Posted on August 24, 2020 under Monday Morning Musings with one comment

 

 

Inukshuk in Kangiqsujuaq

Cairn Park – Antigonish

 

Inukshuks dot the landscape in the north.

Cairns are ubiquitous in Scotland and other parts of the world.

What is it about these wonderful stone markers?

A short time ago, I posted a picture that I took on one of my walks here in Kangiqsujuaq. On the outskirts of town, there is a large inukshuk, a popular gathering place to watch the northern lights. It is what I would refer to as the classic image that southerners most easily recognize. The next time that I saw a large pile of stones, it closely resembled the Scottish cairns with which many in my part of the world are familiar. I actually referred to it as a cairn. It didn’t take long for me to be corrected. I was told that even though the shape was different from the more recognizable inukshuk, this was indeed an inukshuk.

So began my exploration of the origin of cairns and inukshuks. Here is an explanation of both, paraphrased for your reading pleasure.

“The Inukshuk is a symbol with deep roots in the Inuit culture, a directional marker that signifies safety, hope and friendship .Inukshuks are the most important objects created by the Inuit who were the first people to inhabit portions of Alaska, Arctic Canada and Greenland. The term Inuksuk (the singular of Inukshuk) means “to act in the capacity of a human. “It is an extension of Inuk, meaning “a human being.”

These stone figures were placed on the temporal and spiritual landscapes. Among many practical functions, they were employed as hunting and navigational aids, coordination points, indicators, and message centers. In addition to their earthly functions, certain Inukshuk-like figures had spiritual connotations, and were objects of veneration, often marking the threshold of the spiritual landscape of the Inummariit – the Inuit who knew how to survive on the land living in their traditional way.

Inuksuit (the plural of Inukshuk) serve in a spiritual capacity to indicate a place where life is renewed or where spirits reside; where judgments or decisions are made and where celebrations and festivals are held. The Inukshuk, by standing along the way, may guide seekers on their journey helping them to find the way forward as well as the best path to their spiritual home. An Inukshuk may also indicate an object that should not be approached or touched, or an object that brings good fortune.

The skill of building an Inukshuk is traditionally passed down from one generation to the next. Each stone structure has a purpose, such as pointing the way to a good fishing spot or indicating where meat is cached. Inuksuit are used as directional markers and functions as instruments of navigation and astronomy. The longest arm may point to the closest village where you will find safety. Some will point to Niqirtsuituq or the north star.

The Inukshuk is a symbol of the human spirit. It recognizes our ability to succeed with others, where alone we might fail. It reminds us of our need to belong to something greater than ourselves and prompts us to reconnect with our individual responsibility to invest our efforts today so that we may all have a better tomorrow.

When you look at an old Inukshuk, you are seeing more than just a stack of stones. You are seeing the thoughts of another person left upon the land.” Norman Hallendy

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The following passage refers more to cairns popular in Scotland.

“A cairn is a group of stones carefully arranged on top of each other. These man-made mounds , used since the prehistoric age, take on a number of roles and have guarded various landscapes for thousands of years, withstanding both the ferocious elements and the test of time.

Derived from the Scottish word “carn”, meaning “heap of stones”, cairns are ancient markers with Scottish roots found across the globe. Since prehistoric times, cairns have served as landmarks as well as burial monuments. Some experts state that many of these ancient stone stacks were also built for astrological, ceremonial, and hunting purposes. Indigenous people in places like Alaska and Greenland (and Canada’s north) have relied on such markers for centuries. Seafarers used cairns for navigating long before lighthouses entered the equation.

In Scottish folklore, Highland clan members would each place a stone on a pile before battle. The surviving warriors would subsequently remove their stone, leaving the remaining ones to transform into a memorial cairn for the fallen. The act of adding a small stone to a cairn, especially on a hilltop, is a deep-rooted Scottish tradition that signifies respect. By adding this rock, you are preserving the integrity of the monument and helping to protect it from harsh weather.

When the cairn marks a grave, the old Scots Gaelic blessing ‘Cuiridh mi clach air do charn’ or ‘I’ll put a stone on your cairn’ becomes relevant. The gesture is a way of saying ‘I’ll always remember you’ or ‘You will not be forgotten’. Torie Chalmers.

While this is not an exhaustive dissertation on the topic of Inukshuks and cairns, I thought you might find it interesting. I know I will view them differently when I pass them here in the north or back home.

Have a great week.

