently, the Republican Party applied some money to fight a Casino somewhere in Texas and owned by a First Nations Band or Community. Then the operatives, who had organized and successfully operated the anti-gambling project, approached the Band Leadership and promised influence on their behalf if the Band would ‘donate’ (a lot of) money to the Republican Party.  The Band paid up. But the Casino, which had closed, never reopened. The money disappeared.

This kind of thing used to happen in New England.  Eventually it would be found out. Heads would roll. Elections would register voters’ discontent.  What’s different here?

First:
Maybe First Nations People really are ‘throw-away’ people — in American politics, anyway. Does anyone actually care when they get abused repeatedly? Could this have happened in Canada?  (I don’t think so.) Would it have been a catastrophe for the political party so involved? (Probably.) Would an American politician — or party — have gotten away with it, if a White group had been bilked?  (I doubt it.)

One of the things I learned from Jimmy Carter’s book on the American Revolution (“The Hornet’s Nest”) is that — in the area he was writing about, the southeastern colonies — the British tended to protect the Natives against the more aggressive European settlers. The Natives, of course, then sided with the British. When the British lost, the rest is history.

Second:
Maybe Tom DeLay was involved.  Maybe he was not.  Maybe he will be indited.  Maybe he will not. Whatever happened to him or will happen to him is irelevant. It’s what the party did that bugs me….

The House Rule (mandating resignation of persons indited) was passed ten years ago when there was a Democrat in trouble. The Republicans wanted to prove to the world then that they were of superior moral fibre. So they passed this rule.

It’s not a very good rule. The idea that someone might be innocent until proven guilty — in a court of law or by personal confession — is generally a good idea.  Most law abiding, moral valuing citizens can live it.  But ten years ago the Republicans proved themselves to be of purer stuff.  Democrats might get indited — however justly or however unjustly.  Republicans, however, just don’t get indited.  Period.  Until now.  Suddenly such purity is inconvenient.

Is there any wonder that there are terrorists running around when a government acts this way? This is what makes terrorists.  People get the idea that they have no recourse — that there is no way they can find political expression through the existing structures and options.  Does anybody listen to Chirac?   I thought the election had been fought over values.

Or, are we talking about something in a class with one of  Henry Hyde’s ‘indiscretions’?

Newspapers…
There are none here, so I have to import whatever I get — digitally.  The Gray Lady in New York won’t really talk to MACS, so she provides limited options.  She WILL (for a fee) e-mail me links to articles in categories or subjects that I have pre-selected.  A friend mentioned The Guardian (UK). I’m trying that for a while.  I can view the contents of the paper in a variety of formats: text only, specific articles, facsimile of a whole page. The Guardian really does a very good job in making the paper web friendly.  And reading the morning paper just as it is printed out on the page fully justifies the expense of a 23” Cinema Display.

Books….
Some have been lent and/or recommended:

CHIEF
by Roy MacGregor
This is about Billy Diamond. It’s an excellent review of the events leading up to and around the James Bay Development project in the 1970’s and thereabouts — centering on Billy Diamond.

THE HANDMAID’S TALE
Margaret Atwood

A lady working at the Hospital asked me if I had read the book, “I Heard The Owl Call My Name”.  I had.  She said that I reminded her of the book.

Vonage, the broadband phone company, is trying to get customers.  However, they don’t give out phone numbers (yet) anywhere close to Moose Factory.  And they have no numbers, at all, for the State of Maine.   They DO have local numbers for Albany, Vermont — which is interesting, though irrelevant.

Indian Heaven:

Three Indian women departed earth at the very same time and were brought before The Great Spirit for Judgment.

The Great Spirit said, “I will let you into Paradise, if the beliefs you lived were proper.  Tell me what you believed when you were alive.”

The Nakota woman said, “I have always believed in the Grandfathers and the Generations, and that is how I lived my life.”

“Fine,” said The Great Spirit, “You may enter Paradise and sit on my left.”

“What did you believe?” The Great Spirit asked the Sioux woman.

“I have always believed in goodness, and I have always tried to live my life in a good way.”

“Fine! You may enter Paradise and sit on my right.”

Then The Great Spirit turned to the third woman, a Cree woman, “And what do you believe?”

The Cree woman said, “I believe you’re sitting in my chair!”

****************************************

The news says that someone found a brief case with Sarin gas in it — in Falujah.  I wonder who planted it there.  Anyone seen Ollie North around recently?  What?  Me?  Paranoid?

Who do we have to fear the most?  Osama ben Laden — or w?  w, by a landslide.  Every time he opens his mouth, 600,000 16 year old Arab males pledge themselves to Allah.

Some hours later……..  The news has a correction. The vials marked (in English) were chemicals for TESTING the presence of Sarin.  On the first news report there was an interview with a soldier who had said that, now that weapons of mass destruction HAD actually been found, there was a reason for the war.  Poor kid… he just lost his reason.

****************************************

The Barge was running today.  It is rumored that it won’t run next week. Neither will the taxis.  The temperature has been holding steady at about 18*-19* all day today.  I have to go out next week for a meeting down south. I’ll be stuck with the choppers.

*****************************************

We did Remembrance Day today. Stores were closed. Schools had observances. And we did the annual one hour service at The Old Church.

Two poems always get read:

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch: be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

J.M.McCRAE

WE SHALL KEEP FAITH

Oh! You who sleep in Flanders Fields,
Sleep sweet — to rise anew
We caught the torch you threw,
And holding high, we kept
The faith of those who died.

We cherish too, the poppies red,
That grows on fields, where valour led.
It seems so signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies
And lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders Fields.

And now the torch and poppy red
Wear in honour of our dead
Fear not that ye have died for naught
We’ve learned the lesson that ye taught
In Flanders Fields.

AUTHOR UNKNOWN

There are hymns, prayers, a speech or two, Taps and Reveille.   The Roll Call includes the name of each deceased Veteran.  If they can be rounded up, The Canadian Rangers shoot off a Volley outside.  Then the surviving Veterans lay a wreathe at the great stone memorial in front of The Old Church.  This year we had two.

EVERYONE wears a poppy.

The Barge was running yesterday.  I’m not sure about today.  There’s ice along the shore now over at Moosonee.

***********************************

“As democracy is perfected, the office of president represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart’s desire at last and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.”       From H. L. Mencken (1880-1956)  (Thanks to etf & jb.)

I’ve been brooding over the election.  This time it wasn’t stolen.  It was won, …sort of, anyway.  I’ve been thinking about the skill of C Rove and associates.  One might say that Rove and associates manipulated, lied, spoke different things to different constituencies.  But, even so, they won.   …Not by a lot.  But by enough to indicate that generally, popularly, they offered what was wanted — both in style and in substance.  They knew the market, and they got it. Yes, almost half the country voted against w.  But half the country voted *for* him. And that is chilling.

It IS a cultural thing.  And, yes, maybe we ARE drifting to the right — or somewhere.  But that isn’t what bothers me so much as something else.

These following things seem to me to be characteristic of the presidential campaign and election:

*Characterize and/or misrepresent your opponent.
Create a false image of your opponent and destroy that image.
*Studiously avoid the issues that actually matter.
*Misread, deliberately misinterpret the record, the polls, the facts.

To varying extents both campaigns did this.  Maybe the Democrats less so.  (Some might say, maybe not. OK, so I’m partial. But my argument stands, whichever way you call it. Interesting comment by Adam Clymer on VPR: The Democrats were less dishonest, maybe, only because they were less skilled; the entire campaign and election was dishonest — if I get his drift right.)

The conduct of the campaign, such as it was, ruled out norms in which substantive, rigorous, and public debate could go forward. It was ideologically based, marketed to ideologues. And they responded.

It works.  That’s why they do it.  Atwater, Ailes, and Rove figured that out.  It works.  And this is where I disagree with H. L. Mencken.  Bush got into the White House, not because somebody was stupid, but because somebody was very, very smart.

w, himself, may or may not be stupid; we may never know.  He may or may not be devout; we will never know.  He could be his own man; he could be a demented Pygmalion; we will never know.  Like a rock star or Hollywood actor he is now fully scripted into a persona that works.  And he didn’t necessarily write the script.

Whether w is bright or stupid, his handlers are not stupid. Someone finally figured out to make faction work in an election — overriding the checks and balances of the Constitution. Yes, C Rove is brilliant.

And he delivered what the people wanted.

And we put up with it.

People up here just shake their heads and ask me to please explain all of this.  And this is about as far as I can get.

An aggressively simplistic marketing campaign — or propaganda — wins.  That’s a cultural thing.  In other words, in another environment, such a campaign would never be tolerated, would be counter-productive.  I think that’s what is behind my Canadian friends’ questions: Why do we let them do it?

The object of a campaign now, is to discredit and immobilize your opponent. At the end of the day, there is only one of us standing.  You use the issues in a way that helps you to do this.  You test with polls to see what you can — and cannot — get away with. The problem for anyone who runs against this campaign style is that either s/he has to stoop to the same level — or lose.

Also, no matter who wins, there is no constructive leadership in the aftermath. The survivor only has the supporting faction. The issues (that matter) are ignored.  Those who supported the losing candidate(s) understand, now, that they are irrelevant to any of the political process in the immediate future.

Any pretensions or affirmations about working on a bipartisan level are lies. If they were genuine expressions of intent, then why did Bush & Cheney speak the way the did just a few weeks ago?  And/or why didn’t they silence — or distance themselves from — those who spoke more radically and more ideologically than they spoke — but on their behalf?  You just can’t have it both ways.  If they think they actually CAN have it both ways, there are only these options. They are psychotic. They are sociopathic. I am very stupid. I don’t really care.  One or a number of these; nothing more; nothing less.

I wonder if I would be thinking all of this if I were looking at an election that had gone the other way.  So, for the record, I did register in past years, usually as an Independent, but sometimes as a Democrat — so that I could vote in the primaries.  All through the years I split my ticket — until 2000.

If my complaint about the Democrats was that they were prone to scandal (at least in New England) my complaint about the Republicans was (and is) about HOW they run their campaign — the manipulation of issues that can only produce divisiveness — the appeal to paranoia, selfishness, self-righteousness, hypocrisy — and the avoidance of debate whereby resolution to the issues that confront us can be found.

Face it w, I’m one of those Massachusetts liberals you so love to hate — along with your New England forbears and culture. Even if I agreed with your policies I’d never trust you or your handlers.  Yes, I grant you your power. But if I had the option, I wouldn’t live on the same planet.  And maybe, just maybe, I’ll end up as another of those political refugees who headed North.  Would I head south when you are gone?  Maybe.  And maybe there won’t be anything left.

A parishioner told me of  a lady who had sent Chretien a bouquet of flowers when he refused to send troops to help the Americans when they invaded Iraq.  That same lady now says that whenever she travels she is singled out at the Border for *special* investigation.  You have to watch what you say in this world.

I have shared my thoughts about the election with some of the folks up here.  They — the ones that listened to me, anyway — were and are supportive.  I have joked about being in exile up here. Some of the parishioners have assured me that they will protect me when the CIA comes looking for  me.

I was grumbling about all of this to Robert, an old canoeing friend. (For you river rats, this is Bob, once of Mattawa, and nephew to Shorty.)  He wrote back:
“I just got this zany mental image of Factory folks in canoes repelling  CIA buffoons with sling shots, snowballs, rotten fish, husky feces, in some Keystone cops attempt to repatriate you.  Not to fear.  They would never be able to find the place.  They’d be looking for a factory where you produce moose.”

Last night the Northern Lights were spectacular.  The Beluga whales are up in The River again, looking for fish. I got a call from Michigan family asking about travel options up here.  They were curious about the ice roads, but I think they will wait until summer.

America gets exactly what it deserves. It voted for him. The rest of the world, though, didn’t ask for this, doesn’t deserve this.

A couple of Canadians here have asked me about the election.  They’re trying to figure out the Americans.  I think they may be disappointed by the fact I do not seem to behave the way they think Americans ordinarily behave.

One lady remarked last night something like this:  ‘It’s so strange (and sad) that Americans, on the one hand, are the most powerful people on earth. Yet, on the other hand, they seem to be afraid of everybody else. And their politics appear to reflect this fear.’

Although The River is still open, choppers were flying yesterday. Freeze up is coming later this year than last year. (By this time, last year, The River already was closed.) The Barge is still going back and forth. But that will stop any day now.

Raymond’s funeral was on September 28. Since then we’ve seen two others. And we’ll see a third tomorrow.  Except for Raymond none of these folks was active in the Church. But each was related to family extended throughout Moose Factory and Moosonee.   St. Thomas’ is where the final rites are held. Because so much of this work is done week in and week out the parish (in my mind, anyway) is defined by this ministry.  I don’t know if this is a factor elsewhere in First Nation communities and parishes.  It certainly is here.

After the funeral there was a get-together for the family hosted by the Cree Gospel Chapel — one of the other churches on The Island.  They made a special point in inviting me — for which I was especially grateful.

That is to say, a Virus came in the mail.  This machine does not get viruses. It’s a MAC. But there WAS a virus. It had been intercepted and so identified by the email server. But I was curious, all the same.  I wanted to know what kind of virus. So, I downloaded it.

All the alarms on the system went off — bells, whistles, sirens, horns, klaxons, visual alerts, etc., etc., etc.

So, now I know my anti virus software works.  It’s a peaceful feeling.

It’s more than that, actually.  It’s a matter of being virtuous — and knowing it. I really don’t need any anti virus software.  I have a MAC.  MACs don’t get bugs.  But I think of all the suffering humanity out there with their PC’s.  And all of you folks can rest assured: nothing nasty will ever come from the computer of jbe.

That’s because I’ll take Monday off — if I can get away with it. I can’t always get away with it. We buried Raymond on a Monday.  But since then, Mondays have been quiet.

I like taking Monday off, because I’m usually pretty well spent from Sunday, anyway. And I want a change of pace. Over the past few Mondays I’ve worked on old canoeing logs written by others; and I’ve posted them.  Over the next several months I hope to consolidate some of the map information I’ve gathered over the past several months.  All of this happens on Monday.

Today, I’ll probably NOT take the day off.  It’s now 5 AM.  I’ve been up since 4.  Someone was walking around the the outside of the building then, yelling.  I think he was yelling to come in.– thought maybe I’d be awake.  I’m not sure.  I finally DID wake up after he had just about quit his yelling and stumbled off to somewhere else.  I have no idea who he was.

But there are two folks I know who are very ill.  And I’ll be looking for them — or their families — today.  Day off (ie a day to work on canoe routes) will have to come later.

We had another power outage on last Wednesday.  That one was only for a few hours.  But it scared the teeth out of me.  I had fears of another few days of no power. That means: no lights, no heat, no computer.  And THAT means no news, no correspondence.  And THAT is scary.

I have already mailed my absentee ballot in to Town Hall at Blue Hill.  I worked out a deal with the Clerk at Town Hall that she would send the ballot up to me by express mail.  When I had marked the ballot I sent it back by quick mail.  Since first class mail can take weeks and weeks to go back and forth that is the only way I could get a ballot back to Blue Hill before Christmas.

Anyway, you people down there, I did my part.  Up here Kerry would win on a landslide.  People think Bush is nuts.

Many families are still away on the fall hunt.  Evidently school just sort of takes care of itself.  Some of the schools (though not all) take a break now, anyway. I’ve been a beneficiary of some of this activity. Last week brought in some fish.  This weekend brought in some moose meat.

It’s 7 AM.  There’s about an inch of snow on the ground.  This is the first real snow of the season. Temps have been in the 20’s all day.

My radio habits have changed again.  CBC decided to stream only in Windows Media Player.  They had used RealOne and Quicktime.  I simply cannot bring myself to use a Microsoft product unless absolutely necessary. CBC has a local (repeater) station.  That makes it the ONE station I can listen to without the aid of the internet. I have stopped listening to the CBC streams.

Vermont Public Radio, however, now streams on the internet.  I get VPR now, very nicely, through I-Tunes.  In fact it has two streams: one is the regular stuff; the other is all music.  I rather enjoy getting the latest on Vermont weather whilst enjoying James Bay.  I am hoping, however, that CBC will become aware of its foolishness and will mend its ways.

Fortunately a lot of The Island is off for the Weekend. (This is a long weekend. Monday is ‘Harvest Thanksgiving.’) The trouble happened way down south. This time it was not a stray osprey flying off course.  I haven’t learned yet what the matter was. I did learn — once again — how dependent I am on electricity — especially up here.

The heat in this building is baseboard electric. There IS a wood burning stove in the basement. But, while it will smoke the entire building, it will barely heat the entire building. We DID manage to have Sunday Morning Service here yesterday. But, no Sunday School.

Moose Factory Island has a municipal sewer system. That is very nice. However, the system has electric pumps that make everything go where it’s supposed to go, and there is no electrical back up. The sewer was starting to back up into some peoples’ houses. That was not so nice.  The Hospital has its own emergency power system. And the Hospital runs the water filtration system for The Island’s water. So, during a blackout we have medicine and fresh water. But we’re on borrowed time for the sewer.

I guess we’re sort of learning how to put a town together….

The Bishop came just for the funeral, spent the night here at my place and left on this morning’s plane.

There were over 600 of us yesterday saying our last good byes. Old friends from the Hudson’s Bay Company had flown in for the funeral.  And, of course, the family convened here at Moose Factory for the weekend. Marion’s family comes from Wemindji (formerly Paint Hills).  Raymond’s family comes from southern Ontario. And the families are spread out all over the place.  It took a few days for everyone to get here.  And, even at that, there were some who couldn’t do it.

Tuesday afternoon I had another funeral — in Moosonee.

Marion called the ambulance, and Raymond was brought to the Hospital. This time, he didn’t make it.

The Reverend Deacon Raymond Maybee died shortly before 2 AM on Thursday, 23 September, at Weeneebayko General Hospital, Moose Factory, Ontario.

The family has now gone back to Marion’s house from the Hospital. Parishioners are beginning to show up there as well.

Five years ago eight souls perished in The Bay — somewhere around Big Stone Island.  It was weeks later that the last body was recovered. The community was devastated. And the memory continues.

About fifty folks gathered on The Island.  Most were from the families affected. There were some others — like myself — who had no blood relationship. Chief Hardisty was there. Raymond is doing better, and he was there as well.  Most of the people went out to The Island on Thursday for a week. The Service was on Sunday. I flew out on a chopper. Around 3 in the afternoon we had a short Service. And then the Feast! And what a feast it was. But I couldn’t linger for long. I had to take the first chopper returning to Moose Factory.

And in the middle of all of that The Beast arrived.

Apple had shipped The Beast on August 21. It showed up on my doorstep on Thursday, September 2. For some reason Apple changed freight companies. This one — whose name I never got — pulled the UPS maneuver and simply sent the stuff by train to Moosonee and to the ONR (Ontario Northland Railway) warehouse. I would have known none of this — except that one of the employees in the warehouse was kind enough to give me a call.

Now I had to figure out how to get the stuff over to Moose Factory. The fastest (and cheapest) delivery service is with the taxis. I simply called one of the taxis. A guy picked the stuff up in Moosonee and transported it to The River. There the loot was loaded into a canoe and hauled to Moose Factory. Finally another taxi (four wheeler, this time) picked the parcels up and brought them directly to me.  The whole project cost me $25.  I never signed for the merchandise. And it never dropped into The River. If it had mysteriously gone missing, I don’t know who would have been responsible. When I told the fellow driving the cab what the stuff was worth, he couldn’t believe it. Anyway, I am claiming that my G-5 is the only one in North America delivered by canoe.

By now I have all the data transferred from the old machine (eMAC) to the new machine (G-5). Tomorrow I head south for the Clergy Conference for a week. Possibly I can start doing some map work in October.

The ‘Little Church’ has several names.  Sometimes it’s the ‘Way-Down Church’ — for, ‘way down The River…’  Or, the G-G Church — because it’s next to G’G’s Corner & Gift Shoppe. Or, St Thomas’ Chapel — it’s smaller that the Big/Old Church.  Or sometimes just, The Old Catholic Church.

Canada’s media, if not all of Canada,  is focused on the Olympics. Unlike the Americans, the Canadians do not get obsessed. They focus. I get my all political rants from the American media. (I’m trying to figure out how to get The Rev. Al Sharpton to come up here and lead us all in a revival. THAT should get the juices flowing…)

From time to time I get polar bear pictures from friends in the States. Cuddly, Fuzzy little things. The real thing is neither cuddly nor fuzzy — particularly when it wants YOU for its lunch. As it did, the other day, reportedly, just up our western coast. It was preparing to dine on a lady when her husband shot it dead.

When I paddled around here I never thought about Polar Bears. Never knew they came this far south. And maybe they didn’t, so much, in the 1970’s. The locals here, however, cannot believe we didn’t travel — even in the summer — without a gun.

The Beast, ordered 4 June 2004, has not yet shipped. I am impatient. Apple, in June, indicated a shipping date of ‘4-6 weeks’. July came and went. Then ‘on or before August 20’ was posted. This week I am watching my mail closely. Rumor has it that IBM is the culprit. Reportedly, they cannot make the chips fast enough. I have more or less decided not to post anything new on the website until I get the new machine. Somewhere I read it pushes PhotoShop around 15 times faster than what I have on the desk right now. So the wait should be worth it. When you read this you’ll know I got the machine — and that I got the machine to work.

There are bears milling around in the Hospital Parking Lot. Or so I gather from posters around town. We are being told to be circumspect at night.  I’m lucky. I can move around on the Island by car. Most people here don’t have cars.  They are expensive, and one really doesn’t need a car — just so long as you’re not in a rush and are smart enough to elude the bears.

Last week Kashechewan had a drowning. Three young men were heading up River in a canoe, I gather. The canoe overturned at the foot of a rapids. Two people survived; one was lost. Many people showed up for the funeral on Saturday in Kashechewan. I had the opportunity to be there for the funeral, but I turned it down; I was worried about the hearth here. …I also wondered about the 1960’s and 1970’s when my generation was inspired by whole families going UP the Albany in their motor canoes.  It’s because I heard stories about the loaded canoes going UP Tom Flett Falls that I decided we could go DOWN it — and we did –  nicely. But the indigenous culture no longer has those skills — or not like they did.

Moose Factory Island, it turned out, was virtually deserted this last weekend. For one thing, there was the funeral to the north of us.  Also, CreeFest has been going on, in Cochrane, to the south of us. That was a big thing. Much singing and dancing. I actually was in Cochrane last week just before the CreeFest — getting the truck inspected for Canada Customs. But I came back here the day it started down there.

Theresa was here yesterday — politiking. She is running for Deputy Chief of the Mushkegowuk Council. (That is the consortium of Bands included in Treaty #9.) She had lost the election at Attawapiskat earlier this year. Somehow people there, in the Village, managed to exclude the out-of-town registered Band members from the voting. A locally more popular person was elected. In my exceptionally humble opinion the only hope of several of these villages lies precisely amongst those who have been able to leave the communities and who are able (and willing) to go back and forth freely. If the villages completely insulate themselves from the rest of the world they and the culture(s) they represent will cease to exist in a generation or so.

Yesterday, the first Sunday of August, was the day for the annual Memorial Service. There were about 500 of us. The Service takes about 1 1/2 to 2 hours. People are clustered throughout the Cemetery in extended families nearby the graves of their relatives.  They spread out in lawn chairs, blankets, umbrellas (if there is threat of rain). They don’t pack a picnic, but there is bottled water, pop, and chips. There always are many of the very young. Several of us were there this year for the first time.

There are lots of the old songs, readings, and prayers. And then there is a procession around the cemetery. Some persons are remembered, specifically, by name. Those certainly include the folks who have died in the last year or so. It’s all very much like All Saints Day — or All Souls Day — elsewhere. In fact we use the Collect from All Souls Day.

One might wonder why we do an All Souls day in the middle of the summer. For one thing, November 1 can be right in the middle of freeze-up. And freeze-up effectively isolates The Island. Families visit with each other especially this particular weekend. It is a long weekend. The first Monday in August is a holiday. In addition to that The Moose Cree Band schedules its Gathering of Our People to end with this (long) weekend. So, of all the times of the year, this weekend may be the one when more families are gathered than on any other weekend of the year.

So, Sunday afternoon is a good time for a solemn Service. We cancel the morning Service on this particular Sunday. There is too much coming and going in preparation leading up to the Memorial Service for anybody to think about anything else. This year we have had good weather for grass. For the last two or three weeks people have been hacking away at the grass. Most years there is a weed whacker at work right into the Processional. Also, this year a couple of very young little girls decided that the flowers at different graves were improperly distributed. That is, there were some graves with no flowers at all. The young citizens decided to fix that — much to the consternation of some older people — who thought the ‘minister’ should do something about it — which is how I heard about the matter. I told everybody to be thankful the youngsters are taking an *active* interest in the place. This has to be one of the very few places in North America where really young people know exactly what is going on, who are active in the care of the place, and who understand it as **their** place.

The Memorial Service is the largest Service of the year. Because it is held outside (weather permitting) we don’t get over crowded in The Old Church. This year there were two drops of rain in the middle of the Service — immediately following my homily. But the weather quickly changed its mind, and we didn’t miss a beat. In fact, the clouds (and breeze) kept the heat and bright sunlight moderated.

We prayed for Zachary — the lad who had drowned — as well as for others who had died over the last few weeks.  This coming Saturday I preside at a wedding. There will be two more in August. At least one child will be baptized next Sunday. There were only 45 of us in the Church yesterday. Many are still away on vacation and travels.  But regardless of the number of people in Church in a given Sunday, the issues of life and death go on.

Yesterday was overcast and hazy.  There was smoke in the air. This morning’s rising sun was beet red. Bobby tells me the ground is burning somewhere.

We are getting many clouds of bull flies. They are about half the size of a humming bird. They bite. Very nasty.

This morning, at dawn, we had 60 degrees with cloudy skies. Yesterday, which was overcast, saw us up to over 80 degrees. Friday morning dawned with clear skies and forty degrees.

The barge, incidentally, is operated by the same company as the train — Ontario Northland.  The train company is the single one most compelling argument for a paved highway into Moosonee and bridge to Moose Factory.

Tuesday morning I was up early, as usual.  A little after six I ventured out.  I wanted to find out who, if anyone, also was lined up waiting for the morning barge.  Already there were several people standing around The River’s edge — and watching The River.  Then I saw an OPP (Ontario Provincial Police) vehicle.  Then I noticed several canoes and boats being put into The River. One was from the Fire Department’s Fire & Rescue. Obviously they were looking for someone.

It was an eleven year old boy. He had been out on The River, Monday afternoon, with his friends. At low tide they had gone out to a sandbar. After the tide had started to come back in they started to think about heading back. This one got into trouble in a deep stretch between the sandbar and the mainland where the current was brisk. His friends ran for help. But, of course, by then it was too late.

Christopher and his fiancee were over to the house last night. I’ll be doing their wedding in August. Christopher is a volunteer fireman in Moosonee.  He was one of the people who searched.  The drowning occurred late Monday afternoon.  The body was not found until about 9 PM on Tuesday — more or less in the same place. I asked Christopher how often something like this happens. ‘Every year.’

The current is just as treacherous over here on The Island. There was a moderately experienced canoeist, I’ve been told, who got lost not long before I arrived in 2002. He had been paddling — by himself — on the East side (my side) of The River.

The funeral for the youngster will be tomorrow, in Moosonee.

Earlier this week we finally got word as to how much it might cost to restore — rescue, in fact — the Old Church.

The building is sinking into the mud.  (We’re like Venice in more ways than one.)  The only way to really stop the sinking — for more than ten years — is to put a concrete footing under the Church.  That will cost.  The first estimates of the cost are coming in at around $800,000 — which I think will turn out to be low.   St. Thomas’, itself, will probably have to raise about $200,000; we have a good shot at grant money for the rest. We have some land to sell. After that it’s brownies and moccasin sales and begging.  But I think it just might be done.  It definitely is worth the fight.  It will be a fight; there are only about 100 of us Anglicans who remain consistently active on The Island.  But the Old Church is precious — to everyone.

The big worry last night was that there were still too many people in the village — if things got nasty quickly.  Once the water gets high enough, the air strip gets flooded. When that happens, there are a lot fewer options.

There still is ice up-river yet to break up. And, in addition to all of that, yesterday brought rain and strong winds. Part of the danger in this kind of situation is that things can happen so fast that even canoes at the ready are not enough. If the final flush that floods out the village is accompanied with sufficient ice, EVERYTHING (canoes included) goes. This happened in Peanuck (formerly Winisk) some years ago, and there was loss of life. It could easily happen, now, any day — or any hour — in Attawapiskat. In the old days,  when situations like this developed in the spring, families would just load up the canoe and head for high ground in the bush — somewhere inland. Now, of course, many families do not have the equipment (and/or possibly skills) to do that.

For the last eight to ten days I have had links and pixels dancing in my head. The Diocese has been without a web site for over a year. (The last website died when the diocesan office and server all got eaten alive by virii.) Now jbe — and his trusty MAC — have the challenge. It is just possible this site may actually go public. (It’s all we got.) For now it sits on the Apple Computer Company’s server (of course.)

Go To:

http://homepage.mac.com/moosonee/

Like everything else I do, I constantly fiddle and fix, so you may have to hit ‘refresh’ repeatedly. But, remember, you saw it here FIRST. Actually, you saw it on your way into my site…..

I’ve run it on Netscape, Opera, Safari, and Internet Explorer. But that means nothing, I’ve come to learn. SOMEBODY out there has a browser upon which this site just won’t work. Please let me know if you have any trouble — or if there is any way — from your perspective — that I could improve the site. When/if the site does go public, it will have a different address for the public, as the Diocese has its own domaine name. But for as long as it stays where it is, which will be for as long as I’ll be working on it, the ‘.mac’ address will also do just fine.

Thursday Evening….. The first taxis are running. They now charge $10 per person, per trip. That’s $2 extra — for dodging the ice.

I saw Raymond today — for the first time in three months. He got back this last weekend from his hospitalization in Kingston for a heart attack. It’s a miracle he survived. We all are very thankful.

Easter…. We did a sunrise service at 6 am at the Old Church. Kindled a fire (outside). Brought the fire into the Church, processed the Paschal Candle. Victoria chanted the Exsultet. There were 35 of us. We promised ourselves and each other that we would up the ante next year — maybe a Sunrise Service down ON The River; Easter comes early next year.

Then we did an 11 am service, finished the day with an evening service. I was visiting Elders’ homes for Easter through Wednesday. I didn’t start to slow down until Friday.

Usually the school buses are on the ice highway across The River all the way through March. Being the conservative sort they are, school buses are off the ice by April. Other vehicles may come and go across the ice several weeks in to April — but not the school buses.

This year, however, the buses quit last Monday. (High School students who live on The Island but who do not live on The Reserve (on The Island) go to High School in Moosonee. Yesterday they had no school. The buses stayed off the ice. Reportedly the water was coming up into the bus itself on Monday. And the kids were getting wet feet and ankles — and/or having water fights.

The ice is still thick. There was an oil truck making deliveries yesterday — topping off TJ’s GazBar’s tanks. The locals know the ice well enough to be able to walk across it safely up to an hour or so before it gets dangerous — or dangerous for them. One elderly gentleman pushed his luck a little a year or so ago — and had to be plucked from the (moving) ice by chopper.

At other communities the break-up can be more sudden — and less forgiving. When I went through Attawapiskat years ago there was the story of a school teacher who had ventured out on to the ice in the spring. At that precise moment breakup occurred. There, that year, it took all of half an hour. The teacher and the ice upon which he stood were never seen again.

River Roulette
There’s a game, I’m told, that gets played in the Spring.  About this time someone puts a tree out on the ice — a tree big enough so that you can see it from the shore.  Then everybody buys a ticket.  On each ticket is written a precise day, date, and time. Eventually the tree will move — when breakup starts. The ticket with the closest guess wins.

Movies
Last week, and ending this past Sunday, we were treated to a movie festival over at the High School on the Reserve. The films were all by and about First Nation People.  Some were documentaries. At least one was a cartoon. Although I didn’t see any, I think some were full length feature films.  Sadly not a lot of people went. Maybe more would watch if the films were displayed on the local channels.  The thawing and freezing of the past several days have made the roads tough to walk and tough to drive.

One of the films dealt with the referendum of about a year ago — whereby the villages on the East Coast approved (barely) the latest Quebec Hydro project that includes the diversion of the Rupert River. (Evidently another piece of that project — the damming of the upper Eastmain and the creation of a reservoir — was never seriously disputed.)  I think the point of the film was that the vote effectively split The Cree right down the middle.  On the one hand there were those who advocated for development: jobs, training, education — modernization. These were the folks who carried the day.  On the other hand, however, there were those who saw further invasion into their ancestral lands. And with the loss of those lands there would be the loss of the culture and of the way of life. The same feelings I had written from in my piece on Conglomerate Gorge in the Eastmain Journal (in 1973) came up once more. It was deja vu all over again.

I suspect that the selection of films for this festival makes a very good list. here they are:

Albert’s Reunion
Director: Ernest Webb
CBC North Maaumuitaau, 2003, 11 min 13 sec (in Cree with English subtitles).

Athlii Gwaii: The Line at Lyell
Director: Marianne Jones (Haida)
Producer: Jeff Bear (Maliseet), Raven and Eagles Productions, Produced in association with Aboriginal Peoples Television Network, 2003, 47 min (in English and Haida with English subtitles)   ***I saw this one, excellent study of people defending their islands against timber extraction.

Baseball Bats for Christmas
Director: Jeff Dom (Ojibway)
CBC Television, 2003, 11 min.

Blood River
Director: Kent Monkman (Cree)
Producer: Gisele Gordon, Urban nation, 2000, 23 min.

Christmas at Wapos Bay
Director: Dennis Jackson (Cree)
Dark Thunder Productions, 2002, 48 min (In Cree with English subtitles).

Cowboys and Indian: The J. J. Harper Story
Director: Norma Bailey
Producers: Eric Jordan and Jeremy Torrie (Ojibwe), High Definition Pictures, Produced in association wit Aboriginal Peoples Television Network and the canadian Broadcasting Corporation, 2003, 89 min.

Daba Iyiyuu (“Absolutely Cree”) Episode 6
Director: Neil Diamond (Cree)
Rezolution Pictures International, 2003, 24 min, (Cree with English subtitles).
***This is another that I saw. The title of this episode is: ‘Charlie Makes a Drum.’  Charlie makes a traditional drum — from the traditional materials in the traditional way. What makes this film so outstanding — besides the subject — is the authenticity of perspective.  It runs only 24 minutes, but it is a superb introduction to the culture.

Donna’s Story
Director: Doug Cuthand (Cree)
National Film Board of canada, 2002, 51 min.

Dreamkeeper
Director: Steve Barron
Hallmark Entertainment, 2003, 90 min.

Finding My Talk
Director: Paul M. Rickard (Cree)
Achimist Films in co-production with Nutaaq Media, Inc. in association with the Kativik School Board, Waewatay Native Communications Society and the Inuit Broadcasting Corporation, 48 min, 2000.

For John
Director: Dale Montour
National Film Board of Canada, 2003, 54 min.

From Cherry English
Director: Jeffrey Barnaby (Mi’kmaq)
Executive Producers: Paul M. Rickard (Cree) and George Hargrave, Nutaaq media, Inc. 2004, 10 min.

