Standing Into Danger

It's the first Wednesday
of the month ~
the day when members of the
Insecure Writer's Support Group
share their writing struggles
and offer their encouragement
and support to other members.

To visit the IWSG website, click here.

To become a member of the IWSG, click here.

Our wonderful co-hosts who are stepping up to help IWSG founder Alex J. Cavanaugh are:
Nancy Gideon, Tamara Narayan, Liesbet@ Roaming About, Michelle Wallace, and Feather Stone.

I hope you have a chance to visit them and thank them for co-hosting.
I'm sure they would appreciate an encouraging comment!

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Every month the IWSG announces a question
that members can answer with advice, insight,
a personal experience, or story in their IWSG posts.

Or, the question can inspire members if they are struggling with something to say.

Remember, the question is optional!!!
This month's IWSG featured question is:
What is the weirdest/coolest thing you ever had to research for your story?

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I'm on the road again:
This time in the Mojave Desert of Nevada and Arizona.
It's been a frustrating few weeks with way too many computer and connectivity issues.

Laughlin River Run Time

Aquarius, Laughlin, Nevada, USA

With regard to this month's IWSG question,
much of my writing throughout my life has been non-fiction
and centered on professional or academic pieces.

The weirdest and coolest thing I ever had to research was flint knapping
for a unit I wrote about the early people who lived in North America.

Flint knapping is the shaping of flint, or other stone
that fractures conchoidally, by striking it with a hammer stone
to produce edged cutting tools and weapons such as arrowheads.

At the time I was a volunteer at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science,
and I had the opportunity to take a flint knapping workshop.

So, so cool!
After a background lecture,
we watched a demonstration of flint knapping
by one of the museum's employees.

A Man Demonstrates Flint Knapping

(Not DMNS's)

Wikimedia

Then we students struck flint with stone to produce sharp edges on our pieces of flint.
Finally we used our cutting tools to slice strips of meat off raw roasts.
Yes, it was weird, messy, bloody, and a little dangerous,
but it was beyond cool!

The Denver Museum of Nature and Science is an excellent museum.
I've found it and other museums to be wonderful resources for writing research,
whether through taking courses or viewing exhibits.

My research would not have been complete
without a visit to one of my favorite exhibits in the museum:
The Folsom Point.

An Exciting Archeological Find

Stone Projectile with Bison Bones

DMNS

This 1926 archeological find near Folsom, New Mexico,
proved that humans lived in North America
more than 10,000 years ago,
hundreds of years earlier than previously thought.

Excavating the Folsom Site or Wild Horse Arroyo revealed
that it was marsh-side kill site or camp.
It contained the remains of twenty-three extinct Late Pleistocene bison.

The Folsom Points,
found directly associated with the bison remains,
were indisputably made by humans. Wikipedia

A Folsom Point

from the Folsom Site

Wikipedia

When conducting research for writing,

it is one thing to read about a topic like flint knapping,

but to have the opportunities to experience flint knapping

and to see a famous and consequential exhibit

related to flint knapping is irreplaceable.

Happy writing in May!

Terry and I spent last Wednesday and Thursday traveling
from Aurora, Colorado to Laughlin, Nevada.
We traveled across some of the emptiest
and most beautiful regions of the United States,
including one stretch of I-70 that passes through 106 miles
of nothing, just a wild, natural world.

Map Data: Google 2017, INEGI

Some people find these western landscapes desolate and intimidating,
with their rocks, deserts, mesas, dry rivers, canyons, and big skies.
But this striking wilderness makes my heart sing!
It speaks to me unlike any other.

Near Parachute, Colorado, USA

Photo by M. Louise Barbour

Arapaho National Forest

Near Frisco, Colorado, USA

Photo by M. Louise Barbour

For me, it is impossible not to think about the grand expanse of geological time
and about how land shapes people around the world.

Today, with over half of humanity living in urban areas,
I think we are at risk of losing our connection to land and to nature,
especially when we continually change the land
and try to bend the natural world to our will.

White River National Forest,

Near Glenwood Springs, Colorado, USA

Photo by M. Louise Barbour

New Overpass Under Construction,

Near Henderson, Nevada, USA

Photo by M. Louise Barbour

For many of the years I taught, my students would study the land
different groups of Native Americans lived on and how its natural resources
provided people with the water, food, shelter, and clothing they needed to survive.

On the surface it seems a simple enough concept, but it is really profound.
If you look at people throughout time and the different environments in which they lived,
it is fascinating to consider how much of their beliefs, culture, arts,
ways of thinking and behavior is derived from their lands.

As I travel through wild areas, I think about how people learned to survive in them,
and how important it is to preserve them for future generations.

Mesa Verde Sandstone and Mancos Shale Palisades,

Near Palisade, Colorado, USA

Photo by M. Louise Barbour

The High Desert in Bloom

Near Laughlin, Nevada, USA

Photo by M. Louise Barbour

Atop San Rafael Swell,

Near Green River, Utah, USA

Photo by M. Louise Barbour

There are still people today for whom their land is home

in ways those of us in urban areas can only begin to grasp.

I feel a deep connection to the magnificent land I traveled across

in Colorado, Utah, and Nevada (plus a tiny piece of Arizona),

but I will never understand it or connect to it the way people for whom it is home do.

When I lived in Lansdowne House in Northern Ontario as a young girl,

I didn't realize that the Ojibwa didn't think
of the wilderness surrounding them as wilderness.

They thought of it as home.

When I came to that realization later, it was surprising,

first because the wild and remote land around Lansdowne House

had seemed harsh and dangerous to me,

and second because once I understood it was home to the Ojibwa,

I couldn't imagine why I had thought otherwise.

Meeting a Summer Plane at the Hudson's Bay Dock

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Canada

Photo (Transparency) by John Macfie

Reference Code: C 330-14-0-0-95

Archives of Ontario, I0012712

www.archives.gov.on.ca

The Ojibwa in Lansdowne House, or Neskantaga as it is now called,
are currently engaged in a struggle to control
how mining development occurs on their land.

The land the Ojibwa love is could not be more different from the land that speaks to me,
one of the world's largest intact wetlands versus the southwestern desert.

In 2012 the Neskantaga Ojibwa released a documentary
We Love Our Land co-produced with PraxisPictures.

The documentary shows the stunning beauty of the Ojibwa land,
explains what it means to them,
and outlines the issues facing them
with the discovery of the Ring of Fire chromium deposits.

I invite you to take a look at one of the most remote
and least visited regions of Canada
to get a sense of what it is like
and the remarkable people who live there.

It is 12:25 minutes long,
so I am also posting a shorter version
that is 3:24 minutes long for your convenience.

We Love Our Land

You Tube Long

We Love Our Land

You Tube Short

Here are a few more photos from Terry's and my trip

across the southwestern wilderness of the United States.

These are from the Virgin River Gorge, one of my most favorite places.

The I-15 highway through the Virgin River Gorge is a marvel of engineering

and remains one of the most expensive portions of the interstate system ever built.

This portion of the Virgin River, some 24 miles long,

drops down from the Colorado Plateau to the Mojave Desert.

The Virgin River Gorge as seen from 20,000 feet.

Interstate 15 crosses the river in this photo.

Wikipedia

The interstate highway passes through the Beaver Dam and Virgin Mountains,

a landscape of eroded, stepped cliffs and sandstone terraces.

Near the Beginning of the Virgin River Gorge

Photo by M. Louise Barbour

In the Middle of the Gorge

Photo by M. Louise Barbour

The Virgin River carved this long canyon and the beautiful canyon of Zion Nation Park.

I have driven through this canyon many times, and never tire of its magnificent rocks.

Along the Virgin River in the Gorge

Photo by M. Louise Barbour

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

Crossing Petite Passage
Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia
Photo Copy by Roy MacBeath
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

Personal Note:
My apology for missing another Northern Post last Friday. Apple solved my computer issues, but then I ran into frustrating connectivity issues. I hope I'm finally back on track.

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Location of Lansdowne House

Known Today as Neskantaga

Wikipedia

Location of Lansdowne House

Wikimedia edited

Ask any elementary student what his or her favorite part of the school day is,
and chances are that he or she will exclaim "Recess!"
The Ojibway children in Landsdowne House a half century ago
were no different from children everywhere.

White or Ojibway, we loved our recess breaks
at my father's Church of England Indian Day School.
We had a fifteen minute recess in the morning and another in the afternoon,
as well as an hour break at lunch,
and we children crammed every bit of energy, movement, and noise
we could into those precious minutes of freedom.

Church of England Indian Day School

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1960

Photo by Don MacBeath

Our activities varied with the weather and season.
We had little in the way of playground equipment,
just a small swing set and a ball or two;
but like children the world over,
we had plenty of inventiveness and imagination.

The younger children, especially the girls,
liked to take turns swinging and pushing each other on the swings,
even in the coldest subzero temperatures.
But many of us opted for more energetic pursuits.

Swing Set at the Roman Catholic School

Father's Island, Lansdowne House, 1960

Photo by Don MacBeath

As I wrote at twelve, a year after I left Lansdowne House:
"Recess and noon hour were times we loved.
In the subzero weather we raced about laughing and shouting.

The Indians had no organized games of their own,
but they enthusiastically joined in ours with a vital interest
unparalleled by white children.

Even boys eighteen and nineteen lapped up Hide and Go Seek.
They plunged vigorously into Red Lights and Green Lights
and went wild over our Giant Steps and Hospital Tag.
But of all games, their favorite was undoubtedly Puss in the Corner.

Puss in the Corner

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Traditional Games of England, Scotland,

and Ireland (Vol II of II), by Alice Bertha Gomme

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

Gutenberg

Each day we arranged ten to fifteen empty, navy-blue oil drums in a large circle.
We needed a "multi-cornered" space, one drum for each child playing,
except for the person who was "It."
The number who wanted to play was amazing!

The child who was "It" would step into the center,
pause while carefully considering the best corner to run to,
then screech "Puss, puss, puss," and the race was on!

There was a mad scramble as everyone changed drums.
The boys were a blur of black leather jackets, blue jeans, and caps,
the girls a maze of multi-colored cotton skirts, blue and red jackets, and flying black hair.
Shrieks and laughter filled the air.
The child who ended up without a drum became the new "It."

Again and again we repeated the cycle,
and the empty oil drums rocked from the noise and banging they took.

A scourge for some, but not for children with an imagination!

Oil Barrels or Drums in the North

Flickr: Provincial Archives of Alberta License

Oil drums were very useful in a number of games.
One winter "drum sport" in particular stands out in my mind.

Eight or nine of us would each select a sturdy looking drum, turn it on end, and mount it.
Carefullying balancing ourselves, we would begin to rock the drum back and forth.
Shortly we would be furiously rocking the drums around and around.
Inevitably the drums would tip, and we would tumble off.
The object of the game was to see who could rock the drum the longest."

Dad's Ojibway Girls at Play (Inside)

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1960

Photo by Don MacBeath

Dad's Ojibway Boys in Their Jackets and Caps

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1960

Photo by Don MacBeath

I look back on these happy times with my Ojibway friends with great fondness.
It was some of the best fun I ever had!
Dad was not out supervising us as we ran and played.
He was probably enjoying a quiet cup of coffee and a quick smoke at his desk
before we all tromped in to resume our lessons.

My Father, Just Before Leaving to Start the School Day

Father's Island, Lansdowne House, 1960

Photo likely by Uno Manilla

I think school would be much improved today
if teachers pushed back against the cutting and eliminating of recess
in the pursuit of improving high stakes test scores.

Children need to run and play outside every day.
In my opinion children learn better when they do.

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

Crossing Petite Passage
Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia
Photo Copy by Roy MacBeath
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Map of Canada

Highlighting Ontario

Wikimedia

Location of Lansdowne House

Wikimedia edited

Lansdowne House

Sketch by M. Louise Barbour

Rough Sketch of Lansdowne House

by Donald MacBeath, Fall 1960

This sketch shows the Father's Island and the tip of the "Mainland" peninsula

that contained the community of Lansdowne House.

#23 My Father's Church of England Indian Day School

#15 Forestry Shack (Our Home)

Black Dots ~ Indian Homes

Never underestimate the imagination and inventiveness of kids.
Set them loose in their environment and watch
what they come up with to entertain themselves.

I don't know who thought of the brilliant idea of barreling,
but surely it was the Ojibway boys;
for I, certainly,
and Roy, unlikely,
would not have conceived of such a thing.

Some of Dad's Ojibway Boys

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1960

Photo by Don MacBeath

Current thinking is that judgement is not fully developed
until twenty-five years old.
Well, I'm here to tell you that it is definitely not developed
by seventeen or eighteen years old.

Barreling was one of the most exciting and dangerous things
I have ever done and perhaps one of the stupidest.

Judgement

Pixabay

Quoting my twelve-year-old self:
"As the mud disappeared we turned to other amusements.
Looking around we saw only the dried up slope
between the nursing station and the playground,
the grassy spot at the bottom,
and several hundred empty oil drums.

Oil Drums: Hauled in and Out by Tractor Trains

An early cat train in Alaska.

A tractor pulling sleds of fuel drums, somewhere between Anchorage and Fairbanks.

It appears there is a second tractor following.

Credit: Mr. Floyd Risvold, USC&GS, 1923

Wikimedia

We looked no further.
Seizing ten drums apiece,
we lined them up several feet apart
at the top of the slope.

Then with a whoop,
we flung ourselves unto the barrels
and rolled down the slope.
We looked like logs bumping down a conveyer belt.

Logs on a Conveyer Belt

Painting: Lumber Industry, 1934, oil on canvas by William Arthur Cooper

Flickr: Cliff License

We did not sound like them, however.
We shrieked, screamed, laughed, and groaned.
What fun as the end of the ride approached!

We did a very unloggish thing.
Gathering our nerve,
we somersaulted off the drums
and rolled to the side
as ten, heavy, huge drums lumbered quickly by.

What a thrilling game!
Needless to say, our mothers soon put an end to this!"

Rolling Over Barrels

pixabay.com

Can you imagine?
I remember the thrill, the taste of death,
as I flung myself face down and straight out on the first oil drum,
and the rush as I flew from barrel to barrel.

As I hit each oil drum, it began rolling down the hill,
gathering speed as it went,
closely followed by the oil drums I had already rolled over.

Those steel drums were hard and unyielding,
and I can still feel my chest and hipbones banging from drum to drum
and see the purple-blue bruises the drums raised.

