Posted on September 10, 2020 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

Feeding time for a member of a sled dog team

 

WARNING. Some might find this story about the slaughter of sled dogs disturbing.

It has often been said that a dog is man’s best friend. This quote is attributed to King Frederick of Prussia in 1789. Our family had a dog when we were growing up as did many of our neighbors which was rather surprising because many of the families were large, often with 7 or more children. It was hard enough to feed the family let alone a four-legged critter. Of course, when liver was on the menu for supper, Chipper did quite well with the leftovers.

The vast majority of dog owners are enamored with their canine friends. Dogs are loyal companions and are always by our sides in good times and bad. And they never answer back!

But what if your dog was an important part of your daily survival? This is a completely different ball game.

For generations, sled dogs were an integral part of the Arctic. Until they weren’t. In the 1950s and 1960s, the RCMP and government officials undertook a massive cull of sled dogs. In order to try and begin to understand the wrongs done to the Inuit people of the north, I refer to the book “The Right to be Cold”by distinguished Inuit author, Sheila (Siila)Watt Clouthier.

Here is a summary and paraphrasing of the key points surrounding the slaughter of the sled dogs according to Siila:

“Government officials claimed that a number of dogs had been infected with canine distemper, and that some of the sick animals had attacked people. The Inuit were told that the dogs were being sent south for” health care”. The dogs never returned. More often, they instructed hunters to bring their dogs to a designated spot. The animals were not inspected for illness, no questions were posed about their health or behaviour. No permission was asked of the owners. The dogs were simply shot. In some instances, the carcasses were thrown in piles and burnt. All of this happened in view of their shocked owners.

Some men had come from outpost camps and watched as their only means of transport, their only way to get back to their families, was destroyed before their eyes. Otheres said that they were preparing to go hunting, and their dogs were shot and killed as they stood harnessed to their sleds. In all, over 1200 dogs were destroyed. And while the official explanation given at the time was that they were culled to prevent the spread of distemper and attacks by sick dogs, many now suspect that the destruction of the dog teams was another way to force Inuit families to move from outpost camps into settlements by removing their only mode of transportation.

While we are hunters, we kill animals only for food. Senseless killing is not accepted in our culture.”

I am grateful to Siila for giving me permission to quote from her book.

Last week, I had the privilege of watching a friend, who’s a colleague, feed a team of sled dogs. There are a handful of dog teams in the village and I have had the thrill of watching them zip across frozen tundra on the coldest days of the winter. Every time I see them or hear their mournful wails on quiet nights, I think back to this tragic chapter of the history of people living in the north.

The scars of colonization, residential schools, and the killing of the sled dogs, still exist today.

Posted on September 8, 2020 under Storytelling with 3 comments

The late Ronnie Gillis

I interviewed Ronnie  5 years ago in early September. He died last week. He was one of the most interesting people I had met and I enjoyed hearing his remarkable life while sitting in his living room on Dunroamin Road. I thought it might be appropriate to re-post this story. Godspeed, Ronnie.

The first thing you notice when you enter Ronnie Gillis’ carefully manicured property is an old ride-on lawn mower. When you have a sizeable acreage this is understandable; and more so when one considers that the driver of this piece of equipment is within arm’s reach of 90 years of age. I am scarcely out of the car when he walks spryly onto the deck to welcome me. I am soon to find out that Ronnie has spent most of his life driving things.

There was a time when being able to drive anything seemed a stretch. When he was 13, Ronnie developed blood poisoning. For a month he lay in a hospital bed with the very real possibility of losing one of his legs. Only through the intervention of Dr. MacIsaac was his limb saved. However, this proved to be the end of Ronnie’s schooling, as the 3 kilometer walk to and from school in Malignant Cove proved impossible.

But this setback did not prevent Ronnie from living a long, busy, active life. Far from it.

While his father was in the services in the Second World War, Ronnie worked hard tending to the family farm. He raised two colts and cared for the other farm animals. During one memorable winter storm, his mother and their neighbor, a Mrs. Mac Kenzie, got stranded in Antigonish. The roads were impassable. Ronnie and his siblings managed to keep the household going. When it became apparent that the women wouldn’t be getting home any time soon, Ronnie wandered over to the Mac Kenzie’s house knowing that they had a dog. But it wasn’t just any dog. It was a beast, and some say as ferocious as the one in Arthur Conan Doyle’s legendary novel, “The Hound of the Baskervilles”.