How the Fiddle Flows
Director: Gregory Coyes (Metis)
National Film Board of Canada and Streaming Fiddles Media, 2002, 48 min.

Gathering of Our People 2003
Director: Victor Linklater (Cree)
Minoshen Productions and Moose Cree First Nation, 48 min, 2003.

If the Weather Permits
Director: Elisapie Isaac (Inuk)
Produced by: the National Film Board of Canada, 2003, 28 min. (English and Inuktitut with English subtitles).

In Shadow
Director: Shirley Cheechoo (Cree)
Canadoian Film Centre, 2003, 19 min.

Just One More River
Directors: Neil Diamond (Cree) and Tracey Deer (Mohawk)
Rezolution Pictures, 2003, 75 min. ***This is the one I saw; required for all canoers and river rats. Excellent documentary on the breakdown of consensus regarding development.

Only the Devil Speaks Cree
Director: Pamela Matthews (Cree)
Thunderbird Productions, 2002, 33 min.

Our Nationhood
Director: Alanis Obomsawin (Abenaki)
National Film Board of Canada (2003), 96 min.

Stories from The Seventh Fire: Summer
Director: Gregory Coyes (Metis) and Tantoo Cardinal (Metis), 2002, 24 min.

Pikutiskwaau (Mother Earth)
Director: Shirley Cheechoo (Cree)
Produced by the Cree School Board of James Bay, 2002, 52 min (in English and Cree with English subtitles).

Wawatay Kids TV
Director: Michael Dube
Wawatay Native Communications Society, 2003, 24 min.

The only contact information distributed at the festival was for Paul Rickard:

Mushkeg Media, Inc.
Paul M. Rickard
103 Villeneuve West
Montreal, Quebec   H2T 2R6
514/279-3507
FAX:  514/279-7493
mushkeg@videotron.ca
www.mushkeg.ca

Ivy Hepton
Ivy Hepton lived in the North throughout the fifties and sixties.  For several of those years she lived in Fort George (now Chisasibi) and Moose Factory — where she worked at The Hospital.   She had a simple camera and took several slides. I scanned 384 of them. And they are now posted.  Many were not in very good focus — even when she took them. And several of the slides are now seriously deteriorated. But they show the people and the times. And that makes them significant. I’ve been circulating some of the group shots; somebody always gets recognized.

To get into Ivy’s slide collection, go to St Thomas’ Home Page…. Check out the ‘Special Projects’ Section. Her slides will be noted there. As soon as you hit that link, you’ll be asked for a password.  Type in lowercase letters:  moose  …. That should open the section right up for you.  (Sorry for the formality.  But, only if you’re reading The Journal, do you get to see the pictures…)

These are pictures of a number of studies. Her pictures of the kids are what grab my attention. Remember that some of those kids are very much alive and well today.  And some of them make it their business to direct my life in proper fashion. Sometimes the expressions are happy. And sometimes they are sad.  This is the world of the Residential School and the Tuberculosis Hospital.

We just concluded another conference. Last month The Great Chapter meeting for the James Bay Deanery was at Waswanipi. This last weekend the Diocese of Moosonee did a Stewardship Conference here at Moose Factory.  There were about 80 of us milling around — and planning for the future. I seem to be back on my feet much faster after this weekend than the previous (big) weekend.

And it is getting warmer. Yesterday we got some heat — the first of the Spring. Temps hit 45* — same as Bangor, Maine for that day. A LOT of snow melted.  Today, we are at a more conservative 9*.

I drove the ice highway — between Moosonee and Moose Factory — last Monday (March22). The road was in fine shape, even though we had had a warm day several days before.  The heat from the sun penetrates now. And the air temperature has to stay well below freezing, or there will be melting.  The road over The River has plenty of ice under it still.  The danger — or inconvenience — now is the possibility of getting stuck in the slush on top of the road.  I do not want to get stuck out there. I think I’ve made my last trip over the ice for the year.

An Elder told me yesterday that all the snow on The Island has to melt before The River starts to break up. We have much more snow on The Island this year than last year.  While it was nice to see everything just melting away, the Elder reminded me that we don’t want everything to melt all at once. In that case, The Island would be flooded out. It’s happened before.

About 20 of us left on last Thursday’s Train for Cochrane, five hours later. Then, we filled three vans and drove to Waswanipi — arriving 12 midnight. By two I was in bed and falling asleep.

Friday was a slow day. The Great Chapter opened Friday night with a supper and get-together/organizational meeting. The ball started rolling on Saturday. We did courses together in groups morning and afternoon. Saturday night had a Gospel sing which I bunked.

Sunday morning was church. Sunday afternoon brought singing and talks and chats. Sunday evening brought a feast, then an evening worship service put on by the kids.

At 8:30 PM we left in the vans. Arrived at Val d’Or at midnight. We got a few hours of sleep and were on the road again at five AM. We rolled into Cochrane a little after ten — just about when the train was ready to be boarded.

Then the train was an hour late leaving. It was packed! Part of the delay was because the crews added another car.

Eventually, on Monday evening, I got back to the Rectory and started going through the piles of mail.

Saturday and Sunday were a bit chilly — at -35* and with a 20 mph breeze. And, except for Sunday Morning’s Worship, the whole thing was done in a tent.

Our crowd maxed out at about 80 people. The tent would have held twice that number easily. The place was warmed by four enormous wood-burning stoves — and endless cords of wood. I am one of those people that cannot sit still for more than an hour, so I took little walks frequently in the brisk air outside. Near the end of the conference people told me there were wolves prowling the neighborhood. Earlier that week, in Chisasibi, a doctor and a nurse had been attacked in the morning. No wolf pestered me, however, though I did notice that while several dogs were loose, none of them were wandering.

Waswanipi, Quebec is located north and east of Val d’Or. It’s on the road that leaves #117 at about Senneterre, goes through Waswanipi and then Chibougamau. From this road there leaves another; and that one goes into Mistissini.

The present site of Waswanipi is relatively new.  The old site is on an island in the middle of Lake Waswanipi. In the sixties (maybe) the HBC post on the island closed. The families living there drifted off in different directions.

When the new/present village was begun, the families started coming back ‘home’. Some people have associated the moving of the village with the original James Bay Hydro Project. That project would have affected the Rupert, Broadback, and Nottaway Rivers. (The Rupert Project being discussed now is different. It would affect only The Rupert and would divert it into the Eastmain watershed.) But more likely a culprit is the closing of that HBC Post on the Island — and the resulting inconvenience. That closure came well before the James Bay Hydro project/s was/were being discussed.

In any case, the present village of Waswanipi is served by a road — and a good one, except when it is snowing. Having a road makes life much more convenient — and cheaper. (I know.)  The village of Waswanipi presently has no motel or any sort of public accomodation. If it did, it would be a serious tourist’s haven. The ‘tent’ is part of a park sort of place on The River’s edge. Even in winter (at 35 below) it’s a lovely place.

There is an outfitter at Waswanipi:

Abel S. Kitchen
Dreamcatcher Adventures Outfitters
27 Rue Spruce Street
Waswanipi, Quebec J0Y 3C0
CANADA

TEL: +1 (819)753-2515
FAX: +1 (819)753-2752

Special Packages

Let experienced Cree guides take you on a week-long canoe or boat excursion into the wild rivers of the true north. They will show you how to live off the land and get in some top-notch fishing, bear or moose hunting at the same time. (extra charge applies. Advance notice required)

Cost per person, per day:

Cabin $35 ($10 off with boat and motor rental)
Boat $15
Outboard motor (20-25 hp) $15
Guide $100
Special Packages Extra. Please call for information.

For an additional charge of $50, we offer transportation of boats and equipment to and from the adjacent lakes, Legoff and Tesceau.

*Rates based on 16′ aluminum Misty River boats for 3 people maximum (for fewer people, call for rates).

* Federal and provincial taxes apply to all rates.

Traditional sweat lodge-a unique experience

For those interested in learning more about cree culture, Dreamcatcher Adventures provides sweat lodge ceremonies at no extra cost. A sweat lodge is cleansing and preparatory ceremony, like a spiritual sauna. (advance notice required)

Monday night, just after I had returned, Bobby called to report that the water line to the Parish Hall had frozen up (again.) We threw heat on it and muttered incantations. By morning the water flowed freely. AND, the Island’s water system is patched up — for now. We actually get water, now, 24 hours a day. (!)

Last night Adrian Tanner came by for a few gallons of tea. My Eastmain maps had just come in. Adrian had pictures of his trek in the bush up and down The Eastmain from last September when he and several people (of every generation and mostly from Eastmain Village) spent a month there digging around old camping grounds.

Adrian’s September journey brought him much further into Great Bend than my trek in 1973. To avoid the Bend we got off The River on the north shore and used a route through the Village Lakes and then down The Clearwater River. Adrian’s group went further down The Eastmain and took a route leaving The River on the south shore. Oh! What I’d do to poke around there –  before the water is impounded.

The new dam on The Eastmain, as best as I could tell, will go right by (or over) the campsite we used at the foot of Great Bend. And then The Bend (and The River, mostly) will be gone.

Soon after we had arrived at Waswanipi we heard of a tragedy, news of which had just broke in the Community, about a little boy from who had been abused. He was lying in a hospital in Montreal and would be unconscious for the rest of his life. Waswanipi has been keeping a vigil through all of this. There had been some talk of simply canceling the Anglican Church’s Great Chapter Meeting. But the Village wanted to go through with it, and they did an absolutely splendid job. They were wonderful hosts. This afternoon Caroline called. The kids here at Moose Factory are now doing a walk for Khayden. And other kids around The bay are doing the same. Waswanipi has a special page dedicated to the walk — as part of their website:

http://www.waswanipi.com/khayden/index.htm

The page may still be up by the time I post February’s Journal.

Joe told me a story this week — about one of the reasons he is here now. Joe is part Cree and part Inuit. The story is of his great great grandfather, an Inuit. The great great grandfather had a son: Joe’s great grandfather. Father and son went out on the ice one day to hunt or to fish. The ice flow they were on suddenly separated from the ice attached to the mainland. Without hesitation the father took off his watertight seal skin ‘boots’. He blew air into them, making a flotation device. He attached this to the son. And *ordered* the son to swim for shore. The son made it — and survived. The father was never seen again.

Young Joe remembers. His expected child (‘my future fishing partner’) will also know that story. And will remember.

Still warm; at 8 PM: 12*.

HOWEVER, the Water System still has an underground leak. Nobody knows where that leak is  — except that it’s way down there, somewhere, under several feet of snow and frost. We are being told that the location of the leak will be discovered when the water bubbles to the surface. Nothing much bubbles anywhere this time of year. All we know is that our water table, underground, is getting cleaner by the day.

In the mean time the water supply plant is having a bad day. On a really bad day, nobody gets any water at all — all day. And out local water system has been having many, many bad days.  On Sunday the water ran for about an hour — during Church and when I couldn’t (decently) take a shower. On Monday (yesterday) there was NO water — all day or all night. This morning there was water at 8 AM. (We’ve all been watching our water taps like thirsty dogs.) I took a shower IMMEDIATELY and washed clothes IMMEDIATELY. Now, at 12 Noon, there is no water. Schools are closed. Parents, Teachers, Principal, and kids are all going crazy — each in their own little way.

Last night we held our annual Service for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. We had to hold it at the Community Center, because the Parish Hall had frozen solid. Even in the cold over a hundred showed up. Bishop Cadieux preached (in English and in Cree) and led us in The Lord’s Prayer (which he spoke in French whilst the rest of us followed along in Cree and English.)

A news report on the CBC states that the Inuit at Rankin Inlet are chilly. An outdoor seminar for young people whose purpose is to demonstrate the construction of an igloo has been postponed until the weather warms a little.

The Moose Factory Sewer System — always a temperamental beast — is having a very tough time. We all are being urged not to bathe, wash, or flush.

The Moose Factory Water Works — another temperamental beast — is pumping A LOT of water somewhere into the ground. It’s been doing this since New Year’s Day at least. At any other time of the year the water would eventually rise to the surface; and the leak would be found. But not now….

At midnight last night (this morning) he was airlifted to Kingston. When he left here he was in stable but critical condition. Marion, his wife, goes tomorrow. His plane was filled with technicians and equipment.

This last night most of us have been up, and watching, and waiting.

Over the last several days I have been getting phone calls and E-mails from folks in the northeastern USA, remarking upon the chilly weather. It seems that we, who live in Canada, are responsible for New England’s inconvenience.  To add insult to New England’s injury we generally don’t notice anything — at least, not in the way that New Englanders do.

True, the kids here are starting to wear hats — often only a baseball hat; but that’s a start. (Actually, they’ll wear the same hat in July….) Schools and restaurants remain open — for the most part — except when the pipes freeze — and they do, sometimes, in the ground.

Garbage continues to be collected, daily and on schedule.  Skidoos shoot across the snow (and ice) just as fast as always — at full throttle.  Elders, however, tend to be somewhat more circumspect about taking their daily walks.

And life goes on all day, every day while the temperature hovers between 20 and 45 degrees below zero — with a 10 to 15 mph west wind.

There are inconveniences. Air Creebec had to cancel some flights; the planes succumbed to the cold. Fresh milk sometimes gets here — and often does not. (There’s A LOT of ice cream, however.) Cars can be temperamental. But not the Cree. Freeze-up is done. The roads are opening up. On a skidoo one can go ANYWHERE. And we’re all thankful that there are no bugs.

I’m now repeating myself, somewhat, from posts of last year. But one of the major strengths of this world shows itself in times like these. Usually, in addition to the actual Funeral there is a Family Service the night before. It lasts one to three hours. It is like a Funeral in that it is largely made up of hymns and readings and prayers. But it is not as structured, usually, as a distinct piece of liturgy. And there is a lot of informal sharing — and weeping. Death is part of life here. It is openly and honestly confronted and experienced. Open grief is strongly supported by the whole community; no one needs to hide from it. Whatever time is needed by the family is there for them. The casket is closed for the last time only after everyone is ready and the last person has said ‘good-bye and I love you.’  There is no such thing as a clock, no sense of time, until after the last member of the family has left the cemetery.

The time of preparation for a funeral can run several days (and nights.) The family tries to reach a consensus — a plan that everyone can buy into. Sometimes that’s very difficult for a family — particularly if it is as stressed as each of these families were — and are.  The Church then tries to put into a plan of action all of the desires of the family — a plan of action that will actually work. (This last time around it took me about four or five hours, in the middle of the night, to take the family’s desires and map out a coherent Service.)

Yesterday’s Funeral  started at 11 in the morning — with several hours of ‘visiting’; and I was back into the Rectory at five in the afternoon. Even at 30 to 40 degrees below zero, there is a grave dug. A jackhammer is used to penetrate the frost. Then, the grave is dug — by hand, with shovels; no back-hoe is used. And the Committal is read at the grave, after the casket is lowered — by the guys in the family — by hand, with straps. At yesterday’s burial, a youngster of about five years was standing right next to me. I gave him a clump of earth to hold, so that I could take it from him and sprinkle dirt on the lowered casket at the words ‘earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust’. He stood there holding the dirt at reverent attention while an adult bent over and spoke softly and gently into his ear, explaining what we were doing and why.  After the last prayer is read, the grave is filled completely, by hand, and covered with flowers; and a white wooden cross is planted at the Head. Only then, does the family begin to drift away.  And after that, ordinarily, there is a Feast. And, then, yes, life does go on.

When fighting the fire, the Fire Department called for the water reserved by the water treatment plant to be used only in emergencies. That reserve is now spent. AND, there is a leak somewhere in the system — somewhere deep under the dirt, the ice, and the snow. Water pressure has been low, variously, all over The Island.  Whenever the leak is found, some of us will be without water for several hours; and, once again, there may be no school.

Last night, after Evening Service, some of us lingered and talked about the fire. Other fires were remembered. Once, several years ago, when Bobby was Fire Chief, there was a similar house fire — with fatalities. The blaze was so intense that the fire fighters could not get into, or even near, the building. Screams could be heard from inside, and there was nothing anybody could do about it. The memory persists.

At about ten minutes before twelve midnight, the fireworks begin. Only, it isn’t all fireworks. It’s an Island-wide artillery barrage that continues for about 20 minutes, unabated. Smoke hangs over The Island at the end all of this, and I sincerely believe the last shot comes only after the last cartridge is fired. The street lights get a bit lost in the fog. Some enterprising grandson — or great-grandson — always ventures out and rings The Old Church Tower Bell at **precisely** midnight. Throughout the fusillade, the NAPS (Nishnawbe-Aski Police Service) Truck flits (over sheer, wet, unsanded ice) from one end of The Island to the other. Generally, when the NAPS truck is in the neighborhood, the nearby guns go silent — momentarily. You can discern the truck’s approximate location, sometimes, in the barrage, from sudden silences heard (or not heard) from specific directions.

I never thought to ring The Little Church’s Bell. (That’s where the Rectory is located.) I’m glad didn’t ring it, actually. Most certainly, if I had, I would then have had a succession of guests until dawn — guests in various states of disrepair.

Yesterday morning was quiet — very quiet. Around four in the afternoon I headed over to Lynn & Clayton Cheechoo’s house. There were some revelers still reveling, as best they could revel, around the Community Center. Another friend of the Cheechoo’s, Greg, was supposed to come for dinner as well. But he is the manager at the Eco-Lodge — Moose Factory’s class act motel. Last night was not a good night for him to be away from that building. After supper we sent him a take-out plate of the dinner.

And what a dinner it was!  Clayton had decided to do the turkey right. That meant a back-yard barbecue — Cree style — in 0 degree weather.

First you have to build the teepee. About 30 feet in diameter. Plywood sides coming up about three feet from the ground. Then, many poles coming up from the circular side and meeting at the top, to make the cone. Over the poles, tarps, except at the top — to let the smoke out.  In the center of the teepee: a cooking fire. In front of the fire: the bannock loaves — on sticks — roasting/baking. Over the fire, and somewhat to the side: the turkey — trussed & hanging on twine. A pan below catches the grease.  The turkey spins on the rope — clockwise and then counter-clockwise — constantly, for about six hours. The cooking fire keeps the whole interior warm. The smoke infuses the turkey and the bannock (and the cook). The meal is delectable. The cook sneezes a lot.

Over the weekend Elsie was at a party in Moosonee. She returned to The Island in a pickup truck. (!) The River has a foot of ice, at least, I’m told. Cars and pick-up trucks are going back and forth. But I’ll wait another week or so, before I venture out on to the ice in a car.

Christmas this year, like last year, was subdued.  Two Family Services on Monday; two Funerals on Tuesday. Then, on Wednesday, two Christmas Eve Services. The really happy moment was on Christmas Morning when we celebrated a Baptism in the Little Church.

I had another personal ditch experience on Christmas Eve between the 7 PM and 11 PM Services. I’m building a reputation — in fact, I’ve had a (well earned) reputation my whole life. I attempted a Rhode Island U-Turn right in front of Raymond’s house. The cleared roadway was more than sufficient for the maneuver. But, what I didn’t realize — until too late — was that the grader had also cleared the top of the ditch (which was covered with flat, fresh — and soft — snow. Down went one of the front wheels. And there I was parked for an hour.

Raymond’s house is right where the (Mossonee/Moose Factory) ice highway begins. While we were standing there pondering the situation (and my stupidity) Iris returned from Moosonee (from Services there) with comments. In fact, most of Moose Factory was returning from — or going to — Moosonee; and everybody had a comment. Finally a couple a guys helped us out with a push. It didn’t take much of a push. But it gave EVERYONE something to talk about.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!

It’s now 9 PM. The work for the day is done. Since the Schools remain closed (because of the flu) there are a lot of restless kids. One good diversion for kids is a sleigh ride. Only here that means a toboggan tied behind a skidoo. There’s one circling the Rectory with about eight five-year-olds — everyone having a grand time of it.

About 25 of us were there with Sammy at the last moments; and we lingered afterwards at his bedside and read the litany.

Sophie had died in Timmins this last Sunday.  I conducted a Family Service for her and her family on Thursday night. Bishop Cadieux presided at her burial yesterday and celebrated (RC) Mass at The Old Church. He had trouble getting over to The Island, however. High Tide had closed down the skidoos. Moose Cree Band saved the situation by chartering a chopper.

George had died in Timmins a day or so ago. His body will arrive on Monday’s train. Hopefully we’ll have the Family Service Monday night and burial before Christmas.

So often Christmas time brings a mixture of joy and great sadness.

The youngest and the oldest are the most vulnerable. And the flu vaccine is reported to be running short.

CHOPPER WARS…
We are at the mercy of the choppers. And the choppers are — or were — having a chopper war. There **were** TWO choppers from TWO chopper companies. And they **were** in the midst of a knock-down, drag-out battle. The combatants: Expedition Helicopters and Dunn Helicopters.

Expedition is the company that was here last year — the company that was something less than expeditious — when their starter wouldn’t start for three days running. Dunn, a newcomer, was the intruder.

Despite the competition, bush style, both companies managed to keep their prices at $30 — one way — each. However, there was some pretty good negative advertising — mostly generated by those partial to Expedition. There have been lots of stories: some false, some true.

For instance: One day, the Ontario Ministry of Transportation called the Dunn company president. They wanted to know why the Dunn never reported a downed (crashed) chopper. The reason was that there never had been a downed/crashed chopper.

However, there is another story, with reportedly more truth:  One day, against specific Ministry orders not to fly at all (because of bad weather), Dunn tried to carry a load of parcels across The River for Canada Post. In fact they didn’t just take one load; they took two loads, at once — or tried to. Freight is carried in a giant mesh bag tied somewhere to the bottom of the chopper. This particular chopper was carrying TWO of those mesh bags (full of parcels). ONE of them managed to get loose and fell ***into*** The River.

Supposedly most of the packages were deliveries from Sears — virtually the entire Christmas delivery. The Island has gone hysterical. Sears is trying to figure out just what DID get lost; and they’re trying to get replacement orders delivered before Christmas. But there may have been other parcels lost, as well. I’m now sick with worry trying to figure out if anything sent to me or The Church got lost. If anything was in that load, it’s gone.

Dunn has been grounded. Their shack at Chopper Plaza is boarded and locked.Expedition rules the roost — for now.

Bobby showed up in church last night — first time since his surgery last month.

The Sunday School Teachers did a skit in church yesterday morning. And brought down the house. Something about Advent. Or Christmas. Or both. The high point was when Nellie — doing John The Baptist — appeared in bathrobe, arctic boots, and wool hat knitted by my late Aunt Ellen. I got a picture of that one.

We got a real snow storm yesterday — the kind they get down south. Usually we get dry cold here; and that means we don’t get much snow; and what snow we get blows away — or around; you just drive over it, and it turns into pavement. But, yesterday, we got snow.  Near the end of the storm — around 3 pm –  I decided I wanted to get the vehicles loose and rolling again. I was not about to wait until Saturday (when the back-hoe comes) to be plowed out. The streets already were plowed by the municipal grader.

I started shoveling. Over the next ten minutes three cars passed by on the street. Five minutes after the third car went by a skidoo with two lads (18-25 years old) and two enormous shovels appeared. They told me THEY were going to clear the driveway — and that I was NOT going to clear the driveway. They did — in about 30 minutes. It would have taken me all day and all night.

Somebody had called Bobby and had told him that the old fool (jbe) was out there shoveling by himself.

On the other hand, things can be quiet. A few weeks ago, now, The Deputy Chief had spoken his mind on the subject of drugs. The Deputy Chief IS the sort that DOES speak his mind from time. (Readers of this Journal may be familiar with others who also speak their minds from time to time….)

The Deputy Chief neither likes drugs, nor does he like people who sell drugs. And he said so. In fact he has said so numerous times. One night, however, somebody shot his house full of bullets. Nobody got hit or hurt. But the Band Chief and Council decided that enough is enough and offered a tidy reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the perpetrator(s).

No information has been forthcoming. Or, at least, no arrests have been made; and the reward remains posted.

Every year at this time Elders (and their families) bring out handicrafts made throughout the year. Lots of really wonderful things are for sale at the Cree Community Center — where the Post Office and Northern Store are located. When I have money I get what I can and send it to folks in the States. This year, however, I don’t have any money; I spent it all knocking my website into shape; and that’s my Christmas present to everybody; Merry Christmas!

But there’s a way you can get nice things — moccasins and Tamarack geese and that sort of thing:

CREE CULTURAL CRAFT SHOP
PO Box 56
Moose Cree First Nation
Moose Factory,   ON   P0L 1W0

Phone:
705/658-4594
705/658-4619

FAX:
705/658-4734

They don’t have an easy email or website routine yet. But, I’m told, that will be coming.  Cheyenne and John work there. They’re knowledgeable and easy to deal with. The prices at the shop are consistent with what’s asked for elsewhere on The Island. The handicrafts are from The Island. Really authentic materials, such as home-cured moose hide, are hard to come by. They also are more expensive. But, if you’re picky, you can get them.

The Choir, which rehearses every Tuesday night, again invaded the kitchen — this time with pies, brownies, cookies, and cakes. It all was wonderful.  I even hauled out the Lapsang Souchang. but it was not universally well received. ‘Tastes like medicine!’ — probably because I made it too strong — as usual. Moose Factory likes it’s Red Rose Tea. That will never change.

Today it’s back to 23 degrees (Fahrenheit). This Sunday we all meet in The Little Church. Only on Christmas Eve will we return to The Old Church — and only for those two Services. People still are hoping for the Expressway to be open by Christmas. That would be two weeks earlier than last year’s opening. I’m not optimistic.

I’m writing this at eight in the morning, and some of us are scrambling to get things from The Old Church to The Little Church. Bertha was here for six hours yesterday, cleaning and fixing The Little Church so that it would be presentable. I ran off a ton of paper through the copy machine — hopefully to catch everybody up on what their Select Vestry has been up to so far this fall.

I cleaned up the St. Thomas’ pages at the web site — and finally got them looking like something I could live with. I’m learning, slowly; but I’ve figured out what ‘Contribute2’ can and cannot do. The canoeing pages come next.

You might be wondering why a cleric spends this kind of time getting facile with the web. Remember the distances — up here, and between here and the States. It takes weeks (and money) to get letters and parcels back and forth between the interested parties. I’ve found the easy way to share the materials. Quick and cheap.

There’s not a large number of people reading this stuff, but the different groups are important to me.

One group consists of my own family and friends — in the States and abroad –  who constantly ask: ‘What are you doing? And what is going on up there — or over there?’

Another group consists of fellow laborers here in The North. Many of them are interested in what an old Yankee sees as he works his way into the life and culture of Moose Factory and The Bay. Some think I’m right on the money sometimes. Others may think I’m a raving lunatic. Being Canadian, they’re too polite to say so, of course.

A third group — the paddler crowd — is interested in the old routes and the old trips. They are people up here — and up the coast — as well as people who also paddled those routes years ago — or who seek to preserve the memory of them for people years after we’re gone. They (and often their children) enjoy the old pictures. The pictures bring back memories or shed light on the routes. (Or they show something of what Daddy was doing centuries ago.)

Finally, there are the locals up here — mostly parishioners — who are starting to find the site and may well be wondering what that damn Yankee will say next. Their insights are especially important to me. It is amongst these people that I live and move and try to have my being. I am blessed (or burdened) with a mind that keeps trying to probe. Their patience and forbearance, as well as their honesty, nurture me.

It’s all grist for the mill and will help me to grow. It also is a conversation (albeit in my mind) relevant to others, I think.

One set of issues relates to a white and somewhat urbanized American (me) trying to understand a world for which he has deep respect. But he does not really know that world. And he knows enough to know that. So, he uses whatever tools he has to try to understand that world. Some of what he says — or how he says it — doesn’t fit right, perhaps, with the Native mind. And, very possibly, what I think, or how I think, may be offensive to some. But I have learned that I don’t learn until or unless I am honest and forthright about what I think and how I think. Only then can the conversation begin, where I am confronted by another’s perspective and sensibility. Without that conversation, I am less likely to change and to grow.

The other set of issues relates to the liquidity of consensus amongst the peoples of this region (and I mean ALL of the peoples) in the context of massive cultural change. What really is happening? Who are we — who am I — really? Where is this going? What kind of life will my children or grandchildren have? What do they — and I — have to look forward to? These are questions for any people, any time. But here they have a special urgency. Change that has come is profound. Change that is coming may be unimaginable.

I realize that it’s my privilege to be here now: to observe and to wonder, to learn and to grow.

OO CA NA DA
KE TAS KE ME NA NAW
KIS TAYL TAY TAW
AY TAS KA NAY SE YAK
KE HE TAY HE NAK, MASK KA
WAYL TAY TAW
KAY CHEE WE CHE TA YAK
NE PO WE TOW, OO CA NA DA
SOO KE TAY AY WE NEIK
OO CA NA DA NE KE OO TA
OO CA NA DA ME LO NA KO TA TAOW
OO CA NA DA WE ME CHE MIN TAY TA WO

The Cree sing at about half the tempo that we New Englanders are used to. The singing is a mixture of solemnity and joy. Everybody sings. The kids sat on the gym floor relaxed and silent for an hour. During the prayers you could hear a pin drop. (The Cree have prayer in School.)

During the Observance we saw a ten minute video. The video was a TV journal, of sorts, on the James Bay Veterans who fought in WWI and WWII. Several interviews were recorded with men now gone. Some were 16 years old when they fought. There was a mixture of pride and pain. They served Canada well, but…. One saw his brother for the last time — while moving to the front line as the brother was just coming back from the front line. One remarked that, after the war, their social status was again questioned. They were just ‘Indians’.

In the entry hallway of the school there was an exhibit of old photos and other memorabilia from the families of the veterans. Several photos had lists next to them: of grand children and great-grandchildren presently enrolled in the school.

Last night the choir practiced at The Little Church — in the same building as the Rectory. After practice we enjoyed some freshly brewed Earl Gray Tea — and proper Pilot Biscuits.

And then, because I couldn’t sleep, I scanned another roll of film — from The Attawapiskat, 1974.

Flu shots are being given today at The Hospital.

Bobby was airlifted to Kingston earlier this week and operated on immediately.  Right now, things are looking good.

George Luste called me the night before last with the suggestion I speak at a conference in Toronto this coming January. Evidently some of the issues I surfaced in my Eastmain Journal are still issues even today. In one sense of the word, I am the worst person ever to speak about issues and The North. I’m the quintessential outsider, and I’ve been away for thirty years. So, I’ll need to get more focused on the conference before I would know what I’d be good for there. But Toronto in January could be interesting. I’d be ready for a break then — after Christmas. (In fact, I’m ready for a break now — after my bout with THE COLD.)

The ‘JUNIOR’ ACW (Anglican Church Women — the 50 year-olds) have determined that they will use my kitchen for a pizza-party fund-raiser next week. When I inquired as to what brand of beer they preferred, their meeting came apart. More on that one, later.

I spent my monthly hour with Lawrence last Tuesday. Lawrence, who is in his seventies, I think, and I are developing a plan of action whereby to fix Treaty #9. This Island should be grateful for the work we are doing together. When we are done, mending the affairs of The Island, we celebrate the eucharist. Yesterday I spent time with Patrick, age 91, who filled me in on some of the intricacies of The Harricanaw River. It’s a day’s paddle from The Harricanaw to Moose Factory Island, if you play the tides right. It’s a two day walk from here to The Harricanaw — if you’re thirty — 60 miles. By dog sled, it’s a one day journey — if you feed the dogs well.

The early part of the week of October 19 had me doing a burial of a stillborn child — while Iris conducted a funeral over in Moosonee. The latter part of that week included a full day workshop with a group of consulting architects and park planners. Finally, it seems, some money may be coming into the Centennial Park Museum. This project includes the old HBC buildings — including the Old Church. However, we were not long into our conversations before we realized that the exhibit had to be about The Cree, about their culture. AND, it had to be presented entirely by the Cree — in their own way.

I started ranting and raving on this tack early in the sessions — while everyone else was being polite.  It didn’t take long, however, for the entire focus to shift. The project had been conceptualized years ago as a means to save the old HBC buildings. As the concept goes now, while they are important, because they are tangible artifacts, they are not the center of the story. The Cree are at the center — where they should be.

It may sound easy and matter of fact to pull this off. In the course of the afternoon, however, I realized that the rants I had written up in these pages — going back to last winter — are nothing compared to some of the stories others had to tell.  By the time the average tourist arrives on Moose Factory Island s/he is pretty well conditioned to avoid all contact with all native people. That sounds crazy. But it’s reality.

At least we began to identify some places where we can work. One of the big challenges, I think, will be for all the interested parties on The Island to actually cooperate with each other. Remember that Moose Factory Island is politically and culturally segmented in every direction — very much like Aquidneck Island (Newport, to you non-Rhode Islanders.) It will be a stretch to get everyone to work together seamlessly on this. But, at least, we know the problem; and we know what we can do.

I also spent time with a family in The Hospital while their relative was dying and then read the Vigil with them afterwards. This was all going on while a week of native ceremonies was starting — here and in Moosonee. Later on Monday night I joined the tail end of the ‘Dance of the Dead’ — a ceremonial Feast.

Theresa was here for the whole week — along with one of the teachers from Attawapiskat — Vice Principle, actually. They stayed at my place. And that gave me an excuse to bake and roast everything in sight. The bannocks actually rose. And the roast beef was perfect — seriously underdone by Cree standards.  But there were late nights, and I got more and more tired. I couldn’t figure out why. This was supposed to be a high point of the month.

By Monday morning, 27 October, I DID know why. I came down with THE COLD. Both Bobby and Raymond had been decommissioned for weeks by it. On Monday and Tuesday, either I did nothing, or I can’t remember what I did. By Wednesday I was beginning to wake up — but still not doing much. On Thursday the Panther arrived, and I went into a MAC seance for the next 30 hours.

I did a ‘clean install’. Totally erased the hard drive and installed the new operating system from scratch. Then, one by one, I added the applications, checking each time for updates.

A veteran passed away this week, as well. Iris stayed with that family while I coughed and wheezed. On Saturday we had the Family Service. And on Sunday afternoon we had the Funeral. Iris drove the truck right between the white lines through it all.

On Sunday night — at the evening Eucharist — we celebrated All Souls Day. This was without any forewarning — only an announcement Sunday Morning. About twenty folks showed up. Next year, we’ll do better. This is the part of All Saints’ Day that really makes sense to these folks.

Finally, I tuned up the MAC website again, a bit.  Downloads remain at the same place. But the pages with pictures have been reformatted and rearranged — I hope more conveniently. I don’t know who-all is visiting that site; but the counter keeps going up.

Monday night — all of it — was taken up with getting Clayton’s new computer computing. He got an eMAC — just like this one, except newer, bigger and faster. He and Lynn have gotten into the Eastmain Journal, and that got endless pots of coffee and conversation going.

I got up late this morning. I’ve been too strung out over the past several days. Finally, last night I crashed. Today Dina is cleaning the place up. She had been down in Kingston for a few weeks — with her husband, Billy, who was hospitalized down there. Billy now is back home, better. And Dina — and the rest of us — are relieved.