Posted on August 20, 2020 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

Native Cree prophecy

 

 

I am into my third week back up north. I can’t believe the difference from when I arrived on a very cold, dark evening 10 months ago. Last November, I returned to teaching after a mere 40- year hiatus. I was woefully unprepared. Arriving in a community that has had its share of trauma, I was carrying some personal baggage of my own. Simply put, I was overwhelmed and to this day, I am not certain how I got through those first difficult months. Getting a handmade parka might have been the turning point as I was never cold after acquiring this beautiful coat.

Fast forward to August 1, 2020 when I arrived back in Kangiqsujuaq on a warm, breezy summer afternoon. I immediately quarantined for 14 days. One blessing was the ability to get out for daily walks on the tundra. At first, I found the landscape rather barren until I started to pay closer attention. I discovered that this is truly a beautiful part of the world in summer and in winter.

What makes it particularly beautiful is the people. I had been told by colleagues that returning teachers notice a difference. The community views you differently because you have chosen to come back. Many teachers do not return. There are many challenges living in the north. It is not everyone’s cup of tea.

Of course, Covid has profoundly affected all of us. In remote communities like mine, a positive case of Covid could potentially be devastating so the level of caution is heightened.

My first trip to the grocery store was revealing. I received a royal welcome from the staff. I immediately felt at ease and at home and I continue to feel this way with each passing day. I feel like I am part of a new family. Over the past days, I have met many of my students. I’m doing some volunteering at a summer camp doing music and reading. Their smiles tell me that they are genuinely happy to see me. Trust me, there is no better feeling.

Last year, I taught a split grade 5/6 class and this year, I will teach just the grade 6 class which means that I will have my last year’s grade 5s. I am extremely reluctant to suggest that this year will be easier than last. The pandemic will pose a whole different set of challenges but knowing my students and their families, understanding the community and having sorted out some personal issues, I feel confident heading into the school year.

Not only do I feel confident, but I also feel at peace. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I think it has much to do being among the Inuit. They are warm generous people. Walking on their land has an almost mystical feel to it. I am constantly struck at the solitude. Once you’re outside the village, the silence is deafening and wonderful. There is a sense of timelessness and wonder knowing that these lands have been occupied by our founding nations for thousands of years.

(I had every intention of giving you a lesson on inukshuks today, but I got carried away… as usual!)

We’re still a month away from the start of school. The school is undergoing a serious renovation and as mentioned in a previous post, teachers are being brought back into the community over a period of five weeks. Being one a small handful of teachers to arrive in the first wave, I am being kept busy running errands for those doing their self-isolation. I have been given unfettered access to one of the school trucks and have become a fixture in the two local grocery stores. They must think that I have an insatiable appetite! Frequent runs to the water plant for drinking water and trips to the airport to pick up boxes and personal belongings will also keep me out of mischief.

I have a good head of steam on my next book. The first 10,000 words have been written. I’m quite excited. A colleague of mine has put me in touch with an Inuit man who is going to help me with some of the historical information for my book. On my walk last evening, this idea popped into my head for a book title: “Their Home and Native Land”.

I do not take my good fortune for granted. I am lucky to have good health today. It could change tomorrow, but in the meantime, I plan to keep my foot on the gas.

I am alive. I am well. I am happy. I am grateful.

Have a great weekend.

P.S. Passings. I wish to announce the demise of the last bit of pancake batter. After eating it 7 days in a row, I simply couldn’t gag down one more pancake, regardless of the amount of maple syrup that I slathered on it. It was relegated to the garbage. The time of passing was Tuesday, August 18^th at 8:30 a.m. for those of you who keep track of such things! Don’t have a clue what I’m talking about? Check out this past week’s Monday Morning Musings: https://www.week45.com/monday-morning-musings-363/

 

 

 

Posted on August 17, 2020 under Monday Morning Musings with no comments yet

Food, glorious food!

 

Can man survive on bread alone?

Can man survive for two weeks on banana pancakes and miniature carrots?

The first reference comes from the bible. The second comes from first- hand experience.

This biblical reference has popped into my head several times in recent days. Those of us who live alone understand the challenges of cooking for one person. It’s hard to prepare a meal that’s designed for one unless you opt to go to KFC for a “dinner for one”. Meal preparation results in the inevitable. You will be eating leftovers for a few days.

A few… and a few more.

Knowing that I would be in isolation for 14 days upon my return to the north, I placed an online grocery order in hopes that my food would arrive around the same time that I did. I was extremely grateful to a colleague who left a few food items at my apartment door, realizing that my groceries might not come and that I wouldn’t be able to go to either of our two grocery stores. This turned out to be a godsend. Included in this gesture of goodwill was a bag of baby carrots. My grocery order did arrive later that day.

Stay with me here.

