In another time and place

As I get older, I start to understand what my parents felt with the passage of time. As a teenager, I often noticed my mom Susan and dad Marius become more contemplative as they aged. They would pause and stare off into the horizon. They were probably remembering, imagining, wondering about people, family and friends who they had outlived.

Mom would confide in me about her Kookoom (grandmother) Maggie Paulmartin. She told me how so full of wisdom and knowledge her Kookoom had been, recalling many of the ancient stories about our people that came from her granny. As we worked in the kitchen, where she taught all of her children how to cook and a strong work ethic, she would smile when she recalled the silly things she and her siblings did as children living in the wilderness. She would also recall the darker times of life on the land. Her uncle Matthew died as a child after consuming poison herbs. There was also the anguish of witnessing her Aunt Mary Rose lose the use of her legs due to polio.

Sometimes, as I worked with dad on a construction project, he would stop for a break and reminisce about performing the same tasks with family and friends who had passed away. Other times, when we stopped to rest from travelling on the land, dad would look into the familiar wilderness and remember when his father showed him a trail ahead. It seemed as though he was seeing the ghosts of those who had gone before him. Stories would flow as he described these people trapped in time and laughed at his nostalgic recollections. He would become quiet and sad when reminded of how difficult life could be, how little everyone had, and how hungry people were in times of famine.

There is both good and the bad in growing up in a small, remote community where everyone was close and depended on each other to survive. People drew on their large families for support.

There is a great feeling of community when you have so many people to call your own but it comes with the high price of being connected to so much tragedy and misfortune. I have seen my fair share of tragedies in my large extended family of relatives and friends.

I fondly remember Cassandra and David, who I saw every day one summer long ago. They were the children of my cousin Maria and her husband Joseph. I walked by their house on my way to work at the Northern Store when I was a teenager. It became a habit to buy some chocolate bars, chips and pop on my way home and hand them off to these smiling kids. It felt good to be able to brighten up their day.

At the store, I was employed with several of my Kataquapit cousins. I worked closely with Ernie and George Kataquapit. Ernie was slightly older than me and was like an older brother. George was much older with a family of his own and was more of a fatherly figure due to his knowledge and experience. We all looked up to him. George was also very kind and fun to be around. Ernie, George and I had a running joke between us. Since I was the youngest, they often passed down menial jobs to me with the excuse – “Kee-tee-k Oh-kee-mow” – that translates as, “because the boss said so.” When I felt rebellious, I would saddle them with silly tasks and repeat their words – “Kee-tee-k Oh-kee-mow”, which they agreed to with a laugh.

Little David who enjoyed my treats and George are both gone now, lost too early before their time. On quiet summer afternoons, I sometimes find myself thinking about David on his front step waiting for his chocolate bar or the big smile George gave us as we stood outside the store on our breaks. I understand now those long pauses my mom and dad took in their day, when they stared into space. They were simply remembering people they loved in another time and place.