We flew so fast!
Before we knew it we were shooting off the last barrel
and rolling to the side,
completely aware of what ten 45 gallon oil drums rolling over us
could do if we did not get out of the way.

And did we go down the hill one by one?
No!

It was much more exciting to have two or three of us
lined up side-by-side at the top of the slope
and throwing ourselves on the oil drums at once!

That meant twenty or thirty oil drums barreling down the slope
between the nursing station and the school,
and two or three of us splayed out on the ground,
gasping for air, and congratulating each other on being alive.

Our undoing in this exhilarating drum sport was the nurse, Mike O'Flaherty.
We managed to enjoy ourselves for several recesses before we were caught.

I'm sure we only got away with barreling as long as we did
because it took so long to round up the 45 gallon drums,
roll them up the slope, and line them up at the top just so.
We couldn't get many runs in during our short recesses.

Rolling Oil Drums

Ground crew rolling drums of petrol to Hawker Hurricane Mark IVs of No. 6 Squadron RAF,

during refuelling operations at Araxos, Greece.

Date: between circa 1944 and circa 1945

Wikimedia

At some point Mike happened to glance out a nursing station window
and saw what was going on.

He was likely pausing in his work for a quick cup of coffee
like my father, blissfully ignorant, inside the school.

Mike came flying out of the nursing station
and brought barreling to a screeching halt.

He marched us all into the school
and told my father that this dangerous activity must stop immediately.
He made it graphically clear what could happen if one of us got injured
and just how ill-equipped he was to deal with it.

And for good measure he paid a visit to my mother
and the mothers of the Ojibway students
and repeated his graphic tale of broken bones and crushed heads.

And that was that!
No more barreling in the spring of 1961.

Roy and Me ~ No Fear!

School Photos, Fall 1960

When I look back on my childhood and remember
some of the escapades my brother, sisters, and I got into,
I wonder that we ever made it out alive.

But we did and, dangerous or not, I wouldn't have missed
the excitement and wild joy of barreling for anything!

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

On the Shore of the Annapolis Basin
Smith's Cove, Nova Scotia, Canada
July 24, 2016
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Location of Lansdowne House

Known Today as Neskantaga

Wikipedia

My A Surprise for Daddy tale will unfold in several posts
as the events happened in real time.
That means that my account will be interspersed
among a few other normal events posts
as I follow the chronology of my family's time
in Lansdowne House in 1961.

What happened forever changed my outlook
on life, my parents, and government,

and launched me from credulous childhood into adult reality.

Seriously!

Roy and I as Babies, Christmas 1951

Photographer Unknown

On Thursday, March 16, 1961
my father wrote to our extended family:

Hello There:
How’s everyone this week?
Sorry that I didn’t get around to writing my weekly blurb last week.
I was out to Nakina on business connected with the department
and certain releases that have recently been appearing in the nation’s press.

The Nakina Hotel

(where my father always stayed)

Nakina, Northern Ontario, Fall 1960

Photo by Donald MacBeath

And thereby hangs a tale for all to read, ponder, laugh about,
and finally conduct one’s self accordingly.
It really is a case of the tale (tail) wagging the dog,
only in this case the dog was The Department of Citizenship and Immigration,
which is quite a sizable dog and very adverse to being wagged.

It all happened so innocently as to be laughable,
if it weren’t for its serious implications.
I just hope that it will all turn out to be laughable in retrospect.

In one of my earlier editions of the Letter, or perhaps in several of them,
I commented on the conditions of the Indians at Lansdowne House.

A Lansdowne Letter

Tales of the North

Photo by M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour

This was strictly for family consumption,
but thanks to my precocious energetic eldest daughter and her boundless initiative,
the contents got outside the family and hit the Canadian Press.

Poor Louise;
she read about what I had written
about the need for clothes
and about the poor food
that the Indians have to eat sometimes,
so she decided to surprise Daddy.

School Photo, Fall 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

She was the president of her classroom Junior Red Cross group,
so she gave a talk in class about the Indians of Lansdowne House.
This resulted in the group organizing a drive in Smith’s Cove
for clothes and other forms of relief for the Indians.

I don’t know what happened then, so I can only surmise,
but I imagine that one of two things happened.

Either a reporter for the Digby Courier got wind of the whole thing,
interviewed Louise’s teacher, and exaggerated his findings,
put it in the paper from where it was picked up by the Canadian press,
or Louise’s teacher reported the whole thing to Red Cross headquarters in Halifax,
and they released it to the papers.

Several articles, partially true, partially false, and wholly exaggerated,
appeared in The Toronto Globe and Mail, in the Port Arthur Chronicle, and several Ottawa papers.

Naturally press releases of this nature can be very embarrassing to the government,
and they were quite disturbed about it.
They were frightened that the CCF would pick it up
and question the Minister on the floor of the house.
So far, thank God, nothing like this has happened.

Center Block, Parliament Hill

Ottawa, Canada

Wikimedia

The day before the first article appeared, someone in the department got wind of it,
but only knew that it was written by a teacher from Lansdowne House.

Mr. Gowan, the Indian Agent in Nakina, chartered a plane and flew in to investigate
and to find out who had written the offending letter.
Naturally Uno denied all knowledge of the matter;
and so, embarrassingly for me, did I.
Who’d ever think of a letter written to one’s wife and family
as being connected with an article in the Globe and Mail?

Two Teachers in Lansdowne House

Under Investigation

Uno and Dad with Baby Duncan

(the only photo I have of the two of them)

Photographer Unknown

Poor Gowan!!!
After a very tiresome and expensive trip,
he returned to Nakina no wiser than when he came in.
The first thing he did when he got home was read his paper,
and there was the objectionable article, big as life,
and my name mentioned in it several times.

What could he think, except that I had told him an outright falsehood?
He immediately dispatched a real snarly letter to me,
in which he accused me of being a liar and worse.

My initial reaction to this letter proved that I was a blood relation to my Uncle Chester.
I immediately composed an equally snarly and far more sarcastic letter of reply to Gowan.
However, upon reflection, I decided not to mail it,
thus proving that I may have inherited some of my uncle’s good sense
as well as his fiery temperament.

I talked the whole thing over
with Bill Mitchell at the Bay,
and he advised me to go out to Nakina
and talk to Gowan personally.
This is why I was out at Nakina last week
and was unable to write to you all.

Bill Mitchell,
Hudson's Bay Manager
Lansdowne House, Fall 1960
Photo by Donald MacBeath
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

Austin Airways flew me out for nothing and in for half price,
so it only cost me $15.00 for traveling instead of $60.00.
Sara taught school for me on Friday, so I won’t loose any pay.
The only other expenses were for hotel and meals while I was out.

I succeeded in convincing Gowan that I didn’t intentionally deceive him,
and we are good friends again.
His last word on the subject was to assure my daughter
that she surprised a lot more than Daddy
(or rather to ask me to assure her).

I most likely haven’t heard the last of this yet.
I fully expect to receive letters from Foss and from several department officials
blasting me for my indiscretions.

In fact, I am looking forward to a very interesting mail this weekend
and fully expect to spend most of next week
writing letters of explanation to various irate officials.

Now, for goodness sakes, don’t show any of my letters
to anyone outside the family
and caution everyone to keep quiet
about whatever I have written to you
about the Indians of Lansdowne House.
I don’t think that either Gowan or I could stand
any more press releases of this nature.

Writing Letters Not for Public Consumption

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Fall 1960

Photo by Uno Manilla

Well, so much for my troubles,
and now for a little news about the family.

Sara has put on about ten pounds since she arrived, most of it on the face and tail.
Seriously though, she looks wonderful since she arrived.

The North must agree with her,
for in spite of the fact that she is working harder here
than in the Cove and is quite tired when night comes, as we all are.
She is gaining weight and is more relaxed.
I guess the cod liver oil is helping her.

If she continues to put weight on the latter of the aforementioned areas,
we’ll have to get a girdle for her.
I never thought I’d live to see that day.
It is really wonderful though to see her looking so healthy and happy again.

A Rare Photo with Mom

Mom, Bertie, and Me (back)

Roy, Gretchen, Donnie and Barbie (front)

Sioux Lookout, Ontario, Christmas 1961

Photo by Donald MacBeath

The children are all enjoying Lansdowne House immensely.
They are outside all the time instead of watching TV,
and their cheeks look so rosy that you’d suspect that they were wearing rouge.

You should see Barbara; she is just plastered with freckles.
She looks so cute with them.
Louise and Roy are a great help to me carrying up water.

Poor Louise is rather down in the lip right now,
because she won’t be able to have a large birthday party for her birthday this Saturday,
but I guess she will get over it.
We are just going to have a family celebration for her.

Of course, being Louise, she had great plans
for inviting all the Indians at school to a party,
but I had to squelch that, for it could lead to complications.

Up here, whenever you invite one member of an Indian family,
you automatically invite the whole cotton picking family,
from the grandparents to the newest baby.

I have to sign off and write a couple of official letters.
Bye for now,
Love, Don.

An Even Rarer Photo with Dad (back)

Me, Bertie, Roy, Donnie and Barbie (front)

Sioux Lookout, Ontario, Christmas 1961

Photo by Sara MacBeath

As my father anticipated he hadn't heard the last of it yet.
But that's for future posts.

My father came home from school late and visibly concerned
after Mr. Gowan's hurried trip in and out.

In a small house it's hard to hide emotions and have a private conversation,
so like many parents of that time,
Dad hustled we five children outdoors "to play."
Since it was twilight and nearing suppertime,
I knew something was up.

While we were outside my father told my mother
about the Indian Agent's surprise visit
to track down the teacher who had reported
the dire living conditions of the Indians to the press.

My father told my mother that Gowan had first raked Uno over the coals,
but Uno had vehemently denied any knowledge of the matter.
Then Gowan had questioned him, but he was equally vehement in his denial.
A frustrated and confused Gowan had flown back to Nakina without an explanation.

Imagine Daddy's surprise when my mother raised
the possibility of my Red Cross project gone awry!

I remember my father coming to the backdoor
of our house and calling, "Louise, come here!"
His tone was not encouraging, and I went inside mystified
and worried that I was in trouble for what I had no clue.

My panicked parents, who had just realized that Dad could very well lose his job,
came down on me like a ton of bricks.
"What did you say? What did you do? Who did you tell?"

"I just raised clothes for the starving Indians,"
I cried, dissolving into frightened tears.

To be continued ...

Till next time ~

Fundy Blue.

Westport, Brier Island,

Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia

Notes:

1. The Department:

My father visited the the Indian Agent, Mr. W. G. Gowan, in the Nakina Agency Office in Nakina, Ontario.

The Indian affairs Branch of the Department of Citizenship and Immigration directed the agency office.

(archives.algomau.ca)

2. Indian Agent:
As the chief administrator for the Indian Affair Branch in Nakina, the Indian Agent managed

most aspects of the lives of First Nations people in his jurisdiction which included the aboriginal people in

Lansdowne House (mostly from the Fort Hope Band with a few from the Ogoki and Martin Falls bands).

(My father's unpublished handbook: The Northern School Teacher: A Hand Book To Be Issued To All New

Entrants To The Teaching Profession In The Indian Schools In The Sioux Lookout Indian Agency, 1966.)

Mr. Gowan's power to regulate all the administrative, political, and economic business of the bands in
Lansdowne House came from the amended Indian Act of 1876.
(www.sgdsb.on.ca p. 12)

3. "Strictly for family consumption":

My father entrusted his letters and northern papers to me with the understanding that I intended to write a

memoir of his and our family's time in Lansdowne House, including the Red Cross Project fallout. While I

regret that he and my mother will not read my final draft, they both read an early draft called Human Refuse

which I wrote for an advanced composition course at Cal State Fullerton in 1978.

4. CCF:
I think my father was referring to the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation, a social democratic party
founded in Canada in 1932. In August 1961 the CCF joined forces with the Canadian Labour Congress
to form the New Democratic Party (NDP). Its purpose was to make social democracy more popular among
Canadian voters.
Wikipedia

5. The Minister:
My father was referring to The Right Honourable Ellen Fairclough, the Minister of Citizenship and Immigration.
in 1961. Fairclough served as a member of the Canadian House of Commons from 1950 to 1963, and she was
the first woman to serve in the Canadian Cabinet. She was also the only woman ever to serve as Acting Prime
Minister of Canada (from February 19 to February 20, 1958).
Wikipedia

6. The Digby Courier:
I have had a difficult time trying to locate the original newspaper articles, although
I do have a copy of the account that appeared in the Thursday, March 16, 1961 edition of The Digby Courier.
My father wrote the letter in this post on the same day, but he did not know about the Courier article at that time.

7. Mr. Gowan and Uno:

Mr. Gowan questioned Uno first because he never thought that my father, a former officer of the Royal
Canadian Air Force, would be guilty of such an indiscretion.
(My father's unpublished handbook: The Northern School Teacher.)

8. Mr. F. Foss:

Mr. Foss was the Indian Schools Inspector who worked for the Education Division of the Indian Affairs Branch.

Mr. Foss would visit each of his various schools, including in Lansdowne House, two or three times a year.
(archives.algomau.ca p. 6)

9. Accuracy:
I am not a trained historical researcher, but I am doing my best to track down accurate and corroborating sources.
If there are any mistakes in facts I've presented in this post, they are mine alone.

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Map of Canada

Highlighting Ontario

Wikimedia

Location of Lansdowne House and Nakina

Wikimedia edited

Thursday, March 9, 1961 must have been a quite day for my parents.
They went from an uneventful and enjoyable evening
playing bridge with Bill and Rhea Mitchell the night before
to the "Starving Indians of Lansdowne House" story
exploding in their lives on the 9th.

Events happened quickly, and I have been trying to piece them together
based on my parents' letters and my fragmented memories.

A Rare Photo of Our Parents with Us (before Bertie)

Ready to Ride on the Maid of the Mist at Niagara Falls, circa 1958

Dad and Mom (back) with Donnie, Roy, Louise (Me), and Barbie

As best as I can reconstruct at this point,
Mr. Gowan, the Indian Agent from the Nakina Agency Office,
flew into and out of Lansdowne House that Thursday morning
to question the community's two teachers, Uno Manilla and my father,
about the newspaper articles hitting the Canadian press.

Upon returning to Nakina a confused and frustrated Gowan
then read a newspaper article naming my father
as the Lansdowne House teacher writing letters
about the deplorable living conditions of the Indians.