As I unpacked my suitcases, I popped a frozen lasgana into the oven. I would become well acquainted with this Italian delicacy over the next five days. I ate egg salad sandwiches for endless days. I didn’t take me quite two weeks to polish off 32 homemade oatmeal and coconut cookies.

I initially thought that I would have plenty of food to do me during self-isolation. In fact, I did, but the variety left something to be desired. For a few days, I watched a bunch of bananas wither and die. I used a few of them to make a fruit salad. I had a choice of either making a banana bread or pancakes with the rest of them. I chose the pancakes.

When I placed my grocery order in the south, I asked for a large bag of carrots. I should have been more specific and asked for a bag of large carrots. I received the biggest bag of baby carrots that I had ever laid eyes on. Combined with the bag I had received from my friend, I had enough small carrots to possibly last a lifetime.

Well into week 2 of quarantine, my fridge was virtually bare except for a large steel bowl of banana pancake batter and a million miniature carrots. A recipe for a single batch of pancakes would have sufficed but rather than toss out some bananas, I decided to double the recipe. The result was impressive. However, there was enough batter for a pancake breakfast for a big family reunion or a church hall pancake supper.

Here’s a question for you foodies out there. Are baby carrots real? These runt sized, perfectly symmetrical vegetables, taste something like the cross between recycled cardboard and uncooked, dry lentils. I have come to believe that their real purpose is to staunch the flow of blood during a nosebleed by inserting one of them in your nostril. Alternatively, they would be an adequate substitute for ear plugs. The other thing I noticed about these small, bullet shaped root vegetables is that they have the life span of a mayfly once you open the bag. In case you’re wondering, mayflies live on average, 24 hours. Man, if you’re a mayfly you definitely need to make hay while the sun shines. Carpe diem takes on a whole new meaning.I have noticed that exposed to fresh air, seeing that they’ve probably been a vacuum sealed bag for months if not years, baby carrots turn slimy. Ok. Enough. You get my drift.

Because my quarantine ended on the weekend, I was able to restock my fridge. Oh yes. When I placed my second grocery order from down south, I used very descriptive language to indicate the size of carrots I wanted.

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The Inuit people are the friendliest people I’ve ever met. Despite being in self isolation, I have been able to go for daily walks on the tundra and the back roads leading into the countryside. I get stopped routinely by local people welcoming me back. Their smiles could light the night sky.

I have become intimately acquainted with two truck drivers. They have been hauling truck loads of huge rocks to town from a nearby quarry for the foundation for a new warehouse. On my long walks out to the landfill, they pass me numerous times. The road on which I’m walking is a dirt road and at this time of the year is quite dusty. When they see me coming off in the distance, they immediately gear down to avoid me getting choked with dust. They always give me a big wave and a smile.

One day last week as I walked this road, I could hear the distinct sound of an eagle overhead. It swooped and soared, passing over me with some regularity. Around this time, one of the trucks approached me. The driver slowed down as he usually does but this time he came to a complete stop. From his cab high above the road, he pointed to the sky and the mountains nearby. “Eagles nest,” was all he said as he headed into town. All the squawking made sense now.

The other day, I was walking to the water plant to refill my water container. To get there and stay off the main street, I walked across the tundra which, among other things, is home to a five- hole golf course. Running adjacent to the course are burial grounds, the pipeline which carries oil from the tankers to the oil terminal and a pack of sled dogs. It is without doubt, the most unique location for a golf course. There was a man on one of the synthetic putting greens practicing. He waved and asked me if I wanted to play a bit of golf. Some of you know that I was a pretty keen golfer for a long time. I was sorely tempted to join him but wanted to adhere to the strict protocol of my self- isolation. I took a rain check!

We did, however have a splendid, socially distance chat. We first talked golf and he told me that he was a 9- time local champion. Watching his putting stroke, I wasn’t surprised. We moved on to other subjects. He told me that he was a hunter and a fisher. He told me about his ever-growing family. He had a lovely spirit about him. He told me that Kangiqsujuaq was the most beautiful place in the world. I paused and reflected on this last statement. I certainly haven’t seen a lot of the world, but I have seen some. I agreed with him.

As it turned out, the water plant outdoor spigot wasn’t working on this day. I headed back home but not before stopping by the putting green again. My new friend pointed at a nearby mountain about one kilometer away. He said that there was a spot at the base of the mountain to get the purest water on earth.

I walked over the tundra, past the dog sled team and around one of the burial grounds. I filled my jug with cold, pristine water. Passing by the graveyard again, I stopped and removed my hat. I stood there in silence looking at the rows of simple white crosses.

Surrounded by mountains and the bay, I was quite moved by the experience.

Have a great week.