Thanksgiving here is not quite what it is in the States. At least, in this neck of the woods there isn’t quite the traveling there is in the States. For one thing, we’re in the middle of the Fall Hunt, and most of the families are hunkered down in their camps — waiting for the groceries to come walking by. But, also, here, anyway, folks aren’t entirely smitten with legends of white folk surviving tough winters in New England. It’s not that they’re opposed to the concept. They just can’t see what there is to give thanks for.

I have posted the Eastmain materials — such as they are, so far. For those who visit the Apple/Mac site, they’re all in the download section — titled: ‘Moose Factory Journal’. In that section are all the ‘Moose Factory Journal’ postings; and now there is a new file: EASTMAIN.1973.  The ‘Eastmain’ file contains another file of pictures — all jpg and all reduced to fairly small files. Also there is the ‘Eastmain Journal’. The journal needs a lot of work before it is presentable. I have sent it to anyone I know who knows The River. I also have shared it with some of the folk here — both for their criticism and also because it might just add fuel to the fire of getting an archive started. Ann called me this morning to tell me that one of her sons had gotten into it. No doubt, soon, he’ll have ‘that look’ in his eyes.

A lot of the material was basically incoherent and very poorly written — the ventilating steam of a 30-year-old. It was, after all, a journal — made up from notes taken in the field. But a lot of information was there. And the point of view was there. I scrubbed the file a bit, cut about half the verbosity, and typed it up anew on Monday and Tuesday — finishing this morning around 3:30 AM. I’m now sharing it with the guys from the section I am still in communication with, asking them to find holes and mistakes. Haven’t heard back yet. There’s still lots more material on the trip for me to look at, if I ever catch up to it, or if it ever catches up to me. But with these notes I was able to pinpoint several more slides. I had completely forgotten that I never DID get into Prosper Gorge — walked right around it. What I had thought might be Prosper Gorge was, in fact, Bauerman Falls. The notes had brought enough memory back to me to figure things like that out.

Everybody these days belongs to a support group. It’s the thing to do. My primary support group, these days, is the Macintosh Users Corner that lurks somewhere in the server at Ecunet — wherever that is. It fills all my intellectual and spiritual needs. We have no controversies. All of us agree on one thing: Windoze stink. We may not always agree on what to do about that. Some might look for strategies of conversion. Others might suggest that suffering humanity is just destined to suffer. All of us have personal stories of inconvenience visited upon us by the Windoz masses and their in ability or flat out refusal to accept the truth: MACS are better.

ANYWAY,… one of the really alert members of this group posted a note around noon this morning informing us that Apple had let the cat out of the bag. (Cat = Panther = OS 13)

I jumped to Apple’s website. Sure enough. The cat was there. But I can’t get things from Apple in the USA. I have to order from Apple/Canada.  I went to Apple/Canada. No Panther. I did a search. No Panther. I grumbled. I fussed. I tried again. There was the Panther. I ordered the Panther.

All of which suggests that, if I wasn’t the first, I had to have been amongst the very first. I’m hoping I’ll get an award, if I am the first. And, once again, Moose Factory leads the pack.

An Elder died in Timmins a day or so ago. The coffin will be arriving on Friday’s train. No one knows what will happen then. All of the family will be arriving on that same train. We’ll just have to go from there.

I’ve had a flurry of correspondence regarding The Eastmain River.  Last month I had a visit from Adrian Tanner, a retired ethnologist from Newfoundland, who has been doing genealogical studies here at Moose Factory. He also is working with people on the East Side on another project that seeks to document and examine the old native routes.  There are many routes that have now been lost — to flooding.  More dams are being built, as the James Bay Hydro project enters another (new) phase. Adrian is seeking to collect information about those routes lost.  He and others will try to do some archeological work on the imperiled routes before they are gone.

The archeologists want to dig at one or a number of old traditional camping grounds.  Often these are right on the portages. The specific location of the portage, then, is critically important.  Hopefully the best site(s) will be located and researched before the waters rise.

The information brought in by canoeists can be helpful for a number of reasons.  The information can substantiate — from a different perspective — information gathered from natives.  AND, the canoeist has ‘road-tested’ the route.  When there is more than one trail around an obstacle (and there often are) the canoeist (whether white or native) appreciates the distinctions.  Native travelers had high water portages as well as low water portages. And those different portages were not always on the same side of the river — or on the same island *in* the *middle* of the river.  The native never walked a yard more than necessary; and he never exposed himself to danger.  The elegance of that balance in the native routes is remarkable.  The canoeist appreciates that balance and understands its technology, experientially. He may not understand HOW the native determined the route. But he sees the result.

HOW the native achieved the route may well be a function of the native culture. I’m guessing, but this is what always fascinated me the last ten years or so that I tripped — from the mid sixties when I tripped with the likes of Joe Baptiste right through the Bay trips, and especially on The Eastmain, where the technology of getting down that River safely and efficiently is so intricate and precise.  The native simply understands the River differently. The canoeist can locate the native’s footsteps, perhaps — and will, if he survives.  But the means by which the native achieved his route will elude the canoeist unless he is willing and able to think outside his own cultural reference.  You never try to ‘master’ The River. You try to listen to it and let it talk to you.  For me, that’s where it starts.

When I ran The Eastmain in 1973 I shot about 130 slides of The River.  Most were multiple shots of the same subject: Rupert Bay, Prosper Gorge, Great Bend around the campsite at the foot, Conglomerate Gorge, Clouston Gorge, Basil Gorge.  Conglomerate Gorge on down, now, is dry. I had to have been one of the last people shooting pictures of these subjects while they were still alive.  For the last two weeks I have been trying to sequence the slides in coherent order.  Only the order of the shots around Great Bend came to me easily.  Somehow THAT was hard wired into my memory.  The rest I had to sequence by looking at each slide and observing similarities to (hopefully) the next or previous slide.  In doing that I have been reintroduced to The River — as it was, thirty years ago.  I’ve written to Eastmain Village — looking for someone who still remembers The River.  I think some of the Elders may really appreciate some of those pictures.  We had many cloudless days that summer; and several of the shots came out really well.  The River was good to us, and it danced.

Adrian talked of a move afoot to establish an archive.  The archive could house accurate route information, artifacts from the archeological sites, and pictures of rivers that are now flooded or dried out.  It all would help the people of this region remember and understand the roots of their past.  I’ve been writing old canoeing buddies — to see what they can come up with.  The route information, gathered by canoeists, evidently still resides in different files.  But there is no central clearing house.  The window of opportunity will close as all of us old-timers die off. Heb Evans already has left us.

On Saturday:
Isabel got here before the Bishop.  She managed to delay his flight by an hour.  But she had been reduced to only a puff and a sprinkle. Another storm (of the local variety) came in from the West Friday night and had much more to say for itself.

The Bishop and I visited for a bit Saturday afternoon.  Then we did a potluck supper at the Parish Hall.  I brought a bucket of beans.  No casualties — yet.  Then, several hours of an open Vestry Meeting.

Sunday:
We did Confirmation in the morning, Rehearsal for Iris’s Ordination in the afternoon.  And, yes, another parish supper in the evening.

Monday:
I spent most of the day trying to figure out what to talk about at the Ordination, scheduled for Monday Evening.  (Iris, in a weak moment, had asked me to preach.) The high point of the evening — for me — was getting into Bishop Horden’s Pulpit — for the first time in my life.  The Pulpit IS high — not as high as Trinity’s in Newport.  But it doesn’t have any steps; they got lost somewhere back in the mists of history.  I used a folding chair (which didn’t fold, thank God) in place of the steps.  And even managed to get out of The Pulpit without breaking my neck — or the chair.

Don Faries videotaped the whole service, so it’s now part of the record.  The service WAS beautiful.  The Choir — average age, 78 — was on a roll; one irreverent soul suggested they had got into the wine.  Clayton beat The Drum. Derek carried The Cross.  Lots of people read lots of things. Iris designed the Service, and she did really well. I think Monica was hiding under the pew while I preached. (‘What will he say NEXT?’) I was off and into one of my rants, and the Bishop has the notes.

Monday night the Rectory was full of clerics.  We don’t see each other all the time. And the visit WAS delightful — for me, anyway.  That’s one of the perks of living in an otherwise empty barn.  Gwendolyn, the pastoral organizer, wasn’t with us, so I had to do the organizing — such as it was. I missed her.

This morning I saw my guests off. This afternoon I was in Moosonee, handling the Funeral for Sidney Moore, a veteran of World War II.  Besides the family (and several hundred others) a few of his comrades were there — with guns, flags, dignity, and honor.

Now it’s time to chill down.

On September 30, 1999 a party was headed from Moose Factory Island to Hannah Bay — where many people go to camp, fish, and hunt. There were five canoes in the party.

When the party left Moose Factory Island, the weather was calm, and there were no signs of trouble.  However, after they had cleared the mouth of The Moose River and were actuall out in The Bay, a wind or storm came up — and suddenly. This does happen on The Bay (which is why I was so cautious when Ted and Judy were here.)  One canoe swamped. Another one or two canoes came to the rescue. One of the (rescue) canoes swamped. Eight lives were lost.  Most were from one family alone.  Further, the bodies (or what was left of them) were not all recovered until weeks later.  The Record Book here in the Church shows the date of the funeral for all to be October 5, 1999.

The catastrophe occurred near Big Stone Island which lies about halfway between the Moose River and Hannah Bay (into which the Harricanaw flows.)  The water in that specific area can be exceedingly treacherous.  The big rolling waves coming from across The Bay can get ever so much larger in that area because of a number of factors. One is that the configuration of the points jutting out from the mainland can have an effect on the tide — setting up a kind of enormous counterclockwise eddy. And, there are several shallows or sandbars; the big waves simply break over the shallows and sandbars.

Big Stone Island is mostly a large sand bar — with enough high ground to support some rocks and some vegetation — lying just a few yards off shore.  If the muck were not like quicksand, you could easily get from the mainland shore to The Island.  The Island is the closest place to the tragedy where there is enough solid footing, so that a memorial can be constructed and maintained.  In the last week, however, when we had the big wind that knocked out the power for a night, The Island was covered with seawater.  The water had literally blown up over it.

The families involved with the tragedy were camped out on The Island for the long weekend. Today there were at least four chopper trips (four passengers each trip) out to The Island. I went out with Bobby, Betty, and Elsie at 2 PM. Chief Hardisty from Moose Cree First Nation was there along with a counselor for support.  In all, there were about fifty of us.

We all visited for a while. I chatted with Elizabeth while she was making bannock at the fire in a teepee. Elizabeth had lost a daughter and three grandchildren in the tragedy.

Not much got said. We just kind of hung out, talked about the weather which was damp. After about an hour we formed The Circle.  We used much of the material from the Annual Memorial Service, held on the first Sunday of August at St. Thomas’ Cemetery.  But our formalities were shorter and simpler. I preached all of three minutes, basically just thanked the families for inviting me out to this place.  Their gift to me was possibly more than they could imagine. And in time their gift here would encourage others to come to this place. Several family members have not yet been to Big Stone Island.  They’re not ready yet.

We said prayers in Cree and English, sang some of the old hymns, read from the Scriptures in Cree and in English. Then we walked slowly to where the great white wooden Cross was planted and laid wreathes and concluded with more prayers.

Then there was The Feast: enough for 300 people and every kind of delicacy.  Offerings were made from The Feast.  The sun had come out.  The weather was gentle.

At four I had to leave — first chopper trip out.  Our pilot — a lady older than me — was worried about storms coming in.  She is very, very good — takes absolutely no chances.  She also invited herself to the celebration, was asked to do one of the readings, and was part of the family long before we were on our way back out.

Since then I have talked to two Elders about what happened — Jimmy and Lawrence.  Both have serious respect for the water right in the area where the tragedy occurred — for the reasons I listed.  Also, the canoes were heavily loaded.  There might have been engine trouble — in which case one could not steer the bow into the wind.  And then there was a question about the shape of the hull on some of the freighters; not all hulls ride the swells the same way.  Both agreed that in some crucial respects the 17-18 foot canoe is safer. It takes much less draft, and you can really hug the shore.  You may get wet, muddy, and bit. But you can’t drown on the mainland. In addition to that, the engine can actually shield you from what’s going on.  You may think you have more control over the situation than you really have.  The paddler doesn’t have that kind of power and will adjust accordingly, will look for safety and will be close enough to find it — or be blown into it.  The Elders remember when travel up and down the coast was all by paddle (or sail.)  Their Elders knew every creek and hummock along the way — and knew just exactly where to go when they got nervous — which was usually long before there was trouble.

The impact of the tragedy upon The Community was (and is) devastating.  People still talk, and remember, and think of those who are gone, and those who are left alone.

On Friday, a week ago, just after the kids had gone, another old canoeing friend arrived in Moosonee with his bride. They were to come over to The Island Friday evening. By that time, however, the wind had managed to close down all the traffic between here and Moosonee. Dick and Deidre had to spend Friday night in Moosonee. They came over the next day; and we did the sights.

This week Sharon Murdoch came to town for a few days. She talked Cree with Daisy Turner and talked MACS with me. She has an ancient MAC, can update it no further than System 7,  and is about to plunge into OS X. Hopefully she’ll now have a better sense of what she is getting into than I had when I got my machine.

This week, also, I have, finally, begun to do something with the .MAC (Apple) website.  Some people have had trouble accessing it. The address is supposed to be:

http://homepage.mac.com/jedmonds/

However, for some reason, the following sometimes works better:

http://homepage.mac.com/jedmonds/Menu10.html

I don’t know why this can be. But try it, if you have trouble.  And, if you still have trouble, tell me, and I’ll keep fussing with it.

I am posting old and new photos to that (.MAC) site.  There are beginning to be some shots of and around Moose Factory Island. Also, there are ancient Wabun shots.  The Wabun shots go back to the 60’s and 70’s. Ted Nye brought back my old file of slides and added some of his own; and Dick Neunherz brought in some especially precious relics. I’m not posting everything — just stuff that some people may be interested in — and which I like.  Just run through the photo album pages, and the pix should pop up.  I am being careful not to post extremely large files. That makes downloading the page easier, but at the cost of the picture’s quality.

There ARE a few shots that are **also** in the Moose Factory Journal File. This file is a straightforward file-sharing file; you have to download everything.  The shots there are copies of shots in the other (photo album) pages; but they are MUCH larger files; and they have significantly more definition.  All of which is to say, if you see a shot that you like in the photo album pages, tell me; I’ll redo it in a more robust version; it will take a while to download; but the quality will be much better.  There’s no way some of those big files could ever squeeze through some email servers — or show up on a web page, if you’re using a dial-up connection.

No picture can be posted to the Prexar site; the site is too small.

Another change in The Journal is that now everything is written in and posted from Mariner WRITE.  I use Mellel for fussy things — because of its flexibility. But Mariner WRITE does some wonderful things…. You can open a WORD document with Mariner, work with that document in Mariner, and then save that document in WORD rtf — so that any WORD freak can open and read it — and **without** stress.  In other words, you don’t need WORD to do WORD.  Mariner WRITE costs [us]$70 (download version). If you bundle it with their spreadsheet, you pay [us]$129.  WORD (for the MAC) costs [ca]$570.  MS OFFICE (the bundle) costs [ca]$709; it includes ENTOURAGE (for email and inferior to Apple’s MAIL), WORD, EXCEL, and POWER POINT.  Also, Mariner’s WRITE, being smaller, is more nimble than WORD, uses less memory — in all, is not BLOATED (or over-priced.)  Check it out:  www.marinersoftware.com

This afternoon I played tour guide for some folks from Guelph (Ontario). I get the idea that the tourists don’t really get much guidance when they are here.  When I did the ‘Polar Princess’ boat ride out into The Bay with Ted and Judy, there was not a single native person to explain what things were or what things meant.  The only resource around that I know of is the Cree Cultural Center here on The Island. For some reason, the tour people are discernibly less than enthusiastic in recommending it, although it’s the best show in town. Maybe it’s because The Center charges $5 per head admission.  When St. Thomas’ Vestry allowed as folks really should contribute something when they visited The Church, the tour company complained loudly. It didn’t seem to matter that the parishioners have to clean up each week after the mess (and replace the stolen books printed in Cree).

There has been much talk over the past few weeks about a road. DeBeers is going to get their stuff into their mine — somehow.  The possible routes to Attawapiskat seem to be many. I have heard: that their equipment could be trained to Churchill, then barged to Attawapiskat; that their stuff could be trucked to the East Side (Quebec Side) of James Bay (probably Eastmain or Waskaganish) and then barged to Attawapiskat; that a road could be built from Hearst, Ontario, bypassing Moosonee, to Attawapiskat. This option gives Attawapiskat the shortest run to main highways. Then, of course, there is the possible Moosonee route. That route could go right next to the train route — straight into Moosonee — and then up the West Coast.  But, also, there is gossip about a possible route that could come into Moosonee from the East.  The one thing everybody seems to be agreed upon is that the Ontario Northland route from Cochrane to Moosonee is insufficient.

Everybody seems ambivalent about a road. A road would bring in development and jobs. It also, however, would accelerate the transition here to a different culture. And giving up the past is very painful, indeed.

The young gentlemen are all sleeping in the Church Undercroft – a big room with its own half bath.  Several of the young ladies are holed up in the other end of the building, also in the basement – with an EMPTY room in between themselves and the young gentlemen. The rest of the young ladies (and most of them, in fact) are on the top floor — where I sleep. I think the concept was/is that they are safer up here with me than anywhere else. They consider me their momentarily surrogate father.  And, with that context in mind, they have commandeered the bathroom — which I never get near. Or, when I do, there’s no hot water.   I will miss them when they leave (tomorrow.)

Some worm got loose in the PC world this week. I got over a hundred bogus emails yesterday. At first I thought my machine had gone berserk. Then I found out that MACS are immune – to this particular blight, anyway. We MAC owners now are all sitting on our perches high above the mob, and we just cluck. I set my junk email filter to toss everything that did not already have an address salted away in my address book. I know I’ll miss some VERY IMPORTANT email that way; but folks will have to be patient. We live in trying times; it’s a Windows world.

We got the lights back on at 1:30 AM this morning. Only 15% of The Province is back on line. Cable (and therefore Internet Access) here at Moose Factory is still out. No news, yet, from The States.

This is my first entry since June’s posting. There is some catching up to do…. Heading south for vacation, I lingered a moment on Lake Temagami and caught up (after 30 years) with some old friends. Then, off to Vermont where I caught up with (some of) the cousins. Then, off to Maine. While in Maine I got the USA taxes done, got a physical exam, and did lots of things around the house: mostly carpentry, painting, and brush. On my way back North I brought the canoe. It turns out that Old Town Trippers are not made the way they used to be made (back when I got mine.) The ‘skin’ now is much thinner than it was in the old days. That made my old canoe actually worth something. I brought it north, traded it in to WABUN, and used the money for a handmade wood & canvass canoe. Exactly what I’ll use a new (and lighter) canoe for remains to be seen.

I have the Immigration, Customs, and Ontario Health Card routines down to something of a system. These things have to be updated each year. The Immigration papers have to be renewed as I ENTER Canada; that dictates the timing of my vacation travels. I was armed with all kinds identification – the crucial pieces being from The Diocese.

When I got here, Iris had already left in order to be with her mother. Her Mom had been ill for a long time and died shortly after Iris got to her. My first weekend brought a wedding and TWO Memorial Services.

One of the Memorial Services was along the same lines as the one on this first Sunday of August last year. Last year we had about 350 people at The Service. This year we had at least 600.

In addition to that there were another 300 Inuit on The Island. They had come to dedicate a stone just erected in the Cemetery. Written on the stone are all the names of people from those far northern communities who died and who were buried here at Moose Factory in the Cemetery.  The planning for this event goes back at least ten years. The planning included raising the money for travel and for the stone; also, it took years to ferret out all the names, and some even may still be missing.

The Inuit held their Memorial Service Saturday Morning at 10, first in The Church and then out in The Cemetery by the stone. It was a powerful and emotional event. People simply wailed. There were still folks kneeling before the stone at 2 PM when the Wedding was about to begin. Hopefully there is now the beginning of some kind of healing and closure for an exceedingly painful chapter in these people’s history.

Visitors… Ted and Judy Nye were here for the tail end of The Gathering – which, again, was much like it was last year. We took in the Feast – every kind of game including delicacies from the Far North. We had a wonderful visit, checked out the sights, and took a cruise on into The Bay aboard the ‘Polar Princess’.  I opted for the ‘Princess’ which is longish, heavy, and covered — rather than chartering one of our local ‘taxis’ — a 35 foot freighter with a 40-60 horse power engine.  A taxi captained by someone like Joe Tip is much the preferred concept.  But Joe was out of town, and the weather had that hot clammy feel.  I was afraid a nasty storm might come up quickly.  The one thing I did NOT want was for us to get stuck 10-15 miles up The River — waiting out a storm.  Storms can be brisk around here; and, unless you know The River really well, there can be trouble.  As it turned out, the weather throughout was hot and calm — typical of early August.

Today a church group of kids arrives (if they don’t get hung up on the power shortage) to help out for a week. I’m scrambling to make The Rectory respectable. This next week will be a stretch. I’ll have 20 people in the house.

WCPE (in Raleigh, NC) has a request program on Saturday night. It is now evening. And they just played a Mozart Horn Concerto (with Dennis Brain) at my request. The announcer, however, got Canada and California mixed up somehow; and Moose Factory ended up in California when he gave my (first) name and address. I doubt anyone else on The Island here is listening to that particular station right now. But I had to rush off an email to the station with a little bit of northern history and geography. One should not be surprised that North Carolina is not fully informed about Northeastern Ontario. I was surprised, however, as I have come to realize that very few people here have any idea of what New England is. It’s in the States; and that’s another country.

On Sunday, June 8, we had the annual Sunday School picnic: a highly efficient rendering of Morning Prayer, awards, more awards, games outside, and mountains of hot dogs and hamburgers. The day was simply gorgeous – clear as a bell, cool, and a slight breeze.

On Monday and Tuesday I headed back to The Old Reserve for the tail end of the ‘Ceremonies’ – about which I promised not to write. So, what I learned from that must come in some other way, at some other time.

Wednesday, Thursday, and today: I have been catching up on everything else that had been sliding. Last night I had an important project come to life again; it had been sleeping since last August.

As I had described last August, we had our annual Memorial Service in 2002, as in every other year that anyone can remember, on the first Sunday of August. Lots of people are on The Island for that Service. Last August two groups of Inuit were there – each from a different community. One of the groups was organizing a project whereby Inuit folks from their village, who had died and who had been buried at Moose Factory years ago, could be remembered now, in our generation, by the placing of a memorial in or near The St. Thomas’ Cemetery.

Under the best of circumstances this is a tough project. A very large stone has to be cut by an expert and then moved over distances and routes that stones do no ordinarily move.  In this particular project two critical factors are missing. One is that the location of the graves is no longer known. There was never a coherent map of the cemetery. And one year all the crosses got moved; and no one knew where to put them back again.

The other big problem is/was the names. Last August the Inuit came with a list of names of people they thought had died here. Evidently they were certain about some of their forbears. But they had 8 or so names they wanted to check against the records.

We couldn’t find the records for those critical years – basically the 1950-60’s. There were no records. There were no copies of the records. We were stuck.

Until last night…. Bobby had been cleaning up his cellar and discovered two old books that evidently hold all the burial records from somewhere in the late 60’s back to about 1914.

I phone Rosie Ivillaq, my contact in Puvirnituq. She wasn’t there, but I left a message telling her what we had found. Then I got to work.

One book – the more recent – was an original (not a photocopy.) It had few entries. The book had been used only for a short time. Then the Burial Book we are now using replaced it. The reason for the (premature) switchover was that the ‘new’ book has a better layout for the entry of information – more blanks to fill in.

The other book is a photocopy of an original – presumably in the archives in Sudbury. This book had been completely filled.  I created a database of over a hundred names and faxed the information immediately to Rosie’s work fax number. This morning I mailed the same stuff in hard copy.

I didn’t get the fax sent off until after midnight. It took that long to worry my way through the records. I entered a lot of names of folks from communities north of here – unless their names were so obviously Cree that even I recognized them.  The Inuit were often identified with an ID number – beginning in E9-  …  Regardless of the stated residence of those persons, I entered their names (as best as I could read them) into the database.

As I was plowing through the names I began to recognize some consistencies….  The spelling of the names was, at best, rudimentary.  Often there would be an entry something like this: First Name: Baby; Last Name: Annie. Death dates, burial dates, and that ID number would generally be clearly entered.  There were only two birth dates in all the records I researched; one of those birth dates was a year (nothing more). Many records had at least an estimate of age at time of death.

Another thing: Many of the deaths occurred the day before the burial. Several deaths occurred on the same day as the burial. I had the sense that the funeral party for many of these souls consisted of the priest, the gravedigger, and perhaps one of the hospital staff.  I shared some of these thoughts and was told that usually the community up north simply got a letter some time later – stating date of death and date of burial, number, and maybe some semblance of name. Families were unable to be here through the dying and the burying. In this culture the respect shown the deceased (even these days) is of critical importance to everybody. I pondered the burden on the priest (usually Samuel Iserhoff) who would have been aware of all this – as well as of his own helplessness to do anything about it.

I had packed last night, so she knew something was up – and registered her expectation that she be included, if you don’t mind. At six this morning we left the Rectory for a walk. All in the routine – except that I had an overnight bag with me, and we walked further than usual. On our walk there were the usual neighborhood dogs to encounter and dismiss. And another dog-person (with dog) was walking towards us. We stopped and talked (and growled.) The morning was warm, clear; and there was no wind. The morning sun had risen over The River and over the swale that separates the east side of The Island from the open water. As we neared the old HBC post a Great Blue Heron rose from the swale and headed east out over The River.

We walked slowly. Gwendolyn must investigate. And she walks slowly now. And we have to take many rests.

We got to the docks by The Hospital (on the west side of The Island) in about 45 minutes. A lone taxi waited. There is no traffic at this time in the morning. That’s the way I wanted it – cross ahead of the morning traffic. We were alone in the canoe: Gwendolyn, the driver, and me.

The water was glass. Whales had come up into The River to fish. There was a dog on the Moosonee dock. And we said hi (and growled.) And we walked from the Moosonee docks to the train station – slowly, with many rests. There was plenty of time.

We had time to stall around before boarding the train. Here Gwendolyn got her Dramamine with her favorite cheese – Velveeta – and a little bit of fresh baked bread. The first mosquitoes of the spring had just come out this morning, and we talked about THAT as we brushed them aside. And when it came time for her to lie down in the cage in the baggage car, she did not object. She knows the drill, was used to it; and she was tuckered out from the walk.

The train ran on time – for once. Just after we crossed The Abitibi, a cow moose charged from a nearby bog back off into the bush.

Andy’s had the truck waiting at the station in Cochrane – five hours and 186 miles later. We took another short walk around the train station in Cochrane. Gwendolyn stumbled and fell, but she recovered her dignity and wanted to go on. We lingered a moment, visited; I rubbed her ears. Then into the car – I had to help her.  Then: the seventy-mile drive to Timmins.

I had thought we might stop at one of the rest stops along the way. I had brought the bread and Velveeta – the all time best of the best of the treats. But I figured this would just make her more aware of my own anxiety – she was nervous already — and that would only make it worse. We drove straight through to the Vet.

We were early. We did the paper work before and not after. There were a number of dogs – large and small coming in and going out.  Gwendolyn was as good as gold and lay at my feet the whole time and licked my hand.

Our time came. I was asked if I wanted to leave now. No, I’d stay – right through to the end; we had come this far. The first shot was while Gwendolyn was standing on the floor. She never felt a thing. I sat down on the floor.  She lay down beside me. In 20 minutes she couldn’t get up. She was totally dazed.

The Vet’s assistant then lifted her and laid her on the table. I was too weak to even try to help. Then came the hard stuff. A soft, deep whimper, and it was over. I tried to remove the collar and couldn’t. The guys had to do it for me.

It was all over now. There was nothing more to be done. There was no place I could take her. Cremation was the last and only option. I left her lying there on the table.

Our journey together, for now, is over.

On Saturday we went to The Bay. Moose Factory Island is in the mouth of The Moose River. There are a few miles to go before one actually is out in The Bay. We went by freighter as far as we could go. There is still ice at the mouth of The River. You can see chunks of it hanging out of the mud banks. And there still is a layer stuck on the bottom. When the water got too shallow, because of the ice, we stopped at an island and walked about. The sky was cloudless. There was a light breeze and no bugs (yet). The temperature reached 77 (Fahrenheit) that day. It was absolutely gorgeous.

The Island is really a big sandbar. It’s absolutely flat. When we were there it was but inches above the water. It obviously gets flooded often. Nothing was growing on it this last weekend. The birds, however, find sanctuary there. And, indeed, there’s an area closed off as a sanctuary.

On our way back we hunted for fossils. They are everywhere. Even I found lots. Marg tells me they are of the same origin as the ones in Minnesota.

Sunday brought Church in the morning. In the afternoon my guests toured the elementary school. (They’re teachers.)  I took the time to hang out in The Hospital with some folks there.

On Monday we packed up and went to The Old Reserve for a picnic. Monica and Theresa and Joe Tip (owner of the canoe) were our guides.

The Old Reserve lies at the junction of The French River with The Moose River – about 10 miles upstream from Moose Factory Island. This was the ancestral camping ground for The Cree in the area.  That is, when families came to The Bay for the summer, they would generally camp more or less in one large space. During the winter extended families made their own camps back in the bush and basically hunkered down for the winter while the men hunted (mostly caribou) and trapped.  In the summer life was easier. Families would come to the shores of The Bay to fish, to get away from the bugs, and to enjoy the summer breezes.  The Old Reserve is one of those summer campgrounds.

It was particularly during these summer encampments that families could mingle, trade, catch up on the gossip. And the younger folk could meet each other. The summer camps made it possible for the families to intermarry with each other.

The village or community moved to Moose Factory Island because of the presence of the Hudson Bay Company.  At first families camped in an area near The Hospital and Parish Hall (south or upriver end of The Island). Then the Community here on The Island took shape. The site at The Old Reserve is much better for smaller (non-motorized) canoes. There is a wide expanse of open water — the mighty Moose. There are several streams – including The French – where fishing is good.  If bad weather comes in from The Bay, there’s always a place one can paddle to for safety. Moose Factory Island is more convenient to maritime shipping – being only a few miles from The Bay itself. It is generally good about bugs – because of the breeze. But the winds and tides around The Island can be utterly treacherous without warning.

The Old Reserve is a flat expanse on a bluff overlooking The Moose just after The French enters. The current from The French is strong and sweeps up close to the bluff. The campsite is on the east side of The Moose.

The campground presently is laid out in sections. At the extreme north end overlooking The River is where the ceremonies are held. None of us walked this day on that ground, and we didn’t take pictures of it. The south end of the campground, overlooking The River, is where tents are pitched. That’s where we had our picnic.  Back in the bush – to the east – were clearings where people went to fast – alone and for extended periods of time. Here and there throughout the tenting area were sapling frames to hold sweat lodges.

With a little luck I’ll be back in a few weeks for at least a day when people are there.

We ended our day gathering more fossils.

So this will be a busy weekend. The Island, being in the mouth of a large river adjacent to The Bay, is not a good place for small canoes. The winds and tides make the water right around us treacherous. The art of canoeing is all but lost here. The only people who know the canoe that I have talked with are my age or quite a bit older.

And she had stories about Polar Bears wandering around The Island.  Though she saw none personally, they were around. Derek, age 14, spent a lot of time hanging out with his uncle(s?) learning the craft.

I spent a few hours this morning in The Hospital – with a patient & family. Although the antiseptic precautions are extensive, if requested by the family, we can get in there now. The Hospital certainly tries to accommodate; but they just can’t let the SARS bug loose on The Island. Many patients and staff are still coming in from the south.

Mellel does not do envelopes – easily, anyway. But SNAILMAIL (www.nixanz.com) does – and very easily — from your ADDRESS BOOK. Mellel is at its best for writing a good document – with the kind of formatting you need for a good document. It would be perfect for this document – if anyone else had the software to read it in Mellel. Of course, Mellel also saves in ‘text’.

LetterWorks (www.objectpark.net) does simple letters and envelopes easily, quickly, and well; it also uses the Address Book.  Cost for all of that: Mellel – $28; LetterWorks – $46; SnailMail – $20 – I think, all in CAD.

Other survival strategies – ie radio: Most of my (NPR) news now comes from another island – Nantucket (WNAN, an affiliate of WGBH, Boston.)  The station I listen to most for music/news mix is WPSU – Pennsylvania State University, somewhere in Pennsylvania. WCPE is all classical music and comes from somewhere in North Carolina. (Both WPSU & WCPE carry the MET.) Also, there is a really good music stream that comes from (I think Geneva) called Mandjou. My choices reflect programming, of course, but also technical issues: choice of protocol, stability, and reliability. (Regarding programming: although the broadcasters carry national and international news, they also carry local news. I do not get terribly excited about mid-Pennsylvania news and politics. When, however, the barge got stuck in the Cape Cod Canal and leaked oil, I had the maps out.) The BBC is rebroadcast on WPSU and WNAN; or I can go directly to the BBC page and stream or download. For the CBC I stream directly from their page.

Sam Tomatuk came home from Kingston last week. He had been on dialysis for several years. The treatment then began to fail. Sam wanted to come home. He was with us about a week and left us late last night. We bury him on Friday.

Sam is like many who – for one reason or another – have had to leave The Island. When the time comes, however, they want to come home. Usually that happens after they have died – but as in this case, not always. There are some who have forgone better medical treatment and have chosen to stay here. The Island is still without dialysis machines at The Hospital. For that kind of treatment one must go south. Some have elected to stay in The Community.

I went to the Metropolitan Opera’s web page and discovered that on October 11 they will present Tristan und Isolde that (Saturday) afternoon. That’s the performance that is broadcasted worldwide. Now there is no way I’ll ever be able to get to that performance – or to any of the others. But I spent this weekend preparing.

I now can get streams from several broadcasters that carry the Opera. I also have laid in software that will record it all onto the hard disk. (And I have a hard disk that’s big enough even for Tristan.) And, the software has a clock on it, so that I can set the timer in case I suddenly get hit with a Saturday afternoon distraction.

During my search I also looked for a LAME plugin for the SLIMp Ethernet audio interface server. Evidently there’s one out there – somewhere. I don’t know enough, yet, about this machine (and code) to be able to cobble together one on my own. (I did find the source code.) I now am faced with a summer project of either reading Schopenhauer or writing Perl. I don’t know which will be tougher on my head. And I don’t honestly know if I’ll get to either.

For those in, near, or around New York, I envy you – for once. That production will have Ben Hepner and Janet Eaglen. In our lifetimes, they’re as good as it will ever get. But, while I may miss the show, I’ll be listening – possibly/hopefully several times over.

Goose & Ice Report:  Evidently The Hunt DID yield results. Elsie spent Thursday afternoon cleaning 30. Other families have reported success. However, there are several that had no luck.

The Ice has not moved. It remains in place. The locals seem to know just exactly when it is unsafe to walk on. But I have seen no one out there walking. Reports of cleared rivers to the south of us continue to inch north.

Next Sunday we worship in the Old/Big Church.  The warm weather is making it easy (and cheaper) to heat.