My father said in his March 16th extended family letter
that Gowan immediately dispatched a "real snarly letter" to him.
In his unpublished handbook my father wrote
that Gowan got on the air and blistered the airways
because Gowan's opinion of him was "certainly not of the highest."

Since the only way to immediately dispatch a letter
to Lansdowne House at that time was by telegraph,
I'm guessing that Gowan fired off his letter by telegraph to the Hudson's Bay post
and followed it up by a blistering shortwave radio call to my father at the post.

That prompted my sometimes fiery-tempered father
to write his own "snarly" and "sarcastic" letter
to Gowan which, fortunately, he decided not to mail.

I imagine him at his desk at school
hurriedly scratching it down on paper
in his characteristic, almost unreadable handwriting,
then balling it up and pitching it into a wastebasket.

At that point he returned home to find out if his wife could shed any light
on how the content of his personal letters had landed in the press.

My mother was correct when she raised the possibility
that the "Starving Indians of Lansdowne House" story
had its origin in my fifth grade Red Cross Project
in tiny Smith's Cove Elementary School in rural Nova Scotia.

The realization was staggering to my parents.

They called me in from playing outside,
and in their panic they hit me with a barrage of questions:
"What did you say? What did you do? Who did you tell?"

My agitated father paced back and forth in our tiny kitchen,
unable to contain his nervous energy,
while my worried mother stood by the kitchen counter,
her dark eyes large in her pale face.

My Parents' Graduation Photos

Acadia University, Wolfville, Nova Scotia, 1950

My mother did not actually graduate until 1967

because of the sudden death of Dad's father and my arrival.

Their dismay was palpable, and I knew that something bad had happened,
something that shook my parents' confidence and could upend our lives.

"The Indians, what did you say about the Indians?" my father barked.

"In your speech to your class, during your Red Cross Project,"
my mother added more calmly.

My mind rocketed back to that first week in January
when I had won a prize in school for giving the best speech in my class,
that speech that initiated my Red Cross Project,
that speech that mentioned the starving baby in the tikinogin,
the one with a distended belly and matchstick arms and legs.

"I just raised clothes for the starving Indians,"
I cried, dissolving into frightened tears.

Drawing on the unfathomable reservoir
of strength and courage
she possessed throughout her life,
my mother went to me
and folded me into her arms.

"It's okay, Weesie.
It's going to be okay.
You've done nothing wrong."

Her soothing words calmed
my father down enough
that we were able to sit
at the kitchen table
and sort out what happened.

Sara Margaret (MacDonald) MacBeath
Acadia University, Wolfville, Circa 1950
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

I had been sharing my father's Lansdowne Letters in my class
at school throughout the fall and winter.

I gave a speech about the starving Indians in Lansdowne House in early January.
It impacted my classmates and teacher enough
that we decided to help the Indians as a Junior Red Cross project.

We wanted to collect food, but my teacher Miss Sidey suggested
that clothes might be more practical to donate to the Red Cross
because they wouldn't spoil and were easier to transport.
We organized a clothing drive and gathered
five huge cartons of winter clothing for the Indians.

Meanwhile Dad had obtained permission
from the Department of Lands and Forests
for us to live in their house in Lansdowne House
and suddenly we were on our way North,
just as my teacher was arranging to send the cartons of clothing
to the provincial Red Cross headquarters in Halifax.

Immigrant Children with Red Cross Port Workers

at Halifax's Famous Pier 21

Nova Scotia, Canada, 1948

Wikimedia

With all that my mother had to do to pack and to prepare
to travel to the North with five young children,
she never had a chance to talk with Miss Sidey before we left.
My parents weren't sure how the press got the story,
but it must have been through my teacher Miss Sidey.

Dad returned to the Hudson's Bay post to talk the situation over with Bill Mitchell
while Mom got my brother and sisters inside and fed.
That was my mother, comforting and serving food while weathering any storm.

When Mitchell suggested that Dad fly out to talk to Gowan personally,
he must have hitched a free ride on an Austin Airways flight
that happened to pass through Lansdowne House later that afternoon.
My mother wrote that the pilot flew low over our house
to bid us good-bye as the plane headed for Nakina.

A Modern DeHavilland DC-6 "Twin Otter"

The North Relied on Bush Pilots and Their Bush Planes

Flickr: Sahtu Wildlife License

I think the way people rallied around my father
and helped our family during this difficult time
was a measure of how well-liked and well-respected he was.

They all pitched in:
from Mitchell and Austin Airways,
to Mike who came to light the kerosene lamps for us that evening,
to Maureen who watched Bertie the following day while my mother taught,
to Mike, Duncan, and Milt who were ready to bring water to us
if Dad were delayed by bad weather in Nakina.

While Dad spent an anxious night at the Nakina Hotel,
Mom put Barbie and Bertie to bed
and organized Donnie, Roy, and me to write letters to Nana.
Then she kept her promise to Dad and wrote a letter to his mother
sharing the family news, but never mentioning why Dad had to fly to Nakina.

Anticipating her first time teaching she wrote to her mother-in-law:
"I am teaching school tomorrow morning, perhaps in the afternoon too. ...
It will be quite an experience for I imagine the Indian children won't talk to me.
All the Indians here are very friendly."

In my Lansdowne Letter posts, I've shared much more about my father than my mother,
largely because I am working with his letters, papers, and photographs
and because he was the Indian teacher with the career
and she was the one at home running the household.

My Mother and Father Leaving Smith's Cove Baptist Church

in a Rain of Confetti after Their Wedding

Smith's Cove, Nova Scotia, September 4, 1948

But, like many mothers around the world, my mother was remarkable.
In Lansdowne House she faced challenges from poor health,
to financial insecurity, to managing a home with with no running water or electricity.
Yet through it all she sheltered us in an environment rich with love, security, and happiness.

From the moment she told me, "It's okay, Weesie. It's going to be okay,"
she acted as if it were, hiding all the worries swirling inside her.
She distracted us with letter writing, even as she anticipated walking into
a multi-grade classroom filled with Ojibway children and four of her own ~
with no training, no teaching experience, and no time to prepare.

The gift she gave me
that day was reassurance.

I was able to return to
more appropriate pursuits
like anticipating my birthday party
and tobogganing outside,
rather than worrying
about the newspaper scandal
and jeopardizing my father's job.

A Small Moment of Happiness
My Mother and Me
Smith's Cove, Nova Scotia, Canada, Summer 1952
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

My Parents, Don and Sara MacBeath (right)

with Unknown Friends

Acadia University, Wolfville, Circa 1948

Meanwhile "my" five large cartons had traveled
to Red Cross Headquarters in Halifax.
Unsure what to do with them, the Red Cross
contacted the RCAF Maritime Command in Halifax.

Because of the apparent urgency of the situation in Lansdowne House,
and because my father was a former officer in the Royal Canadian Air Force,
the Commanding Air Officer of Maritime Command
authorized the airlifting of the cartons of clothing to RCAF Transport Command
in Trenton in southern Ontario en route to Lansdowne House.

Modern Royal Canadian Air Force

Boeing CC-117 Globemaster

a military transport plane on approach to Canadian Forces Base, Trenton, 2009

Wikipedia

Note: To see an RCAF Maritime Command plane of 1961 vintage click here.

To be continued ...

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

Bay of Fundy out of Westport, Brier Island
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

Notes:

1. Bill and Rhea Mitchell:

Bill was the manager of the Hudson's Bay Post in Lansdowne House and married to Rhea.

2. My father's unpublished handbook:
The Northern School Teacher: A Hand Book To Be Issued To All New
Entrants To The Teaching Profession In The Indian Schools In The Sioux Lookout Indian Agency, 1966.

3. Telegraphs and Shortwave Radios:
To the best of my knowledge, the only place that had both a telegraph machine and a shortwave radio
in Lansdowne House was the Hudson's Bay Post. Because of its nature, Bill Mitchell would have gotten
the telegram to my father immediately.

4. Prize Winning Speech: The Lansdowne Letters: Disappointing News

5. My Red Cross Project: The Lansdowne Letters: Keepers and Burners

6. Distended Belly: The Lansdowne Letters: Cruel Realities

7. Miss Sidey:

Miss Isabel Sarah Sidey, my fifth grade teacher at Smith's Cove Elementary School. Obituary

8. Mike O'Flaherty:

Mike was the nurse at the nursing station in Lansdowne House and a good friend of my parents.

9. Duncan and Maureen McRae:

Duncan worked for the Department of Transport, and one of his duties was running the weather

station in Lansdowne House. He and his wife Maureen were good friends with my parents.

10. Milt MacMahon:

Milt MacMahon was the other DOT employee in Lansdowne House.

11. Airlift:

Information from The Digby Courier article: "Smith's Cove Residents Aid Family in the North," March 16,

1961.

12. Accuracy:

I am not a trained historical researcher, but I am doing my best to track down accurate and corroborating sources.

If there are any mistakes in facts I've presented in this post, they are mine alone.

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Route Map for Austin Airways, 1985

with Lansdowne House west of James Bay

Wikipedia

Location of Smith's Cove and Halifax

Wikimedia

Location of Canadian Forces Base Trenton

MLA 7th Edition: Haycock, Ronald G. Canadian Forces Base Trenton.

The Canadian Encyclopedia. Toronto: Historical Canada, 2006.

Web 8 Feb 2006.

Canada Wikimedia

After my father left for Nakina on March 16, 1961

in an effort to calm down Mr. Gowan the Indian Agent
and save his own job, a wall of silence regarding
“The Starving Indians of Lansdowne House Incident"
dropped down around me.

It was as if all the white adults in the community had agreed
to say nothing about it in my presence.

Living in a remote northern community
as a ten-turning-eleven-year-old meant
that the world largely ceased to exist beyond the horizon.

My family had no telephone and no television.
Without an aerial, the only transistor radio reception
we had was intermittently via atmospheric skip.
The newspapers and magazines that came
in by plane were at least two weeks old.

My only contact with the Outside was by letter.
So there was little opportunity for me to find out more
about the cartons of clothing my class had gathered
for the Ojibway people in Lansdowne House.

Duncan McRae in Isolated Lansdowne House

Looking Toward the Father's Island

Northern Ontario, Canada, Winter 1961

Photograph by Donald MacBeath

Life rolled along, and no one would ever guess what was happening
by reading Mom’s newsy letter to Nana:

On Thursday, March 23, 1961
my mother wrote to her mother-in-law, Myrtle:

My Mother, Sara (MacDonald) MacBeath
Circa 1948
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

Dear Mother:
Most of the birthdays are over now.
The children all loved the things you sent.
The blouses were lovely.
The overalls you sent for Roberta
will come in very handy.
We will save them for special occasions.

My Grandmother, Myrtle (Pratt) MacBeath
Circa 1958
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

Roberta has gained a pound since we arrived.
She doesn’t want to stay in the house at all.
Every day she brings her boots and coat for me to put on her.
She roars if I won’t.

She spends the whole morning outside,
and after her nap, the rest of the day.
She has learned to walk in her boots.

Duncan Jr. came over and spent the day with us today.
Roberta and Dunc had a great time together.
However every once in a while,
Roberta would take his boots and coat to him
as if to say, “It’s time to go home now.”

Baby Dunc and Baby Bertie

Lansdowne House 1960 and Montreal 1961

Photo of Duncan by Donald MacBeath

Photo of Roberta by Dawn White

Louise had a three decker birthday cake,
two layers chocolate and one white.

Louise made a white cake for Barbara.

Of course, they both had flashy icing.

My One Birthday Photo

Mom with Me (center)

Sister Donnie (lower right)

Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, Canada 1956

Don and I went over to the school last night,
and Don worked on his inventories.

We went to Dunc and Maureen's for coffee.
Anne, Mike, and little Kathie were there.

When they were getting ready to go home, they put her in her tikinogin.
Kathie loves it, and no wonder. It’s lined with fur and a flannelette blanket.
They can stand them up and rock them or lay them down like a bed.
They are much better than a baby carriage.

Ojibway Woman with Baby in Tikinogin

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Canada, 1960

Photo by Donald MacBeath

All in all we’ve had a very peaceful week.
Donnie and Roy also enjoyed the things you sent.
The girls like their barrettes and wear them all the time.

Maureen is going to shampoo and set Louise’s hair with a Toni, I think.
Louise is spending Friday and Saturday with them.

Maureen is going to teach Louise how to sew and use a sewing machine.
They are going to make a skirt for Louise out of a pretty floral grey and blue material.
I must close for now and get at the grocery order.

I hope you and Aunt Maude are both well. We all miss you.

With love,
Sara

P.S. The plastic panties will certainly come in handy.
Thank you for your thoughtfulness.
Sara

Roy, Donnie, and Barbie

My mother’s letters remind me always of the happy childhood I had,
and it’s fun to hear her anecdotes about us as children.

Fortunately for Bertie, who loved playing outdoors so much,
every Ojibway adult in the neighborhood kept a sharp eye on her.
Once Bertie learned to walk, she covered territory fast.

If she stumbled in her boots, they came running with a stick of wood,
a shovel, anything they could grab in case the Indian dogs went for her.

They made sure she didn’t wander too far from the back door.
I remember one time in the spring when she started off
on the path through the bush to school with her dolly.
An Ojibway man found her sitting in a puddle and washing her dolly
and immediately carried toddler and dolly back to Mom.

This letter vividly brings back my overnight stay at Duncan and Maureen’s home.
Maureen, even though she was married and the mother of Baby Dunc,
was only ten or eleven years older than I.
Since there were no white girls my age in the village,
she took me under her wing and spent many hours with me sewing,
baking cookies, and talking so that I wouldn’t feel lonely.

Maureen McRae Pulling Groceries on a Toboggan
Father's Island, Lansdowne House, Winter 1961
McRae Home, Mainland, Lansdowne House (right)
Photos by Donald MacBeath
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

But the things I remember most from that weekend
were the radio which played constantly thanks to the DOT aerial
and the astounding news report I heard.

The broadcast which came out of Winnipeg
reported that the situation among the starving Indians
in northern Ontario was so dire that
the Air Force was parachuting emergency food supplies
into the isolated communities.

To be continued ...

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

Bay of Fundy out of Westport, Brier Island
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

Notes:

1. Mr. Gowan: As the chief administrator for the Department of Indian Affairs in Nakina,

the Indian Agent managed the lives of all First Nations people in his jurisdiction

which included the native people in Lansdowne House.

2. White Adults:

As a white girl turning eleven, I had little occasion to interact with Ojibway adults other than at the weekly

movies or if I crossed paths with them around the community.