Ronnie, although slightly intimidated, knew that the dog would be hungry. He brought him some food; the dog was appreciative and befriended him. He brought the dog bones and scraps every day of its owner’s absence.

After three days, the road still weren’t open and so Mrs. Gillis and Mrs. Mackenzie decided to walk on foot from town to Doctor’s Brook, going the back road through Cloverville and Big Marsh. They waded through hip-deep snow and found accommodation each evening along the way. Two days later they arrived home. When Mrs. Mackenzie got to her house, the dog was very happy, needless to say. When she entered the house, she gasped, for there on the floor stood a small pile of bones. Her immediate thought was that an intruder had broken in, only to be eaten by her four legged friend.

In his late teens Ronnie bought his first truck from Phonse Sears at Eastern Auto. And no, this wasn’t for driving around to impress young women. This was a working vehicle and it didn’t take too long for Ronnie to find employment hauling pulp. He worked for a spell with the Department of Highways and credits his supervisor, Rod “The Highways” Chisholm, for much of the good fortune that would befall him in his work career. You see, Rod gave him a letter of recommendation which turned out to be his ticket out of Nova Scotia to the “Boston States”.

His first job in the mid 50’s in Boston was with Railway Express, where he worked for 20 years. The work day only started at 9:30 A. M. But Ronnie was an early bird because of his life growing up on a farm. A friend suggested that he take a job driving one of the early morning school bus routes in Wellesley, a suburb of Boston. When Railway Express went out of business in 1975, Ronnie became assistant superintendent of transportation for the entire Wellesley School Board. His knowledge of the streets in and around Boston became legendary. He continued to work for the Board until his retirement in 1986.

During his time in Boston he met some very prominent citizens, the president of Massachusetts Institute of Technology being one of them. The first time they met, the president asked him the routine questions one would expect in a first encounter. “I’m from Canada,” said Ronnie. Upon further prodding he explained “I’m from Nova Scotia; a place called Doctor’s Brook”.   The president’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you must live between Dunn’s Rock and The Brook!” Needless to say, Ronnie was flabbergasted. You see, for over a quarter century, geologists and other scholars from the New England States had made an annual pilgrimage to Crystal Cliffs to study, among other things, the composition of rocks. They were intimately aware of the coast line along the Northumberland Strait.

After his retirement in Wellesley, Ronnie and his wife, Celestine, decided to move back to Canada. He hinted that it might have been his wife who made that decision. I asked him if they ever quarreled. He was quick to point out that “Celestine was the boss of the house.” (A good answer – the Editor). They lived at first in the town of Antigonish but eventually built a house out on Dunroamin Road in Doctor’s Brook, where he still resides.

Celestine died in 2007 and Ronnie remains in their home, tending to all of the household duties and the yard work. He figures that his active lifestyle has contributed to his longevity. He goes to church regularly, something that his mother insisted from an early age. He is a dyed in the wool Boston Red Sox fan and enjoyed their World Series wins in 2004, 2007 and 2013. Ronnie never took part in sports because of his leg injury as a teenager, and because he was simply too busy for most of his working life.

He is resourceful and independent. His upbringing demanded both.

As he escorts me to the door, I ask him about the lawnmower. Apparently he has taken it apart and put it back together more times than one can count. Has he ever entertained the thought of buying a new one, I muse? “No. Someone might steal it,” he replies, with a twinkle in his eye. I ask him to pose for a picture.

The boy from Dunroamin is done roamin’.

Posted on September 7, 2020 under Monday Morning Musings with one comment

 

One of many interesting rock formations

 

“If you come to a fork in the road, take it. “Yogi Berra.

I’m rather disappointed in myself but that’s hardly news. I was about to dish up another educational piece on Inuit history today, but last Friday night when I wrote this, I didn’t feel very serious. So, you’re going to receive a big dose of incoherent, unconnected pieces of nothingness.