The ACW threw a meatloaf supper last night at The Parish Hall. It was superb.

There is now some water on the ice on The River. Breakup has occurred further up The River – ten miles to the south of us. As pressure builds up the current keeps pushing the ice pack out towards The Bay – which is still packed with ice. The ice is fairly stable around The Island. People were walking across the ice yesterday afternoon. Caroline tells me she never goes out on to the ice after March 31. We share the same sentiments. Northern Stores now rations their gasoline supply. It is reserved only for emergency vehicles. TJ’s GazBar still has gas, I think. The Church Van is half full and probably will make it to breakup. Bobby says we should see breakup in about a week.

We went by the house of one of the family members. No one was home. We’ll try again today.

The Island gets flooded in the spring break up infrequently. But it happens every ten years or so. The flooding occurs when all the ice coming down The River suddenly has nowhere to go, because there continues to be a solid ice pack out in The Bay. The ice coming down river, then, builds up at the mouth of The River creating a kind of dam. As more and more ice comes up against this congestion, the dam gets tighter. Under the right (or wrong) conditions, then, for a while, The River is plugged. That’s when the water backs up and floods. Within recent memory the water made it to the front door of The Old Church.

We had our first service at 6 AM this morning. There were ten of us. Bertha was at the keyboard. We sang lots of hymns. Bertha then commandeered the Congregation and drilled us on all the Easter Hymns for the eleven o’clock service. For whatever reasons, attendance was at 70 for the 11 AM Service. (The weather was soggy; the Spring Hunt is on, and many of us are off in our Camps.)

There is considerable surface water on the ice now. A lot of thawing is going on. But the ice on The River has not yet started to break up.

Our Palm Sunday celebration began at The Parish Hall – with the Blessing of the Palms. Only, we didn’t use palms. Lawrence Chum had gathered in freshly cut cedar branches. They smelled so sweet as the heated indoor air warmed them. We carried them in a sort of procession to The Old Church. The Choir led us – singing hymns as we processed. Naturally we all were in different places in different hymns as we walked. But the Choir more or less whipped us into shape when we entered the Old Church. There we gave all the extra branches away to people who had gathered at The Church and not at The Parish Hall.

The Service included the reading of The Passion. About ten people took part in the reading. Some of the lessons were read in Cree – a good way to welcome ourselves back in to The Old Church – after a long hard winter.

Some of the Elders decided – more or less during The Service – that we should have a sunrise service on Easter. We’ll do it at 6 AM in The Old Church – late for me but good for them. I haven’t quite got to the point where I want to do it out on the ice, though that day may come another year.

The ice road still works – but only for vehicles with high axles. As the ice melts the surface really suffers – with ruts, slush floating on the surface, and holes. Getting stuck out on the ice is not a good experience. It’s been several weeks since I ran the Church Van over the ice. Eventually the ice on The River will ‘refloat’. All the surface water will run off, as the ice rises. That’s when it is really dangerous. Locals seem to know exactly where that ‘tipping point’ lies – and use the road up to the last hour. Tourists like myself steer clear.

We use the Old Church this coming Sunday (Palm Sunday.) The crowd (and temperature) are growing; and The Congregation loves its Old Church.  Never mind that we can’t afford it. One of these days it will come crashing down on us, if something doesn’t get done soon.

The Cree are not fastidious about their buildings – any of their buildings. In some ways that is really refreshing; a lot of needless money does not get spent. On the other hand, as in the case of the Church, deferred maintenance just ends up like a high cost loan. A lot of projects, if tended to early, turn out to be cheaper than if delayed.

The quarantine at the Hospital is because of SARS (Sudden Acute Respiratory Syndrome.) There even is scuttlebutt that we may have a case in the Hospital. Be that as it may be, we have many people in the Hospital who come from Toronto (the Canadian center of the disease.) This is a ‘teaching hospital’, and staff and students come from several medical centers in southern Ontario. The Hospital is taking no chances: No visitors; all elective work is cancelled; the dental clinic is closed.  If SARS got going in the North, its impact could be utterly devastating.

When I preside at a Baptism I give lectures, sermons, and instructions about how important that little piece of paper (The Certificate) really is. I even print it out on cotton content paper. If that original certificate gets lost, it can be irreplaceable. All we can do, years later, is to certify/verify old records – depending on how those records have been entered.

These Certificates can have legal significance. In this case the certificate would be used for school enrollment. I have seen the Certificates used for identification purposes at Border Crossings (in lieu of Passport or Driver’s License.) They also are used to prove Band Status.

My own opinion is that the sooner the Anglican Church can get out from under this routine, the better (for The Anglican Church.) I can understand the routine for records out of the past – when, however imperfect The Church’s record-keeping, there were no other records anywhere for individuals. But now Band, Federal Government, and/or Province should be able to document a person’s legal status. Or, if they can’t, why does anyone think The Church can?  And, there always is the question now: just exactly why does a family present their child for Baptism?  The church of a generation or so down the road will need to be extremely clear with people about that. With this quasi-legal angle permeating any Baptism, as it does now, there’s always a question (in my mind, anyway) about just exactly why are we doing this anyway?  In the minds of many, when they have been ‘done’, they are Anglicans. And that’s all it takes.  This just doesn’t work, anymore.

…Including the ice road.  I am told that we will have a cold snap or two before the weather turns warm for good.  This may not yet be the end of the ice road. But it’s days are numbered. Deterioration becomes noticeable on days like this, as slush and water build up on the surface. People have described their spring adventures on the ice road – including water up to and over the floor of the car. Then, all of that changes. The water runs away; the ice rises and floats as it should. But that’s when the road is dangerous, because it is then deteriorating from underneath.  As for me, I go when the School Buses go; when they don’t go, I don’t go. Folks native to the region have a sixth sense about the ice. No matter how much I observe I’ll never have that sense. As long as I acknowledge that, I’m safe.

Attawapiskat had two burials on Saturday. Attawapiskat is served by the Roman Catholic Church, and Bishop Cadieaux was there to take the funerals. They were tough funerals (not that any funeral is easy….) They were so tough, in fact, that the local Band here was trying to get Raymond up there for some crisis intervention. But the overland ice road to Attawapiskat is no longer relable. Raymond stayed here over the weekend.

One of the deceased was an Elder. The consensus on the street is that he was murdered. The OPP are investigating.

The other was an eight-year-old boy – killed in an accident with a pick-up truck. He had been skidding along after it – holding on to the back end and the driver knowing nothing of it.

The child had been grandson to an Elder in the Community. The Elder’s family had been adamantly opposed to Theresa’s leadership – for reasons never really clear. And the Elder was always outspoken in her criticisms and challenges. At a public meeting some weeks ago Theresa was confronted by this Elder with a remark about death. The Elder had lost her husband some time ago. Theresa had lost her son about three years ago to cancer – leaving his family without father or husband. The challenge was that losing a son was nothing compared to losing a husband. Theresa wisely did not pursue the subject then and there, though it cost her great pain.

The child who died was grandson to this lady. And he died on the birth date of Theresa’s son who died three years ago.

On Sunday, yesterday, we had special prayers and a litany for peace. I just sort of cooked up a stew of things to do, because I thought that would be a good thing to do. I really hadn’t discerned a lot of energy on the subject. Well, the energy was/is there – always somewhere just under the surface. A group of folks are working together now to make at least the Thursday evening service into a peace vigil.

Last week the CITI/ca card came in the mail. This one has a decent enough line of credit I can now do up here whet I need to do with a Canadian card. It has taken almost a year to pull this off.  (Students and other paupers take note; millionaires, even, moving to certain Postal Code areas, also take note.)

An interesting series of articles, including one on Moose Factory and Moosonee in particular, can be found at The (Toronto) Globe & Mail’s site:

http://www.globeandmail.com/series/apartheid/

The author is John Stackhouse.

Credit Card Report: MBNA/ca and SEARS/ca have both come in, finally. CITI/ca has yet to arrive, though it was promised first. MBNA/ca came through after they realized who I was. SEARS/ca summoned the courage to deal with me only after they realized MBNA/ca had taken the leap. The leaps, as such, were a start – if not very inspiring. Credit limit on each card is $500 (Canadian.) I’m still using my American cards. Very few people or organizations will even take personal checks. Ninety percent of the business here is done with cash or cards only.

There are rumors and reports that Ontario Northland Railway will be bought out by Canadian National Railways. Ontario Northland also owns the local phone company (Ontario Northland Telephone.) In my case, at least, neither the railway nor the phone company has been familiar with any concept of customer service or satisfaction. My prediction last fall was that the minute either had competition neither would survive. Last April I placed an order with the Phone Company for dial-up Internet access. I checked on this project several times in August and September. To date I have not heard from the Phone Company about the status of my request.  In September, when I returned from my trip south, the off-loading ramp for the truck had been relocated. The old location was a couple of miles from the train station. The new off-loading ramp was adjacent to the station. No one told the customers of the change. Those who hailed cabs found out from the cab drivers. Those of us who made the walk to and from the old off-loading site found out for ourselves. The guys at the station thought that was all pretty funny – even if it meant missing the last barge to Moose Factory.  They just don’t have a clue that – given options – I’d do business with anybody else.

One wedding that I’m working on is different. (They’re ALL different….) But this one has issues that represent much of what I encounter elsewhere — one way or another….

Both Bride and Groom live in a community distant from Moose Factory Island. But the Groom’s family is centered here. Both Bride and Groom worship at a Pentecostal Church. But there is no Anglican Church in the community where they live. AND, the Groom was baptized and confirmed here at St. Thomas’. At considerable expense to themselves they came here to see me over March break. There has been a divorce, and so I need permission to go ahead with the wedding. If I were able to, I’d go ahead with the wedding. That would help nurture some of those Anglican roots. And it might help bring peace between the Anglican and Pentecostal communities.

The roads are still good. Cliff Dee comes down from Kashechewan today – for dental work tomorrow. He’ll go back north tomorrow evening or on Saturday. Sunday’s rain won’t help the ice road to ‘Kash.’  The ice road to Moosonee is still good, but we are pushing to get an oil delivery for the old rectory today – just so it doesn’t run dry during breakup — which could happen quickly and could happen soon, if the weather suddenly turns warm. The channel can stay clogged with (dangerous) ice until some time in May.

The ice road going north to Albany, Kashechewan, and Attawapiskat is still good. Theresa was here on Sunday, insisted that I do lunch with her and Monica and Derek, and then inveigled me into running her around Moosonee for errands. (Theresa gets things done.) The news from Attawapiskat now is that the DeBeers project is starting up again. Just enormous amounts of people and materials will be coming into Attawapiskat as soon as the weather breaks. Some of the freight may not pass through Moosonee, but may be sent by rail to Churchill and then barged down to Attawapiskat. One would think that all of this activity would produce a road. And it may do just that. But the road, as I have heard it described, will originate at Hearst, Ontario and pass to the west of Moosonee.

Each Deanery holds a Great Chapter Meeting each year.  The James Bay Deanery includes all the parishes on or near The Bay – particularly those parishes that are Cree. One parish from another diocese is included in these get-togethers because it is a Cree parish (in Inuit land).

The Great Chapter began with arrivals all through Friday. Some left as early as Sunday night, as they can drive on the ice road to Kashechewan. The last left today – on the train – at nine AM.

I made the run early – almost an hour before the train was scheduled to depart. That gave my passengers plenty of time to get good seats. (And, it gave time for us to get a taxi if the Church Van decided not to cooperate.) We looked for wolves out on the ice road over The River. There were none this morning, though they have been seen recently. In a month the ice will become unusable and breakup will begin. Easy trips like this will soon end.

The Great Chapter Meeting is like so many Church affairs. It spans a weekend with worship, workshops, and discussions. The distinctive feature is The Great Circle.  The Great Circle is a meeting when anyone can speak to the issue at hand in his or her own way and at his or her own leisure. EVERYONE is invited to speak – one by one. Anyone can pass. Sensitivities and confidentialities are respected. One does not gossip about the content elsewhere or afterwards. The sharing, then, can be extensive. On this Great Chapter Meeting it was; and it ran long and deep.

There were two major topics of the weekend, as I experienced it: a vision of The Church in the future and an update on the matter of the Residential Schools and the attending litigation related to abuses in the past.

The main points of interest to me about The Church in the future related to its leadership – and specifically its ordained leadership. Wherever I had the chance I argued for the indigenous quality of leadership being a precondition to other kinds of beneficial growth.

One of the consistently obvious realities in the Weekend was the extremely high regard in which the folk hold their Bishop. Caleb is fluent in Cree (East Side dialect) as well as in English. He did his own translating. He took on the task of speaking to the matter of the residential Schools at length, in detail, and with remarkable compassion.

Briefly, … The Anglican Church of Canada has now signed on to an agreement whereby it will pay out a lump sum to settle the lawsuit(s) brought against it because of past abuses. That will then end its liability in the lawsuits. Each Diocese will pay a sum calculated on the basis of that Diocese’s size. While the deal is expensive up front, it stops the litigation, which is expensive. In The North it preserves The Church, which is mostly an indigenous peoples’ Church, anyway.  One Diocese in the West has already ceased to exist, since all of its assets have been consumed by the litigation.

The settlement, then, effectively closes the process of litigation and puts the whole unhappy matter of the lawsuit into the past. The Anglican Church can now work with what it has and build towards the future. Part of our Weekend was devoted to doing that.

But the conversations are not over – not by a long shot. Saturday afternoon, when The Bishop addressed the matter, memories persisted. We listened through the afternoon to memories of injury, lost dignity, lost culture, lost hope. Later a group (The Diocesan Council of Indigenous Peoples) met with The Bishop after the scheduled activities of The Weekend – from about 8 or 9 PM until after Midnight.

While I was not present at that (closed) meeting and while the proceedings are confidential, anyway, it seems to me that this is what is going on:  The matter of the Residential Schools has provided a window to a wound far more extensive than the injuries caused by abuse in the Residential Schools. In this fashion, the matter of the residential Schools has become symbolic of something else going on: the wholesale aggression over a culture affecting every First Nation person and spanning hundreds of years. The enormity of the injustice is still being explored and each hurt, as it comes up, is addressed.

With the end of the litigation in some ways this exploration of the wound is made more difficult. The litigation was tangible – and, being tangible, enabled people to organize their energy in a more or less coherent way. Addressing issues and memories around the Residential Schools helped ventilate much more pervasive, though less tangible, energies. Now the symbol of repression is gone. But the pain endures. The conversations continue.

I believe the conversation, if permitted, will continue for years. It slows down any kind of business, as people take their time to share their genuine pain and concern. It consumes enormous amounts of energy. For me, anyway, it does not test patience. When the conversation comes up, it is one window open to me to listen in to what has been going on for generations and to discern where the mind of The Cree is now. Any white person with eyes and ears in one of these meetings or groups is given the rare privilege of being present to a People as they begin to pull themselves together. That healing starts with an exploration of and an understanding of the wound. It’s like psychotherapy on a communal level.

As best as I can tell The Anglican Church is virtually unique (certainly around here) in its enablement of this conversation.  Perhaps, as time wears on, the conversation will not be the centerpiece of Church Business at a Weekend like this. And perhaps it will not displace otherwise important Church business. But I believe it will go on in whatever form under the aegis of the Anglican Church. And it may well be the most important ministry the Anglican Church ever had.  It’s not an easy one, particularly as the Anglican Church was once part of the problem even as it is now part of the solution.  But, precisely this difficult position of The Church also may equip it to do what no other institution is doing – and maybe what no other institution can do. When we meet, we are mixed in our racial composition. Our past is clouded with injustice. Whereas once we were a white man’s mission to the aborigine, we are now an indigenous Church, where First Nation people rediscover their long-lost soul and the white man listens – and in listening discovers some of his own also. In doing all this we find our common ground. And having found that, we can work together. That is the hope, and it keeps us going. For now, anyway.

A few weeks ago I emceed a funeral at the Community Center. There was nothing Anglican about the funeral – until we got to the grave. At the Community Center we had a funeral along the lines of the local Pentecostals and Baptists. Sometimes at these kinds of affairs people will launch into impromptu sermonic presentations – some of which call hellfire down upon the Anglicans. As a matter of fact, this affair went off very well, and I believe it was helpful to the family directly involved.

I had been asked to step into the role of emcee, because there were some in the family who were Anglicans – and who are people for whom I have the highest respect. However, I was uneasy about being part of the service myself in case it should turn into a mud-slinging contest at the expense of the Anglicans. So, I asked people for their opinions, before I made a decision about whether or not to participate.

There was one lady whom – after much maneuvering – I finally cornered. Every time I began to ask for her opinion, she had lists of people far more knowledgeable, wiser, and more responsible than she. I finally had to ask: ‘I want to know what YOU think.’ She said something like this. ‘I don’t want to go. But my friends are there. And they need me. They need you too. I just put my head down and walk humbly where The Lord will have me to go’ That’s what I had to hear. I went.

And that’s where the Anglican Church is going now.

The towns to the south of us often run discernibly colder than Moosonee or Moose Factory.  The coldest I ever knew, however, occurred in Albany, Vermont – 55-60 below. Albany, of course, did not have as long a winter season as these towns up north. But Albany could get those spikes to the deep freeze when the conditions were just right.

It was nippy last night – after the Family Service at the Old Church. It is now 30 degrees below zero – Fahrenheit. The youngsters are impervious to the cold. After the Service, around 10 PM, last night, they were whizzing around The Island at top speed.

The Church Van is fixed. The engine had clogged up, and there was ice in the air filter. It had been vomiting oil out of the intake spout. (It doesn’t like cold.) It gets new tires next week – or as soon as they get here. I was able to taxi Raymond and Marian to and from the Service. They would have been chilled on their skidoo.

Ronald Blackned, who died in Cochrane this last week, will be buried from Saint Thomas’ on Saturday with a Family Service tomorrow evening. I was told, when I got here, it all comes in threes. It does.

My rant was such an inspiration to the Congregation that during the Offertory one little boy marched up into the Sanctuary and pulled his pants down in front of Iris – who was impressed. And another little boy decided to help Bertha at the keyboard and sort of played his version of the Hymn along with Bertha – bringing Bertha, Hymn, Offertory, and Congregation to a screeching halt.

Sammy’s wife passed away Sunday morning. Raymond stayed with the family at The Hospital while the rest of us handled the Church Service. We will be having the Funeral at the Community Center. There will be two coffins. Remember, that was Sammy’s daughter who died just a few days ago.  I see chaos coming. The part of the family, that is planning the actual Service, is arriving on Wednesday’s train. We will go over their dicta Wednesday night after the Family Service, which will be in the Old Church. They will pick and read the lessons. One of them is (I think) a Pentecostal Preacher; and he will preach. It sounds as though my part will be minimal, though the family whom I visited this afternoon said ‘You’re in charge.’ (!) Iris was with me. Iris is getting an education.

I am not incapable of just getting up and walking out. And I might just do that if our Preacher calls fire and brimstone down on the Anglicans. Actually, it looks -from here – as though I could just sit in the audience at the Community center. Raymond plans to do that. The family wants Raymond and me to do the Family Service. They also want a stopover at the Old Church on the way to the graves after the Funeral on Thursday. We’ll do the Commendation in the Old Church. In fact, after the Community Center, it’s Anglican all the way. Or so I hope at this point.

I can’t fault the family on what they are doing – or trying to do. It’s the Elizabethan Compromise all over again – thoroughly Anglican. When you have all kinds of people in your village – or family – with radically different sensibilities, if you want to keep the peace and keep the community together, you try to involve every last one of them – even when the pieces don’t quite fit together. Just leave it to the liturgical technicians to make all the pieces fit together – even if they don’t quite fit. Actually, all I have to do is to be clear about what I can do and what I cannot do.

I got a call yesterday from Citi. They are processing my application for a credit card. Citi is multinational and clearly not defined in its ethos by attitudes afflicting The North. I’m suspect that, if my only identity were confined to Moose Factory, they might not bother with me. But, also, if I were only from Moose Factory Island it might never have occurred to me to knock on their door, either. I would never have heard of them. The great irony in Citi’s Canadian credit card, I am finding out, is that it is good for cash withdrawals at any Bank of Montreal branch – the very people who turned down my application for a credit card in the first place. Bank of Montreal owns the branch at the Cree Community Center (The Mall) here on The Island; and their self-proclaimed mission is to enable economic development in this region. And they couldn’t bring themselves to review my credit history in The States. At least they explained all this to me; it’s their policy, I was told. Amex/Canada just hangs up. Amex/USA sighs greatly and say they can do nothing about Amex/Canada. Citi is different.

Last night at 11:15 I awoke and was instantly alert. I checked for email and received only junk. Then I pondered the tea question. Was this late night (Earl Gray) or early morning (Lapsang Souchong)? I got stuck in uncertainty and indecision and craved my late Aunt Ellen’s advice; Ellen didn’t dawdle around tea. Then the phone rang. It was Bobby. His cousin had died in Sudbury. Would I go with him to his uncle’s house? We spent the next several hours there, as various family members arrived and visited with each other and with Uncle Sammy, who is very much alone; his wife had just gone to the hospital. And, since The Hospital remains under quarantine, no one (including family or clergy) can get near her.

Iris and I went over to The Hospital yesterday to do rounds. We couldn’t get in. The Hospital is still under quarantine. I had thought their nervousness was because of the flu, which is in the community. Now I suspect they have a bug stuck in the Hospital. Today, the quarantine continues.

I sent Tuesday’s entry, verbatim, to UPS soon after I wrote it. (Told them I was writing a book about The Bay, and would they like to review my notes on the UPS chapter?) That action and/or my phone call to Nova Scotia produced a result. Late yesterday afternoon I received a call from UPS in Toronto. My caller, who was a manager type, stated that said package WOULD arrive at Moosonee on Friday night’s train and WOULD be delivered to my door at 39 Front Street, Moose Factory on Monday, 10 February. I may be the first person ever The Bay region to receive a door-to-door delivery from UPS.

I had supper last night at the house of one of the Hospital Staff, a physician. I decided to get his take on the UPS policies and practices. When I asked him what he thought about all of that, he took fits, got apoplectic. It seems that he had a similar experience. And he stated flatly that he never ever has used UPS since. And he is a good Canadian – not a bratty American.

He also raised some concerns – about which, so far, I have been assiduously careful to avoid. He raised the P & B words – Prejudice and Bigotry. And the result: second-class citizenship.

The manager at Toronto had explained to me that UPS only goes ‘as far as the road goes’. The manager had stated that since there is no road into Moose Factory, UPS couldn’t go into Moose Factory. I had countered that argument with my own, which was: In the winter the road is as good as any I ever knew in the States; in the summer The Island is served by barge traffic – a round-the-clock ferry service; if UPS wanted to ensure its reputation of ‘door-to-door-service’ it would be so EASY to do what everyone else does – use the road and use the barge; in other words, from the point of view of their own self-interest, I couldn’t understand why UPS DIDN’T use those resources; they simply were killing themselves by insisting that people come to Moosonee for pick-up. I think that argument resonated, and I think that’s why I actually got the response I finally got – from Toronto.

That response came from Toronto. It didn’t come from Timmins or Schumacher – where the local agent is located. I had described the local agent as brusque at best. My friend, the doctor, described the local agent as rude. There WAS that manner of speaking, and it bothered me. I found myself getting angry without even knowing why. I don’t think the package had St. Thomas’ Church listed on the address – just JBE at 39 Front Street. I asked the doctor if it was just my address that brought on that sharpness I encountered on the phone when I talked to Timmins. The doctor said: ‘exactly.’ I couldn’t believe that. I do, after all, sound and talk very much like an American. Surely, after two or three words out of my mouth, the lady would have figured out that I was not the sort that would be pushed around too easily. It doesn’t matter, came the reply. There is just that attitude in the northern towns immediately to the south of us about anyone or anything in The North. Maybe it isn’t even conscious. No one ever talks about it. We’re all supposed to be good, civilized Canadians. But it’s there. He was very interested in that once my conversations with UPS got way to the East (Nova Scotia) or way to the South (Toronto) things were very different.

It will be interesting to me to see if there are any parallels in this particular saga to my efforts to get a Canadian credit card. So far, I have been turned down by Sears, Bank of Montreal, and (strangely) Amex/Canada. Since those initial refusals, I have made inquiries/applications to MBNA/Canada and Citi/Canada. In my approach to them I was much more careful to cite my previous history with them on their American side. To date, neither has rejected my application.  On the DeBeers matter, there are parallels.

Monica just told me one of her stories. She was waiting in Albany in a plane ready for takeoff to Attawapiskat. Suddenly the doors were opened and the passengers were ordered to disembark. They complied – not knowing what was going on. They then were told that there were other passengers that had to be flown to Timmins immediately in order to make connections with a plane southbound out of Timmins. Naturally Monica and company objected. But they were told ‘you have to understand; that’s the way it is.’  After the plane returned they were then brought to their destination (Attawapiskat) hours later. Monica wrote letters of complaint and did then get her ticket money back – along with an apology. But she remembers how it was, and that memory is painful.

After supper last night I returned home on foot. The wind had fallen. The air was still. It was chilly – about 15-20 degrees below zero. The twenty-minute walk back to the Rectory was delightful — under the bright night sky, along the east side of The Island, overlooking The River, and far away from any artificial light. When I got back inside the house I turned on the TV to try and catch some late night news. On the local community channel there are constant bulletins, birthday wishes, announcements – all the basic things you need to know on this tight little Island. There also was a ‘Message From The Elders’.  These ‘messages’ are always warnings – usually seasonal and urging common sense. In the summer they warn about tides and winds – which can be lethal and all too often are. During freeze-up and break-up they warn about the ice. Last night the message warned about wolves. They have been sited ‘in the Community and on The River.’ Gwendolyn was sleeping; she never woke up.

There are two issues here. One is the dispatcher, who I suspect is sub-contracted out to by UPS. And he behaves very much as though he has the monopoly. Pretty much what I got told was: take it or leave it; that’s the way it is. And there was something in the way I experienced the dispatcher’s tone of voice that got my blood boiling.

The other issue is that I did NOT act like a good law-abiding local and do what I was told. I complained to everybody: told the shipper never to use UPS in Canada; told the dispatcher that the mafia is more reputable – and a lot easier to deal with; told UPS/Canada that they were being had – or, if they couldn’t or wouldn’t deliver, not to accept shipments for Canada, and not to represent themselves in their advertising as capable of world-wide delivery. (Interesting footnote: I checked the web page for Lands End. When shipping to Canada, their ONLY shipping option is USPS and Canada Post. Evidently they have learned….)

The local doctor has taken an interest in Gwendolyn and has suggested pills to head off another attack of arthritis. If we can make it through to March (and warmer weather) we might just have bought some precious time. The VET comes to Moosonee on the 17th. I’ve already got an appointment or the old lady.

Moose Factory Islanders are a far cry from New Englanders when it comes to Annual Meetings. (Annual Meeting was yesterday.) The parishioners were polite, quiet, and uncontentious – at least while I was around. I can’t tell if that’s Moose Factory at work – or just plain Canadian decency. I told them that I was used to much more serious abuse than anything they had handed out so far; if they had questions, they HAD to ask them. I was told later that people were quiet, because they were afraid of offending someone in some family. Since all the families are intertwined, that meant – sooner or later – offending someone in your own family. And no one wants to do that. I guess I’m an American; I have taken delight in offending EVERYONE — including my own family since the day I was born. I feel called to expound on the memory of John Adams. St. Thomas’ is heading into 2003 with a serious deficit – due to a number of factors, but mainly because the Vestry was asleep at the switch. If nothing else happens while I’m here, THAT won’t happen again.

Last night about twenty of us met with The Bishop. That was after a delightful supper – cooked by many. I had threatened to do the whole thing myself – whereupon volunteers came out of everywhere to avert catastrophe.

Today Iris’s furniture is supposed to arrive. (Iris, our new Curate.) Tomorrow, I have a wedding rehearsal. Saturday brings the wedding. On Sunday we have the Annual Meeting. Only problem on that one is that the copy machine won’t work until it gets a new cartridge. Chaos rules!

The gathering last night was very good. There were well over a hundred people. The service took an hour and a half. Elsie took my remarks and organized them (in Cree) according to her sensibilities – none of which was lost on the (bilingual) congregation – to their amusement. The bakers of St. Thomas’ did well. The choir did well. At the end of the service Christ The King fielded about thirty urchins who belted out a song for everyone and brought down the house.

Monday brings a study session, mandated by the national (Canadian) Church on homosexuality and The Church. I have no idea what Canadians – or First Nation People – think about all of that and have no idea who/what will show up tomorrow evening. On Wednesday, The Bishop and a Committee on Stewardship show up – for supper and for a meeting here at The Church. Unless I can pawn off some of the jobs, I cook. Brave Bishop! On Thursday, Iris’ furniture shows up. I play janitor. On Friday, Iris shows up. I play Rector. (Iris is our new Curate, ordained to the – transitional – deaconate yesterday.) Friday and Saturday bring wedding games. Then, a week from today, on Sunday, is Annual Meeting. (It SHOULD be in January, but this was the best I could do – given the lack of data on our finances.) Then I’ll slow down – I hope.

A cousin in England alerted me to the existence of a film – ‘Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner’ – about and produced by the Inuit to the north of us. I ordered it from Amazon and likely will have something to say about it when I see it. The film has a homepage:

www.atanarjuat.com

The page, even by itself, is worth looking at.

To catch up…. I did my first run to Moosonee on the Expressway last week. Generally the quality of the road was superior to Boston’s Southeast Expressway – which is not saying much, I know. There are places where the road heaves, and you have to be careful about all of that. But here we have no potholes. We just fill the holes with snow. Driving on sheer ice sounds dangerous, and it probably is. I was doing an adventurous 30 mph on the road. Everyone else was doing about 50 mph. I have heard of no wrecks – yet. I am told that all the accidents happen with and because of the skidoos. They know no law.

Our new Curate – Iris – moves in to the Old Rectory next week. The place actually has become respectable – almost. Bobby and others did some incredible work in a short time.

My beautiful new E-Mac collapsed (again).  This time, I am told, it was because I installed two (maybe three) applications that really didn’t want to be on the same machine together. One was an ftp (file transport protocol?) application – the thing I use to move files on and off the web. There’s nothing new or esoteric about these applications. They’ve been around for years. The other application was a new (to me) application from Norton, called ‘Internet Security’. It’s supposed to protect the machine from all that maliciousness out there while you’re online. The machine now is online, on a demand basis, 24 hours a day. I figured I couldn’t be too careful, so I got the package. In about a week I realized that I had no operating system left, but I didn’t know this until all the email, address, and calendar files had been destroyed or rendered unrecoverable; that was all in ‘Entourage’ – the application from MS in their ‘Office for the Mac’.

I figure that the labor required to rebuild the disk amounted to 18 hours – probably more like 24. It took several days. I had to check every piece of software for an update; and they ALL had updates. I had backed up my data, so I lost nothing (except the contaminated files.) So, …. If you haven’t heard from me for a while, it’s probably because I have lost your address. Also, I lost my calendar. I’m loading addresses and dates again as fast as I get them.  AND, I’m using Apple’s mailer, address book, and calendar software – not MS Entourage. (Apple’s mailer and address book back up more easily, anyway.) AND, there are no Norton products on this machine. AND, I back up every day – to Apple’s server as well as to one of the peripheral hard disks. We’ll see how that works.

Isolation in these northern communities clearly was a fact of life in previous years. Remoteness has a way of cutting you off from everything else in the world. And the life of the local community is the only life you know. There are advantages to that, particularly when you want to learn from the culture and live within it. That was what I was looking for when I came up here. I wanted to get a good look at and feel for what I had superficially observed many years ago.

Of course the culture is changing, as outside influences move in. What I see now – and what I have tried to observe in previous pages – is the transition going on in the aboriginal culture. In a way the different generations each reflect a different culture. The Elders are the folks I knew in the Seventies. People my age also remember those Elders – were raised by them – and have adapted (variously) to new influences. The kids today are facing a world that does not yet exist and for which their ancestral past will be variably useful.. They are learning skills that are unimaginable to their Elders, and they are less conversant with some of the skills of their ancestors than even this outsider who once was a ‘canoer’.

In one respect Moosonee and Moose Factory are anything but isolated. Now that high-speed Internet access is here, the outside world sits on the desktop. As I write I am listening to WBUR (Boston University’s FM Station.) Bostonians are moaning about the cold; Bostonians don’t know what ‘cold’ means. I can get all the stations I used to listen to. I can peruse – at my leisure – pages from the different newspapers. And there’s music!  Everything that’s out there is here.  We could never get high-speed Internet access into the Building at Seamen’s Church Institute. In one profound respect, therefore, the Rectory at Moose Factory is less isolated from the rest of the world than was my office in Newport.

More dog stories…. Another theory for why the lead dog is always a female: she goes into heat now and then. The guys are anxious to know just exactly where she is on that subject, and they spend all their working life trying to find out just exactly what is going to happen next. They run just as hard as they can to catch up – always close, but never quite close enough. And they are too dumb to understand why. So, joyfully, in high hopes, they pull the sled. (Think about that, the next time you see a dog sled race….)

One guy dog, however, was brighter than all the rest. That was Solomon. Solomon’s owner – after many years of driving dogs – finally retired. When he retired, he knew he had to get rid of his dog team. There was only one way. He had to shoot each dog – alone and one by one. He was a decent man, and he did the job himself. He did decide to keep the lead dog, but the others he dispatched — until he got to Solomon, who was the last remaining. He took Solomon to the place where he was going to do that dirty deed. Solomon then lay down and covered his eyes with one paw and his snout with the other paw. THAT was too much. Solomon lived out his entire natural life in luxurious retirement.

Iris Montague just completed her visit of two days. She will be Curate here in February and will live in the old Rectory. This trip was her introduction to The Island and to the old Rectory.  The old Rectory needs a thorough clean up and repairs. We now have good hope that we will be up to date by the time she gets here. I had heard chilling reports about the condition of the building over the past few weeks, and I had not been in it until yesterday. It really is not all that bad. In retrospect, I should have been housed there. …Just my kind of place…. Torn curtains and missing floor tiles amuse me.

Gwendolyn has good moments and bad moments. On the best moments she can do all the stairs – up and down. On a bad moment she can do nothing. Mornings usually are the worst of times.

Last night Worcester, Massachusetts, was two degrees cooler than Moosonee Airport. Freeze-up is going slowly.  The heavy trucks still cannot go over the ice. That means: no bulk (thrifty and convenient) deliveries of fuel. The old Rectory is out of oil (by which it is heated) and gas is rare. The new Rectory, where I stay, is heated by electricity. That’s great, as long as the lights don’t go out.

We will start up a Sunday Afternoon Service at the Elders’ Home this coming Sunday. Right now we’re planning on a once-a-month Service.

Now that Broadband really IS here, I have the BBC (or WQXR or WGBH or WBUR – or any of a bunch of others) chatting or fiddling away in the background. This is my first experience with high-speed computer/internet access. Up here it’s a necessity if you want to keep up on world and/or USA news. Regrettably The NY Times does not make their electronic edition available for the MAC platform – yet.

I have done NOTHING this week, rested up from the previous 10-20 days.