3. Atmospheric Skip:

Wikipedia:
"In radio communication, skywave or skip refers to the propagation of radio waves reflected or refracted
back toward Earth from the ionosphere, an electrically charged layer of the upper atmosphere. Since it is not
limited by the curvature of the Earth, skywave propagation can be used to communicate beyond the horizon,
at intercontinental distances. It is mostly used in the shortwave frequency bands.

"As a result of skywave propagation, a signal from a distant AM broadcasting station, a shortwave station,
or—during sporadic E propagation conditions (principally during the summer months in both hemispheres)—
a low frequency television station can sometimes be received as clearly as local stations.

Most long-distance shortwave (high frequency) radio communication—between 3 and 30 MHz—is a result
of skywave propagation. Since the early 1920s amateur radio operators (or "hams"), limited to lower transmitter
power than broadcast stations, have taken advantage of skywave for long distance (or "DX") communication."

Skywave or Skip hf / Shortwave Propagation

Wikipedia

4. Duncan, Maureen, and Duncan Jr. McRae:

Duncan worked for the Department of Transport, and one of his duties was running the weather
station in Lansdowne House. He and his wife Maureen were good friends with my parents.
Their infant son Duncan "Duncan" Jr. (about 11 months old) often played with my sister Bertie
(almost 24 months old).

5. Mike, Anne, and little Kathie: Mike O'Flaherty was the nurse at the Nursing Station.
Anne was his wife and Kathie their daughter (about 5 months old).

6. Toni Hair Home Perm: What every straight-haired young girl longed for.

7. News Report:

This was one of two media reports I heard or saw at the time. The other was a newspaper clip I saw
on a table at a later time at the McRae house. The newspaper clip also reported the parachuting of supplies
for the starving Indians into Northern Ontario. I don't know what newspaper the clip came from.

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Route Map for Austin Airways, 1985

with Lansdowne House west of James Bay

Wikipedia

Location of Lansdowne House and Nakina

Wikimedia edited

Lansdowne House

Sketch by M. Louise Barbour

It's the first Wednesday
of the month ~
the day when members of the
Insecure Writer's Support Group
share their writing struggles
and offer their encouragement
and support to other members.

To visit the IWSG website, click here.

To become a member of the IWSG, click here.

Our wonderful co-hosts who are stepping up to help IWSG founder Alex J. Cavanaugh are:
J.H. Moncrieff, Madeline Mora-Summonte, Jen Chandler, Megan Morgan, and Heather Gardner.

I hope you have a chance to visit them and thank them for co-hosting.
I'm sure they would appreciate an encouraging comment!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Every month the IWSG announces a question
that members can answer with advice, insight,
a personal experience, or story in their IWSG posts.

Or, the question can inspire members
if they are struggling with something to say.

Remember, the question is optional!!!
This month's IWSG featured question is:

Did you ever say “I quit”?
If so, what happened to make you come back to writing?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When it comes to writing, I have never said, "I quit."
Never, ever.

On occasion I have had to defer working on certain pieces,
but I have never quit one forever.

During the years that I was working, I had to put aside my goal
of writing my memoir about my family's time
in the North among the Ojibway people.
My career was all consuming, and I couldn't find
the time and energy to devote to such an undertaking.

But I am writing it now, slowly, but surely.

Memoir Writing: A Learning Process
One of Many Temporary Writing Spots

Bullhead City, Arizona, USA

When I said that my career was all consuming, it was no understatement.
It was slowly killing me, much as I loved teaching elementary children.
I retired early, thanks to the urging of my husband, my sister-in-law, and my siblings.

Heading in for My Last Day of Work

June 6, 2012
Aurora, Colorado, USA

When I woke up five years ago today on my first day of retirement,
I was mentally and physically exhausted.
I had often thought about waking up on that day,
but it wasn't like I had imagined: Whoo hoo! Freedom!
No, I was shot.
I went back to sleep and slept the better part of Day 1 and Day 2.

Tackling that deferred memoir was not #1 on the list.
The thought of it was terrifying.

I started with walking, with regaining my health.
I decided to walk to St. Anthony, Newfoundland
from Aurora, Colorado, metaphorically speaking,
by recording all my actual walks, day by day.

The Finish Line I'm Headed For

Me, St. Anthony, Newfoundland, Canada, July 2011

As of last night, June 6, 2017,
I have walked 3,274.7 miles or 5,270 kilometers.

I'm about 1.7 miles shy of River of Ponds, Newfoundland,
with 140 miles to go to reach the finish line.

I'm closing in on St. Anthony!!!!!

Closing in on St. Anthony!!!!!

Blue Route, The Great Northern Peninsula, Newfoundland, Canada

Bullhead City, Arizona, December 15, 2016

If I can walk to St. Anthony, I can do anything!!!!!

I was retired for over five months before I confronted
the goal of writing my memoir. I began on November 27, 2012.
It has been a slog through the muskeg, and I've got a ways to go.
But I'll get there!

IWSG Reads:
This year I set a goal of reading at least five books
by fellow Insecure Writer's Support Group members.

This month I've read two more.

IWSG

The first was the latest IWSG Anthology,
Hero Lost: Mysteries of Death and Life.

It has been great fun reading the stories
of authors I have come to know
through the IWSG.

I enjoyed each of the twelve stories in the anthology,
but I particularly connected with The Wheat Witch by Erika Bebee.
It has such a sense of place, and I have often found
my way into reading and writing through landscapes.

Kansas has a subtle beauty in all seasons,
and it was among the winter, stubbled, wheat fields of Kansas
that I began to come back to life after a devastating divorce.
I fell under the spell of the wheat witch as quickly as Ethan,
and remained in it after Ethan's return to life.

It's Rhyme Time

The second was Pat Hatt's latest novel,
The Connective.

This is the third Pat Hat novel
that I've read,
and what I have learned for sure
is that his books are going to be a wild ride.
You have to let go of all expectations and hang on!

This is the story of Travis and Sally and their widowed mother
who move to a small community in rural Nova Scotia
to rebuild their lives after their tragic loss.

On the first evening a neighbor boy Billy taps on Travis's bedroom window
and whispers a sinister warning to Sally and him:
"Get out now ... Go before The Connective makes you a part of them."
Sally and Travis dismiss Billy's warning as a little weird,
but they are about to find out that their new town
is weirder than they could possibly imagine.

Overnight Sally and her mother are merged into The Connective,
and Travis discovers they are radically changed in the morning.

It is up to him, along with Billy and a few others who have not been merged,
to find a way to destroy the ancient power behind The Connective.
They all want to rescue their families and friends
and escape with their lives, which is easier said than done!

No Confusing the Two Sides in The Connective

Good Versus Evil ~ Jordan Fall: Deviant Art

License

The farther I got into The Connective the faster I read,
until I was racing through the final 50 or 60 pages.

Wild is an understatement,
but Pat captured how kids think
and how they tackle scary mysteries
with imagination, derring-do, and half-baked plans.

In their conversations, I heard echoes of words and idioms
from my own childhood in rural Nova Scotia,
and I was reminded of the wild escapades my brother and I got into.

If you, as a reader, have difficulty suspending disbelief
or have an inner Grammar Nazi, then this book may not be for you.

If Samuel Tayler Coleridge could suspend disbelief
in a fantastic tale for sheer enjoyment,
then it works for me ~ I like letting go for the ride.

And, after decades of teaching young kids
and communicating with my family's NexGen,
it's a relief to retire my inner Grammar Nazi.
English is in flux, and I'm in flux with it.

Pat is the most prolific writer I know,
and half the fun is seeing what on earth he is going to do next.
He knows no boundaries and enjoys tackling all sorts of genres
just for the fun and challenge of it.

Pat has a work ethic as a writer and blogger that doesn't quit,
and he has published dozens of books of all lengths, rhymed and unrhymed.
He doesn't agonize over the perfect sentence or the perfect subplot;
he's done and on to the next adventure.
I find it fascinating to watch Pat grow as a writer from book to book.

Guaranteed I'll be reading the next book in this series.
I can't resist the fun!

Happy writing in June!

Along Piney Creek
Where I Have Racked Up Hundreds of Miles
Walking to St. Anthony

Aurora, Colorado, USA

When I heard on the radio that the Air Force was parachuting
food supplies into northern Ontario for the starving Indians,
I ran to the McRaes' kitchen window and searched the bright blue sky.

I was excited to think that my Red Cross Project
had moved the government to help
my Ojibway friends and neighbors.

I hoped that the Air force would
parachute my clothing cartons
into Lansdowne House
along with the emergency food.

A Young Idealist
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

I could see those cartons hanging from canopies
and drifting lazily down to land on the ice
between the Father's Island and the mainland.

I could see people dashing to the ice, opening the cartons, and passing around
the winter clothing that the people of Smith's Cove had generously donated
to the Red Cross clothing drive at school.

I could see them wrapping coats around themselves
and pulling on mittens and scarves,
some knitted by my grandmother's friends in Smith's Cove.
I could hear their excited chatter and laughter.

Between the Father's Island and the Mainland

At this time my father lived in the brown shack

between the church and the white rectory on the island.

Photograph by Father Maurice Ouimet, Fall 1960

That bright blue sky remained empty in all directions.
I searched it for several days, but nothing blossomed to mar that crystalline blue.
I came to the shocking conclusion that some news reports might not be accurate.

Empty Skies Above Northern Ontario

"Neighboring" Webequie

Northern Ontario, Canada, December 1960

Photograph by Donald MacBeath

Oh, I was aware that the world could be unfair, unjust, and cruel
and that lies, deceit, and evil existed. But that was Elsewhere.

Canada's Flag 1957-1965
Wikimedia

This was Canada:
The True North Strong and Free.

As I grappled with a growing sense of disappointment,
my father's worries began to ease.
Unexpectedly new hope appeared on his horizon.

On Thursday, March 23, 1961
my father wrote to the extended family:

My Father, Donald MacBeath
Fall 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

How's everyone today?
I haven't had too much time for private writing this week,
so this will be a short one.

Well, so far I haven't received any of the expected blasts about press the releases.
In fact, the only official letter that I received last week
was one telling me that my name was being considered for a nice promotion.

I received word from R. F. Davey, Chief of the Education Branch,
that my name was being considered for appointment
as supervising principal for the Sioux Lookout Indian Agency.

In this position I would be responsible for the administration
and supervision of about fifteen schools, most of them accessible only by air.
My immediate superior would be the district supervisor at North Bay.
My headquarters would be in Sioux Lookout.

I would get a good increase in salary, but I would loose my isolation allowance,
so my actual increase would be about $500.00 a year.

I would also be responsible for a crash building program
that the department is undertaking for the next five years.
They plan to replace nearly all the schools with new ones.

It would be just wonderful if I got this job,
because it would mean that I would be in the north
or near enough to indulge in my love for the north;
and at the same time my family would be able to indulge in their love
for the pleasures and advantages of civilization.

Sioux Lookout is a town about the size of Wolfville, N.S.,
and is on the northern CNR trans-continental line about 250 miles west of Nakina.
The town has excellent educational, residential, and medical facilities.

Train Station

Sioux Lookout, Ontario, Canada

Flickr: Seán Ó Domhnaill License

I was very favorably impressed with the town the only time I was there,
which was just about Christmas, when I went out as an escort for that sick Indian woman.

Well, I guess you've had it for this week.
It is quite late, and I still have to teach at Lansdowne House tomorrow.
I will try to write a longer letter next week.

The reason I am so pressed for time this week
was that I spent this week making up the annual requisitions.
I only received the forms last week,
and they had to be in by this week's mail.
Since my name is being considered for a promotion,
I couldn't afford to be late submitting them.

Well, bye for now,
Love, Don.

My Parents in More Carefree Days

Dating at Acadia University

Wolfville, Nova Scotia, Canada

It's true. It never rains but it pours.
Although my parents kept it carefully hidden from me and my siblings,
they must have been under great stress.

In the middle of the scandal over the press releases,
the hurried trips in and out of Lansdowne House by the Indian agent and my father,
and dealing with the real fear of my father loosing the job they desperately depended upon,
Dad gets a letter about a potential promotion
and has to scramble to get together requisitions for the next school year,
plus pump fuel and carry water.

My parents must have been agonizing over
whether my father would get a promotion or be drummed out
of the Education Division of the Indian Affairs Branch in disgrace.

Meanwhile I was still searching the skies with lessening hope,
and learning the bitter taste of disillusionment.

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

Bay of Fundy out of Westport, Brier Island
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

Notes:

1. R. F. Davey, Chief of the Education Division:
The Education Division was part of the Indian Affairs Branch which in turn was part of the Department
of Citizenship and Immigration. Mr. Davey, the Chief, worked in Ottawa.

2. Miles to Kilometers:
250 miles = 402 kilometers

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Canada

with the Provinces of Ontario and Nova Scotia

Wikimedia

Location of Smith's Cove and Wolfville

Wikimedia

Communities in Ontario

Wikimedia edited

Another crisis hit my parents in the spring of 1961,
but at least this one could be contained and resolved.

Snowy Day in Lansdowne House

Out Our Front Window, Forestry Department

Northern Ontario, 1961

Painting by Don MacBeath

Friday, March 31, 1961
My father wrote:

Hello Everybody:
Thanks goodness that we were snowed in today,
or I would never have gotten this off this week.
Last night (mail night) was my birthday,
and Duncan and Maureen came over to help me to celebrate the occasion.

Duncan and I gave the distaff sides of the two partnerships
a terrible trimming at bridge. We beat them by about 2200 points.

Best Buds

Dad (left) Duncan (right)

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1960

I have been sitting on pins and needles waiting to hear
from Ottawa regarding that position in Sioux Lookout.
I don’t imagine I have a hope in Hades of getting it,
but a fellow can hope.

Actually, in spite of my pessimistic pronouncements
on the subject, I am quite hopeful.
I can’t imagine they would have written to me regarding it,
if they hadn’t been giving me, or my name, some consideration.
It would sure be wonderful I did get it.

Sara has gained another five pounds and has now reached 110 pounds
for a total gain of 15 pounds since she came north.
She is looking better every day, although the faint possibility,
which I thought was so preposterous when she first arrived,
that of having to get her a girdle,
doesn’t seem nearly so preposterous now.

She is threatening to go on a diet now. The very idea!!!!!
She hasn’t looked so good or so healthy in a long time.
I have hopes of getting her up to at least 120 pounds by spring.

