Posted on February 11, 2020 under Faces in the Crowd with no comments yet

Bernice MacDonald photo

THIS STORY WAS FIRST POSTED IN 2016. IT WAS ONE OF MY ALL-TIME FAVOURITE INTERVIEWS. WILLEMINA PASSED AWAY LAST WEEK. HER STORY IS WORTH SHARING AGAIN. A GREAT LADY AND A TRUE HERO… AND ONE OF THE WITTIEST PEOPLE I’VE EVER MET!

On aging. “I spend my days the same way I used to. Everything just takes me twice as long.”

Meet Willemina Hendriske MacDonald.

She was born in Zutphen, Holland but spent most of her childhood in S’Gravenzande. Her home birth, with the assistance of a midwife, was filled with drama. At a crucial point in a tricky delivery, her father fainted. With no one else in the house, the midwife was busy attending to the mother and father of the newborn! A doctor was beckoned. He didn’t think the baby would survive. “I surprised the doctors back then and I have been surprising them ever since.”

Her brothers remember her as “a quiet girl playing with dolls, knitting embroidering and roller skating”. Their father died when Willemina was only 13. Growing up without a father was difficult on the family. As a teenager she filled her hours learning how to play the piano and was also an avid tennis player. Other sports included swimming, dancing and field hockey.

Most teenagers find it distracting when it comes to study time. When she was 14, the war broke out and it was very difficult to study at night with bomber aircrafts flying overhead. The Germans occupied their town and they were forced to move farther north.
She decided to learn Esperanto and quickly picked up French, German and English. Asked about her fluency in French, Willemina said, “It wasn’t the best but I wouldn’t starve in France.”

After completing grade 12, she took a secretarial course in The Hague and gained employment in Hagen. The Germans entered the Municipal offices where she worked, one day, in search of the registration lists of all the male citizens that they planned to utilize for the war industry in Germany. Risking life, she and fellow workers carted off all the records to a safe home. After the war, this deed was recognized as an act of heroism.

She was forced to flee once again. She remembers this as a time of constant fear. “The last year was hellish. I was frightened all the time until the liberation.” When the Canadians showed up in their town, any available room had to be used to house the soldiers. Jim MacDonald from Nova Scotia stayed in their house. He endeared himself immediately to her family, bringing fresh raisin bread which was all but extinct during the war years.

They decided that they were meant for each other, but she was a Protestant and he was a Catholic. By the time she finished studying how to become a Catholic, she knew more about Catholicism than she had discovered about her future husband.

She travelled to North America with their first-born, who was six months old at the time. The ride across the Atlantic was nausea inducing. She landed in New York and then went by train to St. John, New Brunswick where she rejoined Jim. They settled on the Dunmore Road in Antigonish County. For the first time in years, Willemina had found tranquility.

When she was only 45, and with seven children at home, Jim passed away. In short order she got her driver’s license and a job with the Municipality of the County of Antigonish where she worked until retirement. She was a tireless volunteer for many, many organizations including 4H and Club 60, to mention but a few.

Willemina is a professed political junkie. When asked about the possibility of Donald Trump becoming President of the U.S., she glared and said, “ He needs a good swift kick in the ass.”

She has a keen sense of humour. She suggested that one of the keys to a long life is surviving two heart attacks!

Reflecting on a long life well, lived, she opined, “I loved my family and I loved my community. I tried to do my very best. I also felt it was important to give something back after Canada liberated Holland.

It would appear that the debt has been paid in full.

Posted on February 10, 2020 under Monday Morning Musings with no comments yet

Me and Makusi

 

I read somewhere that this quote is attributable to the Inuit – “A long time ago in the future.”

It’s impossible to go to any foreign country and unravel the mysteries of history and culture in a few months. At least that’s what I think. Canada’s north is a mystery to most Canadians. It is not a foreign country. Many of us have read about the north, heard aboriginal/indigenous speakers, and have watched movies and documentaries about the north. I can tell you, that until you’ve come here and experienced it firsthand, you can’t truly appreciate this precious Canadian jewel.

I’m into my fourth month in Northern Quebec. I have eaten raw beluga and caribou stew. I have made seal rib stew. I have met some extraordinary people. I have seen the Northern Lights. But I have barely scratched the surface in terms of understanding the north.

Last Friday, I got a glimpse.

A few classes in the school, including mine, were invited to go on a seal hunt. In parts of the south and in many parts of the world, the mere words “seal hunt” conjure up images, many of them negative. In the arctic, hunting is a way of life. It is not a sport.

The services of several experienced hunters and guides were enlisted to take staff and students out on this expedition. The conditions were ideal. It was sunny and cold but not windy. Each guide was driving a skidoo, pulling a sled behind it. Because I was considered an “elder”, I got to sit on a comfortable seat with a back rest, behind my driver, Makusi.

In order to get to the open waters of Ungava Bay, it is necessary to cross a chain of lakes separated by tundra. To suggest that the surface of these lakes is bumpy is an understatement. The hunters have managed to carve a path across the uneven terrain. If I had been forced to sit in the sled at the back, I am certain that I would have ended up in traction at the local clinic.

We stopped halfway to our destination so that everyone could get out and stretch. It happened to be next to a big snow- covered hill. Several of the students bounded from their sleds and headed for the hill for an impromptu slide.

Ungava Bay could be seen off in the distance. As we exited the last lake, the guides gathered for a meeting. They couldn’t see any open water where the seals would be found. A few days earlier, there was open water not far from where we were stopped but now this was partially frozen and too dangerous to traverse. A few guides went off alone to check for open water and luckily found a spot not far from where we were situated.