I HAVE tried – for several months – to get a credit card – so that I can charge in Canadian dollars and pay in Canadian dollars. I DID get a Northern Stores card – with a limit of $500. That took some doing. Northern Stores does not accept checks – of any kind. I flatly stated that if they wanted my business, they would have to figure something out, and that worked. I also applied to SEARS, but that application seems to have disappeared. SEARS? I’m amazed. I applied twice to Bank of Montreal for a MasterCard; I have my checking account with them. Nothing happened on that front, so I called them. NOW they tell me, only because I asked and insisted on an answer, that I have to have established a credit history for ***at least*** a year, before they will THINK about making a decision about whether or not they want to issue me a card. I could tile my floor with the credit cards I’ve received (unsolicited) in the USA. Fortunately I thought ahead and spoke with my Visa and Amex people in the States before I came up here, and those cards and accounts have followed me up here. (And they’re making money.) THEY don’t have a problem with a Canadian address, and Amex will accept payment in Canadian as well as US dollars. They may be all I’ll ever use. It IS different up here. Advice to those who may spend relatively short periods of time in Canada: Get your banking and credit business established before you leave the States. You could be dead before anyone north of the border wants to bother with you, and the American connections may be the only thing that will work. For whatever reasons the credit agencies up here seem unable to import credit histories from the US.

The third funeral (in ten days) was yesterday. The Committal in the cemetery was not prolonged. The temperature was a reasonably crisp five degrees Fahrenheit, and there was a continuous wind blowing in from the northeast. Nobody lingered much. Afterwards the family invited all of us to the Parish Hall for a feast, photographs, and memories.

When I got back to the house, Gwendolyn was relieved to see me more relaxed. I put on L’enfance du Christ, which I had been saving for the moment when I was done; I have done nothing useful since. WABUN – the camp I worked at until the mid seventies – has sent out their annual newsletter. They did a profile on jbe, replete with stories long forgotten or vigorously denied – or both – by yours truly.

The Island is running out of gas. There are two pumps on The Island: Northern Stores and TJ’s. (TJ’s is a local entrepreneur.) Northern Stores only pumps now for emergency vehicles. TJ’s is bringing gas over from Moosonee in his pickup truck. The tankers should start up across the ice any time now. I think the van has enough for another week or so.

Also, yes, finally, really, broadband started up. I’m streaming NPR and a good classical music station – one in North Carolina (of all places!) I’m looking for others, if you know of any.

It’s late, but I’m not staying up till midnight. I’m told that that’s when all the guns fire. (And there are a lot of guns on this Island. I don’t think Gwendolyn knows about this. Right now she’s relaxed, but we could have an interesting night.

Happy new Year!

G-G’s IS open for a post-Christmas sale. The whole town is lined up outside and inside – except for one family; they are keeping Vigil at the Hospital. We’re about to lose another Elder. The wedding is lurching towards completion. Right now the rehearsal is on for 6 pm tonight and the Wedding for 3 pm tomorrow; and lots of cooks are frantic. Raymond is staying close to the Vigil, as well as to the family, which he knows well and which knows him well. I’m staying with the Wedding.

Some thoughts about Raymond and St. Thomas’
Raymond and I have shared all of this following material, often many times over in the past five months, although I am presenting it here in my own way. As I told Raymond, I’m not looking at Raymond so much as I am looking at that population amongst whom he labors.

Raymond was ordained to the Diaconate some years ago – as an intentional or permanent Deacon. That is, his ministry focus is distinct from that of a Priest. His ministry focus has related to those on the margins of this community – particularly those disabled by addiction. And they are many. For years The Hudson’s Bay Company employed him as Manager of the Meat Department. He was forced into early retirement by a physical difficulty – nerve damage to his right arm as a consequence of his work. In his retirement he has labored constantly in recovery programs with broken people. And he has served as a Deacon in The Church. His gift of compassion and insight is incredible.

Raymond is about my age. The Canons of The Church in Canada require us 60-year-old youngsters to retire from Church work at age 65. We may be at the height of our powers at that age, but we have to quit and make room for someone else. That means Raymond and I will probably disappear from St. Thomas’ at about the same time.

Raymond has lived on The Island for about 45 years. He met Marion, his wife of many years, here on The Island. In his younger days he was not exactly an Anglican Deacon. He came slowly and late in life to the Anglican Church. Early in life, he cut a fairly wide swath across The Island. But, he is one of those people who survived his youth, and he has grown powerfully throughout his entire life.

During the seven or so years of my predecessor the Priest called upon Raymond’s considerable abilities as pastor repeatedly. In retrospect this may not have been the best thing to do, but I am sure that no one then could have guessed at that. To all outward appearances, joining the Deacon’s and the Priest’s ministries into one powerful pastoral presence on The Island strengthened the work of the Church. All kinds of people really appreciated that effort. And many cannot understand why we haven’t put humpty-dumpty back together again – now that there is a new Priest on The Island.

The problems began to surface sometime after the departure of my predecessor. I now think that the issues were up and running well before he left.  But they became unavoidable for Raymond some time between Priests. Raymond was certifiably burnt out when I arrived here in August. The problem, as I understand from Raymond’s telling of it, appeared when he was called upon to make pastoral interventions (weddings and burials) on top of everything else. But I don’t think that this time around he experienced just the kind of overload that occurs in churches – especially when there is one man standing and holding the bag. I think there’s more that was going on; and I think it’s going on now.

In his 45 years of being on this Island Raymond has come to know just about everyone. And he has labored greatly with the most fragile people on The Island. The Community has responded, indeed. He has been elected or appointed as a member of the Band. The Community has adopted him – an honor that certainly is rare and probably is unique. What happened?

Raymond has lived long enough in this Community to become absorbed by each family. In this sense he has grown into the role of the mission priest I described in last month’s journal. Never mind that he is a Deacon with a focus outside the immediate precincts of the Congregation. None of that matters in the traditional family structure. What matters is that he is known and trusted – that his history and the family’s history have become one in the same.  He is not called upon to exercise spiritual powers so much as he is called upon for pastoral care. In the mind of the public he has become the best resource possible from the Church – or anywhere — for the vanished shaman. Even now, when there is trouble, people call Raymond. The presence of a new (white) cleric is irrelevant; the pastor/shaman is already here. And he is Raymond.

However, the client group – or family — served by that Deacon/Shaman/Holy Man does not total around 150-250 people, as it would in a traditional, semi-nomadic, ordinary family. It includes the entire Island — numbering 3,000 to 5,000 people. Raymond, in other words, has become the lightning rod for that incredible hunger in a culture that has lost both its capacity to express its need as well as its capacity to accommodate its need – beyond the helpful, though limited, ministrations of The Pastor.  (My thesis, which I am testing in this Journal, is that the Anglican Pastor is a substitute for that previous indigenous shamanistic role.)

So there is enormous energy behind the call for The Pastor. But the pastoral relationship always is geared to help people through crises and difficult transitions. In five months (since August) I have never heard it described as relating in any significant way to spiritual or vocational growth, ministry focus, or maturation of discipleship. Healing, yes, especially in the recovery of those addicted as well as those suffering from disease, as well for the healing sought in bereavement. But that’s about it. It’s enough to get us through the day (when the practitioner can be found.) But it doesn’t quite work. The language and symbols of one culture are used as a substitute for the lost symbols of another culture; and they don’t quite fit. The closer you get to the core of the Parish, the closer the fit; the further you get from the core of the Parish, the less the symbols actually work. (That’s probably true universally; here, however, at least this one issue is specific.)

Of course, one way to describe all of this is to think in terms of an institutional chaplaincy. In this sense, we might be talking about a Chaplain to the Village or to The Island. There’s a large but specific population – 3-5 thousand people, all residents of Moose Factory. And, given the specificity of that population there predictably are issues that surface repeatedly. This is true in Hospitals, Prisons, Army Bases. The Chaplain/Pastor works with the folk to address those issues as they arise.

But there are some differences, also, between that Chaplaincy model and what is going on here. The population is static, rather than transient. The Chaplain/Pastor is related to families and individuals – maybe not always by blood but, rather, by something far more profound. In HIS mind he may experience some level of detachment. In the mind of client group, however, he is anything BUT detached. And, that, for the client group, is what is so important. He is a member of the family.

In any case this work has rarely, if ever, related to congregational development, personal growth (beyond the immediately presented issue) and responsibility, or issues involving spirituality, vocation, or stewardship. It might well be that Raymond would never have been adopted if he HAD raised any of those issues – however non-confrontively. Or he might have been rejected. And they are issues far more appropriately raised by a non-white; otherwise they could come across as part of an authoritarian harangue or cultural obtuseness. But except where/when they ARE addressed/processed, the future of St. Thomas’ remains in doubt.

Remedies – or a creative approach….
OK … So what are we going to do about this?

Raymond will retire from active ministry as a deacon in about five years. He realizes that if these present demands from the Community on his time, psyche, and being continue, he may well have to move off The Island just to be able to survive. He and I are talking about that. And we are beginning to talk about that with others. When I restrict his involvement in a wedding or funeral I am doing that (by mutual agreement) to protect him and to ease the transition whereby (in the Community’s mind) he is the point man for family transitions. Remember, this is the marginal population we are talking about. The core group of St. Thomas’ doesn’t behave this way.

One reason why the Anglicans are called upon so often by non churched people is that the other denominations are not nearly so accommodating and often simply refuse their services even when there has been a death or there will be a wedding.

So, St. Thomas’ needs to decide NOW if it wants to continue this ministry – and, if so, how? A diaconal cadre (whether formalized, ordained, or labeled as such) needs to be in formation now, if that work will continue after five years. (The work will continue regardless of what St. Thomas’ does. Communities have a way of raising up what they need when they need it. The question, then, more precisely, is whether St. Thomas’ wants to be involved in that work. If it is involved, it will have the opportunity to influence what happens. If it is not involved, it’s out of the loop.) To whatever extent St. Thomas’ is involved will be determined by what St. Thomas’ can afford in relationship to what St. Thomas’ is committed to. Decisions on all of that are irrelevant, if made by the (White) Priest alone. They are relevant if made by The Vestry only to the extent that The Vestry is thoroughly representative of the core Congregation. The effective decision, then, is the consensus of the Congregation.

This provokes the more basic set of questions: Who is St. Thomas’? And to what Mission IS St. Thomas’ committed?

Attendance figures this Christmas – with the two Christmas Eve Services along with the Christmas Day Service – ran to about 150 people. Holy Week Services seem to range between 20 and 35. The active Congregation is somewhere between those numbers. I don’t have a clear idea of the average age of that group. There are some younger folks and many Elders. Also, starting now, we are intentionally saving, whenever possible, the identities of those who support St. Thomas’ for future reference. It’s not WHAT the person gave that interests me. It’s WHO GIVES that is so important. In one sense this IS the Congregation. (Average pledge/contribution divided by number of givers – over a ten year period – would be really interesting information; but it’s not available.) In a third sense, the central core of the Congregation is that group of people present at the Celebration of New Ministry and the Workshop the night before. Anyway, most who call themselves ‘Anglican’ are not part of any Congregation in any meaningful sense. The days when one can identify oneself as ‘Anglican’ or by some other denomination and do nothing further in ones’ life to live into that identity are fast receding. In another generation those days will be gone.

The actual Congregation is very distinct from that larger marginalized population. And the Congregation has some very real and very specific needs. While it might take six to ten Deacons to cover the ground that Raymond covers, pastoring the Congregation involves significantly fewer people. And the project is qualitatively different. In the case of the Congregation, each person needs to be growing in his/her ministry. The days that any congregation can survive the passive participation of its constituency are rapidly ending.

I find my own energies focusing on this small core group. This is the group that needs to be nurtured and cultivated. Hopefully it will produce an indigenous priest. My dream is that my successor will be that priest – just as, perhaps, the diaconate also will indigenous. But the community of faith to which that (or any) leadership belongs needs an increased awareness of itself. Most of what – or how – I preach through the winter will come from that perspective.

The wedding has taken a beating. The Bride and Groom knew that Christmas would complicate things, so they scheduled the rehearsal for the end of last week. However, the best man just didn’t get here from Albany until Monday night. Once the whole wedding entourage was safely on The Island, funeral and Christmas activities were at full throttle. Tomorrow is another day. Anyway, I’ve known weddings that went forward without rehearsals.

Freeze-up went into a lull. It is now colder – but not yet really COLD. We had a thaw for almost two weeks. The highway suffered greatly. Last week a bulldozer went through the ice. And, of course, it went through over the newly-dredged channel. Nobody was particularly excited about that. Evidently these things are to be expected. The driver got wet; but he is ok. A passing taxi picked him up before he got too cold.

Now, only skidoos are going back and forth. Taxis, which were canoes in the summer, are now skidoos. They pull enclosed sleds. And they do a very brisk trade. One of the interesting features of the highway – at this time, anyway – is that when the tide comes in, it does not come in under and lift the ice. It comes in and covers the ice – at least along the shore. Driving on ice over a busy current with a few inches of salt water on TOP is not my idea of the ideal driving experience. It would seem to me that if some SUV manufacturers REALLY wanted driving conditions where they could show off their products, they would pick the Moose Factory – Moosonee Expressway. We have EVERYTHING!  Glare Ice – what there is of it. Salt Water. Hills and Gullies. Snow dunes. The works.

Ditch Update:
I am by no means the only person to end up in the ditch (with auto.) Since my own personal ditch experience, I now have seen two other vehicles in the same ditch – MY ditch – with indeterminate vehicular identities (no plates.) ALSO, yesterday, the Municipal Front Loader got swallowed. THAT was a sight! Warmed my heart to see those mega wheels poking up through the snow and catching the crisp morning air and sunshine. The Grader hauled it out. I am not alone. I am now stalking The Grader. I want to be there when it goes under….

At the Vestry Meeting we began the transition to a new Treasurer.  We are building the financial program from the ground up. THIS time St. Thomas’ will go by the Book (ie Canons & Policies of the Diocese.) At least now there is the realization that this is a good thing to do. These things are hard on everybody; but, so far, so good.  The major problem was that we waited so long before we did anything. Of particular concern to me is that nothing was done until I was here for several months – gradually waking up to the problem. I was perceived as the Authority who would deal with the matter. I was expected to act as a ‘flag-boss’ – not a good omen for the transition of the Priest to a more indigenous model. (And, as was said — in Cree-think — you don’t worry about the chopper in the air. Just worry about the ground below. Well, this time, we got close.)

Today I basically took the day off, put on the Bach Orgel Werke (15 hrs, 9 min, 4 sec) and vegged out.

Monica has informed me that I am expected to recite The Lord’s Prayer in Cree on Christmas Eve. It isn’t going to happen – this year. There’s hope, however, for next year. I should just park myself out in the bush for eight weeks with a family. For now, however, I have neither time nor opportunity.

The Elders on The Island – or most of them – had their annual Christmas Party at the Parish Hall tonight. I sat at one of the tables and enjoyed the turkey and roast ham – along with some wonderful company.

I breathe more easily, now, because one monkey is off my back. We can produce quality paper with little effort. Of course, the parish will have the same problem, once I am gone, until or unless the parish designs the means by which somebody else can do this work. For the time being, though, we’re ok.

A great deal of what I have been doing, of course, would have been done elsewhere by a parish secretary – those heroes (or heroines, rather) who are never noticed until they are absent, and everything falls apart. Actually, I had never thought I would be doing this kind of work here when I was still down south. But it’s work that has to be done; that is, other things won’t happen, until or unless it IS done.

The weather has turned positively balmy. Yesterday saw temperatures a few degrees above freezing. Today may be even warmer. I DID see a pick up truck on the ice yesterday. But I haven’t heard that vehicular traffic is a regular thing now between Moose Factory and Moosonee. I, personally, will wait for the School Buses before I drive across the ice. If the ice is strong enough for them, it will be strong enough for me. But not until….(!)

The ten-year report on attendance figures has already stirred the pot. I had burrowed through the ‘Vestry Book’ to get the numbers. (The ‘Vestry Book’ in Canada is basically the same thing as the ‘Red Book’ for Episcopalians in the United States. It lists the number of persons present as well as the number of communions for each Service entered.)

I realized that the ten-year report had stirred interest the day after I had distributed materials to Vestry persons for this next Tuesday’s vestry Meeting. I was at an Elder’s house the next day, and she already knew about it. The grapevine works.

The over-all attendance at St. Thomas’ increased dramatically in the ten-year period and then started to fall just as abruptly about two years ago. What happened? I suspect that question will energize some folks for a while. Another thing, though, about the stats: the attendance at Holy Week Services has not seen the same rise and fall; those numbers, if anything, may be climbing.  While it might only be my hope – rather than reference to hard data – it might just be that slowly a congregation is emerging from the much more widespread and partly marginalized parish. That’s the hope. Time will tell how realistic it actually is.

While swings in attendance may be linked with the comings and goings of specific priests, that seems only partly true in this case. Attendance (participation) increased right after Father Wayne arrived. And his work had a major part to play in that, no doubt. But the decline set in discernibly before he left. While what he did had its strengths and weaknesses – as is the case for any cleric – the decline may originate from something other than his ministry. Some have already suggested that the start of the decline coincides with the emergence of the Residential Schools as a pervasive issue in the Church as well as for the rest of Canada – particularly Northern Canada.

I had pondered my way into all of this in my thoughts of last month, because I was picking up on something I didn’t understand, particularly from the more marginalized families; and I was trying to make sense out of that. Since then folks have suggested there was (and is) a piece I had not addressed. I had picked up on a kind of floating, pervasive anger that was finding a lightning rod in the Church. And, of course, I was using my own anger as a reference point – a tool to use in trying to comprehend what was going on. The piece I missed was what I can only describe as a kind of panic. That is, when the publicity concerning the litigation involving the Anglican Church and the Residential Schools surfaced, some folks just could not bear to be in an Anglican Church at that time. When they did attend Church, the memories (and the wounds and the scars) all came back; and they experienced a kind of suffocation – and simply had to leave. I have been told that every once in a while one or two of these folks do show up in Church now – never all at the same time; but every once in a while someone is there – perhaps to test whether it’s safe to return.

Sunday evening one of the vestry groups threw a Roast Beef Dinner. EVERYBODY was there – which made for lots of fun; AND the roast beef ran out. I was stuck with veggies (and several desserts.)

Monday, 2 December, 2002
The air was crisp early this morning. The window thermometer near the Kitchen Sink said 13 below – Fahrenheit. There was no wind. The sky was perfectly clear when Gwendolyn and I first went out early. Daylight was just breaking. We could see one or two planets and a sliver of the moon in the lightening sky. In the near distance a dog cried softly. Gwendolyn was mildly interested. We both hurried back into the house after a short walk.

I wondered if that dog would survive the cold. Raymond has an ‘outside dog’. I think his name is ‘Killer’. Killer – or whatever his name – is a **very** amiable beagle. He never wanders (except to Church) and Raymond says he does fine. Killer does have a nest under the back porch – complete with blankets, so he can curl up out of the weather. Others are less fortunate. Gwendolyn is one of the very few that parks regularly under the duvet.

Dog-culture is different here. Not too long ago they were important items in the economy. That is, some were culled from the roving canine population and raised to pull sleds – and for other purposes as well. One does not make a pet out of a beast of burden. Now dogs may be on their way to becoming pets – some, anyway. There is a vet who comes up to Moosonee now three or four times a year from Timmins or Cochrane. People, like me, who fuss over their dogs, as I fuss over Gwendolyn, are still rare. One elder told me that in his day some dogs – not all that long ago — when chained up at night outside, WOULD freeze to death.

I haven’t been chumming much with the Elders in the past two weeks, mainly because I’ve grinded away at two projects.

One has been to construct ways and means to manage the finances of St. Thomas’. When the new Treasurer takes over, hopefully there will already be some norms and methodologies in place to make her task simpler and also to provide for the Vestry the information they need on a monthly basis to make decisions. We’ll know in a few months how fruitful this labor has been.

I remarked to Cliff, in one of our telephone conversations, how frustrated I was that the money business and its possible remedies all waited for me to get here, resulting in my own distraction as well as allowing the task to grow exponentially with each neglected month. Cliff remarked that neglect was the way, often, with Northern parishes. I inferred that he was referencing cultural issues.  Be that as it may, the same set of issues used to surface regularly in southern Rhode Island. There was an ancient Rectory used by St. Elizabeth’s, Canonchet for years. The Rectory was enormous, had charm, and guzzled fuel oil – to no effect; the place always froze. Periodically decisions had to be made, lest the building collapse. Eventually it was sold. However, when the decisions had to be made, there always was a fancy dance going on over who owned the Rectory and who, therefore, had a right to make those decisions. If the Rectory needed a new roof or new siding, the decision clearly was that of the Diocese, because the Diocese owned the structure, was responsible for it – and, of course, should pay. If, however, someone at the Diocese made noises about selling or renting or otherwise encumbering the Rectory, The Bishop’s Committee would remind one and all that this was THEIR Rectory. And they would decide what would be what. The Vestry here has to exercise their authority and responsibility if the Church is going to grow, and I have figure out a nice way to say that – and be heard.

The other project has been to get the Adobe software up and running – and figure out how it works. I have Sunday Bulletins now in the new format, and also, a generic bulletin for burials. When I can scan pictures into the Funeral Bulletins, we will have a product far superior to what the Band prints out now for bereaved families. Then we can repossess the business of making up funeral bulletins from the Band, which has been doing this work as service to everyone. When we make our own bulletins, we will have more control over the actual Funeral Service.

Both of these projects are going on mostly now with just me. At some point there will need to be someone in the Church who is willing to do the task and who has at his/her disposal the necessary equipment. That bridge is yet to be crossed.  I have a few years yet, hopefully. But it’s already a race against time.

Derek Okimaw (age 14) is working into a kind of chore boy job around the Rectory. He now brings in the wood – or brought in a week’s supply this last week. The wood now is somewhat dried out, and I fired up the wood stove this afternoon. So far, so good. It belts out the heat, doesn’t smoke, and I have yet to burn the place down. The wood is not so good; it’s mostly pine. But that’s what there is here, mostly. And any wood is better than no wood – particularly, God forbid, if the Hydro fails. A lot of people here heat with electricity – including St. Thomas’.

More transportation complexities…. We had gale winds last night (which is why I got the wood stove going today, finally.) The winds moved the water on The Bay so that three feet of water were on top of the ice. That closed down all the skidoo traffic to and from The Island. I don’t know if the choppers were flying in the early morning; they were in the afternoon. Also, Friday afternoon the northbound train derailed, arriving an hour late – and leaving the cafeteria car behind. If the cafeteria car was left, then, also, the baggage car was left. There were no packages waiting for me at the Post Office this morning, and that may be why. (I’ve been looking for a shipment of new altar candles.) Saturday’s southbound train ordinarily is scheduled to depart at 9:30 AM. Today it departed at 5:30 PM.

Tomorrow is a new day – and a new month.

Non-church people reading this may dismiss the episode as yet another matter of the Church getting (or not getting) its act together. But there are at least three things going on. And they’re interesting, at least, to me. And some readers undoubtedly will want to straighten me out on one or a number of these following points.

DEPLOYMENT
There are three potential resources so far as a priest is concerned: Moose Factory (me), Kashechewan (Cliff Dee), Timmins or South Porcupine (Frank Gower). (In fact, there are more priests besides Frank in the Timmins area.) Some of us (like Frank) are part-time. Some (like Cliff and me) are full time.  Because Frank is associated with Holy Apostles on a part-time basis, he is there only for a fraction of any given week. He ordinarily travels north and south, to and from, Moosonee on the train. He can arrive in Moosonee on Monday, Wednesday, or Friday. He can depart on Tuesday, Thursday, or Saturday. To get a daily schedule, he has to fly, and at considerably greater expense. He can even charter a plane, at much greater expense. Your options increase as you (or the family) spend more money. Moose Factory is the only place served by choppers alone; and, as we know, they can be extremely erratic. In fact, if one is prepared to spend money in adverse conditions – problems with daylight, weather, or machines — one may get from Moosonee to Toronto much faster than one will ever get from Moosonee to Moose Factory. I have dismissed skidoo travel across the ice as an option as unsafe and unreliable, until EVERYBODY tells me it’s safe. On Sunday Bobby was not too sure.

If Frank is not ordinarily scheduled to be in Moosonee when a funeral like this comes up, he may be able to revise his schedule. Or he may request the help of another priest to stand in his stead for the intervention. That’s what happened this time around. And I am setting limits on my own availability. My reasons, obviously, are that I have enough to do here without taking an entire day out for the funeral itself, time in addition to that in preparation, and time after the whole thing getting my head back together. Also, I can’t really honestly represent myself to the RC Bishop as having any real control over the conduct of the service, if I have not been intimate to the planning process as it goes forward. And I will not knowingly risk being stuck off The Island.

So, I drew the line – not something a priest does comfortably; we’re bred to be there then. But when things get stretched really thin, it’s best to draw the line, if you are to preserve any hope of maintaining your own level of functionality. And there are other issues.

MINISTRY LEADERSHIP
By now someone might have thought of a question I have been asking myself and (anyone else) for quite some time: Isn’t there some individual in Moosonee right now who could stand behind a lectern and read some prayers and scripture passages from the written page of a book? Well, there probably are several people who could do just that – and, in fact, do it far better and more sensitively than I ever could. (I am not always seen as being highly sensitive.) So why isn’t that person – or those people – ready to go?  Death is an unpleasant fact of life. We all have to deal with it. Every community knows about it. What’s the problem at Moosonee? The problem is that you could always pick up the phone and dial 1-800-PRIEST. And up would pop an Anglican priest.

Those days are over – but not always in the public mind. Here at Moose Factory, Raymond, Bobby, and Ronnie have all read the Burial Service. They did so when there were no other options. Moosonee does not have that kind of leadership. Why? Well, they never thought they needed it; they could always call in a priest. As always, the priest would do everything, would want to do everything. Since that would take care of the matter, there was nothing that needed fixing. I have learned that there also were lay readers who would also serve in situations like this; but they have all moved away; and they have not been replaced. Evidently it’s only when there’s a vacuum of this kind of leadership that folks will start asking questions and doing things. My posturing an easy availability  (however dishonestly) simply occludes the vacuum that’s been there for some time. If the vacuum is going to be remedied, it will be addressed – looked at, understood. The people who address the vacuum will be the people who care about the parish and who are committed to its healthiness. If those people exist and mobilize, things will happen very quickly. If those people do not exist or do not mobilize, there is nothing anyone else can do for the parish, anyway. The parish has to find its own internal strength in order to build.

Hate to play hardball. But that’s where the land lies.

CULTURAL ISSUES
The following is my own material, though I’ve quizzed a number of people on the subject. They do not all agree with each other. And none of them would, I suspect, agree with all of what follows. They all have minds of their own and are perfectly candid when they think I really have gone off the road and into the ditch. For what’s worth, however, at this moment in time, this is how I organize a number of inter-related issues.

The scenario goes something like this. This is a cultural thing. People have always counted on the priest being there. And the priest has always been there. So, in the case of a wedding or a funeral, the family makes the arrangements; and the priest is there. The priest then represents The Church (whatever that means) and serves the family’s interests, as the consensus of the family defines those interests. The priest is not acting like a priest, or the priest isn’t a real priest, if the priest isn’t there doing that. It’s the priest’s business to make everything expected happen. That’s why there are priests. Also, the priest doesn’t just DO the Funeral Service. For the duration of the immediate crisis, the priest becomes part of the family and is included in the family structure and dynamic. One would conclude from this that the priest would be intimate with the family in the day(s) before the funeral, would preside at the funeral, and would be present to the family at least until the gathering disbands.

Of course, all of that probably is true universally. We’re talking about humanity. The difference here is the extent of the difference, the shape of the role of the priest, and the peculiar nature of changes over the last generation or so.

This just isn’t how you deal with virtually anyone else when you want that person to come into your life and make an intervention. Why? Because it doesn’t work. And people know that. It doesn’t work, because if you want someone to do something, not only do you have to explain what needs to be done, but you also have to understand what the intervener is willing or able to do. That dialogue may extend over several conversations before an understanding or agreement is achieved. That certainly happens – in most cases, though not all – prior to a wedding or before you get your car fixed. Often it does not happen prior to a funeral, because the time between death and funeral is so short, and there is neither time nor opportunity for that dialogue.

In many of the situations I have encountered here the deceased was an Anglican; the next generation clearly is not; and there are no shared presuppositions about what we are doing, or why, or how. So, the family approaches the funeral in crisis and with assumptions that have roots running deep into the past, perhaps, but not always into the present reality. Again, that probably is universally true. How do you get intimate with a stranger quickly about these precious and vulnerable sensibilities?  The difference here again is in the extent of that difference — as well as in the specific nature of some of those assumptions. There are two important sets of assumptions.

The Holy Man:
The first, believe it or not, relates to the shaman or medicine man. All my interlocutors have explained to me that the white missionary priest has never been confused, either in the imagination or in the language, with the indigenous shaman or medicine man. Granted. But, with the medicine man, assuming he was present, how might the family’s behavior be different? I don’t think it would be very different. Again, we are talking about a universal reflex that happens in time of bereavement and stress.  The Cree customarily had one or two religious figures for each extended family – who shared in the life of that family and who were part of that family. Prior to any crisis there was plenty of common ground: shared memories, relationships, a clear understanding of who we are and what we are about as a social unit.

When the first missionaries moved in, although they might not have fit that specific indigenous role of holiness, they could, and clearly did, fill the pastoral – or human relations – need. In any given village the missionary priest might be very busy, indeed. He would be busy in the village and busy in the bush, camping and traveling with families. But, if he kept at the job and managed his time and energy carefully, he generally could keep up with the families’ emotional and spiritual demands – at least to the point where the folk perceived that their needs were being addressed – not perfectly, perhaps, but, on the whole, not too badly, either. I imagine that the priest was the clearing house for many, many relationships, going from one family to the next, for a moment or two being part of each. He would have been the quintessential pastor.

The breakdown now occurs in two dimensions at the same time. First:  The families who have become inactive or otherwise isolated from an Anglican congregation, revert, under stress, to that model of holiness, compassion, and integrity — to which they had been introduced as children but no longer practice — as a way of getting through the crisis.  The family members, individually, might be highly ambivalent about approaching the Anglican Church for a funeral, having been so distant for so long and, perhaps, having been involved with other religious traditions. But, collectively the family grabs on to the memory and the myth that had sustained them in previous generations – however superficial that memory may now be. The memory has become so superficial for some that it doesn’t really work. But they can’t discern for themselves any other that will work, either – at least none other that will work by itself to the exclusion of others. THEN, when the family makes its overture to the Church, there’s no priest available. When that happens, they’re stuck. They don’t have another model to flip into. For them the fault lies with the Church and the priest who are not doing what they used to do and what they ought to be doing now. There has to be that one figure – or a clone of that figure – for the thing to work, even if that figure, personally, is utterly foreign and therefore artificial. There is no conception of Church, as a community to which I might belong personally or as a place where I might find the context in which I can grow. All of that happens in the context of the family, as defined and understood by the family. The Church’s only role in the matter is to provide the holy person – no matter how superficial or artificial that holiness has become.

There is this tectonic shift going on where one culture meets another, and the two are not necessarily compatible. It shows up here especially in the interface between marginalized families and Church communities (or a congregational understanding of The Church.) Although The Cree figured out how to employ The (White European) Church out of their own cultural reference, generations ago, that accommodation now is either breaking down or being reconfigured as they and The Anglican Church are faced with increasing secularization, multi denominationalism, and market place norms (all on The Cree side) and a growing understanding by The Church of holiness and ministry as common properties of the entire congregation, including the priest (but not just the priest.) In a sense, in this place, anyway, when the marginalized families are stressed and when they reach out for a model of The Church in their crisis, it seems to me that they revert to the model of years ago – a model that The Church already is working hard to grow out of.

Guilt:
There is a second assumption at work that muddies all of the above. That is the guilt – real or imagined – of The Church. This relates to the (again, real or imagined) perpetration and/or collusion by The Church not simply in the matter of the Residential Schools with their stories of abuse and barbarities resulting in contemporary litigation but also in a much more widespread cultural aggression against native peoples in general and against their culture in particular.  This aggression was pervasive, long-term, and powerful. Somehow The Cree survived. Presently they are recovering their culture – or what they remember of it. At the same time they are metamorphosing – as their culture mixes, however easily or uneasily, with the culture to the south. One might defend The Church with the point that its intentions were good, even if some of its people were not. And by any reasonable criteria The Church is working assertively to redress the wrong, do justice, pick up, and go on. But the point, here, relates to perceptions of The Church – particularly those perceptions of the profoundly marginalized. And it’s that mind I am trying to understand.

So, the First Part of the assumption: The Church is guilty, at least, by way of association.

For some of those who had left community with the Church some time ago and who now return only for a funeral, if you are an Anglican, you have dirt on your hands. If you didn’t have dirt on your hands, you wouldn’t be an Anglican; you wouldn’t want to be an Anglican. Put positively: a way of declaring your cleanliness or innocence of soul or freedom from the burden of the past would be to disassociate yourself from The Anglican Church. (Our Pentecostal brothers and sisters constantly remind each other of this; and they remind us as well – whenever they get the opportunity.) Even though I am from another country and from another culture, I am white and I am an Anglican (Episcopalianism notwithstanding) and I am perceived from this frame of reference. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. I CAN decline participate in the scenario when I think I discern it. And I can offer another model – of hope, acceptance if not agreement, transparency of commitment. But basically I have to endure it.

Then, the Second Part: You have no moral authority or charism.

It’s because you are guilty that you have no moral authority. Therefore, when I approach you regarding a rite or service, you have no authority to decline my request; and you have no MORAL option but to cooperate. My authority comes from the (however uneasy) consensus of the family; and you are our means by which we will accomplish what we have to do. Of course, you may exercise the brute power that still resides in your office to refuse my request(s), but we who are now free of the Anglican (or white man’s) burden are where power will soon reside. The shell that is presently the Anglican Church will cease to exist when the last Anglican Elder is buried. And the rest of us will go on with what is authentic – whether that is another denomination, church, or whatever. (It’s to this mind that the funeral home industry would be a commodious response. That is, a family could use the funeral home as a shell in which to accomplish the observances it desires without getting entangled with any faith community. The family would be free to do anything it wanted to do regarding any formal observance. The family would then be free of any association with the funeral home, once they paid the bill. I predict that when there is enough money in these communities, there will be funeral homes — and for precisely this reason.)

There are two roots here: One is a parallel to the original White European dismissal of the aborigine’s traditional charism. I understand that the first missionaries simply dismissed the charism of aboriginal religion as invalid. Now the process occurs – in the other direction.      The other root is relates to the aborigine’s pragmatic appropriation of The Church’s pastoral care– only this time it is far more tenuous because the pastoral care isn’t there. (Remember what started this discussion? I just can’t get there.)

So, maybe I exaggerate — but not by much, with some. In any case, my purpose here is to identify and describe the issue; and the issue abides, I suspect, however vaguely, in some quarters of the public mind.