My Mother, Sara MacBeath

Location Unknown, Circa 1950

In the previous paragraph I used the phrase
“before spring,” because it is still very much winter up here.
In the last ten days or so we have had a couple of bad blizzards
and a real bad ice and sleet storm.

Also, the night before last, Lansdowne House received some fleeting notoriety.
We had the dubious honour of being the coldest place in Canada--17 below.

Right now Sara is making like a chartered accountant
and is trying to get her account books in order.
I can’t help her, for I am afraid that her mathematics
are too devious for a mere man like me to follow.

I must give her credit though, for after a series
of darns, gosh darns, and oh damns,
she always manages to get everything to balance.

We are facing a crisis right now, that of an Easter Eggless Easter,
but I imagine we will weather it by substituting chocolate bars and other forms of candy.
We still have not become completely accustomed to the northern method
of ordering everything like this months in advance.

Chick with Eggs

pixabay

Tomorrow night the Mitchells are coming over for bridge.
I am looking forward to a beating then, for Sara and Bill always play Rhea and me,
and while they seem to click like they had been playing together for twenty years,
Rhea and I have yet to reconcile our different systems of playing and bidding.
If it is possible at all for us to misconstrue each other’s bids, we do it.

I was just thinking how amazing it is that two people can view
the same situation and experience such different emotional reactions.
For example the Easter holidays have started, and while I am positively delighted
that I am able to stay home from school for the next ten days,
Sara is utterly appalled at the prospects of having
the four children home for the next ten days.

The Father and the Brother are also coming over soon for bridge
-- next Tuesday to be precise.
However since I always play with the Father and Sara plays with the Brother,
and because I enjoy the same success with the Father that Sara enjoys with Bill Mitchell,
and also because Sara and the Brother are bothered like Rhea and me,
I am looking forward to a successful evening.
That last sentence was a whopper, wasn’t it?

Father Ouimet, Don MacBeath, and Brother Bernier

Kitchen in Roman Catholic Mission

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1961

Sara is now reading back issues of The Guardian.
I just heard her exclaim with surprise that Liz Taylor was sick.
She just asked me if Liz had died.

Now she has just discovered that George Formby had died.
Nothing like being up to date on the news, eh.

The aerial for our radio just arrived,
and Duncan is coming over to help me put it up the first fine day.
Then Sara ought to be able to keep up with the news with more success.

Well, I have just about dried up as a source of news for this week,
so I’ll let Sara get in a few licks and close out this week’s letter for me.

Bye now,
Love, Don.

Sara and Don MacBeath

Wolfville, Nova Scotia, Canada, circa 1960

My mother added to my father's letter:

Hello Everybody:
I am also reading the Contract Bridge Section in the papers,
so I can disappoint Don when we play with the Father and Brother.

There isn’t much more that I can think to say
except that I hope you are all well
and that the Easter Bunny is good to each and every one of you.

Love, Sara.

Contract Bridge

Wikimedia

My father had a childish delight in Easter.
I'd like to say it was all about the Christian celebration of Easter,
but it wasn't. It was all about him hiding eggs as the Easter Bunny.

There were always treats that were almost impossible to find.
He divided whatever house we were living in into sections for each of us to search,
and he adjusted the difficulty of the hiding places according to our abilities.

We didn't have Easter baskets filled with goodies like our American cousins did.
We had to hunt down every egg and other items, one by one.

We earned our booty,
especially as our father had a streak of devilment in him that surfaced every Easter.

Wikimedia

I can still hear my father going from area to area
and helping his perplexed kids with an encouraging,
"You're getting hotter, hotter."
Or "colder, colder."

Like I was going to find the egg
replacing a battery in his electric razor
or the egg hidden in hollowed out slices
in the middle of a loaf of bread
without his, "You're hot! You're burning hot!"

Meanwhile our mother was also helping us, going from area to area.
She had assisted my father hiding the Easter eggs the night before.
He had spent hours at it, laughing with delight as he went about his bunny duties,
especially whenever he found a really original hiding place.

Dad was driven by the theory that since we kids had waited so long with such excitement
that he should make the fun last as long as possible.

Mom, taking pity on us, would nod toward a hiding place
with a slight tilt of her head or a subtle point with a finger.

I can still remember, as second grader,
searching our living room in Alymer, Ontario.
The very first things I found were two fluffy chicks
and a marshmallow egg underneath the edge of the chesterfield.
The thrill of spotting those yellow chicks
shot down through my body right to my toes:
The Easter Bunny had really come!

As much as hunting down those eggs frustrated me at times,
I'd dearly love to have Dad hide a few for me next Easter.
How we all loved those Easters!

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

On the Shore of the Annapolis Basin
Smith's Cove, Nova Scotia, Canada
July 24, 2016
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

Notes:

1. Mail Night: Typically the once-weekly mail plane flew into Lansdowne House on Fridays to drop off and pick
up mail. That meant many people spent Thursday night, or "Mail Night" writing personal and business letters to
make Friday's mail run.

2. Duncan and Maureen McRae:

Duncan worked for the Department of Transport, and one of his duties was running the weather
station in Lansdowne House. He and his wife Maureen were good friends with my parents.

3. My Mother's Health:

My mother had Grave's Disease, an autoimmune disorder that causes hyperthyroidism or overproduction of
thyroid hormones. Four years previously my mother had had an operation to remove her thyroid. Unfortunately
her parathyroid glands were accidentally removed also. She struggled throughout her life to keep weight on.
Grave's Disease also impacted my mother's vision.

4. Weight Conversions:

5 pounds = 2.3 kilograms

15 pounds = 6.8 kilograms

110 pounds = 49.9 kilograms

120 pounds = 108.4 kilograms

5. Exclamation Marks:

It was fun to discover, when I was working with my father's letters, that he used exclamation marks liberally too.

6. Temperature Conversion:

-17º Fahrenheit = -27º Celsius

7. Bill and Rhea Mitchell:

Bill was the manager of the Hudson's Bay Post in Lansdowne House and married to Rhea.

8. Father Ouimet and Brother Bernier:

They were members of the Missionary Oblates of Mary Immaculate,

a missionary religious congregation in the Roman Catholic Church.

9. The Guardian: Newspaper published in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island since the 1870s. Wikipedia

10. Liz Taylor:

Quoted from Wikipedia:

"Dame Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor, DBE (February 27, 1932 – March

23, 2011) was a British American actress, businesswoman, and

humanitarian. She began as a child actress in the early 1940s, and was

one of the most popular stars of classical Hollywood cinema in the

1950s."

Photo: Wikimedia

11. George Formby:

Quoted from Wikipedia

"George Formby, OBE (born George Hoy Booth; 26 May

1904 – 6 March 1961), was an English actor,

singer-songwriter and comedian who became known to a

worldwide audience through his films of the 1930s and

1940s."

Photo: Wikimedia

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Location of Lansdowne House

Known Today as Neskantaga

Wikipedia

Easter Break in 1961 was a snowy one in Lansdowne House.
Even though my family was snowed in
and the Easter Bunny was delayed by the heavy snowfall,
we were having fun playing games, reading, and celebrating my father's birthday.
I remember that time as one of the happiest in my childhood.

Birthdays were always significant in our family,
and March was the month for birthdays,
with four of us turning older within two weeks:
me (18th), Barbie (19th), Bertie (27th), and Dad (30th).

As a family we didn't have a lot of money for presents,
but each of us always had our favorite cake
and were excused from chores on our special day.

Back When We Wanted to Do Dishes!

Donnie dries dishes for the first time, while Roy stands by ready to advise.

Candid shots meant a startling flash.

Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, Canada, Circa 1956

My mother wrote letters as well as my father,
but many of hers have not survived.
We used to joke about Mom's letters when we were older,
because she usually mentioned what she was cooking.
This one was typical.

On Friday, March 31, 1961
My mother wrote to her mother-in-law
Myrtle MacBeath:

Dear Mother:
We are all fine.
I imagine it is beginning to feel
like spring on the Island.
The weather here has been lovely.

However one evening this last week
was very wintery
with lots of snow and a strong wind.
The drifts were over our waists.

Sara Margaret (MacDonald) MacBeath

Acadia University, Wolfville, Circa 1950
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

Yesterday was Don’s birthday.
He loves the shirt you sent him,
and it looks very good with his bluish grey suit.

I made an angel food cake for him with your boiled icing.
It turns out well for me now since I have a candy thermometer.
However I think I should beat it after I take it off the hot water.
Do you?

We didn’t do much this week.
Uno was over for dinner on Sunday.
We had chicken and Boston cream pie.

We played bridge with the Mitchells on Tuesday night.
Mr. Mitchell and I won.

Last evening we played bridge with Duncan and Maureen.
Dunc and Don really put a licking on us.
The Mitchells are coming over to play bridge tomorrow night.

Don has started painting again.
He painted a very nice picture of the log church next door.
I like it very much, and it will make an interesting souvenir.

The Anglican Log Church

The corner of our home is in the middle left of the painting.

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Canada

Painting by Don MacBeath, March 1961

The children are all fine. They like having Don as their teacher.
Louise says he is the most interesting teacher she has ever had.

Wikipedia

We have been doing a lot of reading lately.
Right now I’m engrossed in a huge book entitled
“The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich,” by William Shirer.
I was telling Don it is giving me nightmares.

I hope that you had a pleasant Easter.
Don had forgotten all about it,
so we had to radio out for Easter eggs.

I must close now and get dinner going.
It doesn’t look as if the plane will be in today.
The visibility is practically nil.
And it’s snowing heavily outside.

With love,
Sara

Whiteout

Flickr ~ mdornseif License

Hands down, my father's favorite cake was angel food cake with boiled icing.
It was a rare treat in our house because it was tricky to make,
especially in the North with no electricity.

The task involved a lot of beating
with an old-fashioned, hand-held egg beater.
Man, I hated hand-cranking that beater,
and if I did it a long time,
both hands would get sweaty, even blistered.
Beating it fast was an aerobic activity.

Flickr: Bre Pettis ~ Adapted License

Angel cake, dubbed "food of the angels," is white and airy
because it contains no butter or egg yokes
and requires cake flour milled from a soft wheat.
It is baked in a tube pan because it rises five or six inches high.

Angel Food Cake
a. in a tube pan   b. on a plate
  Flickr ~ Bev Currie Flickr ~ Bev Currie
     License for Both

Because of the cake's delicate nature,
we had to tiptoe around the kitchen
so the cake wouldn't fall while it was baking,
and no one dared open the oven door
for fear of shocking the cake into collapsing.

My mother had to gently cut it with back-to-back forks
so the cake wouldn't compress into a spongy mess.

Regular icing wouldn't do, because it was too heavy,
so my mother always made Nana's fluffy white boiled icing.
Personally I thought the sweet, sticky icing
was the best part of the cake.
The actual "food of the angels"
tasted bland and felt too spongy in my mouth.

I wasn't alone in my love of Nana's fluffy white boiled icing.
We kids all battled over licking the whisk and the spatula and the pot.
The icing made perfect mustaches!
We loved to paint our upper lips, let the icing set, and lick it off!

My mother was a great cook and baker.
She never learned either skill because her mother
didn't want Mom underfoot when she was working in the kitchen;
so my mother learned to cook and bake after she was married.

She made sure that we all learned the basics
which for me included baking bread, making jam and pickles,
and turning out my father's favorite angel food cake with fluffy white icing.

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

Bay of Fundy out of Westport, Brier Island
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

Notes:

1. The Island:

We always referred to Prince Edward Island where my Grandmother MacBeath lived as "The Island."

2. Uno Manilla:

Uno taught at the Roman Catholic School on the Father's Island. My father roomed with Uno before he was able

to rent the forestry house and move us north.

3. The Mitchells:

Bill Managed the Hudson's Bay post, and Rhea was his wife.

4. Duncan and Maureen McRae:

Duncan worked for the Department of Transport, and one of his duties was running the weather

station in Lansdowne House. He and his wife Maureen were good friends with my parents.

5. Painting:

Both of my parents were painters. My father preferred oils and my mother watercolors. Unfortunately

the responsibilities of working and raising and educating five children made it difficult for my parents to

pursue their passions. I am humbled by the sacrifices they made for my brother, sisters, and me.

6. The Rise and Fall of the Third Reicht: A History of Nazi Germany:

My mother was a secretary in the Royal Canadian Air Force toward the end of WW II. Part of her job was

to type letters informing families about loved ones who had been injured or killed. She actually had to type

letters to people she knew in her village of Smith's Cove, Nova Scotia. Understandably, reading Shirer's account

of the rise and fall of Nazi Germany was distressing for my mother.

William Shirer, a journalist who reported on Nazi Germany for six years, based his book on captured Nazi

documents, the diaries of Joseph Goebbels, Franz Halder, and Galeazzo Ciano, evidence and testimony from

the Nuremberg trials, and a variety of media sources. Published in 1960, the book was an award-winning

bestseller, acclaimed by journalists but less so by academic historians, perhaps because of its journalistic rather

than academic style. Wikipedia

I tried to read it after Mom finished it, but I found it too dry as an eleven-year-old and quit reading it.

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Route Map for Austin Airways, 1985

with Lansdowne House West of James Bay

Nakina is near Geraldton.

Wikipedia

Location of Nakina

Google Maps

Location of Smith's Cove, Nova Scotia

Wikimedia

Canada Wikimedia

For Bakers Like Me:
(Actually I haven't had the guts to bake these for decades!)

Mom’s Angel Food Cake
Ingredients:
1¼ - 1½ cups sugar
1 cup cake flour
½ teaspoon salt
1¼ cups egg whites (10-12 egg whites)
1 tablespoon water
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon cream of tartar
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
½ teaspoon almond extract

Directions:
Use a 9-inch tube pan, with removable rim. Do not grease.
Preheat oven to 325º F.

Sift twice 1¼ - 1½ cups of sugar.
Sift separately before measuring 1 cup of cake flour.
Resift the flour three times
with ½ cup of the sifted sugar and ½ teaspoon salt.

Whip until foamy the 1¼ cups of egg whites
(10-12 egg whites, 60 - 70º F, separated just before use)
with 1 tablespoon water and 1 tablespoon lemon juice.
Add 1 teaspoon cream of tartar
and whip the egg white mixture until stiff, but not dry.

Gradually whip in, about 1 tablespoon at a time,
the remaining ¾ to 1 cup of sifted sugar.