Some of you had great fun last week with my post about “the road not taken”. The Yogi Berra line above is a classic. For those of you too young to remember, Yogi Berra was a Hall of Fame catcher for the New York Yankees. He was an 18 time All Star and appeared in 14 World Series, 10 of which the Yankees won. A few other Berra-isms for your Labour Day enjoyment: “You can observe a lot just by watching. “No one goes there nowadays. It’s too crowded.” “Baseball is 90% mental and the other half is physical.”

Have any of you noticed the plethora of ads for mattresses lately or am I the only one receiving these? It’s an all-out mattress war and it seems that Endy and Casper are duking it out for market share. I have become aware of such specificities as “plush dual cloud foam”. Yup. That’s obviously the first question I would ask a sales rep at Sleep Country. I mean, we can all wrap our heads around the titanic battles between Coke and Pepsi back in the 70s, unless you weren’t born back then in which case you have no idea what I’m talking about. But mattresses? Seriously? Could this be the precursor to the “endy” of the world?! Or a new 11^th Commandment? Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s bed. Endy envy? STOP!!!

In related news, I have noticed a serious uptake in dating sites. They’re as ubiquitous as Tim Horton’s stores. I’m starting to wonder if the same outfits that own the mattress companies also own the dating sites or vice versa. It seems that there is every imaginable site for just about any age group. I expect any day now that there will be a sight for babies or possibly for your pet cat. Can Luna find the purrfect match? Pardon me while I hit the paws button. Would that be considered a subordinate claws?

Enough of that. You’re probably thinking that because it was Friday when I wrote this that I found the keys to the liquor cabinet. Wrong. Unless a large plate of steamed mussels can cause temporary insanity, I wasn’t consuming anything that could explain this stream of unconsciousness.

Speaking of mussels. Last week, there was a civic holiday on Thursday. It was a day for the NV (Northern Village) of Kangisqsujuaq to pause and thank its workers. It was a fun day filled with all kinds of games and activities. I watched with great interest a bannock making contest down by the community wharf. Contestants constructed their own “stove” with rocks and used seaweed for fuel. They mixed their bannock ingredients in bowls and then put them on flat rocks above the fire that served as the grill. One of the participants was the Mayor and she looked like a pro. She and I had a great chat. There was blueberry picking, mussel picking and a foot race. A couple of work colleagues did not participate in the official mussel picking contest but did come home with a huge bucketful of these delicious shellfish. They offered me a huge bagful and I cooked them for supper on Friday, dipped in garlic butter. Superb.

I want to take this opportunity to thank my fellow teachers for all their help last week at school assisting me move classrooms. It was a mammoth job. I especially want to thank my friends Eliane and Adamie who went out of their way to assist me in so many ways.

Your suffering is almost over. One other thing I mentioned last week was the notion of lifelong learning. A dear friend from my education year at St.F.X. reminded me of a quote often attributed to Albert Einstein. “Education is what remains when you have forgotten all you have learned in school.” So true… especially in my case! Thanks, MMP.

Have a great week.

P.S. Heroes are highly overrated unless that hero happens to be your sister. My sister, Eleanor closed the doors of her convenience store at the end of August. She and her late husband, Lou Brosha, operated this family run business for 26 years after returning home after many years in Fort Vermillion, Alberta. They worked long hours and were two of the most community minded people you could meet. My sister didn’t have it easy. Lou had MS for a long time and there were many other challenges that she faced along the way, including the death of her daughter, Audrey, that may have broken most people. She was and remains one of the most generous people I know. She mentored many young staff members who are her biggest fans. I never heard her complain once about her lot in life. When others were in need, she was always one of the first to step up and offer her time and resources even when her plate overflowed. Real heroes are real people, not those with puffed up egos and multimillion-dollar salaries who claim to be role models. What a joke. The world would be a much better place if there were more role models like my sister. And luckily there are.

El’s favorite expression? When any of her sibs started to whine and complain about THEIR lot in life, she would turn with a slight look of disdain and say, “Get over it.”

If anyone deserves a healthy and happy retirement it is El. Best wishes. With love and admiration.