It’s a bitter pill for me to swallow. But whatever amount of anger there is towards white people and white institutions (even when those institutions are mostly non-white) it’s fully understandable, however tragic. It resonates to the rage expressed by oppressed people everywhere, including those in The States. (In fact, in The States, the journey of The Episcopal Church with or without the Black Community is much more pronounced. Prior to the Civil War Anglican (or Episcopalian) clergy pastored large numbers of Black parishioners with remarkable care and affection. With Emancipation those Black congregants evaporated virtually over-night and formed their own distinctive churches and denominations. The fault lay not in the pastors – some of whom were broken by the event – but by the contamination of The Church by the slave-holding establishment.) To me it makes sense; there’s nothing crazy about this. And while I may like to say that I, as a minority person, am free of the chips on my own shoulder, I know I am lying when I do that. We are products of our history. Some wounds heal; some do not. There are many deep wounds here, and if they are to heal at all, they will heal slowly.

So, bits and pieces of this undifferentiated guilt are part of the cloud we Anglicans operate under these days, and that cloud keeps us humble (maybe.) In a way, this attitude could be the best thing that ever happened to The Anglicans. It might just make Christians out of us. It will separate those who wish to exercise their commitments in a tangible way from those who don’t care.  And gone are the days when Father knows best – or when The Church is simply ‘Father.’ Hopefully, it will keep the pressure on those of us who ARE committed to a life in this kind of a congregation to find our own authenticity and to act from that authenticity. Our identity will simply have to come from within our own Body. We may well become a tiny minority Church, as indeed we were and are in the States, albeit for different reasons. That doesn’t bother me at all. These notes are written on a MAC. I like small churches more than big churches, anyway. There’s just a tiny bit of the Amish in me. ‘Be ye separate!’

Well, now that I’ve been here four months, that’s my take on the matter – for now. If I haven’t already slid off the road, I’ve sniffed out at least part of the resistance to change – resistance although change has already occurred and is presently accelerating. I’ll probably come back to this thread later, anyway.

The Canadian Bible Society had a display in the Parish Hall last night – along with the gourmet-ham-and-scalloped-potato dinner. I bought a New Testament in Moose Factory Cree – with the approval of The Gathered. The nice lady from The Society will send me The Society’s Cree Primers that have been prepared especially for first grade students. She thinks that might help.

Cliff Dee called and wanted to know all about the funeral and me – straight from the old horse’s mouth. I gave him an earful. Bottom line: about the same investment of time, whether from Moose Factory or Timmins. Difference in Fares: about $40. Forty additional dollars (Canadian) also buys security; trains run when choppers don’t.

Late in the evening Monica and Theresa showed up for a cup of tea. Theresa is on The Island only for tonight. Tomorrow she flies to Attawapiskat. She seems very happy. We chatted for an hour or so. Somehow we got talking about my trips down the Attawapiskat River in the 70′s. And somehow that got her asking about mosquitoes. With a glint in her eye she asked if there were any – up River, back in the bush. I, of course, couldn’t remember but nary a one.

Theresa may have pulled off a breakthrough in the matter of Attawapiskat Village and DeBeers Mining Company.

The Mushkegowuck Council is the consortium of Bands – of which Attawapiskat is one. The Council has achieved a common understanding that they will negotiate as a whole on behalf of each of the constituent Bands. There is a formula for profit sharing. That means that the entire Council will represent Attawapiskat and will use the Council’s entire resources in the negotiations on Attawapiskat’s behalf. In return, while Attawapiskat will keep a hefty part of the profits from a settlement with DeBeers , it will not keep all. A major part of the profit is to be shared evenly by the other constituent Bands. Likewise, presumably, if there is a major deal in the air at another Village, again the Council will negotiate as one unit; that Village, then, will reap a hefty part of the windfall; but always a major part of the proceeds will go to the other constituent Bands. The West Side Cree are now in this thing together. That is, I think their Chiefs are behind the concept. They may yet have to sell it to their own individual Bands. I hope it sells.

DeBeers (and others) now have the entire Council to deal with – not just one isolated village that can easily fracture under the pressure of expert and persistent negotiation and maneuvering.  An array of experts and consultants has been lined up to help the Mushkegowuck Council on their side of the negotiations. Negotiations fall into two areas: Short-term and Long-term. So far, only Short-term negotiations have taken place – with the Attawapiskat Band alone and only for the Exploratory Phase of the Project. Theresa had stopped the Exploratory Phase this fall, by refusing to renew The Band’s permission or license to continue that exploratory work, until or unless certain issues were resolved regarding the Long-term or major phase of the Project. DeBeers had stated this fall, when they ceased operations, that that was impossible. Some may have concluded, then, from that posture, that the entire deal was in jeopardy. DeBeers, reportedly, just wasn’t ready to negotiate a deal relative to the entire Project at this time. If the exploration were not completed, then, there would be no foundation on which to design the entire project. Phase Two (The Long-term Phase) could be discussed only after Phase One (The Short-term Phase) had been completed and the reports analyzed.

Now, those Long-term negotiations are scheduled to start up in January; and the entire Council is on board with those negotiations. All travel costs of the Cree negotiating team are to be paid by DeBeers. (If DeBeers wants a meeting in Toronto, fine, they pay.) Theresa already dreams of an adequately staffed medical clinic for the Village of Attawapiskat, itself. She worries about finding trained people who would work in such a remote place. I told her I have a young cousin, a medic, who just can’t wait.

If, years from now, these activities are seen as a quantum leap for The Cree, several names may be remembered then. But there always will be one name in particular: Theresa Hull, Chief of the Attawapiskat Band and Justice of The Peace. Theresa, alone, met DeBeers on the bridge, whilst summoning help. (Monica tells me – all in one breath: you’re exaggerating, again; it will be ten years before people fully realize what Theresa just did; it would have happened anyway. My response: you have the mind of a Cree; Theresa acted outside the norms of her culture to save the integrity of her culture.)

David has served as Treasurer for two years – filling in when there was a real need. But he just doesn’t have time. We’ll have a new Treasurer starting up by the First of the Year. To make it all easier, I concocted a database. That is, I’ve come up with a format – no numbers, yet.

The database should be good for tracking cash flow, balancing the checkbook, paying bills, recording/acknowledging donations, and monitoring the budget. That’s the concept, anyway. It may or may not sell. People here, actually, are really quite computer literate, although that doesn’t mean anyone else on The Island has FileMaker Pro. We’ll probably have to buy a copy for The Church – in the Windows version, horror of horrors; I may be the only MAC freak on The Island.

I have the nagging feeling that St. Thomas’ never had a budget – at least not one that anyone ever looked at. They could be seriously in the hole this year; and no one knows what’s going on. My pleas for old budgets, old paper, old anything, have gone largely unnoticed. I really don’t want to end up as Treasurer by myself (and we have a young volunteer, anyway.) Somehow, the Vestry has to learn to how to own the management of The Church – and not just forget about the money, the minute they think someone else is watching it.

The van got fixed: two new liters of oil for the engine and four fewer holes in the tire. How I did what I did I don’t know. The Vestry meets tonight. By the time I’m done preparing their materials I will have consumed a ream of paper. They are getting plenty to read.

On the mail run late this afternoon we were having a ‘snow shower.’ In Moose-Factory-speak that means total whiteout. As I turned into the Community Complex Center (‘The Mall’) I discovered yet another of Moose Factory’s drainage ditches. Ditches on The Island can run ten feet deep. This one was a good six feet deep. The car was creeping, so it crept into the ditch. When car was safely parked down under, the roof was level with the surface of the parking lot – to the fascination and delight of the spectators (and there were many; evidently this kind of thing had been going on all afternoon.) Skidoos buzzed out of nowhere. Everybody had to look. There was much to contemplate and discuss.

And there were comments.  “Now, WHY would someone ever want to do that?” “Jeeze, and I thought you Yanks knew how to drive.” “Now, THAT’S a strange place to park a car.” “Hey Preacher, sure hope you saved some of the wine for Sunday.” I found a phone and called Bobby with my tale of woe and distress, in hope of rescue.  He just laughed. He already had received six other calls on the same topic. I don’t think anyone will let me forget that one for a while. While I waited for Bobby to show, a taxi driver pointed out other busy ditches. The major entertainment of the afternoon had been watching the cars slide.

Kids are in Church this morning. Ronnie can handle them fine. She’s the Principal of the local elementary school.

Last night was ‘PIZZA NIGHT’ at the Parish Hall. All the pizzas were prepared at home by different chefs around The Island. Some were already baked and hot. Others were ready to be baked. Most had been sold before they ever got to The Hall. The cooks got orders as soon as word got out. The pizzas sold for $15 apiece and sold fast. I got one – which Gwendolyn shared with me (with reluctant generosity.)

Pizzas are popular on The Island. One of the ladies at the Parish Hall remarked that The Island may be becoming ever more fond of Italian Cuisine. (Can Federal Hill really be coming to Moose Factory?) Of course, nothing stands up to Chinese. There is a recipe in the Anglican Church Women Cookbook for fried rice done in the oven – for fifty people. My informant tells me, however, that when the Cree are involved, that same recipe will not serve more than ten. “I don’t know what it is about us Indians and Chinese. We get crazy.”

The man who had meningitis (mentioned 5 November) is now back home and doing much better. He had caught bacterial meningitis – not a good pick, if you have options. He had been feeling badly all that weekend but thought he just had the COLD. Everybody has the COLD. I’ve had it – off and on — since September. On Monday he collapsed. His family brought him to the Hospital immediately. Although the Doctor here couldn’t do the necessary tests (for lack of facilities) he suspected serious infection, began medication immediately; and he ordered emergency transportation. The transport – a ‘Medi-Vac’ or special plane — showed up about eight hours later. The patient then went by chopper to Moosonee and by Medi-Vac to Kingston late Monday night. At Kingston tests were done, confirming the original preliminary hunch about infection. Bacterial meningitis was identified. Medication continued. The family also traveled south, hoping for the best but fearing the worst. The patient pulled through.

Early assessment at Moose Factory Hospital, prompt and competent treatment, and expeditious transportation, saved this man. I have no estimate of the cost of maintaining a hospital and emergency services here. By health industry standards, even, that cost must be high. Like all hospitals this one runs day and night. Also, of course, air is the only mode of transportation; and it runs day and night. All of this consumes some of Ontario’s Health budget. But it saves lives.

Tomorrow Bobby takes the van for a while. Another of the tires wants air now every day. The weather has warmed up to about 20 degrees Fahrenheit. This is a good time to mend things.

Our original cold snap has moderated somewhat. But The River continues to freeze. In the early morning, before dawn, it makes all kinds of mysterious noises: snapping, popping, groaning, whining, and sighing. Gwendolyn and I are fascinated. We fully expect a Polar Bear to come lumbering out of the darkness at any moment. At Church this morning we heard that skidoos – operated by the younger set – are crossing to the mainland. Elders disapprove. But kids must take their chances.

The helicopter was working yesterday. The company that operates it was flying people on a stand-by basis, and they were charging only half of the usual fare. I doubt the fares will be so low today, and I HOPE the machine works.

Yet another update on the computer: the printer never really worked quite right; envelopes just didn’t get formatted correctly. An update from Hewlitt-Packard solved the problem. That means, now, that EVERYTHING has required an update – each from a different source. For me it was no problem – just time-consuming. If I were new to this, however, I’d be helpless. This ‘plug and play’ publicity is misleading. However, when I got everything right, it was very, very nice.

Later, Wednesday evening…. It was long day. Morning started crisp but absolutely clear. It is snowing now. While I was away, someone plowed out the Rectory – and just in time. The old van was barely making it through the snowdrifts. I even feared I’d get stranded this morning in the driveway.

Morning choppers leave Moose Factory Island at 8, 10, and 12 noon. I could have made it to the funeral (at 1 PM) with the noon shuttle with time to spare. But I opted for the more conservative approach and took the 10 o’clock flight. That way, if something went wrong, there would be yet one more flight before I got really stuck. I kidded the guys at Moose Factory’s chopper plaza about whether they thought their machines would start. They were fulsomely apologetic and most embarrassed, but there was no suggestion of any fare-reduction.

The flight takes less than five minutes. We simply cross the river – in a direct line to the airport. In the summer the canoes must snake around islands and shoals. The main channel of The River still has open water. Everything else is white.

Albert’s sister, Sandra, picked me up at the airport in Moosonee. As we were pulling out, the OPP (Ontario Provincial Police) were pulling in. We thought nothing of it. When we got to her house, however, we learned that there had been a bomb scare. The Moosonee airport was already closed. Flights from Timmins were canceled. Effectively, then, all air traffic to and from The Bay was down. (And air traffic during freeze-up is the ONLY traffic.) The earliest that flights would resume was going to be late this afternoon. And there were no promises about that. There even was talk that the train, which is northbound on Wednesdays, would be cancelled or delayed.

At the house, there were several of Albert’s nephews. Also, there was Levi, age 17 months, who was very much the center of attention both at the house and also, for a few minutes, at the Church. Levi’s father lives south of here, studies voice, and sings opera and lieder – all the good stuff.  He has sung from Don Giovanni, Faust, The Pearl Fishers, La Boheme, Amahl & The Night Visitors. His lieder repertoire is from Brahms, Schumann, and (I think) Schubert. I immediately wanted his CD, but he doesn’t have one yet. There was absolutely nothing in his affect, which might suggest that Grand Opera had come to Moosonee. At home he was at home. There is one culture in Moosonee, another out there in the outside world, and the two don’t really mix.

The family held the funeral at the local Roman Catholic Church or Cathedral.  The local Anglican Church is much too small for a crowd of two hundred people. And Bishop Cadieux is extremely gracious about making the Cathedral available – at least to Anglicans.  Like all Cree funerals this one started late. Customarily the coffin is open in the Church at least an hour before the service begins. Each person pays his or her respects. Most kiss the deceased on the forehead. When the LAST person is so accommodated, the Service begins.

By Cree standards this Service really was an orderly procedure. There was only one interruption – in the middle of everything – when a lady stood up and announced to everybody that she had known the deceased and really missed him. She didn’t preach or try to hijack the Service in any way. She just stood up and said what she said and then sat down. Moosonee may be more uptown than Moose Factory. (AND we were in the Roman Catholic Cathedral, where law and order are priorities.) At St. Thomas’ in Moose Factory anything can happen.

Burial was at a cemetery at the southern edge of town. There are no undertakers or funeral directors. The family does everything. The coffin is closed when the family closes the coffin. The Band supplies the coffin and has helpful people. In this case the family (i.e. Sandra and volunteers) retrieved the body from the Hospital here in Moose Factory — during the chopper shutdown. Figuring they were stymied, they postponed the funeral to today. Luckily the Hospital had an empty chopper; and they moved the body on that chopper, even though many others of the family were stranded on The Island until regular chopper service resumed. Sandra managed all of that confusion.

There are no hearses here. Our conveyance was a 2002 GMC Sierra pickup, color: storm gray metallic – an excellent choice of vehicle and color. Two or three guys stayed on the back of the truck with the coffin, while we made the slow trek to the grave. All traffic in every direction stopped and stayed put.  People knew exactly what that line of vehicles was all about. One or two School Buses carried those without cars.

At the cemetery it was clear, even to me, who was in charge. The director of affairs wore a hard hat. And he wasn’t at all shy about telling people exactly what to do next. Lowering a coffin into the grave is tricky.  The guys in the family always do it, and some are doing it for the first time. Strength, here, is an asset. And that means youth – along with inexperience. Hopefully, the task is accomplished efficiently and safely. Our foreman made very sure of that.

After the coffin is lowered to its final resting place, the prayers are read. Then the guys fill the grave from the nearby pile of earth, each taking turns; everyone participates. There were 12-18 shovels. While this is going on some of the women weep.

By this time it was time for me to think about heading home. I couldn’t tarry for the feast. We had learned that the chopper for The Island would start up at around 4 or maybe later. There would be flights, so I would not be stranded for the night. Since there were cars and drivers at the cemetery, I decided to leave directly for the airport.

There is only one road to the airport. Near the airport is a narrow bridge. At the bridge were emergency vehicles and volunteer firemen. Traffic was officially closed. However, Moose Factory people could get through, because their flights were about to recommence.

All day I was trying to figure out who would want to bomb something in or around James Bay, what they would bomb, why, and how they ever thought they were going to succeed. I always thought that James Bay, Air Creebec, and the rest were completely bombproof. The Cree just aren’t the sort of people your average full-blooded terrorist will want to hassle. Locals, however, gave me some food for thought. DeBeers would make an excellent target for some. The Quebec Hydro project is reputedly on Osama bin Laden’s hit list. Be any of that as it might be, the primary victims would be Cree.

Since some of the family is from the East Side of The Bay I asked what they knew or thought about the vulnerability of some of the villages on The East Side. They told me that at Chisasibi, if the dam up-river ever collapses, there would be only twenty minutes before the village is inundated. That’s just not enough time for people to get to high ground. Until this morning no one really took the terrorist angle seriously. I was told the dam is engineered to take an earthquake up to 6.4 on the Richter scale.

When we got to the airport we got the story. It was all about sky-rage. Evidently a gentleman at the airport in Moosonee wanted to go to Moose Factory. He couldn’t get a ride right then and there from ‘Expedition Helicopters’ – which has the business in Moose Factory — when they are expeditious enough to fly. He then asked one of the Hospital people if he could ride on a Hospital chopper. He was refused. He got angry and made threatening noises. The staff decided to play it safe, and they called in the troops. The troops came – with dogs (more dogs!) The canines sniffed at every single plane up and down The Bay. When we crossed the bridge on our way to the airport, it appeared that a functionary was writing down our registration plate number. The authorities were playing it very safe.

…It is late. Gwendolyn has forgiven me and is sleeping off her supper. This afternoon’s snow has awakened the skidoos. They are everywhere. The Island squirms with them as they criss-cross in every direction. Roads and stop signs mean nothing. Either the skidoos are invisible or they are upon you at full throttle. Dogs bark, yelp, howl, give chase, and get out of the way. No longer is this car and dog country. Skidoos rule. When there is enough ice on The River they will fly off in all directions – as far as Cochrane, to the South, and nobody knows where, to the North. Then, streams and islands will mean nothing. The whole wide world will succumb to the skidoo.

The funeral I had been scheduled to conduct tomorrow at noon has now been postponed until Wednesday noon. The family is banking on the recovery of the chopper, though they are not about to depend on its good health tomorrow morning. Several people from the family live on The Island, and they are simply stuck until the chopper decides to start. The Hospital has its own helicopter service, and that is always working. The service also runs a mega-helicopter ambulance that flies anytime – day and night.

Today is Remembrance Day. It’s like our Memorial Day. Veterans are honored, and lost soldiers are remembered. I was with an assembly at the local elementary school at 9:30 this morning. Some of the kids were restless at times during the 45-minute observance. When the prayers were read, however, there was absolute silence. Then, at 10:30, we held a service at St. Thomas’. Very simple, very brief. The names of the fallen were recited.  Prayers were read. Then, a minute of silence. We went outside, and guns were fired in salute. Elder veterans laid a wreath at the foot of the great stone monument standing close by the Church door. I learned from Chief Hardisty that James Bay has fielded the highest per capita ratio of volunteers in Canada. The locals tell me that virtually all of those people have come from Moose Factory. The people remembered were all First Nation people.

One of the differences between Canada’s Remembrance Day and the American Memorial Day is that while the Day is a federal holiday, federal means something a bit different in Canada – or at least in Ontario. Federal, notwithstanding, Ontario does not declare a holiday. The bank and Post Office are closed today. But all the schools are up and running. Northern Store was open, but empty.

On Tuesday I go to Moosonee by chopper (weather permitting) to conduct the funeral for Mr. Morrison. Funeral will be at the RC cathedral. Burial will be in Moosonee. I had begged off on a family service scheduled for tomorrow evening. There are people in Moosonee that can handle that, and the choppers don’t fly after dark; I would be stuck in Moosonee for the night. And Gwendolyn would never forgive.

The new Sunday Bulletin made its debut today – replete with my countless mistakes – every one of which was identified many times over, especially by the senior set, which has gloried in the opportunity to roast. With one edition now out, announcements are lining up. I think the concept sold. I have a deal: a candy bar for every mistake found; so far the younger crowd hasn’t caught on to that. They will.

The new MAC has made deskwork easier. And now it works very well, indeed. I reinstalled EVERYTHING – from Operating System all the way up. THIS time, I followed the proper installation procedures for the additional software. And the baby works like a charm. I even have most of my tunes loaded up in a separate hard disk – 120 gigabytes so far, and counting; I’m half way through the project. I think, in retrospect, that there was nothing wrong with the software the first time around. But Norton THOUGHT there was something wrong and then ‘FIXED’ it. After that, nothing worked. This time around Norton also is telling me something is ‘wrong’. The machine hasn’t been on long enough for something to go wrong. This time, I’m not letting Norton ‘fix’ it. And everything works just fine. In all likelihood, Norton is not updated, itself, to this present (and brand new) version of the Operating System.

Marg Lewis called from Temagami. She told me that the Lake had open water often through December. Here The River is steadily icing up even though we have tides and current. No bets yet on when the highway goes through, however.

John – and many of the family – was/are from Kashechewan. I had been visiting with him earlier in the day – unaware of how fragile he was.  I think we liked each other. He was a soft-spoken soul. As happens so often, we were ships passing in the night.

Then, at around 5:30 this morning, another call: Albert Morrison, from Moosonee. About 6-8 of the family was there. Prayers. I imagine I’ll be called for the funeral – in Moosonee – sometime early next week. If the family tries for Monday for the funeral, all of us will be stepping lively around the already scheduled events for Remembrance Day.

Bill Porter will be calling around 8 AM to catch up. Bill did the Attawapiskat with me 30 years ago.

The man with meningitis (of Monday Night) remains in serious trouble. His immediate family has joined him — in Kingston.

Gwendolyn’s routine has remained normal. She found more delectables, ate some, and rolled in the rest — and all in the back yard. She’s in Dog Heaven. As we speak, she’s sleeping it all off.

The thing about Church Bulletins, I think, generally, is that they are a convenience rather than a necessity for the regulars. (Several of our regulars can barely speak English, and I doubt they can read any at all.) But Bulletins are a GREAT convenience, and perhaps a necessity, for visitors – particularly if they want to have some kind of communication with some element of the Church. That concept was front and center with the folk last week. So, now we have a Bulletin. Next project will be the Newsletter.

Along with the usual crowd we had visitors from out of town. And two dogs – both very young — puppies. The puppies were reputed to have wandered in from The Village – along with some children who came to church. But one of those puppies is reported to be lingering around the church late this afternoon, evidently lost. And no one knows where he belongs.

That seems to be the lot of many of the dogs on The Island. That is, most are tightly restricted to their own piece of land, however small that plot may be. Gwendolyn is fairly typical, in that she is restricted to one lawn, on one lot. Most of those, so restricted, are tied, fenced in, or rigorously trained to stay put. Gwendolyn goes out with me on a leash; and she is by no means the only one so treated. Many dogs, however, don’t seem to have a place. They roam. Surely many just got loose. But, also, many are homeless. This gets more obvious as the days (and nights) get colder. Winter is closing in.

During the summer the homeless dogs do pretty well at The Dump, which is located at the north end of The Island – kind of a tidy little buffer between all of us and most of the mosquitoes….  However, as winter approaches, the dogs’ need for food increases while the food-supply decreases. Sometime about now all of that gets to a critical point, and the strays must be eradicated. Moosonee has posters around warning people to keep their dogs secured. Packs of dogs are a problem there. I am waiting to see if that happens here.

On the mainland there are countless wild dogs – hundreds or thousands. They never come out of the bush.  Moose Factory is too tight a little Island to be able to tolerate a pack of wild dogs. And I’ll bet they’re dangerous enough out in the bush.

Incidentally, for news of The Diocese of Moosonee … there is the diocesan newspaper or journal: The Northland. It costs $10 per year (Canadian – a real deal!) Subscription inquiries can be sent to:

THE NORTHLAND
Diocese of Moosonee
Postal Box 841
Schumacher, ON    P0N 1G0

Office Phone: 705/360-1129

One of Gwendolyn’s admirers was around yesterday. He was lying in the street with a half-inch of snout on that invisible line separating the street from the driveway. Gwendolyn takes that line seriously. It’s her responsibility in life to define precisely where that line lies. One half inch of snout is too much snout. I’m not suggesting that she moved the line in her mind or that she invented an excuse to go operatic. But she exploded. Of course she can’t see four inches past her own snout; but no matter, there are principles involved. She howled. She barked. She talked. She sang. She squealed. But she did all of that only after she was back in the house: a production of instruction on wandering wayfarers.

Helicopters now fly constantly. On Thursday Cliff went to Moosonee to catch his plane (which was three hours late) for Kashechewan; he used a canoe taxi. Yesterday, Monica’s sister headed out for Attawapiskat. She had to use the helicopter service to get to the airport. Unless there is a serious thaw in the next week or so, the water taxis are done for the season. The guys will ply their trade for as long as they can. For some that’s their only income all year. And they get by ok. But they’re out there every day that they can make the crossing; they get seven dollars per passenger per trip, one-way.

We are now in ‘Freeze-Up’; and that will last until the ice is thick enough to make the road to Moosonee safe. When that happens transportation is really quite easy and cheap.  But during ‘Freeze-Up’ everything goes in and out by helicopter. You can imagine what that will do to the prices of fresh food at Northern Stores. We’re in beans & canned milk season. And I am chagrined to discover that we could run out of communion wine. There was a gallon bottle in the sacristy in the back of the cupboard. I THOUGHT it was unopened. But it’s nearly empty.  We have enough wine for maybe two Sundays.

Sleds are out today – big sleds and little sleds. The canoes seem to be coming out of the water. Since they run around 35 feet, it takes some doing to haul them out. Cars don’t just pull trailers. They also pull sleds. I saw one of the homemade varieties. It was two pallets bolted to two cedar logs. It worked just fine. Registration of vehicles (and towed accessories) is informal and voluntary. Many vehicles (and other licensable products) have no plates at all.

There are posters plastered all over Moosonee informing the Public that the Ontario Provincial Police (OPP) will crack down NOW on all unlicensed drivers and unregistered vehicles. And there are lurid descriptions of certain horrific punishments awaiting offenders. No such threats have appeared, yet, on Moose Factory Island; or, if the threats are here, no one noticed.

There ARE some good things about Northern Stores – or about the new manager there. I found some dark tea and also Pilot Biscuits.  Black Tea used to be common up here thirty years ago. It was not to be found in August. At least now there is a Salada loose-leaf tea that seems to have some black tea mixed in. I remain hopeful. I am rationing my Russian Caravan Tea to one pot a day. I have only about two or three months of my stock left, before I’ll have to send outside for more. In the States, Pilot Biscuits had been made in Maine by little old people, in a little old factory, somewhere on the Coast. The market for Pilot Biscuits was never large; it was composed (in New England) by those who understood the complexities of good chowder in relationship to a properly prepared soda biscuit. The factory  — along with the brand – was bought by Nabisco. Nabisco understands nothing about chowder and less about biscuits, and promptly closed the factory.  Mainers objected. I don’t know if that particular factory ever got reopened, but Nabisco did start making the biscuits again. Trouble is, you can’t find them. Most stores don’t carry them – except in Maine. And when I called 1-800-NABISCO, I got nowhere; they were stuffy and helpless. I found out by myself (and not through Nabisco) that I could get the biscuits by mail from the Vermont Country Store. Here at the Northern Store there are two or three varieties.  At least one of the brands uses the same logo that had been used by the USA Company before the Nabisco catastrophe. But evidently Nabisco has not gained ownership of that Canadian Brand or Company, and I hope – for everyone’s sake — they never do.

There is enough snow to smooth out the roads slightly. …Maybe, smooth them a little much. I used to go slowly not only to avoid children and dogs, but also to ease around or over the ruts – lest I wreck the car with one bounce. Now the ruts are all filled in, but we go slowly, because, if any car is moving, no one knows when, where, or how, that car will ever stop. Bobby explained the challenge: If the roads are NOT sanded, the automobile drivers complain. If the roads ARE sanded, the skidooers complain.  The sand cramps their style and destroys their machines. Beyond question, these are the two major interest groups on The Island. No public minded citizen would willingly antagonize either party. However, if the roads ARE sanded, just a tiny little bit, maybe just at one or two intersections, here and there, now and then, and only immediately adjacent to the ‘STOP’ sign, and NOWHERE else – as a sort of a compromise, so that everybody will be a just a little bit safer, and so that, maybe, nobody gets killed, even if they do still slide off The Island — everybody complains.

Elsie took a rain check on Elders’ Visitations this afternoon. She has a houseful of guests coming in on tonight’s train. I think they’re scheduled to leave on Tuesday. Knowing Elsie, her tables will be groaning under the load of food by the time everyone arrives.

We had an open Vestry meeting Tuesday evening. Twenty-four people showed up. Most were on time – at 7 PM – remarkable for The Cree, who do not always take the clock absolutely seriously.  We didn’t finish until after ten. And some lingered beyond that. For three hours, with only one break, just about everyone talked about his or her memories and feelings about the church. From the meeting came material we used in the next evening’s service in the form of a covenant. Also, one of the number does strategic planning for the local Band; and he has come up with a plan of action for review at next vestry’s meeting in a couple of weeks. We’re rolling!

About the same crowd showed up at the service the next evening (Wednesday.) Cliff and I had tuned the thing so that it significantly deemphasized jbe and did emphasize the parish. Virtually all the principals of the congregation were there. And the service was in large part a celebration of their commitment.

Most of the crowd was St. Thomas’ folk. There were visitors, however. The organist from the RC Church in Moosonee was there. Also, Theresa, from Attawapiskat. She will be flying home today. And there was a local Chief, as well.

I learned from Cliff that traditionally the Cree did not have Chiefs. They settled their business by consensus within the extended family grouping. It was only with the passage of the Indian Act in the early twentieth century that they elected Chiefs, to comply with the law.

Tonight is Halloween. There still is some candy left for the urchins. I am told they take Halloween quite seriously, so I am prepared. In some of the communities north of here there have been Halloween celebrations going on several nights running. One night is not quite enough. All ages have to get into the party.

It has been snowing all day. We have a couple of inches of powder now. The Church Van wants a week in a warm garage with a friendly mechanic. We’ll probably drive it over to Moosonee, where there IS a garage, sometime in November – whenever freeze-up finally occurs. I bought boots, long johns, gloves, and wool hat, today. Cost of that little project was $200. A winter coat is on order. That’s another $500. Warm clothes are not cheap.

The mosquitoes seemed to have retired now till spring. They don’t mix easily with falling snow, though with the first flakes maybe one or two will still buzz around to get one last snack. One of my correspondents requested that I expound, yet more greatly, on the subject of mosquitoes. The rest of you poor souls didn’t stop me in time. And I may well resume the thread come next spring when the little beasts remind me (again) of their presence. So here goes….

Mosquitoes in these parts are a hardy bunch. One good frost may slow them down. But it won’t stop them. Exactly when they get started in the spring I don’t know. It will be soon enough. They are aggressive. They fly up your nose. They crawl into you ears. They get in your eyes and mouth. They get in your pants. They bite everywhere. And they bite through everything.

The topography around here is good for mosquitoes. On the West and South Side of The Bay, the ground falls about a foot a mile over sand and gravel and clay. A lot of water gets held back naturally. In earlier days the Moose Cree were called Swampy Cree – and for reason. The general area is one great sub-arctic rice paddy. That makes for simple travel – both in summer as well as in winter – one of the contributing reasons for the traditionally nomadic way of life of The Cree. It also makes life rather ideal for the mosquito. On the East Side of The Bay the land falls through a series of rocky terraces. A terrace may be concave rather than convex – just like a saucer. Water gets caught in the saucer and stays there stagnant in the dry season. Only with serious rains do the saucers get flushed out.

When I traveled by canoe we would always camp in mild weather on the smallest island in the largest lake we could find. The evening breeze would usually keep the great clouds of mosquitoes away – at least enough during supper. At night the tents were tied closed and were more or less bug-proof. On portages or small streams, however, there was no defense. Once, while paddling UP a creek in a light warm mist, I paused long enough to count over seventy-five mosquitoes on the back of one hand alone. My bowman did not appreciate my reverie. We got to the next lake just as soon as possible – after I finished counting.

In colder weather mosquitoes tend to stay close to the ground – a reality of considerable importance to Gwendolyn, who usually is closer to the ground than me. I may be generally unaware of the mosquitoes while she’s being sucked dry. Also, first person over the portage may never get bit. Second person may get one or two bites. From the third man on, however, the mosquitoes run the show. By then they are irrationally exuberant. When I canoe-tripped there was always serious competition over who got to the end of the portage first. Last man always got bit worst.

The CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Company) has a repeater transmitter close by. It’s one of TWO stations accessible by day. (At night, we get lots of stations – including WBZ in Boston.) The movement of the West Nile Virus FROM THE STATES has Health Canada, Communications Canada, and everything else Canada mildly hysterical. It’s not one of our more attractive cultural exports. Remember, all those birds that summer up here, winter down south, and have plenty of opportunity to get bit by virus-carrying-mosquitoes down south. So, one of these days somebody around here is going to get West Nile Virus.

The mosquitoes are especially prevalent and energetic in Moose Factory after a day or so of North Wind. That’s because the area just north of us lies between Moose Factory Island and The Bay. When the tide goes out, there can be a mile of exposed mud flat. The slope of the ground close to The Bay can be VERY gradual. Canoes skirting the shore sometimes get caught in the mud at low tide. They can move again only when the tide returns. One hopes, in such circumstances, that mosquitoes are the only worry. However, while storms and polar bears can be more exciting, it’s the mosquito you always remember.

During the summers I noticed some other things about the mosquito. They are color sensitive. We used to count the number of mosquitoes on the differently colored checks of a woodsman’s wool jacket. The jackets were usually black & white, black & green, black & blue, black & red. Black ALWAYS had the greatest mosquito-count. White ALWAYS had the least. (I always wore a white long-sleeved shirt.)

Some people are naturally more sensitive to mosquitoes than other people. I used to react to mosquitoes a lot less than I reacted to black flies. All bugs dislike smudgy campfires. There also are things you can do – or not do – about your skin. Washing in cold (lake) water is ok. I noticed two things, however, after my first HOT shower (usually in Moosonee.) One was that ALL my summer tan washed off. The second was that the mosquitoes suddenly discovered me again. By the end of the summer I had sort of forgotten about them, because they were biting A LOT less. As soon as I was clean once more, however, they bit. (There’s a moral there, somewhere.)

Another thing about mosquitoes: specifically mosquitoes in the tent. After you have rolled in for the night…there always are a few in the tent, after you have closed and tied down the flaps. And unless you DO something, you WILL be THE HOST. HOWEVER, if you light a candle (without burning down the tent – and the forest) and spray just the right amount of bug-spray in the tent (without killing YOURSELF instantly with the poison and possible explosion) the mosquitoes will lose their otherwise excellent judgment and fly at just the right speed through the FLAME of the candle – at which point they will explode, spraying mosquito-bits in every direction. THAT truly is a sight for sore eyes after a long hard day. Very satisfying.

On that warm note, in the midst of our first serious snow, I conclude October’s musings.

I am told that Halloween gets done in these parts. In preparation I’ve laid in several tons of candy bars. I’ve been asked what kind of costume I will use. I really haven’t had time to work on that one. Maybe next year.