One of the guides grabbed his unaq (harpoon) and walked carefully and knowingly towards the open water, poking the ground every few feet. He stopped when he found the spot where it would be safe enough to stand without going through the ice. While he was doing this, the other guides were setting up lean-to’s and tents so that there would be shelter for anyone who might get cold.

A few of the hunters grabbed their rifles and walked towards the water. A few shots rang out indicating that there were seals in the bay. Gradually, the rest of the entourage was able to join the hunters. We watched as the guides patiently surveyed the bay, peering into a bright afternoon sun. Shots were fired but, on this day, the seals proved to be elusive. In fairness, the hunters were several hundred yards away from their intended targets.

While the hunt was going on, the students and staff had lunch. Some of the young people played soccer on the frozen ice while several hiked up a nearby mountain.

At one point, I was the only person standing beside one of the hunters. Everyone else was off doing their own thing. It was very tranquil. We hadn’t spotted a seal in some time. He told me that all the noise had probably spooked the seals. Normally, the hunters stand in perfect silence.

As the sun made its way across the sky, the colors of land, sea, and mountains seemed to change almost imperceptibly. There wasn’t a breath of air. I was experiencing the north at its finest and felt this immense attraction to the land.

Most of us wonder from time to time, when we are going to die, where we are going to die and how we are going to die. This is not morbid fascination. It is human nature.

I knew we were probably less than an hour away from departing for home. I turned to Makusi and told him that I wanted to walk across Ungava Bay alone and have him pick me up on his way. He smiled and handed me the unaq. “Take this. You might need it.”

I started walking towards home along the skidoo path, clutching the unaq. Honestly, I wasn’t afraid of confronting a polar bear, as bizarre as that sounds, but I was certainly vigilant. Every once in a while, I would hold the unaq in a defensive stance wondering how my last day on the planet might unfold!

Mostly, I felt intense peace.

A long time ago in the future, I walked across Ungava Bay.

Alone.

Have a great week.

Posted on February 6, 2020 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

Yet another moving experience

 

“There are places I’ll remember, all my life though some have changed,
Some forever not for better, some have gone, and some remain,
All these places had their moments…”
In My Life. The Beatles

“Len. How is it possible to write 747 words about nothing? You have been writing these posts for nine years. Today is the 1080 th. Not only that but your readers must be awfully bored to keep reading stories about the most mundane things humanly possible. Surely everyone doesn’t live dull, uninteresting lives.”

This quote is not attributable to anyone in particular. Actually, I ask myself the same question over and over as I did on my early morning walk the other day.

If you are really bored, keep reading. Otherwise, you might want to go and do something meaningful like feed your cat or empty the compost bucket.

Yes. After three months, I have finally figured out how to get back to my early morning strolls. The solution was quite simple. Instead of going to the school at 6:30 every day to plan my day, I have decided to spend a good chunk of Sundays at school planning a week’s worth of lessons. I still must confine my walks to the town. The mornings remain dark and it is simply not safe to go wandering on the frozen lakes and the tundra alone. If you suffered a medical emergency, especially in these cold temperatures, you would be in big trouble. Recent polar bear sightings have also garnered my attention.

I’m on the move again. When I signed on for this teaching assignment, I was told that I would be living in a spanking new fourplex adjacent to the school. However, I was also told that it would not be completed until the new year, hence my temporary stay in my current apartment.
Well, I got the news last weekend that the building had been completed and was ready for occupancy so I will move into my new digs this weekend.

It seems like my life has been one giant moving experience. Maybe this is what attracted me to the Inuit people, long known for their nomadic way of life.

How many times in your life have you changed addresses and key chains?

I started to make a list and got quite embarrassed and stopped at 15.

Fifteen. Seriously?

My epic journey through life started with the two houses I occupied as a child on Hillcrest Street. Now, I am about to move into my second apartment in three months. I know you’re not bored enough to read about all fifteen (actually the number is now 17 with the two apartments in Kangiqsujuaq) but a few stand out. Back in the early 70s, I lived in a very old, rundown apartment complex in Victoria, B.C. I can clearly recall that the rent was $85 a month. If you had seen the apartment you might think that I got ripped off. Here’s a recap of life in the “Bongo Pad”. https://www.week45.com/the-bongo-pad/

I have lived in houses, Co-op apartments and one winter, a chalet down by the ocean. I have lived alone, and I have lived with others. I have lived in the hottest places imaginable (can you say India?) ,and now one of the coldest – the arctic. I’ve lived with cats and dogs, and in some of the less refined places, mice! Every house or apartment has a story.

However, I feel I’m not quite done yet. While I still feel young most days, the aches and pains accumulate over time and the synapses aren’t firing quite as quickly as they once did. There’s a pretty good chance that the second last home I’ll occupy will be a nursing home. There was a time that the thought of a nursing home would make me recoil but having seen the care my mother received in her final days and my own experience doing music in a nursing home, I no longer feel this way. I also have dear friends who work in these homes. They are simply among the finest people you can imagine.

In my hometown, the largest nursing home is strategically located between two funeral homes. When my time comes, I won’t have to go far to reach my last stop of the journey.

At least I won’t have to pack!

Have a great weekend.

P.S. By the time some of you late risers read this, I will be “out on the land”. A few classes in the school, including mine, are going out on a seal hunt today. My next Monday Morning Musings could prove to be interesting. I hope it will get your seal of approval.