Fold in (by hand, gentle and firm, avoid breaking down
the cellular structure of the egg whites which have trapped air)
½ teaspoon of vanilla extract and ½ teaspoon of almond extract.

Sift about ¼ cup of the sugar and flour mixture over the batter.
Fold it in gently and briefly with a rubber scraper.
Continue until all the sugar and flour mixture is added.

Pour the batter into an ungreased tube pan.
Then draw a thin spatula gently through the batter
to destroy any large air pockets.

Bake about 45 minutes.
Remove when a toothpick
inserted in the cake comes out clean.

To cool, turn the tube pan upside down on an inverted funnel,
if the tube is not high enough to keep the cake
above the surface of the table.
Let the cake hang about 1½ hours until it is thoroughly set.
Remove it from the pan before storing.

Do not cut with a knife,
but use two forks back-to-back to pry cake gently apart.

Nana’s (Mom’s) Fluffy White Boiled White Icing:
Makes two cups

Ingredients:
2 cups sugar
1 cup water
2 egg whites
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon cream of tartar
OR a few drops of lemon juice and 1 teaspoon vanilla extract.

Directions:
Stir until the sugar is dissolved and bring to a boil
2 cups of sugar and 1 cup of water.

Cover and cook for about 3 minutes,
until the steam has washed down any crystals,
which may have formed on the sides of the pan.

Uncover and cook 238º F or 240º F
(as measured by a candy thermometer).
At that temperature the syrup will spin a very thin thread
on the end of a coarser thread
(when suspended from a spoon or spatula).
This final thread will almost disappear.

Whip until frothy 2 egg whites and 1/8 teaspoon salt.

Add the syrup in a thin stream, whipping eggs constantly.

When these ingredients are combined,
add 1/8 teaspoon of cream of tartar
OR a few drops of lemon juice
and 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract.
Continue whipping.

When the icing begins to harden at the edges of the bowl,
it should be ready to put on the cake.
Do not scrape the bowl.

If the syrup has not been boiled long enough
and the icing won’t harden, beat it in strong sunlight.

If this doesn’t do the trick,
place the icing in the top of a double boiler
over hot water (not in),
until it reaches the right consistency for spreading.

If the syrup has been overcooked
and the icing tends to harden too soon,
adding a teaspoon or two of boiling water
or a few drops of lemon juice will restore it.

If raisins, nutmeats, zest, or other ingredients are to be added to the icing,
wait until the last moment to incorporate them.
They contain oil or acid, which will thin the icing.

In my last post I said that our Easter break in Lansdowne House

was one of the happiest times in my childhood.

We had many happy times when I was growing up,
but in retrospect, this was a special time.

We were together with everything we needed:

warmth, food, water, and shelter from the cold and snow.

My parents were healthy and relaxed,

and they had the time to spend with us,

with their friends, and with their passions.

My mother and father had been seriously ill in the past,

and would be so again in the future.

They had just survived another lonely separation

and would endure others;

but for now we were all together,

jammed into a tiny house buried in snow,

doing chores, playing, squabbling, and dreaming big dreams.

Four in the Wayback!

A Rare Everyday Photo

Roy, Donnie, Bertie, and Me

It was Barbie's turn in the middle seat with Nana,

while Mom sat in the front with Dad.

Somewhere between Ontario and Nova Scotia, Summer 1963

Photo by Don MacBeath

On Sunday, April 1, 1961

my father wrote to his mother:

Dear Mother:
We have been snowbound all weekend - since Thursday to be exact,
and we are hoping that the plane finally gets in today,
as the Easter Bunny, or rather his wares, are riding on that plane.
We haven’t had the usual Easter egg hunt yet.
I guess we’ll have that on Easter Monday morning instead of this morning.

I hope that I can get this letter out on today’s plane,
for it will make an extra letter for you in your next mail,
and it will help preserve continuity with the letters preceding it.

A Lansdowne Letter: April 1, 1961

Photo by Louise Barbour

In the last letter that I wrote to you,
I mentioned that the Mitchells were coming over for Bridge last night,
and that I was expecting Rhea and I to take a bad trimming at the hands of Bill and Sara.

Well, we didn’t take a beating.
We trimmed them by 2200 points (6100 to 3900),
and in so doing I realized a life-long ambition.
I bid and made a grand slam-seven no trump.

I think I would bid seven no trump!

Photo by Louise Barbour

It was really that hand alone that got us the victory for the evening,
for it gave our score a terrific boost.

First, 7 no is worth 220 points;
and since Bill doubled it, it was worth 440 points.

Then, because we were vulnerable,
we earned a bonus of 1500 points.

Finally, because it gave us a quick rubber,
we earned a further bonus of 700 points;
and because we were doubled,
an additional bonus of 50 points
for making a bid that was doubled.

All told that one hand gave us 2690 points.


Bill with an Ojibwa Man Rhea on the Ice © All Rights Reserved

Sara gave me a lovely pair of mitts for my birthday,
similar to the ones I gave her for Christmas, but nicer.
The cuffs are solid beadwork, and they are trimmed in muskrat fur instead of beaver fur.
They are lovely and warm and will make a nice souvenir of the north.

I would send you something made of moose hide, except for the smell.
I know you wouldn’t like the smell, seeing as the smell
of the slippers I sent you caused you so much distress.

I am, however, preparing something for you made by myself,
and I’m going to send it to you for Mother’s Day.
It is something that I think you will like, and there will be no smells to it.
If I get it finished in time, I will get it out before break-up,
and it will arrive before Mother’s Day,
but if I can’t get it finished before the breakup then it may be a bit late,
but never-the-less, it will still be your Mother’s Day gift.

Barbie and Dad,

with Dad Sporting His birthday Mitts

Sioux Lookout, Ontario, Winter 61-62

Photo by Don MacBeath

I am sure that the plane will be in today, for it is a lovely day today.
The sun is shining, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky.
It would be a lovely day to wear an Easter bonnet to church,
except Sara has no bonnet to wear or church to wear it to.
Oh well, if I get that job in Sioux Lookout, she will have both next Easter.

Talking about Easter, I am glad that you don’t want flowers,
for it would be well nigh impossible to arrange for flowers up here.
I hope though, that you had a nice Easter, and that you got out
to Aunt Maude's or that some of the family got in to see you.

I hear signs of life from the bedroom,
so I believe poor Sara is again among the conscious.
The poor girl is very tired; and so, I let her sleep in this morning till now, ten thirty,
while I got up to see that the children got their breakfast,
and got dressed properly, and got out to play.
In spite of the fact that the sun is shining brightly, it is quite cold out.

Properly Dressed and Out to Play

Roy, Donnie, and Louise (Me)

Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, Circa 1956

Louise is over at the McRae’s house babysitting Duncan Jr.,
while his father and mother are away snowshoeing with Mike and Anne.

It is a lovely day for snowshoeing, and if it is nice tomorrow,
Sara and I are going to borrow Mike and Anne’s snowshoes and go out ourselves.

Like Mother Like Son: Family Snowshoers

Nana with Friend: St. Peter's Bay, Prince Edward Island, Circa 1917

Dad: Lansdowne House, Ontario, Circa New Year, 1961

I think I hear the Norseman circling overhead,
so I guess I better wind this effort up and get it down to the mail.
I will write and tell you all about the snowshoeing if we go.
Bye for now, Happy Easter.
Love, Don

My Parents, Don and Sara MacBeath

Wolfville, Nova Scotia, Circa 1949

I have a vivid memory of Easter Sunday, April 1, 1961.
In his letter Dad neglected to share how
he rousted we five out of our warm snuggy sleeping bags.
He suckered us, especially Roy and me, so bad!

Although the weather had been cold and snowy,
Roy and I had break-up on our minds.

Every year freeze-up occurred in the late fall,
a period when the villages of the north were cut off from the Outside
while the lakes froze up enough to support the weight of bush planes.

Likewise, every year break-up occurred in the late spring,
another period when the northern communities were inaccessible,
while the lakes melted and cleared of ice so bush planes could land on water.

Roy's and my curiosity about this phenomenon was raging,
and for days we had been waking up and racing for the front window
to see if the ice had gone out.
We had badgered our father with endless questions
about what break-up would be like,
fueled by romantic notions of being unreachable and alone in the North.

It didn't matter how many times Dad pointed out
that planes were still landing and taking off on the ice;
every morning we scrambled out of our sleeping bags and ran for the window.

"Louise, Roy, everyone come quickly!"
my father roared to wake us that Easter morning.
"The ice has gone out!"

We tumbled out of our bunks.
It was a free-for-all as we five tried to squeeze through the narrow bedroom door,
run past the space heater, and rush into the living room.
I don't think Bertie understood what was going on,
but for sure she wasn't going to miss out.

We pressed up against the window and looked out
at the white lake and the nearby black-treed islands.

Out Our Front Window

During a Snowstorm

Painting by Don MacBeath

"What do you mean, the ice has gone out?"
I asked, puffed up with indignation.

"April Fool!" Dad sputtered, unable to stifle his laughter.

Till next time ~

Fundy Blue.

Westport, Brier Island,

Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia

Notes:
1. The Mitchells:
Bill Managed the Hudson's Bay post, and Rhea was his wife.

2. Bridge:

My father loved a challenging game of bridge, and he played to win. My mother also enjoyed playing bridge,

but she couldn't remember cards the way my father could. Her greatest pleasure in bridge was putting a good

licking on my father who had a tendency to crow and lord-it-about when he won.

Bridge is a card game played by four people using a standard deck with 52 cards with no jokers. The players

form two partnerships, and partners sit opposite each other at a table. The objective of the game is to bid for and

make the most tricks possible in each hand and to score a total of 100 points before the other partnership does.

The game has several variations and scoring methods. Wikimedia

Omar Sharif Playing Bridge

A well-known actor, playboy, and bridge player:

“Acting is my business,” he once said, “bridge is my passion.”

Wikimedia

3. Grand slam-seven no trump:

I found a reasonable explanation of a grand slam-seven no trump at rpbridge.net.

Quote: "A slam* is a bid of six in any suit or notrump, which requires that you win 12 tricks.

If your side can win 12 tricks, it is not sufficient to bid only game; you must bid six to receive the slam bonus.

A grand slam is a bid of seven in any suit or no trump, which requires that you win all 13 tricks."

4. Mitts:
The mitts that my father so appreciated were made by a local Ojibwa, and my mother probably bought them
with the help of Bill Mitchell, the Hudson's Bay manager.

5. Norseman:

The Norseman was one of the bush planes that regularly flew in and out of Lansdowne House, and the sound

of it passing overhead as it came in for a landing or took off is one of my favorite memories of the north.

The Norseman was a single-engine bush plane produced in Canada, starting in 1935, with over 900

manufactured during the following 25 years. It could operate from unimproved surfaces, like a frozen or

open lake, and it was known for its stubby landing gear. Wikipedia To me it is synonymous with the wilderness

of northern Ontario.

Red Lake Floatplane FestivaL 2009, Northern Ontario, Canada

You Tube ~ 7018lh

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Map of Canada

Highlighting Ontario

Wikimedia

Location of Lansdowne House

Wikimedia edited

It's the first Wednesday
of the month ~
the day when members of the
Insecure Writer's Support Group
share their writing struggles
and offer their encouragement
and support to other members.

To visit the IWSG website, click here.

To become a member of the IWSG, click here.

Our wonderful co-hosts who are stepping up to help IWSG founder Alex J. Cavanaugh are:
Tamara Narayan, Pat Hatt, Patricia Lynne, Juneta Kay, and Doreen McGettigan.

I hope you have a chance to visit them and thank them for co-hosting.
I'm sure they would appreciate an encouraging comment!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Every month the IWSG announces a question
that members can answer with advice, insight,
a personal experience, or story in their IWSG posts.

Or, the question can inspire members
if they are struggling with something to say.

Remember, the question is optional!!!
This month's IWSG featured question is:

What is one valuable lesson you've learned since you started writing?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

One valuable lesson I've learned since I started writing
is to trust the process of writing.
Often when I begin a piece,
I'm not not sure what shape it will take.

I'm not someone who can write an outline
and follow it from beginning to end.
I have to start putting words down,
writing and rewriting until what I want to say emerges.
I can't force it or rush it.

The process of writing clarifies my thinking.
I may go off in unexpected directions
or discover ideas I wasn't thinking of consciously.

Struggling with words can be messy, frustrating, and time-consuming,
but I've found that if I write from my heart with honesty and courage,
and I'm willing to trust the process,
I will eventually produce writing that pleases,
satisfies, even surprises me.

Going for it Anywhere

Riverview Resort Library

Bullhead City, Arizona, 12/2016

When my family lived in Lansdowne House in 1961,
the Ojibwa of the region and other First Nations people
throughout Ontario were viewed as inferior to the white man.

A pervasive paternalism on the part of the church and the government
tainted relationships between white people and aboriginal people.
First Nations cultures, languages, customs, and lifestyles were derided,
and the native people experienced a cruel prejudice
that grew out of the white man's sense of superiority
and his misunderstanding of the First Nations peoples.

Sometimes, when I read my father's words about his experiences in the North
I cringe at his paternalistic tone toward the Ojibwa he lived among,
and other times I appreciate his empathy for them.

My Father's Words

Photo by Louise Barbour

In his unpublished handbook for new teachers in Indian schools
in the Sioux Lookout Indian Agency,
my father wrote a brief overview of the history of the "bush Indians"
who lived in the vast wilderness of Northern Ontario
and of how their history shaped them very differently
from the white men who pushed into their lands.

My father wrote:
“The bush Indians are wonderful people.
They are cheerful, loyal, faithful, resourceful, and honest,
according to their own standards.
Their standards differ considerably from ours though, and therein lies
the cause of most of the friction between whites and Indians in the bush,
which gives rise to many of the charges that the Indians
are shiftless, unreliable and dishonest, rogues,
thinking only of the present and giving no thought to the future.

It is only natural that the Indian tends to live
only in the present, with no thought for the future.
For thousands of years the Indian led a very precarious existence
in which the future was something which very few Indians
were fortunate to experience to any great degree.

Infant and child mortality was exceedingly high,
and an Indian was very fortunate just to reach adulthood.
Up until very recent times, the percentage of Indian babies which survived
infancy and childhood and reached manhood was less than 25%.

Some of Dad's Ojibway Boys

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1960

Photo by Don MacBeath

Upon reaching adulthood, the Indian’s chance of longevity
decreased rapidly with every winter he successfully endured.
The winters were times of the most severe hardship and deprivations,
which took a dreadful toll of human lives, children and adults as well.