Tomorrow Cliff Dee arrives. He is the Regional Dean, and priest at Kashechewan. He will conduct a vestry/parish séance tomorrow night. Hopefully some 1-5 year goals will come out of that. Then, on Wednesday evening we have The Celebration of New Ministry at the Church. The ACW ladies are gearing up for a covered dish supper Wednesday evening – before the Service (which may or may not, then, start on time.) I took extra time at yesterday’s service and laid out MY dream: an indigenous (and likely Cree) priest. No feedback, …yet.

This afternoon I laid in some groceries, as I am Cliff’s host for the duration. I even got fresh orange juice! Northern Store is hard to navigate in right now. They have a new manager. He is young. He is energetic. He reminds me of Roger. He has retailing in his blood. Suddenly, the shelves are clean and attractive – the ones that are stocked, that is. Eighty percent of the merchandise is stacked up in different piles on the floor. The staff is frantic. The train comes in tonight. The crowd comes tomorrow. I couldn’t find any dishwashing detergent. Oh well, there’s always the dog.

Gwendolyn got me up at 2 AM this morning. A bit early, I’d say. But for her it was 3 AM. She hasn’t set her clock back yet. I don’t know all of what she did outside in her predawn outing. I DO know she rolled in something.

And it works. It took six hours yesterday for all of that to get accomplished. Now, however, I am down to kilobytes in unused disk space. I can’t trash the old – now unused – operating system. The machine won’t let me. And I hadn’t figured on all of this. I had loaded a lot of the CD’s (which work nicely in their new home somewhere on the disk.)

There are new/additional hard disks on the way. And that will give me another 280 GB in storage space – which will help. THEN, I’ll be able to store the music in the (nice but bulky) AIFF mode, and there will be lots of room for operating system and applications on the onboard disk. Then I’ll do the ‘clean install’ – not a challenge on a MAC. The data will be safe (tucked away on the new disks.) But I’ll have to redo the whole registration/update routine.  Hopefully the cable guys are true to their word, and I’ll have high speed Internet access by the time I get to that. It IS nice to have Haydn trios cooing softly in the background while you work. But who would have thought only a few years ago that such things could consume a parson’s Friday morning on James’ Bay? I could have called Apple’s 1/800 number. (I pay them a bit every year to hold my hand in such digital crises.) But this is how I learn. If I can just break something a little bit – not a whole lot, then I’ll learn how to fix it. And in fixing it I figure out how it works. OS X is an elegant piece of work.

Otherwise, the week has been taken up with Elders and visiting them in their homes. You are an Elder, I am told, when you hit 60. But I also have been told that, even though I am 60 by now, I do not qualify. I’m still too bratty. Elsie has been my guide in these visitations. However, Elsie gets lost about as much as I would, if I were alone. But, bit-by-bit, I’m learning who’s who and where they live. It’s a slow process. House numbers, street names, postal addresses, even phone numbers are inventions of the new generation and therefore irrelevant to the Elder generation. (Most of the phone numbers on the Island are unlisted, anyway. I don’t know why. People like Elsie know everyone’s phone number.  Marion knows everyone’s Postal Box Number. Everybody knows where everybody else lives –except for me, and sometimes, even Elsie.) My questions about such details are greeted with patient amusement and curiosity. I get asked all kinds of questions about the sniper in Maryland (and everywhere else, it seems.) Evidently, being an American, I should be the expert on such behavior.

Elsie is perfect on home visitations. She knows everyone. She catches up on the news and brings plenty of her own. And it’s all done in Cree. She should be training a cadre of others who might like to do this kind of thing. It brings a real lift to people who are isolated, lonely, ailing, and depressed.

Gradually people are returning from the bush. And they’re bringing in plenty of food: moose and goose. The Xerox people were getting frantic, because a check had not yet arrived. Nothing could get done until David, the Treasurer, got back (with a moose.) Corporate America (or Corporate Canada, for that matter) has a tough time with such a point of view.

All of Moose Factory Island is divided into three parts: Federal Lands, Local Services Board Lands (the locals call it Provincial Lands,) Moose Cree First Nation Reserve Lands. The Rectory in which I live is on Provincial Land. The house abutting me to the north sits on Reserve Land. (The locals call the cluster of houses on the Reserve lands the Village.) On the Reserve is a High School. However, that high school serves only those who actually live on Reserve land. The rest have to go to Moosonee for high school – at some expense to the taxpayer. And often it takes a while to make the trip. I asked Elsie how that arrangement got set into place, and I’m still not clear about what happened. However, I gathered from her, that education now at least is more accessible than it was – particularly for those not living on the actual Reserve land. Two things I learned:

ONE: In her younger days, if a woman without Band status married a man WITH Band Status, the woman received Band status. That, then, would qualify the children for benefits for which the Cree might be eligible. However, if a Cree woman of Cree Band status married a man who did NOT have Band status, the man did NOT receive Band status by virtue of marriage to a woman who DID have band status. Also, the woman LOST her band status. And all children and descendents henceforth would be ineligible for Band status. Elsie lost her Band status when she married.

TWO: When she and her husband were getting their children through high school, the children – being of no Band status – were ineligible for educational programs put into place for those OF Band status. That meant they had to go elsewhere for their high school education. The parents had to pay tuition as well as transportation costs. For some reason the government assumed the cost of room and board. That means that many of the people of my generation, if they received a high school education, received it at their families’ expense.

Raymond and his wife Marion have a similar story. When Marion was sent off to Residential School, her Band status was taken from her. She was told she was no longer a Cree. Only many years later did she get her status back.

I finally got the truck’s Ontario Registration Plates. I had told the insurance broker back in Blue Hill last July that I probably would not get the Ontario registration up and running until October. Both she and I knew I was simply lying. These kinds of projects just don’t take that long – Murphy’s Law not withstanding. Being generous, however, the insurance people in Maine gave me until the end of the year to make the transfer of Maine to Ontario insurance — understanding that Ontario insurance cannot take effect until the Ontario Operator’s License and Vehicle Registration are secured. Well, it took this long. The actual process was a breeze. It was done in twenty minutes. Living in an ‘outlying area’ (the term used by the bureaucrats) has its advantages. When push comes to shove they do cut some serious slack. For instance, I had neglected to acquire the proper Customs form for the truck when I crossed the Border. Evidently you are supposed to GET THAT THERE. A very nice Customs Official, in North Bay, prepared the necessary documents – all by fax. I think he just could have told me to go back and get it.

I did the truck’s registration routine yesterday. That meant that I had to go to Moosonee, again. The docks on the Moosonee side of the River have been pulled out – for the winter. When the taxis arrive at Moosonee, we have to clamber out on to a rock on the shore. Usually the ice starts hugging the shore sometime in November. From that point on, until the ice is safe for vehicular travel, the only way off or onto the Island is by helicopter.

Also, after a bit of sputtering the Ministry of Health decided that I could, after all, have a Health Card. (Health Cards are important things to have when you talk with medical people.)

Today there is a yard sale followed by a lunch kind of thing at the Parish Hall – put on by the ladies. I am told that I will be there. Lunch! Tough job. Then, tomorrow evening there will be a Chinese Dinner at the Parish hall – to raise some money. Another tough job: I am on the team producing the event. I have been entrusted, so far, with getting some of the stuff from the store. Fortunately I have not been asked to cook anything. Bobby is the leader of the team and I guess Executive Chef. I can’t wait to discover how he will approach Chinese cuisine.

The weather is warm again – positively balmy. This morning there was a light mist and drizzle. I was walking around outside, at 3 AM, in a tee shirt.

A few days ago Gwendolyn had found part of a moose in the back yard in the early morning around 3 AM. I think she had found something like a knee joint. It was pretty fresh and also pretty messy. When she brought it to me, I took it and threw it into the trash. Fortunately none of the ACW ladies were around while this was going on. It WAS messy. Today, she found another bone. This bone is really quite acceptable. (Right now she is enjoying it immensely in bed – my bed.) I think she has a friend or admirer out there somewhere who brings her groceries. She is finding all these treasures in the back yard where they appear – like manna – over night.

I spent an hour or so with an elderly gentleman this last week. He reminisced about his days   of trapping. His style pre-dated the present age of skidoos and high tech. He would carry a 22 and a rifle and an axe. Not much else. Since his overhead was low, his profit was good. The guides I remembered came out of his generation. Little did I realize that back in the 60′s I was intimate with a dying breed. No amount of words can describe what these people were capable of. And they are not being replaced.

Picking up on David’s train of thought of a few days ago I quizzed Monica yesterday on Priesthood – of the Cree variety.  She immediately picked up on the subject, guessing that if the Cree did develop an ordained and indigenous ministry it would have to be on a model very different from white man’s priesthood. The white/missionary priest is associated with a social structure that’s just essentially foreign to the Cree. Church and community, as social units, are just not as real as is the extended family. What has made St. Thomas’ strong for years has been its mixed-breed (metis) leadership. For one who considers herself a REAL Cree, however, the mixture of culture characterizing St Thomas’ (or at least its leadership) presents an environment distinct from what brings Cree family members together. I wondered if the Australian concept of ‘lay-presidency’ ever appealed to aborigines in that world, because it just might allow for holiness to be enrolled – without bringing in the baggage of a white/missionary priesthood.

I, of course, insisted that it SHOULD be possible for a group of people to gather around an altar in worship and to select one of their number to preside at the Feast. Yes, that would be theoretically possible, but that presiding figure would be different from any white priest in the past or within recollection.

Advocates of TOTAL MINISTRY might resonate with all of this. The thing about the Cree is that they seem to be coming in by the back door. That is, they are moving towards a reconstructed priesthood, or ministry in general, not out of theological concern (a theology of the ministry of baptism) but out of their perception of white society’s dysfunction or, more positively, out of a yearning to recover their own culture.

Now I have to have a conversation with Jacob Sealhunter up at Chisasibi and find out what he says. Jacob is the only indigenous priest in the diocese.

Marg Lewis called yesterday or Friday. She is on sabbatical (from School) and is staying at Temagami. (Word that I am up here is getting around….) She plans to be up on the Island maybe in January, visiting with teachers in the village school. Her husband, Dick, and I go back to the fifties. I remember her from somewhere in the sixties. Maybe next summer Moose Factory will be invaded by a flotilla of red canoes. Richard directs Wabun – where I worked for years.

The older man who had been reported missing is back in town and fine. The alarm about him was in error – though he WAS late getting back.

As people were leaving Church after the Service and in the midst of all the snow and sleet and spray – and everything else — I asked one parishioner: “Is THIS what you people call Indian summer?” Not skipping a beat, he replied: “No, it’s White Man’s winter.” I should have known better.

This morning (3 AM) there’s not a cloud in the sky, and it’s cooler. Less than half an inch of snow has carpeted everything.

Today is a holiday: Thanksgiving Day. Columbus Day is unheard of up here. The kids go back to school tomorrow. They have had a delightful break of over a week – many traveling.

So far there is a person missing. A fellow – a little older than me – was reported missing or late returning from hunting.

I registered and/or updated: Dantz, Apple care, Apple OS, Filemaker Pro, Norton, MS Office. It took all afternoon. (The Apple download took two hours.)

New MAC works well, though there are some software issues. I’ll bet the operating system changed slightly after Norton and Dantz cut their disks. I’ll tend to it when I get hi-speed access to the net; it can wait. Up here, if you want it fixed, you fix it yourself.

I can now actually see who’s in all those lovely pictures people have sent me. This is not to complain about the laptop. The laptop did eight years of devoted (and daily) service. And I expect it to keep cranking for many years to come. But it’s only a laptop.

David Fletcher — Treasurer –came by and broke coffee for an hour. We covered a bunch of issues, besides parish affairs.

ONE: My hunch about monopolies was correct. The only delivery service that comes into Moose Factory is Purolator. All the other delivery services (UPS, FedEx) have to hand off their stuff to Purolator. But Purolator subcontracts out to ‘Gateway Enterprises’, which is a band of locals. THEY are the folks who bring deliveries from Moosonee to Moose Factory. They are tough to deal with. (They also are the folks who load vehicles on and off the train. I had to deal with them four times on that project. Either they just didn’t show, or I had to wait HOURS for them TO show. They just don’t know how to be helpful.) When I mentioned this to David, he resonated. Evidently everybody has the same problem; and there’s nothing to be done about it. Gateway is the only show in town; and they know it. This is unfortunate, because, as Moosonee grows, competition will move in. And then the locals won’t have a prayer.

TWO: David is great grandson (or great-great grandson) of John Fletcher. John got his first name from John Horden – the first Anglican Bishop in Moosonee. That’s around 1840. John Fletcher was a local shaman or medicine man. Under Bishop Horden’s influence he joined The Church.

The Cree name for those indigenous religious figures is different from the term used to identify characters like me. We whites are called, literally, ‘flag-boss’. That’s because the first missionaries, reportedly, were the first English to have/carry flags. I suggested that, if the missionaries were the first to bring flags that was because they paid for them. It would make sense for the Hudson Bay Company to ignore such matters, because there was no way they were going to make money off a flag. So, the missionaries were associated with flags. And the guy with the collar was the ‘boss’ – ‘flag-boss’.

The missionary priest was never confused with the local religious figure. There is no overlapping in terms of understanding or nomenclature. That’s because the missionary was not associated with any of the ordinarily expected spiritual gifts or powers such as divination, prophecy, or exorcism. Also, shamans were not community figures. They were associated with – and part of – specific family groupings. Every family had its shaman – in fact, a good one and a bad one. The good one did the work. The bad one kept other bad ones (people and spirits) away. It’s sort of like keeping a vicious dog in the junkyard. Not very pleasant, perhaps, but others will not venture so near.

The Cree were nomadic. The social structure was (and in powerful ways remains) the family. Community meetings and meeting places are a recent invention. Moose Factory has been mingling with white people for a long time. It’s very different in the outlying villages. That makes sense to me as I ponder the dynamics, as reported to me, at Attawapiskat and the difficulties that community is having with DeBeers (and everyone else from the outside world.) It’s a different social system. I now see this family dynamic operating in the weddings and funerals we have done since I arrived in August. It’s not that the families are antagonistic to me and other authorities in the church. It’s almost as though we are not entirely relevant to the task that needs to be done. So the families have endured me and done what they need to do. When I turned down a couple for a wedding because they had not given sufficient (as per requirements) notice for the projected wedding date, I was described (to someone else) as intrusive, not helpful, and idiosyncratic.

This emphasis on the family as the primary social unit (as opposed to village or church) leads me to ponder on what, then, was accomplished by the different Bands on the East Coast of James Bay. Patiently they waited out the Quebec Government and Quebec Hydro until they got a deal they could live with. They had covenanted to deal as one unit – not as separate Bands. How different this is from Attawapiskat where the Chief is under significant attack from some families who want to do business with DeBeers at any cost. Other families have already been paid for their family ‘rights’ to specific parcels of land. Unless things change in Attawapiskat, DeBeers will be able to divide and conquer. The Cree are vulnerable to that, although evidently they maintained their solidarity on the East Coast.

I asked David if he thought there ever was the possibility that the denominational cleric might ever be perceived – and referred to – in the same way as the shaman. David thinks no. I have my doubts, however, if/when the parish leadership becomes really indigenous, although, admittedly, the change would occur only over several generations.

Mornings now come with frost. The puddles often have a thin layer of ice. The usual drizzle often has sleet or wet snow.

Thursday is hospital rounds day. I’ll do it this morning with Monica.  Because of the head cold, I’ve stayed away from the Elders this week. But things seem improved, so I’ll venture out today. I have the parish list organized now into a directory. All contacts are now in one Master File that includes (besides Parish information) diocesan contacts, personnel, and vendors.

We did a service in the morning. Hymns and readings were in Cree. The rest was from Morning Prayer. Then, lunch, with a killer soup. Then, a fiddler. Then, the Feast: Moose Stew, all kinds of fish, all kinds of goose, dumplings, potatoes, stuffing, bannock. Even veggies – for the virtuous. The wedding for Ricky & Corinne is on for this weekend. Several of their Elders – from Waskaganish – were also at the feast (while the kids rehearsed the Wedding at the Church with Raymond.) Since I am not doing the Wedding, I got to go to the Feast. Tough job.

The BBC World Service (via shortwave) last night had a report from a Cree community on the East Coast. — I think Waskaganish (which used to be called Rupert House.) The reporter interviewed some people regarding the impact of the Hydro development. I didn’t hear the whole thing. But what I did hear got it right. There is an enormous cultural shift going on, as the land gets used for non-traditional purposes. Whether it’s mining or hydro, the Cree can’t use the land as they had used it. They can no longer hunt or fish. They have lost the underpinnings of their culture. So they’re asking: Where do we go from here? Complicating the shift is the ancestral veneration of the land. The land had always been something that each generation had used for a while and then passed on to the next generation. The next generation is the owner. The present generation is the custodian. That really can’t happen anymore – at least not in the same way.

Also, many of the villages are on the Coast of the Bay, located at the mouths of the rivers. Where the river has been dammed, the entire water flow and ecology is now different. (Here, at the mouth of the Moose River, since the installation of the Otter Rapids Project, there are enormous new sand bars, turning into new land. Before the dam was built you could paddle your canoe up to the bank of the River just outside the Rectory door. Now there is a half-mile of lowland with growing alders in front of the old riverbank. The River is changing its course. And no longer is there such good fishing in the River itself.)

Eastmain and Chisasibi, on the East Coast, are both villages located at the mouths of dammed rivers. Waskaganish, on the Rupert River, will be another in a year or so. Everyone in those villages understands that if a dam ever breaks, that will be the end of the village and all the lives in it.

The agony for the leaders in these communities is knowing that, yes, there is compensation. At least – on the East Side – the Cree are getting paid for their loss. But is it worth it? No one knows the answer, because no one knows where future generations can or will go. All the leaders know, now, is that future generations will not be able to go home. That is, they will not be able to return to the land of their ancestors, because that land will not exist. Is this the point of departure, then, for a new adventure for a people who were ancestrally nomadic and had mastered the art of living in this harsh environment – and who may very well overcome other possibly more difficult challenges ahead: challenges that have defeated other cultures? Or, is it a betrayal of the traditions and values of the Elders – and an abrogation of a way of life? That’s the question every leader and decision-maker sleeps with – every night.

Early this week the Gulf Coast in the States got a hurricane. Last night we got some wind – not much rain. Today is supposed to be stormy, though not as bad as last night. School is on vacation all of next week. Many families will be heading out of town to their camps today – both north (up and down the Coast) and south (up River.) We all hope nobody has any problems….

Monica and her sister dropped by last night. We talked about the mine. Theresa may be voted out of her position as Chief. The position has a three-year term. One can be re-elected, with no limits. As is typical with folks on the West Side of the Bay: they resist strong leadership. Some are circulating a petition to have her recalled.

The West Side differs from the East Side when it comes to bargaining with the large corporations. On the East Side all the Bands united and bargained as one. They stalled the Quebec government and Quebec Hydro for twenty years – until Quebec realized they actually would have to deal with the Cree. On the West Side, DeBeers is just picking off one family at a time.

Theresa says she doesn’t take the hostility personally. It’s not unusual for her people. And anyone else in her position would get the same deal. She won’t back down. Someone has to stand up to DeBeers.

In all likelihood, the Attawapiskat River will have to be re-routed. The mine is about 5 kilometers to the north of The River – about 40 kilometers upstream from the Village at the mouth of the River. Theresa is fighting to get some issues up front – before much more work gets done. Paramount is the preservation of the land around the Village at the mouth of the River. I suggested that in the end, the village would probably have to be moved. The question was: would DeBeers make enough of an offer to the Band? And I suggested: Not if they could possibly help it. Theresa agreed. The Elders in her community are solidly behind her in fighting to preserve the land; her opposition doesn’t come from them. What no one is talking about, however – and what I worry about – is what happens when/if the whole area becomes unfit for habitation. Who finances the transition? That question may have been more or less addressed on the East Side – with Quebec Hydro. It hasn’t happened on the West Side. And, at this point, it isn’t likely to happen.

A group of Elders is visiting from Waswanipi. They came in last night – on the train – and will stay for a week. They had supper at the Parish Hall last night and will be eating there several times this week. We will have a service in the Church Friday morning – in Cree. I told Elsie I was helpless. She agreed.

From the CBC, a northern Ontario joke: What’s a traffic-jam in northern Ontario? Being stuck behind a logging truck that’s going 90 mph and being unable to pass! Another: How do you know you’re in Northern Ontario? When your snow blower gets stuck on the roof.

The Ministry of Transportation Office in Moosonee called. The machine was working. I was there by 1 pm. THEN the machine was NOT working – and refused to do anything for as long as I was standing there. Tomorrow I’ll be there at 8:45 – when they open. Evidently, when the machine works, it works in the early morning. This is now after my ninth try. Everything has to stop while the Ministry of Transportation gets its act together.

The Elders from Waswanipi had lunch today at the Parish Hall: sandwiches and a totally gourmet soup, ending with ice cream! There was a young man – in his twenties – minding them. Turns out that he’s a canoeist. Spent some of this summer on the Broadback. I was all ears and questions. He had been very close to my old stomping ground on the upper Rupert and Eastmain. He didn’t exactly follow the Broadback. There is a traditional route that parts from the River and then rejoins it. If I were still canoe tripping, and if I had maps, I would have gotten that route off him. That’s just the kind of information I used to glean from the old reports in the Archives in Ottawa back thirty years ago.

If I am lucky the computer will arrive tomorrow. Also, if I am lucky, I’ll be in the house when Federal Express delivers it. They seem to have something of a monopoly here for finicky deliveries. Or, they act that way. If I do not happen to be in the house when they show up (unannounced) they may just send the thing back to Cupertino. I, of course, get stuck with the freight both ways — plus the second delivery, if I still want the machine. I know I’m an American, but I do appreciate competition (which is generally absent here) all the more with each passing day.

Elsie, I think, is becoming my minder. She called the rectory before the supper – to be sure I did not forget, or get distracted, or move too slowly. She had called, actually, after I had already left on my way over to the parish hall.

I spent most of yesterday playing with Filemaker Pro. I don’t say that I am ready to put the parish books into a database (if I ever get my hands on the material.) But I am closer to that point.

Heavy frost last night. All the mushrooms that had been growing in the back yard are gone. My coughing and sniffling is almost gone – all over night. I figured the mold was doing it. Folks last night said I had the Moose Factory cough – which a lot of people have – or had.

The frost means that – pretty much – the mosquitoes have packed up and gone home for the winter. People here are talking about the West Nile Virus. It has found its way into Ontario. Up on James Bay (and throughout the North) the bug dimension is different from anything anybody ever experienced in New England. Mosquitoes are a fact of life. There is no way you can get away from them. People are talking about this. They still are less worried than I would expect. Folks on the CBC can’t talk about anything else.

The Fall Goose Hunt starts any day now – for foreigners; natives can hunt any time they like. The Island — more or less — closes down for these few weeks while the Hunt is at its height. Bobby starts his holidays tomorrow. The geese harvested in the fall are reportedly less tasty than those harvested in the spring. But that doesn’t stop the Hunt – or even slow it down. Natives have no limit to their catch. Vermont may make a religion out of the Fall Deer Hunt. Moose Factory just lays in a lot of food. And I suspect the folks out there in the bush have a great deal of fun. The weather this morning was perfect: not a cloud in the sky, crisp, and no wind. That translates into: no bugs, warm days, and good sleeping at night. …And a boatload of food when it’s over.

Irene Carey does the record search for copies of Baptism Certificates. She had run out of forms. But naturally I had already designed one on the laptop. And that’s what we’ll have to use until the kosher forms from the diocese show up. She told me she has Photostats going back to the nineteenth century. Although Hudson Bay Company started in the 17th century, the Diocese of Moosonee did not start until around 1840 – about the time the old church was built.

It isn’t totally religion that gets everyone baptized around here. When a child is baptized here, a record is created. Those records can be critical in establishing identity and genealogy. That is important in registration as a member of the Band and therefore as a First Nation person. Apart from the pride that goes with that, there also are the possible benefits. Band membership is important – and not to be taken for granted. Raymond is the only white (non-native) person – ever – to be included in the Band. Raymond has always treated this as an honorary honor – not as some new legal status. And there are probably provincial or federal laws that prohibit conferring Band status on just anyone.

Monday and Tuesday, while coughing and sneezing, I loaded all the marriages recorded in the present book into the computer. Now we have marriages, baptisms, and the beginning of a parish list on disk. Some of the younger people on the Vestry see the potential value of these tools.

Apple has shipped everything but the new computer. I should start getting the stuff in a week or maybe more. One correspondent got a letter from me nine days later than postmarked date.

The DeBeers mine at Attawapiskat may be closed for the winter. The Attawapiskat Band did not renew the license or lease. Evidently the Band wants to arrive at an agreement relative to profit sharing — now. DeBeers insists it is only exploring, working out a feasibility study. They are open to talks relative to profit sharing for what might happen later – but not for what is happening now.

If he were alive today, Glenn Gould would be seventy today. Canada has not forgotten. Ontario can talk of nothing else – at least on CBC. They will do his stuff for most of the day today. What a treat!

A lady from Vancouver called me yesterday, trying to locate records for a great grand father. He had married a Cree. The lady in Vancouver was trying to get a Band number or registration for her grandfather or father. If she could prove that he was Cree, he would be eligible for some benefits. The problem was the records – going back to about 1885. She has a number of avenues: Diocese of Moosonee Archives, Hudson Bay Company Archives, and maybe the local Band Office here at Moose Factory.

From the diocese she did get a baptismal record of her grand father – listing great grandfather and great grandmother as parents. There was confusion about great grandmother’s name: Harriet or Henrietta for first name; Rose for last name. Were they married? I asked: Who was listed first in the baptismal record? Mother or father? She said: father. I suggested that, then, they were married and that Rose was her maiden name. The reason for this is that, evidently, if the couple was not married, the mother’s name was listed first, and the child would take the name of the mother’s family.

There are no people named Rose on the Island connected to St. Thomas’ that I know about. I brought the whole matter to the Vestry; and their reaction was immediate. Rose is a name associated with Attawapiskat, and it is synonymous with Paul-martin (all one name.) Monica, who sits on the Vestry, took notes. I’m hoping she’ll unearth something.

Today I feasted. I had soaked some beans overnight, baked them this morning, and relished them this evening.

More rain last night. Temp was in the fifties today. No real frosts yet. There is a lot of mold in the air, and lots of people are sniffling. I’ll bet it all clears after the first real frost. The humidity was so intense in Church yesterday that the pedal board on the organ collapsed somehow. I’ve got a wicked head cold or allergies or something.

There was supposed to be a Chinese Dinner tonight, as a fund-raiser. Because everyone was running around last week, the dinner has been postponed.

By last night the count was up to two funerals. One this morning and one this afternoon. In addition to that each family has a ‘family service’ – sort of part of a wake. But the family service can be just as long as the funeral. That’s about two hours, at least, from the scheduled starting time. Most funerals start half an hour to an hour late, anyway. The coffin is usually open before the service starts, and the coffin must be closed before the service starts. It can take hours before the family is actually ready to close the coffin – even when they have several hours alone with the deceased before start of the service. Staid New Englanders who are by nature undemonstrative may take a dim view of this. But in this culture grief is right out in the open, and all its manifestations are accepted and supported. There is a powerfully healing quality when family can share their feelings openly in the presence of each other and their friends. I don’t say that my need for control would permit me to really participate in this very much; but I can see its value. The real trick is to make space for spontaneity while at the same time keeping some semblance of law and order in the Sanctuary. The omnipresent hazard is that a Pentecostal (and there are many, though not among the Anglicans) will hijack the service in a sudden (though hardly spontaneous) moment of conviction and will exhort everyone (especially the Anglicans) to instantaneous conversion. I never sit down or relax during the service while strangers or guests are presenting. Makes for sore feet and back at the end of the day, but I’m never more than four feet from anyone who is presenting.

I spent a few hours yesterday talking with a retired university professor — an ethnologist. He was here over the weekend working on genealogical issues — as part of a project for the Moose Cree Band. That means he will need to get into the archives. We have photo copies here; the original documents are down in Sudbury.

He also is involved in some other projects…. Retirement is a wonderful thing. On the East Coast he has been working with something of a network to document the old aboriginal routes on the rivers lost — as well as the rivers about to be lost. My routes were all replicas of the original native routes. That is, I dug around until I found where the old portages were — or should be. Then I took the trip. I told him that my notes and files were still existing — though I haven’t seen them in over 30 years. I have been looking for an archive for that stuff — for years now. I stole/borrowed from EVERYBODY; by the time I quit, I had quite a pile. So, maybe I’ll find a home for that stuff after all. In addition, I gave him some contact names. I had to burrow deep into my files to find the information. But I woke at least one of them up Saturday night. Jon Berger is still a presence in Philadelphia.

Last Friday night a plane went down outside of Beaver Summer, Ontario — north and west of here; just about due north of Lansdowne House on The Attawapiskat. Eight lives were lost. We remembered them and their families yesterday. I don’t know — yet — of any kinship between here and there. But the memory of the James Bay disaster of a few years ago is still fresh. People remember. And they know what’s going on out there.

The Hurricane is coming! The Hurricane is coming! As of 5PM this evening NOAA schedules Isabel’s arrival here at 2 PM, Saturday. Actually the little black line on the weather map shows the track to fall midway between Hannah Bay and Moose Factory Island — the locality of Big Stone Island. The Bishop is due to land at Moosonee Saturday morning. Potluck supper is scheduled for that evening. We’ll do the hurricane in between.

I also bought the TV, which I can’t afford, but which is nice. Spent most of the night catching up on 9/11 – thanks to WGBH.

Besides weather (always interesting) there are other options. One channel is in French. Several come from different provinces. And there is one with entirely First Nation actors and programming. I’m under pressure now to get a decent TV. (There are some on sale at the Northern Store.)

I talked with a couple last night. They will have their wedding on December 27. The guy is part Mohawk (as well as Cree.) (Previously, when I had claimed that my roots in northern New York State might just have absorbed just a drop of Mohawk blood, Monica had informed me that I was a displaced person and in the wrong place. She also advised me that there was no need to learn Ojibwa; just learn Cree.) Anyway, they’re both bright kids, and both work at G-G’s – the local dry goods entrepreneur.

Baptism this coming Sunday for a family coming in from Winisk – now called Peawanuck. They have relatives here. So we’ll do Baptisms two Sundays in a row.

I took the truck over to Moosonee for tomorrow’s train south. I thought I’d give the license project another try – number three. Wouldn’t you know it? The computer system at the Registry was completely down – and not to be repaired until next week. I am beginning to think that Rhode Island’s Registry, while maybe not the best, is not the worst.

On the way back from Moosonee there is a mile (plus) walk from the water taxis to the rectory. I chanced upon Monica who was heading to the Quick Stop for a pizza. She pointed out where she sometimes saw beluga whales swimming up the River – looking for food further upstream.

Federal Express has difficulty with Moose Factory Island, or at least with me. I had ordered a computer part from Tennessee. Naturally, it arrived while I was away. Naturally Federal Express couldn’t be bothered to wait until I got back. They sent the thing back to the manufacturer. I got stuck with the freight.

I found a humane Customs Officer in North Bay. It seems that the further you get from the Border, the easier Customs is to deal with. This chap, anyway, seemed to appreciate the challenges of getting anything done. It looks like I’ll be able to make the truck legal – if I ever get a license.

On August 27, I left the rectory at a little before six AM with Gwendolyn. We walked the mile or so to the taxi dock. Gwendolyn had to piddle in every yard. She enjoyed her canoe ride, didn’t mind the 50 horsepower engine or the people. When we got to Moosonee, we took a cab. Gwendolyn rode in the back. (It was a pickup truck with a cap.) During the ride south on the train we both slept.

We got to Cochrane only slightly late and got rolling at 2:30 pm. At 4 AM the next morning we were in Irasburg, Vermont. We lost at least two hours in Montreal where the Interstate had been closed – forcing everyone (at 1 AM) into the City Grid. It was mayhem. But I wasn’t going to stop in Montreal. Wednesday morning I slept. Wednesday afternoon Gwendolyn took me to the Blue Seal Store in Barton where we got a hundreds of pounds of her preferred brand of kibbles and biscuits. Shopping is simple business with a dog.

The wedding on Saturday went as planned. Sunday took us to Blue Hill. On Monday I loaded the truck with the second load. On Tuesday we were back in Albany, Vermont. Wednesday started early. The border crossing was quick. That afternoon we got as far as Kirkland Lake – with another wonderful spot for dogs. Thursday got me to Timmins where I tried to get an Ontario License and Plates. The Licensing Office couldn’t get their computer to work, so, no license. The Registration people, besides requiring a license, also wanted a form I was SUPPOSED to have picked up at the border from Customs. Now I can spend the winter trying to unravel all of that. I DID get the Insurance people up to date, gave them all the paper they wanted, and paid the first installment for a policy I hope someday to use. Paper work has a leisurely life all of its own in northern Ontario

We were on the train well in time for the 11:15 AM departure. However, there was a different Conductor – one who didn’t know Gwendolyn or me. She had to stay in a cage. And I was barred from the Baggage Car. Another of the crew – the Freight Boss, whom I had befriended –evidently talked to the man, and in mid-trip the policy was revised. But she did very well nevertheless.

When we got to Moosonee, we walked the two miles to the fright yard to retrieve the truck – only to discover that the roll-off ramp was relocated – right next to the station. When we finally got there, people were waiting. Evidently no one from the Train Company had told anyone of the new arrangements. The other auto drivers had found out only because they had hailed cabs whose drivers nicely told them they didn’t need a cab at all.

Today I am unpacking, catching up on the mail, and getting ready for tomorrow. One good story came during the trip – from an employee in the Cochrane freight yard Thursday afternoon. Twenty-five years ago a couple of enterprising Crees from Moosonee or Moose Factory decided to take a trip. They concocted two special ‘First Nation’ Passports. I like to think they used Moose Hide and Birch Bark. They traveled to or through 35 countries. Then, when they got home, they had to celebrate and get it all written up in the local newspaper in Cochrane (which remembered the achievement now 25 years later.)

Monica’s sister, Theresa, is Chief at Attawapiskat. I hope to meet her one of these days. Evidently she comes down to Moose Factory fairly often for tribal business.

My first Vestry Meeting was tonight. We met for an hour and a half. But we got people working on the records. There’s hope now that they will get brought up to date.

Bobby explained why the mosquitoes suddenly showed up. It’s the North Wind. When the wind is strong, it simply blows them in from the swamps that lie to the north of the Island. Gwendolyn does not like mosquitoes. They fly up her nose, into her eyes, and find all kinds of tender places where no mortal dared tread before. Our little walks around the yard have become perfunctory.

I spent entire afternoon with Monica Okimaw. She came over with a term paper. Her professor had asked her to floss it up so that it could be published in a Social Work journal. She’s gunning for a BA in Sociology. And the slant of the course is on Native Studies. The Journal specializes in First Nation issues and authors. Monica wants me to do the editing. By now my punctuation and general style of writing is so bizarre, I don’t know what I can do. Would that everybody just settled for Strunk & White. Not that I do. But at least I understand what they are saying. And sometimes I try.