Summer was the only enjoyable period
in an otherwise very bleak existence.
The Indians loved summer, and still do.

Summer was the time for play,
for the renewing of old friendships,
and the forming of new ones.
It was also the time for courtship and marriage,
feasting and dancing.

Summertime in Lansdowne House

Canoeing on Lake Attawapiskat near the Village, 1961

Photo by Don MacBeath

True, there was the coming winter to prepare for, but other than
laying enough aside to assure survival at the subsistence level,
the Indian made no long-range plans for the future.

There was no need to. Very few survived to old age,
and those who did were cared for by their relatives and children.
There were no cars to be bought, no mortgages to be paid off,
or no retirement plans or educational plans to be financed through savings.

With the coming of the Hudson’s Bay Company, even the necessity
of putting aside a small store of supplies for the winter was removed.
The Honourable Company encouraged the debt system.

The Indians were encouraged to get what they needed
for the winter on credit and to pay for it the next spring
out of the proceeds of their trapping endeavors.
They were also encouraged to spend any surplus
on enjoyment during the summer.

Indians trade furs at a Hudson's Bay Company trading post in the 1800s.

Unknown artist from 1800

Wikimedia

It speaks well for the inherent honesty of the Indian
that the Hudson’s Bay Company operating as it does
on the debt system was able to prosper and flourish.

It is small wonder that the Indian,
brought up in an environment like this for centuries,
has developed the philosophy of the grasshopper,
rather than the philosophy of the ant.

This debt system of the Hudson’s Bay Company has led to the development
of a system of values which is the direct opposite to that of the white man.

A white man’s success is judged by the amount
of worldly possessions he is able to accumulate.
The Indian’s success, on the other hand, is judged by the amount
of debt that he is allowed to contract at the Hudson’s Bay post.

The Indian who is granted $500.00 debt by the post Factor in the fall,
is considered by the other Indians to be five times as worthy
as the Indian who is only granted $100.00 worth of debt.

I wonder if the current practices of finance buying
and the phenomenal growth of small loan companies in recent years
is not an indication that the white man is gradually
coming around to the Indian point of view.

Ojibwa Teepee

Kenora, Ontario, 1922

Wikipedia

The Indian, even today, does not have a highly developed
sense of ownership and private property.
I guess this results from the centuries when there was
no such thing as private ownership, only tribal ownership.
This poorly developed sense of private ownership has led
to many accusations of dishonesty and theft against the Indians.

I had a hard time getting accustomed to this myself when I first came up north.
If I left a shovel, or a hammer, or a wrench outside,
chances are it would not be there when I went back after it.
I would usually find it around one of the shacks,
if I looked for it, for no effort would be made to conceal it.

Why should they conceal it? They were not stealing it,
only using it because they happened to need it, and it was available.
Obviously I did not need the article, for I left it unattended;
and they needed it, so they took it. It was as simple as that.

This used to bug me, till I realized that actually
the Indians fully understood the arrangement to be reciprocal.
I was perfectly welcome to anything they had
without the formalities of asking for it.

There was from my point of view only one fly
in this otherwise idealistic ointment.
I had just about everything I needed,
while most of the Indians had hardly anything they needed.

There were three things which you just did not borrow
without asking permission first:
a man’s snowshoes, canoe and paddle, and gun."

Cree Indian, Albany River, with unfinished canoe

The National Archives UK

Catalogue Reference: CO 1069/279

Flickr License

My father recognized that many of the prejudicial labels
applied to First Nations people were the result of white people
not understanding aboriginal history or the culture that developed from it.

But as empathetic and compassionate as he was,
my father worked for the Educational Division of the Indian Affairs Branch,
and the primary goal of Indian education was the ultimate integration
of the Indian population into the white population.

The longer my father worked for the Indian Affairs Branch,
the more difficult it became for him to handle his dissonance
arising from implementing the Branch's educational goals
and observing the effects of the Branch's policies
on the Ojibwa, Cree, and Saulteaux throughout Northern Ontario.

This dissonance became one of the reasons
my father did not return to the north and the Branch
after a year's leave of absence due to a serious illness.

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

On the Shore of the Annapolis Basin
Smith's Cove, Nova Scotia, Canada
July 24, 2016
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

Notes:

1. Bush Indians:
My father used this term to collectively describe all the First Nations people who lived in
Northern Ontario, the largest groups of whom were Ojibwa and Cree.

2. My father's unpublished handbook:
The Northern School Teacher: A Hand Book To Be Issued To All New Entrants To The Teaching
Profession In The Indian Schools In The Sioux Lookout Indian Agency, 1966, pages 27-29.

3. The Honourable Company:
Sometimes my father and others referred to the Hudson's Bay Company as "The Honorable
Company." It may come from the phrase "the Honourable Company of Merchants-Adventurers
Trading into Hudson's Bay," the original source of which I have yet to track down.

4. Post Factor:
Historically "factors," mercantile fiduciaries or agents, received and sold goods on commission at
Hudson's Bay posts or "factories" scattered throughout the vast region of rivers and streams
draining into Hudson Bay. Wikipedia

Wikipedia

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Location of Lansdowne House

Known Today as Neskantaga

Wikipedia

Hola from the beautiful San Luis Valley in south central Colorado!
More specifically, Hola from Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve!

I have wanted to visit this incredible place since I moved to Colorado in 1982.
The park is located in the high mountain desert of the San Luis Valley
nestled up against the base of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

It is remarkable for its biodiversity, containing seven distinct life zones
from low streams and wetlands, to salt-encrusted plains or sabkhas,
to sand sheets and grasslands, to dune fields,
montane forests, subalpine forests, and alpine tundra.

But as excited as I was to see muleys and hummers ...

A Little Muley Foraging on the Sand Sheet Grassland

And wade in intermittent Medano Creek ...

Terry Wades Across Medano Creek

I had come to the park to tackle the tallest sand dunes in North America, dunes that reach up to 750 feet in height.
The dune field in the park nestles up against the base of the Sangre de Cristos
and comprises about 11% of a 330 square miles deposit of sand in the valley.

The Sand Sheet Grasslands Sweeping Out from the Dune Fields

at the Base of the Sangre de Cristo

Doesn't sound too bad, until
you realize the Visitor's Center stands at 8,166 feet,
and the dunes are uphill from that!

So High!!!

We arrived at the park around noon when the temperature was reaching the mid-80s.
Not a good time to begin hoofing it up the dunes where the surface of the sand can be 150 degrees hot.

Too Hot For Me!

Most people were sticking to the lower dunes.

So after a quick lunch in a pretty spot, we headed to our hotel for a siesta.

Beautiful Spot for Lunch

At 7:00 pm Terry and I were ready to tackle the dunes!

Terry Begins to Cross Medano Creek

We started out with high hopes, heading for the highest spot on the
horizon.

In the early evening the dunes are lovely,

with the low-angled sun casting soft shadows and highlights.

We make good progress, even though hiking in sand is challenging.

We make

At times it was a slog ~ Sometimes our feet disappeared into the sand.
Underneath the cooling surface, I could feel the warm sand from the heat of the day.

We make

Hoofing, hoofing, hoofing ...

We make

We keep our focus on reaching a lower dune summit,
while looking behind to mark our rise in elevation.

We make

Summiting that first dune was one of the hardest things I've done.
Terry and I floundered to the top, one foot forward, six inches back
with each step up a very steep dune slope.
I could stagger only five or six steps before having to stop to catch my breath.
Buckets of sweat were pouring off me as I tried to strike this bucket item off my list.
Finally ...

Then it dawned on me when I looked up ...

We make

I simply could not make the higher dune summit.
I was shot.

It was a devastating moment for me,
because for the first time I truly felt I had peaked in my life,
from here it was the long downhill slide to the end.

We make

Fighting back tears, I told Terry that I just couldn't go on,
I couldn't reach the top,
I was on the long downhill slide to the end.

Terry wrapped an arm around my shoulder and said,
"You are on no downhill slide!
Look where you are!
Look how far you climbed!
Let's climb down and try again tomorrow."

"I won't be able to walk tomorrow," I said.
"I'm not sure I can even make it down."

"Sure you will, Babe. Let's go!"

We started staggering back down the dune,
and I reminded myself that even if I hadn't reached the top,
there were still plenty of adventures ahead of me.

Besides, the sun had set, and glorious color was spreading across the sky.

We make

We picked up a ridge rather than floundering down the steep side of the dune.
It was a longer trek, but it was easier going, and the most delicious breeze cooled us.

We make

Twilight falls as we near the bottom of the dunes and head for Medano Creek.

Almost down!

Night arrives as we cross the flat plain leading to the creek,
and we move slowly forward by the light of our headlamps.
Nothing like crossing a stream in the dark!

We make

In a way I was glad I couldn't reach the high summit.
We'd have been climbing down the dunes in the dark.
We weren't the last down, by any means.
People often climb the dunes at night.

I was more than grateful to tumble into bed,
and my last thought was, "Tomorrow is another day!"

The morning after our evening slog on the Great Sand Dunes,
the smell of fresh coffee woke me.
I was still wiped out and discouraged from my failure
to reach High Dune the evening before,
and I did not want to move from under my comfy covers.
I tried pretending I was still asleep, but there was no fooling Terry.

"The light is beautiful," he said, whipping the curtains open.

I was out of bed faster than a five-year-old on Christmas morning
and racing for my camera and the back patio of our lodge room.

Terry was right! The morning light enhanced
the spectacular topography of the dunes beautifully.

Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve

San Luis Valley, South Central Colorado

We sat on our little patio drinking our coffee, enjoying the quiet,

and watching the antics of the competitive hummingbirds.

Caffeine slowly revived me as we lingered.

A Simple Breakfast

Great Sand Dunes Lodge

San Luis Valley, South Central Colorado

Frisky Hummers

Relaxation

Finally Terry suggested we head over to the park

and try for High Dune again while it was early and cool.

He had just read that zigzagging up the dune ridges was easier,

and we needed to tackle them before the day heated up.

So we packed up water and oranges and headed out.

Heading Back into the Park

A Muley on the Move

Before I knew it, I was confronting yesterday's challenge,

the lower dune summit that we had floundered straight up.

Straight Up Is Definitely Not the Easy Route!

We crossed shallow Medano Creek and headed across

the flat sands stretching to the base of the dunes.

"We'll take it slow," Terry said. "It's only 8:30.

"We can stop and rest as much as we need."

Breathtaking, Inviting Beauty

Looking Back at the Flat Sands and Lower Dunes

An encouraging thing happened as we worked up the ridge.

I realized that I wasn't the only one stopping to rest and catch a breath.

It was tough going for a lot of people.

In fact, I was one of the oldest people climbing up the ridge.

A Sinuous Dune Ridge

Terry, the Best Sport in the World!

Subtle Beauty ~ Wind-Sorted Grains

The sand kept moving under my feet,

but at least I wasn't sliding six inches backward

with each step forward.

I quickly figured out that, just like in snow,

it was easier to step in others' footsteps

because breaking trail is tiring.

Gradually I began to believe that I could do it

that I could actually make it to the top of High Dune.

"I'm going to make it to the top, if it takes me all day!"

I exclaimed to Terry during one rest stop.

Catching a Breather

Musts for Safe Dune Climbing:

hat, sunglasses, bandana (to cover your face if the wind comes up), protective clothing

Been There! Done That!

Skipping Last Night's Summit

Saving My Energy for High Dune

The dunes were unlike anything I've experienced ~

otherworldly,

eggshell white against the deep blue sky,

sugary and hot underfoot,

sweltering in sheltered pockets,

refreshingly cool along knife edges,

and absolutely silent beyond the crowds.

Terry Presses On ~

I'm usually trailing to take photos.

The Summit: So Close, So Steep, So Far

A Tough, Slip-Sliding Slog

Well into our second hour of climbing,

the heat was building and radiating off the sand.

I truly began to appreciate the park warnings

about starting early, carrying lots of water,

and wearing closed-toe footgear and a hat.

It was exhausting, and I stopped frequently to rest.

I was going to make it to the top ~ Nothing was going to stop me.

Tough Going ~ Especially When ...

A Hissing Ten-Lined June Beetle

Hitched a Ride and Fought to Hang On ...

As Terry and I drew closer to the top,

a father and his young son caught up to me.

While Terry lunged ahead,

we three were taking four or five slip-sliding steps

at a time, side-by-side,

then stopping to catch our breath.

"I can't do this," said the kid.

"Yes, you can," said the dad.

"I want to go back," said the kid.

"I want to, too," the dad gasped to me in a whisper.

"I'm getting to the top, if I have to crawl up," I managed.

"You can do it," said the dad.

"So can you," I replied.

They slowly pulled ahead, but we all kept going.

A Final Rest Near the Top

As we scrambled up the last few steps to a saddle

that led to the top and stood ~

!@#$%^! ~

We realized it was a false summit.

Give Me a !@#$%^ Break!

The Real Summit of High Dune off in the Distance

My heart sank when I looked off and saw how much farther we had to go!

But when I looked around at the vast dune field, it soared!

The Dunes Spread Out Against the Sangre de Cristo Range

The Last Steep Climb Before the Hike Leveled Out

As we climbed up the sand saddle,

the narrow ridge with its drop-offs became unnerving.

"This is starting to freak me out," said Terry.

"I really don't like heights."

"Don't look anywhere but your next step," I said.

"And don't talk about heights!"

My head was woozy, and the steep slopes pulled at me.

I've been fighting acrophobia my whole life,

and I felt like I was teetering on the tip of a needle.

Next step. Next step.

And suddenly ~ We reached the false summit!

Terry Cheers, While Father and Son Take a Selfie

We were not stopping now!

We forged on.

The End Is in Sight!

The Dune Field Is Magnificent

and Contains Unexpected Pockets of Green life

Terry Gingerly Heads for the Top of High Dune

The Dunes Spread Out in All Directions

The San Juan Mountains Border the San Luis Valley in the Far Distance

While the Sangre de Cristo Mountains Bound the Near Side

Terry Stands at the Top of High Dune,

the second highest in the park.

It's hard to believe we reached the top!

The ridge was so narrow and high,

that we wouldn't stand together at the end.

And sitting down was out of the question,

because the thought of trying to stand up

on the sandy tip was too scary.

With both of us unsteady with the height,

we could barely wiggle past each other,

so I could walk to the summit.

The wind was gusting, and we had to hang on to our hats.

We felt like we were alone in the world.