Monica works at the Hospital – in the dental clinic. She’s 50 and will keep plugging along for another ten years. Then she will qualify for a pension without penalty. In the mean time, she is picking up credits towards a degree. She also has thought, evidently, for some time about aspiring to ordination. She has been put off, however, by the thought of a three-year hitch in Ottawa or Toronto and seminary. I told her that those days were over and that any training would go on locally, in-house. It’s possible that she might now get interested again. We’ll see.

She did her paper on the new DeBeers mine going in on the Attawapiskat just up river from the settlement at the end of the River. The mine is what will bring in the road. And the road, obviously, will go all the way to the mine. It may not kill the River. But it will increase the canoe traffic, and that brings mixed feelings. The mine is still in the developmental stages. The present Chief at Attawapiskat is holding out for a decent deal, because road and mine will kill off the last vestiges of the traditional way of life: hunting and gathering. The locals in that area are far less acclimated to urban ways than those here at Moose Factory – which, along with Moosonee, is the New York City of James Bay. Already there are serious addiction problems – far worse than here at Moose Factory.

She was born at Attawapiskat. Her family roamed around, in the traditional way, with the seasons. They would go up river. (And she remembers being terrified by the rapids.) And in the summer they would go out to Akimiski Island – where she goes still for some of her vacation. The Polar Bears now visit the Island and the various camps there on the Island. She takes her 13-year-old son with her, so that he will have some acquaintance with his heritage.

She left home young. Like all the others she was sent off to Residential School. While she would return for the summer during her school years and while she did go home for a year after school, she never learned the traditional way of life. And she became skilled in the profession that now supports her and her son.

We talked about the traditional religion – which almost got lost. It had been suppressed for years. Some say that what the younger generation is now revitalizing has many elements that are indigenous to native peoples, though not necessarily to the Cree. How can one really tell? Anyway, there is a 4-5 day session on the ‘old reserve’. That’s a few miles up the Moose River. I asked if that is the place where the original summer encampments were. I’ll bet that Moose Factory became a community only after HBC moved in. This would be as far as they could get with the ships. I can see that she and I will have many more talks. And somehow I must get myself to the encampment in June.

Today I started getting things ready for Monday night’s Vestry Meeting. I have a list of things I want to get done: We need to write out lots of lists of groups in the parish. I need some folks to go through the Parish Records that I just got on to a database. And, finally, we need policies around Weddings and Burials. Today I drafted policies. We’ll see what the troops say.

Yesterday I tried to get copies of documents notarized. They’re all ID items. I need the stuff to apply for a health card. I had no luck. The lady at the Band Office didn’t even want to start until I got my Ontario Driver’s License. And I need to have some documentary proof that I actually live where I live. PO Box won’t do. The easy way, I found out, is to get an account with the local Cable Company, which I did today. They will provide Broadband service in a couple of weeks, they say. And that’s what I’ll probably use.

This morning, after dawn, was clear as a bell – and crisp. The cold didn’t perturb the mosquitoes, however. As soon as dog & I stepped outdoors, they smelt blood!

Custom has it that the casket is placed in the church some time considerably before the actual funeral. The family is there. The casket is open. I am sure there were prayers then – with the pastor of the other denomination. People had said that it was Baptist. The cleric I saw when I arrived was Pentecostal. We shook hands, and he disappeared.

Family members would cluster around the casket in twos and threes. Grand children and great grand children were there. Each, in turn, kissed Lillian. Eventually they were composed and sat down. Two grand children closed the casket, covered it with the pall and placed some flowers over that. We started the service – 25 minutes late.

St. Thomas’ Choir and Organist were there. There were several hymns, many in Cree. The Twenty-third Psalm was read – in Cree. A gospel kind of singer did a number. I preached. Took one and a half hours – one hour considering we started late.

Then we had a procession out into the cemetery. Deacon Ray carried the cross. Grandsons carried the coffin. The coffin was lowered into the hole before I read the Committal. After I had finished each of the guys in the family – of every generation – shoveled the dirt back into the hole. In twenty minutes it was full. All of the flowers were placed on top. A plain white wooden cross was planted at the head of the grave. There are several granite markers now in the graveyard. They all look new; I think this is a fashion just coming in. I suspect Lillian’s family will do the same for her grave. If the practice continues, the yard will fill up, and other arrangements will have to be made for subsequent generations. One by one family members left. I was told that there was a reception afterwards, but I didn’t think I was invited, and I didn’t push my luck.

Lillian Vincent had been born on Charlton Island on September 27, 1908.

I saw Ricky and Corrine at 3. They actually were on time. They both found plenty of mistakes in my paper work. Ricky had found out that his Dad was born at a site at the mouth of the Broadback River – Noosekan. In all of this Corrine had braced herself for the wedding/religious instruction. When she realized that all we had to do next was to go over the service in late September, she seemed as though she had been short-changed. I asked her if she had any questions and/or wanted more ‘instruction’. She clearly did not. It’s just possible that one of these days they could warm up to me. She expects about 400 people at the wedding feast. I remarked that she must have already been cooking. She said no, she would buy up a ton of food. Then EVERYBODY cooks SOMETHING. I offered to roast a turkey. She thought that might be risky. I had finished the baptism records on the database; that is, I had entered the ones from the book we have here. The older of their kids had been baptized, so I checked that record with them. I showed how the machine can then cut a certificate from that filed data, gave them a certificate for the child baptized. Ricky refused to fold it. We put it into a large envelope. He said he was going to put it in a frame. (File Maker Pro would love to hear about that one!)

I got to the wake, as expected, at 4. There was another minister present – possibly Baptist or Pentecostal – softly singing hymns. It really was quite lovely – all in Cree. I asked if it would be helpful to read from the Prayer Book. There was assent – from some anyway. I read from the pew – didn’t presume to upstage the other cleric. Around 5 pm he left. About 5:30 I left.

Throughout most of the time various family members would go up to the body and say good by. Lillian was covered with a simple blanket on a hospital gurney. It was all very simple. About fifty people were there – in a relatively small space. Deafening silence – except when the minister had been singing. Virtually no visiting between family members – some of whom, reportedly, had traveled far to get here. When an Elder (such as Lillian) dies on this Island, all flags fly at half-mast.

Dawn this Monday morning at about 45 degrees Fahrenheit. I have located some of the thermostats for the electric heat.

For professional church workers: St. Thomas’, Moose Factory, seems to be operating as a ‘Family Parish’, in organizational terms. St. Thomas’, Alton (in RI) is a family parish – or was. It would max out at 50-65 at Easter and/or Christmas. St. Thomas’, Moose Factory, was at about 150 this last Easter. On ‘low’ Sundays it runs from between 80 to 90. By the standards of the American North East, anyway, there are too many people relative to the current mode of organization. As I told the bishop, there’s nothing worse than an old priest in a hurry…. But I think life would be easier for the leaders here if they had more tools. Files and databases should help. Most conversations I have had in the States about parish growth assume that the organizational structure changes BEFORE there is significant growth – that, in other words, organization predetermines size. Here it is different. Until ten years ago, I gather the Anglicans were the only denomination on the island – of any size, anyway. Now there are other churches; I don’t know their size. Some parishioners refer to the members of those other parishes as Anglicans (basically as Anglicans who are acting out in some obnoxious way.) There still is the sense that St. Thomas’ is THE church. But I doubt this can continue into the next generation. The Bishop had remarked on a lack of focus at St. Thomas’, and I wonder if this is a function of the parish’s changing role in the community, because, if there is change as I suspect, it has not been noted, described, or addressed. The priest – while he may be called rector – is in fact chaplain to the entire island, including hospital. There is no list of supporting members. Although the Bishop has addressed the issue with previous clergy, there do not seem to be any boundaries around what lack of participation disqualifies a couple, for instance, from holding their wedding at the Church.

At noon Bobby showed up with the Church van. Now I have wheels. I went to the Mall, checked the mail (there was none) and bought Brussels sprouts. Feast tonight!

I got lucky break with the truck. I finally found out that, if I don’t try to sell it in Canada, I would not have to ‘import’ it — and pay excise tax. Next Monday, maybe, I’ll get a driver’s license in Moosonee. Tuesday, next week on my way south, hopefully I’ll register it with Ontario plates. It will all be cheaper – or no more expensive – than keeping it in the States. In setting up the paper work for the insurance broker up here I had to call the insurance people in Westerly, Rhode Island. They had a very difficult time conceptualizing James’ and Hudson’s Bays. When I told the lady in the office in Westerly that day broke this morning in the low forties, she was greatly stressed. Westerly was hitting over 90 degrees.

Bobby and I had an interesting conversation about the road into Moosonee (that does not yet exist.) It’s being talked about now. Evidently there is a service road – not a highway – that comes relatively close. I don’t know how close that is. People assume that one of these days a real highway will be built. But there had been opposition to it years ago – by some of the Chiefs – on the grounds that the kind of development it would foster would interfere with the way of life of the locals. Of particular concern was what tourist traffic and such would do to the hunting: bumblers would scare the game, get lost and bring in the militia and so forth.

At four AM the northern lights were out – and the stars. Dawn was antiseptically clear and crisp. I should be out in the bush somewhere.

Early morning: I got info off the web about registering the truck – an intricate process. The rest of the morning I tried to figure out what to talk about on Sunday – no luck, yet.

Bishop called late morning. Had just returned from holidays; checked in to see if I was up and running. Concerning records: When he started as Bishop, there were parishes without any kind of records. About Vincents… He smelt the same thing I did – competition in the family of various denominational loyalties. (In Rhode Island we call it the South County crawl.) He had some suggestions about who in the parish might be good at filling in the parish file just created.

Baptismal database is done. Now that I can chase through it, I’m already plugging kids into family units in the other database.

Someone from Lillian’s family called this afternoon, late. Wanted some information about the church address. I sensed hostility – definitely shortness. No word from anyone about a funeral.

I’m about two weeks behind the curve in establishing relationships in the hospital. That starts next week, hopefully, when I get wheels. Folks will cling to Ray until the bitter end, and I can understand why.

One of the ladies asked how I had ever ended up at Moose Factory. I told her I had begged for it. She simply didn’t believe me. So I had to give her the whole story of how I had been around here as a youngster. Then she believed me.

Also, yesterday, I got the truck to the train. The guy who will load it was there. So I gave him the keys and the money. I hope he was the right guy. The truck had got a scratch on the cab roof – from the canoeists. Also a side mirror was shattered – from a vandal. There was more wear and tear on the truck parked in Moosonee than from the whole trip driving.

The canoeist called last night – just before the hospital – thanking me again, telling about the scratch, and advising me that he had found pipe tobacco. I am now without, and none is to be found on the Island or in Moosonee.

Dawn this morning was spectacular: lots of red sky.

Gwendolyn and I are discerning that there are no rabbits on the Island. No chipmunks or squirrels, either. There MAY, however, be mice in the Rectory.

The Inuit memorial service – for the folks from Puvirnituq — happened on schedule on Sunday afternoon – 2 pm. It was sort of their version of what had been done a week earlier. Hymns, prayers, and scripture in the big church. They asked me to preach – which I did for five minutes. They had an interpreter who translated both ways. Everything got repeated in the alternate tongue – English or Inuit. The lady who translated (everything) was an impressive person. She was young – and obviously on her way to arguing some case before the Supreme Court.

The people were all impressive. There were, in all, about 35 Inuit – from Sanikiliwak as well as from Puvirnituq. And, another 35 Cree also were at the service.

After the service in the church, which ran about an hour and a half, they had another service – of about the same length — in the cemetery. One of the ladies, in particular, basically designed and ran the show. Again, there were prayers and hymns. They stopped at about two-dozen graves – the oldest they could find. They did not know where their dead were actually buried. So, they picked the oldest marked graves in the old (smaller) part of the cemetery.

Many natives have the concept that the grave of a dead person is holy ground and that you must not step on it. St Thomas’ cemetery is, of course, one mass grave. So walking around – even between the markings – is unnerving for some of these folks. But they will erect a monument somewhere in the cemetery commemorating their ancestors. And the dead will be remembered back home.

Some of the Inuit visiting had been patients at the hospital – some 20 to 40 years ago. They shared their thanks for the fact that their lives had been saved. Some were still remembered by the local staff that had worked with them then – and who also were at the service.

These visitors are intelligent, very friendly, joyful, and consummately able to get things done. There was an anthropologist on the radio last night talking about the Inuit. He was pondering the influence of the basic elements on their culture. They have an enormous capacity to prevent things from getting between them. They have to. If there is a family group of ten to eleven people with three of them hunters, nothing must come up that will impair the capacity of those guys to hunt. Hopefully one of them will get the next seal. If he fails, all will perish.

This morning I went over to the hospital to try to get my prescription renewed. The hospital has everything: Dr for exam, X-ray unit, blood lab, and pharmacy. Truly one-stop shopping. And no waiting lines.

The Dr. was a parishioner. So we had to chat. He is from Saskatchewan. Evidently everyone back home was perplexed as to why he would ever spend his time up here. He’s been here five years.

The treasurer delivered some mail to me. Lots of letters. Some bills – now late. Hopefully my creditors have not all given up with me. He had the idea the cable company was about to start Internet access. I’m desperate. I’ll try anything.

We talked a lot about drugs. There is a problem here. That got me going about Newport. I told him that if misery loves company, there is a lot of misery out there. We also talked about the other religious groupings that had sprung up on the island. Their congregants are all (former or lapsed) Anglicans. I opined that the other churches could be the best things ever for St Thomas’. I had to show off my databases.

The weather for the last 10-14 days has been alternating between hot muggy days – sometimes getting as high as 70 degrees. Then thunderstorms move in, and we get a gully washer. Then it chills down. The night sky has been doing meteors or shooting stars along with the Northern Lights.

Tomorrow the truck gets back on the train for Cochrane. Andy’s will retrieve it and store it until I need it for Paul’s wedding.

Gwendolyn goes out now by herself in the early morning – before dawn. If it’s dark she won’t leave the property. During the day she has to be on the leash.

This morning I let Gwendolyn out – for the first time without a leash. She actually behaved herself and did not wander off. The mosquitoes helped remind her that inside was good.

Two phone calls this morning: Wally Gober and Phil Devens. Both checked to see if I still breathed. Both wished me well. It was good to hear from folks.

This morning Frank Gower, priest at Moosonee, called. He is only up over some weekends. He had been trying to ransack St. Thomas’ for lay readers; there are none resident (yet) in Moosonee. Alas, I have been abandoned; they’ve all flown the coop – or the Island. Faithful Ray will be here, though, so I may survive.

No sooner was that call completed, but the Inuit ladies – from Povungnituk (or Povirnituq) –arrived on the doorstep. They wanted to go through the burial records – which we did. They found many of their ancestors listed and took notes as well as photocopies of the records. They requested that some names be chased down at the archives in Timmins. Our book here only goes back to 1970. All the rest is locked up (I hope) at the Diocesan Office.

They also wanted to know if there was a map of the burial plots. They had the idea such a map did exist. I was not so sure. But I just faxed all of the matter to Timmins – no doubt destroying somebody’s Friday afternoon.

While they were visiting I made tea – the fourth pot of the day. (Aunt Ellen would approve.) One of the ladies insisted on pouring. She offered a cup to their driver/chauffeur – a Cree – and proudly announced that that was the first time she had EVER poured a cup of tea for a Cree. I asked her how many Rhode Islanders she had poured tea for. She looked at me puzzled and asked if that was part of New York. Pretty close, I said.

She also announced that this was the first time she had used a china teapot. I asked what her people made tea in. She said: a large pot. I had visions of a large stockpot. (That one might have challenged Aunt Ellen.)

On Sunday in the afternoon we will be doing another memorial service for their loved ones. I have absolutely no idea what I’ll be doing. They have a priest in tow. I haven’t met him (?) yet. With a little luck he’ll know what he is doing.

The two houseguests/canoe-trippers need to get all their gear and canoes to Moosonee. They are using the truck, will bring the stuff over, and then will park the truck at the RC Mission in Moosonee – saving me a morning of trouble. I will still probably have to go over to get the truck ready for the train next Wednesday afternoon. But that bit will be a lot less of a hassle than waiting out the barge for truck transit. However, I now am a pedestrian, and my safety blanket is gone.

One of the lads – the son of the RC Deacon who had lived here – is going for his PHD. He has already started on his research that will involve an inquiry into the residential schools. I told him I wanted to read his stuff and suggested he include in his research interviews with non-aboriginal people who were in boarding schools. I think there is some common ground. Also, I had the idea, that if he wanted to find out how bad it really got, look into some of the American Native Peoples’ experiences.

He asked me what river he should do next – next summer or whenever. I urged him to do the Rupert. It will be lost forever when the dam goes in. He should do it now while he can. He was thoughtful. I think he will.

The Community Feast tonight is of traditional foods. I was stupid enough to ask what that might be. I was told: Oh, probably muskrat and squirrel.

Later, 7:45 PM: Well, I missed the feast. Got to talking with the other houseguest – the American — and we lost track of the time.

We had been talking about his future. (Why do they talk to me about their futures?) He is immersed in Arabic language and culture. In the beginning of our acquaintance, in response to my questioning, he allowed that he was thinking of working for the US government. Now I know that I am nothing of a tease, but I did ask him if he was thinking of making a go of it with the CIA. No real response, then and there, though he suggested that perhaps the CIA doesn’t always behave itself very well. Well today – 30 hours later – came the response.

He had been talking to friends about working for the FBI. They had cautioned him. Our conversation, however, began with questions, I gather, about the American religious right – particularly of the TV variety, which he found disturbing.

That was enough to get me going, suggesting that W. depends on the RR for election to office – understanding that this first time around, he was not actually elected. I thought that the interplay between Rice/Rumsfeld/Cheney & Powell was a good barometer of how the right and moderate right was balancing in the administration. And W, so far, anyway, had not lost the Right – as had his father.

This led to our pondering the emergence of the Right – starting with Barry Goldwater, running through Reagan and up to the present. What disturbed Alex so greatly was a way of thinking that simply excluded reality. I recommended R Hofstader’s The Paranoid Style of American Politics – if that is the right title. It’s been 40 years since I read it. If I remember, it was a fruit of R’s enduring Senator Joe McCarthy. I was wondering if we were watching history simply repeating itself. Maybe then and there I created another university professor. There’s always hope.

Which leads me to ponder over this place… In many peoples’ eyes this is a lonely place well off the map of the civilized world. However, the conversation just described could never have happened – for me – in Newport. I just was not positioned in a way in which I could intercept this kind of traffic. But also this is a place where there is time to talk. There is time for probing conversation in a milieu where races and cultures mix in one integrated and transparent community. No doubt that will all disappear when the road comes in – as eventually it will. But right now it’s a little self-contained microcosm of humanity. And I haven’t run into any debilitating ideologies — yet.

Well, the time flew, and we missed supper.

In all of this a couple came by to talk about Baptism. We’ll have another on Sunday. That makes two – and counting.

Both parents are going down to North Bay. I’m not sure about her. He is working on a BA – majoring in history and working of aboriginal issues. Money comes from the Quebec Hydro deal. He is eligible, because his family comes from Waskaganish (Rupert House.)

Raymond was described by one of his nephews as something of a rock star in his youth — a long time ago. I mentioned this to Raymond, who then feared he might be about to lose his deacon’s collar. I said that I wanted to see him dancing in church. I think a little of that along with some aboriginal smudge should loosen things up a bit.

Meanwhile I have to figure out how the Canadians do their baptismal services. And I have to figure out something to say on Sunday. And I actually have to find out what time Church really is. I’m not beginning to worry about the Inuit and their needs Sunday afternoon, but I’m sure I’ll start obsessing over all that tomorrow as well.

Call for last minute baptism this Sunday. I already have one. If the second family gets to me on time, I’ll work them in.

Canoeists showed up — 20 yr olds. University – graduate level. One is an American. The other, a Canadian who works with Indian Affairs. Bright guys. Evidenced interest in my camping days. The Canadian is the son of the Roman Catholic Deacon who had lived in this house when it was the RC Rectory.

AA meets in the Undercroft. Evidently it’s my responsibility to let them in. That will have to change. I never remember things like that.

I started another database – for the Baptisms. Records are a mess. (For John Edmonds to say that, it means something….) Hopefully, there will be enough corporate memory to correct or clarify some of the entries – like when the date for the Baptism precedes the date of the Birth….

There’s a Community Feast tonight. I’ll be late for it, I’m afraid. The Feast is part of a weeklong homecoming celebration for the Cree. There are awards given, community meetings, singing, dancing, and various kinds of exhibits.

A parishioner called this morning asking if she could use a room or so to put up some kids just about to complete a canoe trip. They will be coming in from the south.

I made an appointment for a medical check up. That set in play another flurry of bureaucracy – for the Health Department card.

Gwendolyn is getting some of her bounce back. She goes down the steps now. Still can’t see anything, but just jumps over the last two steps.

Back in his younger days, he – like the rest – ran dog teams. So he had dog stories. One was about a fellow who ran sleds for a living – a sort of canine taxi service. On one trip he was really sick and lost consciousness. His passenger was a doctor – en route to Moose Factory from Fort Albany. He told the doctor that, if he lost consciousness, to simply tell the lead dog NOTHING. While he was unconsciousness, his passenger did as instructed and said nothing to any of the dogs. And the lead dog figured the way back to Moose Factory – over several hundred miles of open ice on James’ Bay – and with no trouble or delay. Bobby says that that only females can lead. They have the brains. The guys have lots of spirit and pull-power. But the only the ladies are smart enough to run the show.

At one I headed over to the Church for the service at 2. The crowd was a little thinner than in some previous years. Evidently there was a big sports affair somewhere south of town. Estimates ran from 250 to 350 people. Many families were visiting new and ancient memories. Lots of children, of all ages, were around. I was told that families come in from distant villages to visit families here over the weekend – which is a long weekend.

The service started about 10 minutes late to give the stragglers time to get there. The whole thing lasted an hour and a half. It was comprised of many hymns, scripture, prayers, a homily, and a procession around the graveyard – stopping at each of the four corners. By the time we started the service I had worked my head into most of it. Only one surprise… Elsie decided that my homily should be translated into Cree. So, she simply took my notes and did her own homily (with corrections, I am sure) in Cree. Her presentation took twice as long as mine, so I guess she made sure the homily was right the second time through.

Some of the visitors from afar came from interesting places. I already mentioned the group from Chisasibi, which used to be called Fort George.

Also, Inuit had come from Sanikiliwak, which used to be the Belcher Islands. Several of their ancestors had died at the tuberculosis hospital as long as 50 years ago. The exact location of the graves is now long lost. But we did know that they were buried before the graveyard was expanded, so we know where in the graveyard they were NOT buried. Their descendents will erect a stone monument in the graveyard; it will be like the stone markings they make and use up north.

There was another group of Inuit, also. They came from Puvirnituq, which is pretty far up on the East Coast of Hudson’s Bay.

Gwendolyn had me up this morning at 4. She negotiated the front steps for the first time, going down. I know she can’t see, but she is getting the feel of the steps, and that’s what counts.

Today is a holiday. Nothing is open. So, a lot of my chores wait till tomorrow. Richard and I spent a couple of hours chatting over the kitchen table.

I got half the parish list into a database – just the names and addresses. Other information is going to have to be scrounged from somewhere, somehow.

Call from Raymond. Old gent in the hospital. Wanted to see a priest. Turns out he’s being flown to Timmins tomorrow – for tests. A lot of anxiety.

RC Bishop celebrated a Mass here in the (little) church. Thirtieth wedding anniversary for a couple that was married in the Church when it was RC. I did manage to see the Bishop. Friendly guy.

Made my first stop at G-G’s – a combo convenience & hardware store. I just went for bread. But I can see this is a place I could get lost in. It’s in a metal building. There was absolutely no sign of any kind outside. And no windows.

Chilly enough this afternoon for me to close every window in the rectory.

Got back around 4:30. Made tea. Pounding at the front door. In walked a middle-aged lady, drunk, and chatty. Wanted to introduce her self to me. Was I like Father Wayne? I said probably not; I really didn’t know. She wanted to talk about her husband who recently had died. What could she do to ease the pain? I said that the drinking couldn’t help. It would only kill her. She said I was very strict. Not like Father Wayne – who was a nice person. An hour later she left. She said she would be at the Memorial Service.

Several hours later Richard was up. I told him about the early morning séance. He said I would see a lot of that — probably especially today because of the Memorial Service. I agreed, though I doubt it’s any worse here than in Newport – just more transparent.

• Some files about conferences left by the previous cleric.
• Parish address list formatted for labels.
• Copies of previous years’ Memorial Services.

I have created a study upstairs – which will be for me. When I get time, maybe some time next week, I’ll create a database for the Parish – starting with information from the address list. This is the time to set it up – early and while there is some time.

Late in the afternoon a young lady called me about a wedding she hopes for in October. I’ll see her and him in a couple of weeks. Right now he is at Waskaganish – where he works. Waskaganish used to be called Rupert House – at the end of the Rupert River. While I had been on the top of the Rupert – when leaving Lac Mistassini on my way to the Eastmain – I had never been that far down the Rupert. The Rupert is projected for hydro development.

Bobby and Ray came by at 7 PM. We went over the Memorial Service. Because it is such a big thing, there will be no Sunday morning services. The Memorial Service will be at 2 PM. I have to come up with some prayers and a homily. People will be coming in from all over James’ as well as Hudson’s Bay: Cree and Inuit. I’m nervous about how things will go. The Service, itself, will go fine. It’s about the same each year, and the same people do it each year. However, I feel very new to all this. (And I also realize what a privilege it is to be asked to do this kind of thing.)

The Cemetery is the Burial Ground that goes back at least through the nineteenth century – very possibly earlier than that. It has served people in the village of Moose Factory and many others as well, because The Hospital here also goes back in years. There also was – at some point – a Tuberculosis Sanatorium. Many people from distant places have found their final resting place in this Cemetery. The Inuit who will be here for the Service will be remembering their forbears who died here and who were buried here.

Graves at the Cemetery may well be fully marked at the time of Burial – especially by the family. But unless those markings are cared for on a regular basis, in time, they disappear. The result is that over the generations the specific location of specific graves has been largely forgotten. The only surviving records are the Church Records. And these are regularly consulted as families and communities update their memories. A few years ago people from Chisasibi (East Coast of James’ Bay) erected a stone monument listing the names of the people who were buried here. In addition there is a permanent monument or plaque remembering all the people who died in the Canadian Service during both World Wars. (I was amazed at how many names there were listed.)

The cemetery itself is small – only one to two acres. For over a hundred years everyone has been buried HERE. That makes the ground special – even in a way that the most beautifully landscaped ‘Funeral Parks’ in America can never match.

I also discovered that I must be licensed by Ontario to do a wedding. This may take some time and work. I’ve already decided that Deacon Ray does another wedding – in October. I can’t leave the young couple hanging.

Friday afternoon, also, I did some shopping. A half-gallon (2 liters) of 1% milk costs $4.00. Food that is not perishable is not so high. But all food is expensive.

Apparently some of my address changes have worked. Some periodicals and bills have already found me. Last night Bobby told me that someone else had emptied the PO Box a little earlier and that there was more stuff for me. I worry about getting bills paid on time. It will be a few weeks before I have things down to a routine.

To catch up… The trip north and arrival….

Thursday evening (July 25) Kevin came over to help load the last minute things on to the truck. We brought some stuff I didn’t need to his house, said good-by, and I slept over at Gobers.

Friday morning I said ‘good-bye’ to Pat and Wally and then headed for Newport for the Board Meeting at Seamen’s Church Institute at 9 AM.

I left Newport around noon on Friday, July 26, 2002. This was after a delightful party at the Institute. The party followed my last Board meeting. It was originally supposed to be a surprise. But I found out about it long in advance. Lots of coffee, delectables (thanks to Kathy) and lots of nice people (thanks, no doubt, to Debby McCarthy.)

With tears in my eyes and a frog in my throat I bundled up Gwendolyn, started the truck, and took off. Traffic was slow. It was a Friday afternoon. Eventually we got to Blue Hill. And I slept.

On Saturday I unloaded the Newport things from the truck and loaded it with the most essential things for Moose Factory. Randy Astbury came by to say hi – and good by. I dropped by Ginny’s to say hi. Then I tidied up the shack and slept.

Sunday was for the trip to Albany, VT. It was an ordinary drive – no record-breaker either way. During our stay there Gwendolyn and I took several walks to the barn and back. I don’t know if she remembered that she was born in that barn. She DOES know where all the dogs along the lane are, were, or are supposed to be. …All of them, and over twelve years.

Monday we said good-by to The Farm. I organized our departure so that we would hit the Border shortly after 8 AM. I was nervous about Customs and Immigration. Customs had no problem with the truck, which was LOADED. (They obviously were disarmed by Gwendolyn’s impeccable manners.) Immigration was antsy. Two hours later (10 AM) they let me go – with a one year only (but hopefully renewable) certificate. A few miles later I stopped at the town/village of Magog to get (Canadian) cash. Then the driving started in earnest.

The traffic around Montreal was sluggish, but it could have been lots worse. I took the route up through The Laurentians. It’s all interstate highway from The Border to somewhere in The Laurentians. Then it’s all Route 117.

Route 117 gets better the further north it gets. That is, you can go faster. The speed limit is posted at 90 KMH – about 55 MPH. After I cleared the hills and the road leveled off, I was doing a conservative 75-85 (MPH) and I was being passed by everybody – including the trucks, which are huge. #117 is a two lane highway, although every ten miles or so there is a passing lane on hills.

I had two days for the drive through Canada. I wanted to get into the Park Verendrye for the first night – Monday night. The Park is in the middle of the trip. I found a place to camp there, pitched the tent, and walked Gwendolyn several times. SHE decided she would spend the night in the truck, if you don’t mind. Tents are not her thing. I, also, was challenged. It was swelteringly hot. I tried to get all the air I could into the tent. Of course, then, around 2 AM, it rained. I had to decide between getting wet from sweat or wet from rain. I tried to strike a happy balance – and got wet.

We were off Tuesday around 5 AM – at daybreak. Immediately we passed a pick-up truck that was pulled over. The driver waved. I pulled over. His engine had lost its water pump, he said. I took him to the next Emergency Phone – about 10 kilometers. He called a tow truck. Then I took him back to his own truck. If I had not stopped, I don’t know how long he would have waited. There was NOBODY out there that time of day. Out on 117, if someone has trouble, you stop – and hope that the same thing would happen for you, if you get into trouble.

At Louvicourt – the first place for any kind of service, north of the Park — I filled the tank. $75 – Canadian. Gas mileage had not been good. There was a lot of shifting needed to get over the hills in the Laurentians, and the truck had a load.

While in the Park, I had restrained myself as we passed the roads leading to Lac Joncas and also to Grand Lake Victoria. While I had many happy memories of those places of 40 years ago, I dared not risk breakdown on those back gravel roads.

By 12 Noon I was in Cochrane. I checked with the Motel Cochrane to make sure they would be ready for me. (I was a sight! – what with my camping adventure.) Then I went into town to see what sort of a town it might be.

First stop was Andy’s Cartage. They are the people who take care of getting the truck on to the train. I set all of that up. Then dog and I went over to the train station to get tickets. Gwendolyn had her own – which was for ‘excess baggage’.

Tuesday night was at Motel Cochrane – on the south side of town – with lots of meadow – perfect for dogs. Fortunately I had Gwendolyn on her leash all the time that we walked. There was a very large rabbit that was much too lazy to even move. (There are NO rabbits on Moose Factory Island.)

A few minutes before 8 AM, Wednesday, we were back at Andy’s where we left the truck for them to load. We walked to the train depot and waited a few hours to get on the train. We did lots of walking, because we anticipated about a six-hour ride on the train.

The Little Bear loaded passengers around 10:30. It’s a ‘mixed’ train – passenger and freight. Stops wherever/whenever anyone desires. It’s the only option for vehicle or for dog. The Polar Bear Express is just for passengers and is an hour or so faster.

We were relegated to the Baggage Car. I had given her a pill to slow her down a bit. I’m sure it helped. But she was utterly traumatized by the racket and bumping of the car. Things were actually helped by the presence of another dog – with family.

Fortunately we had a ‘fast’ run and got into Moosonee early. Then we had to get the truck off the train. After a two-mile walk to the freight yard in Moosonee, I discovered there was no one there to remove the vehicles. In addition there was a car that would have to come off before mine could be moved. However, ahead of my car was another vehicle that DID have an owner. AND he had the required tool. And, both the driverless car and my truck would have to offload, before he could move his car. So, he freed all three vehicles. And we waited for the third person – ahead of both of us.

Finally the third driver showed up. And I BACKED the truck off the end of the train. There’s about 4 inches clearance of railway flatbed car on either side of the tires. I was careful – to the delight of several of the locals.

Then, the Barge… It took off on a special run at 6:30. But there was room. So they took us on. By about 7 PM, Wednesday, July 31, we were on Moose Factory Island.

Mileages….
Newport, RI to Blue Hill, ME 340 miles
Blue Hill, ME to Albany, VT 280 miles
Albany, VT to Cochrane, ON 680 miles
Cochrane to Moosonee 186 miles train
Moosonee to Moose Factory 3.5-4 miles barge

As soon as we got moving on the Island I said Hi to the Maybee and Chilton Families. Then, we went to the Rectory. I only unloaded the pillows, sheets, and blankets. We slept.
At about 2 AM – Thursday morning — the dogs in the neighborhood got really excited. (There are about six thousand of them….) Some barked; but most of them howled. Gwendolyn never woke up.

There is someone else in the Rectory – for a couple of weeks. He is a computer specialist. Richard. Lives in Timmins. But he was born and raised in this village. He is teaching computer courses to people here. When the course is done, he goes back to Timmins. I am very fortunate to have met him. We have started to visit.

When he was a child, the family used dog teams. Now all of that is gone. His really is the last generation to remember the old ways. He’s about 40. After him people don’t have the same experience with the bush. Or they don’t have any experience at all. He is one who understands the old culture, as he is part of it. And he understands the new culture in which he is highly proficient. And he is articulate. But he doesn’t live on the Island. And I wonder how many like him do live here- or can, if they are going to find work and/or a satisfactory life.

Thursday morning was spent unloading the truck and unpacking. I got the computer set up. Everything works. But I don’t have Internet Access yet. Early Thursday morning Gwendolyn took me for a walk down to the River. She was yelled at by several of the neighborhood dogs that protect their yards ferociously. From now on she’ll only be able to patrol the yard – on a leash.

Gwendolyn’s eyesight is not improving. I have to carry her down – but not up, yet – the front steps, as she doesn’t really see well enough to negotiate them – going down, anyway. This may change as she gets the hang of things. But I noticed that on Friday morning she really didn’t want to walk much at all. She sleeps mostly now. Maybe she’s just resting up from the trip. We’ll see. I’m already asking around to see if I can find a dog-sitter for the Labor Day Weekend trip. If at all possible, I’ll spare her another (round) trip to Blue Hill.

This is Friday morning (2 AUG.) Early – around 3 AM – there was lots of noise of people (young) carousing. Gwendolyn DID wake up and inquired if we were back in Newport. Then we drifted off to sleep for another few hours. 50 degrees outside at sunrise.

Tonight Bob Chilton and Ray Maybee come by. We’ll go over the big Memorial Service on Sunday afternoon.