I cautiously crept out to the end,

and gazed at the alien beauty in every direction.

The View from the Tip of High Dune

Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve

Yes!!!!!

Now all we had to do was get down.

Heading Back

Down and Down

The return trip was a whole different experience!

We stuck to the ridges because of their firmer footing,

but we bounded along the steeper portions in giant steps.

We stopped at one high spot for a snack,

ripping into sweet, juicy oranges with our teeth.

A Great Spot for a Snack

Down and Down

And Down

Sand Sledders and Sand Boarders on the Lower Dunes

Maybe Next Time!

What a relief it was to reach Medano Creek

and stick our hot bare feet in its cool running water.

We were exhausted, but exhilarated.

There is no real trail to the top of High Dune.

You just strike out across the sand toward

the highest point visible from the main parking lot

by whatever route you choose.

The average hiking time for the trip

to and from High Dune is two hours.

The distance is about 2.5 miles,

depending on how much you ramble on the dunes.

You'll gain 699 feet of elevation

and stand at 8,691 feet above sea level at the summit.

National Park Service

Medano Creek

So what if it took us 3½ hours?

Thanks to Terry's encouragement,

we made it together.

Never say never!

I haven't peaked!

I'm not on the long downhill slide!

Medano Creek

When my father taught at the Church of England Indian Day School
in Lansdowne House in 1961, he met the Ojibwa people for the first time.
During his time in the isolated northern community,
my father came to know the local Ojibwa well
and appreciated them for the wonderful people they were.

Church of England Indian Day School

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario

When my mother and we five children joined him in the North,
we were the only white children, except for three other white babies.
My father encouraged us to become friends with the Ojibwa children.
On our first full day in Lansdowne House,
my father chased all five of us outside to make friends with
and to play with the neighborhood kids.

Neither of my parents had any problem
with us visiting our Ojibwa friends in their homes;
and we were warmly welcomed, especially Barbie and Donnie
because they were so young and cute
and the Ojibwa love children dearly.

The Five of Us in the Summer of 1961

Barbie (left), Me (Louise) with Bertie, Roy, Donnie (right),

and Lake Trout

Lac Seul, Northern Ontario, Canada

Photo by Sara MacBeath

In school my father treated us the same as his Ojibwa students,
with the exception that he had to provide
my brother and me with a more advanced curriculum
because we were academically ahead of his students;
and in my case, I was the only student in Grade Five.

He went so far as to enroll
my four-year-old sister Barbie in kindergarten,
so she could become friends
with her fellow kindies and first graders.

He hoped that she would help him
teach his young Ojibwa students more effectively
by talking with them in English
and by modeling what he wanted them to do.

Barbie

Sioux Lookout, Northern Ontario, 1961

Photo by Donald MacBeath

At recess he expected us to go outside and play with our classmates,
and he left us on our own to work out any squabbles and problems that arose.

There was no special treatment
because we were white and my father's children.
We used the same outhouse behind the school,
and we drank the same wretched powdered milk
and ate the same yucky nutritional biscuits
that the government required the Ojibwa children to eat daily.
We had to wash and brush our teeth along with our classmates.

When the nurse came to treat the students with a louse-killing, powdered drug,
my father made sure nurse Mike O'Flaherty deloused me first.
Lord help me, I think it was some form of DDT,
and Mike thoroughly applied it to my scalp before tackling any of the others.

Some of Dad's Ojibwa Students

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario

Photo by Donald MacBeath

My father's one concern about the Ojibwa was something he hadn't anticipated.
The Ojibwa girls were a little unsure about me as an older, assertive white girl
(likely I was the only one they had ever met),
and they preferred to play with Barbie and Donnie who were younger and oh so cute.

So with the exception of our next-door neighbors, Fannie and Nellie,
I played with the boys.
As a matter-of-fact, I found the Ojibwa boys fascinating,
much more so than the boring, regular white boys I had known.
My parents were quickly deciding to send me out to boarding school the next year.

Our Neighbors, Fannie and Nellie

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario

Photo by Donald MacBeath

My father considered the Ojibwa and other "bush Indians"
cheerful, loyal, faithful, and honest.
But the quality he considered their most delightful
characteristic was their sense of humor.
The following anecdote was one of my father's
favorite stories about Ojibwa humor:

"When I was at Lansdowne House,
I lived with the Catholic teacher at the mission,
because the Protestant residence had burned down the previous year.
The mission was on an island, and my school was on the mainland.
It was therefore necessary for me to commute by canoe
four times daily across about six hundred feet of water.

This was quite a chore for a person who had never seen a canoe before.
I must confess, my daily commuting was remarkable,
not for the skill which I displayed in canoeing,
but for the frequency and variety of accidents and mishaps
which were the result of my abominable canoemanship.

The Strip of Water My Father Had to Commute Over by Water

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario

Photo by Father Maurice Ouimet

The population used to take great delight
in gathering on the shores every morning
to see what new trouble Shawganish could think up for himself.

Shawganish means soldier or policeman,
and the Indians bestowed this name on me for the following reason.
I had just been released from the R.C.A.F.,
and I frequently wore air force battledress and greatcoat
in an effort to save my other clothes.

When I left Lansdowne House, Old Costar Wapoose, the chief,
was down to the plane to see me off and to say goodbye to me.
He spoke through an interpreter, and I was quite flattered
when he said that I was the first teacher who had been able to show him
and a lot of the other Indians many things which they had not known previously.

I was actually getting a swelled head, until Old Costar said
with a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face,
"Teacher, during last fall and this spring my people and I
learned nineteen new and different ways of upsetting a canoe."

A Rock My Father Grounded His Canoe On

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario

Photo by Donald MacBeath

Later when my family lived in Sioux Lookout, Ontario,
I was shocked by the way the First Nations people
living in the town were treated with a damaging and demoralizing prejudice.
That was not how we had been taught to treat any people anywhere.
The stunning unjustness and unfairness of what I saw has never left me.

I have shared a lot about my father's thoughts on the Ojibwa people,
but very little about my mother's.
My mother spent many, many hours during my upbringing discussing with me
the inherent value and dignity of people around the world,
no matter their race, culture, religion, education, work, or sex;
the only difference is, I don't have a written record of her thoughts.

I do, however, have many memories of the Ojibwa-White Métis man
who became my mother's lifelong friend in the summer of 1961.
Their mutual friendship and respect spoke volumes
about the common humanity we all share.

I have always been proud of my parents for teaching me by word and by example,
that all people are equal, deserving of respect,
and should be treated as we ourselves would wish to be treated.

My Mother and I

Stanhope Beach, Prince Edward Island, Canada, 1951

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

Boars Head Lighthouse
Tiverton, Long Island, Bay of Fundy
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

Notes:

1. Bush Indians:
My father used this term to collectively describe all the First Nations people who lived in
Northern Ontario, the largest groups of whom were Ojibwa and Cree.

2. Dad's Recounting of Chief Costar's Good-bye:
Recorded in Dad's unpublished The Northern School Teacher: A Hand Book To Be Issued To All
New Entrants To The Teaching Profession In The Indian Schools In The Sioux Lookout Indian
Agency, 1966, pages 30 and 31.

I know that my father had seen a canoe previously; in fact, I know that his father had given him
canoeing lessons on St. Peter's Bay in Prince Edward Island when he was young. I'm not saying
that my father was a liar, rather that like all good raconteurs, sometimes he fudged facts a little
to improve his story.

In my draft of his handbook, he admitted that "in writing to Sara, I gave complete freedom to my
descriptive talents, and perhaps even exaggerated on occasion, for effect ... ." I've taken this
quotation out of context, but it is true of my father as a story teller. The number of canoe
upsettings slowly grew over the decades as did the distance he had to commute by canoe
between the island and the mainland.

My Father's Handbook

3. Prejudice Against Indians in Sioux Lookout:

This is not just my memory and opinion. The situation was well-documented in the book

"Ethics and Indians: Social Relations in a Northwestern Ontario Town" by David H. Stymeist

(Toronto, Peter Martin Associates Limited, 1975 (1977 printing). I stumbled across this book
in the Cal State Fullerton bookstore in 1978, and it took me a nanosecond to realize what town
"Crow Lake" was because I had lived it and my father had worked at the Sioux Lookout Indian
Agency as an Indian Affairs Branch Supervising Principal. My copy is dog-eared, marked up,
and falling apart.

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Lansdowne House, Ontario, Canada

Wikimedia

Lansdowne House

Surrounded by Water

Lansdowne House and the Father's Island, 1935

Credit: Canada. Dept. of Indian Affairs and Northern Development
Library and Archives Canada / PA-094992

This will be a quick and dirty northern post
because I am leaving to fly to Canada in four hours.
Terry will be manning the home front while I'm gone.

I don't know how much I will get to use my computer while I am away,
because internet access is a challenge in Smith's Cove, Nova Scotia.

April 1961 was racing by in Lansdowne House,
and my family was settling into a northern routine.
But even ordinary events are not always routine
in the isolation of a northern village.

On Thursday, April 20, 1961
My mother wrote to her mother-in-law
Myrtle MacBeath:

Dear Mother:
Nothing very much
has happened this week.

Poor Mike had quite a time
last Friday.

Milt's teeth were bothering
him so much,
he had to get Mike
to pull five of them out.

Sara Margaret (MacDonald) MacBeath

Acadia University, Wolfville, Circa 1950
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

Mike froze his teeth and pulled them,
and then Milt went over to visit Duncan and then home.
When he got home he passed out.

He had a bad reaction to the needle.
It happens in one case in a million I guess.
He was unconscious for half an hour.

Poor Mike, at one point he thought he couldn't save him.
Milt went into shock, his blood pressure shot up,
and I guess his heart missed a beat.
However Mike saved him.

The Causeway to the Father's Island and the Ice-Bound Lake

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Canada

Painting by Don MacBeath, March 1961

Don received a letter about the position in Sioux Lookout,
but won't know until spring whether he will get it or not.

Maureen and Duncan were over for bridge last weekend.
Maureen and I beat Dunc and Don by thousands.
I never had such beautiful hands,
especially when my partner had the same luck.

We went over to Maureen's and Dunc's Monday night
to listen to the Academy Awards.

Best Picture 1960

April 17, 1961, at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium

in Santa Monica, California.

Wikipedia

Don has been painting pictures like mad and doing a wonderful job of them.

He paints lovely snow scenes and just painted a beautiful one

of the island across the way from our living room window.

Out Our Living Room Window

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Canada

Painting by Don MacBeath, March 1961

He paints lovely snow scenes and just painted a beautiful one

of the island across the way from our living room window.

I wish you could see Roberta now.

She is putting on weight now,

eats like a horse,

her cheeks are rosy,

and she is tanned.

She is outside every day,

almost the whole day.

It's a fight to get her in to eat.

Louise (Me) and Bertie

I imagine you will soon be planting your gardens and getting the cottages open.
It seems hard to believe up here with all this snow.
The weather has been beautiful, mostly sunshine.
I keep wondering if the daffodils I planted in the Cove will bloom.

I guess that you have had a very bad winter,
and you will be glad to see the spring.

Barbie is learning to read.

She is so proud!
Whenever she is home,
she insists on reading
out of her book to me.

Barbara MacBeath

Little Daisy, who is in
the same class as Barbie
and about the same age,
insists on taking
her reader home too, like Barbie,
so she can read to her mother.
Her mother can't understand
a word of English.

Little Daisy, on the left

The children are all outside all the time playing witch,
and Don got them a ball.
They all love going to school to Don.
They find him much more interesting
than any teacher they ever had.

The days seem to be long here.
There is so much to do,
but we are really enjoying ourselves.

There doesn't seem to be much to write about,
for this last week was quite uneventful,
so I will close for now.

With love,
Sara

P.S.
Don says you won't have to open the cottages this spring.
It must be a relief.
They were so much work.

Love,
Sara.

From Lansdowne House

to Charlottetown

Milt's tooth-pulling issue highlights an ever-present concern
in remote communities throughout northern Canada.
No one ever knew when they might be hit by a dental or a medical emergency,
and the adults were always aware that they might not be able
to get to a hospital or other emergency location Outside.
Lansdowne House was fortunate in that it did have a nurse and nursing station.
Northern nurses had to handle all kinds of emergencies.

Planes were still flying in and out of Lansdowne House
prior to the spring break-up when no one could get in or out,
but for whatever reason, probably extreme pain,
Milt couldn't wait for a plane to come and take him out to a dentist.
So Mike did the best he could filling in for an emergency dentist.

Notes:

1. Mike O'Flaherty was the nurse at the Nursing Station.

2. Milt MacMahon:
Milt was one of the two Department of Transport employees in Lansdowne House,
and his duties included running the weather station.

3. Duncan and Maureen McRae:

Duncan was the other Department of Transport employee.
He and his wife Maureen were good friends with my parents.

4. The 33rd Academy Awards were held on April 17, 1961, at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium in Santa

Monica, California. Bob Hope was the MC. This was the first Academy Award ceremony to be aired on

ABC television. "The Apartment" was the last black and white film to win the Best Picture Oscar during a

time when black and white movies were common. Wikipedia

5. Painting:

Both of my parents were painters. My father preferred oils and my mother watercolors. Unfortunately

the responsibilities of working and raising and educating five children made it difficult for my parents to

pursue their passions. I am humbled by the sacrifices they made for my brother, sisters, and me.

6. Cottages:

My grandmother MacBeath owned several cottages in what once was Brighton outside of Charlottetown.

Charlottetown grew into the Brighton area, and the cottages are long gone. My brother Roy and I had spent

the summer of 1960 there. The cottages were right in the middle of the outlined area below.

Brighton, Charlottetown, P.E.I.

Google Maps

7. Personal Note:

This post was a rush job, and I've only scanned the preview. I apologize for any mistakes in advance.
I don't know if I'll be able to get any more northern posts done until I return home. We shall see ...

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Route Map for Austin Airways, 1985

with Lansdowne House West of James Bay

Nakina is near Geraldton.

Wikipedia

Location of Smith's Cove, Nova Scotia

Wikimedia

Canada Wikimedia

Well, I'm not in Smith's Cove, Nova Scotia.
I'm back in Aurora, Colorado
after an unexpected flight home on Sunday.

I thought I should let all my blogging buddies know.

I had a dental emergency which put the kibosh
on my trip to Nova Scotia the very same day.

I'm beginning to rebound, but it seriously has not been fun,
and I don't know yet if I can go to Nova Scotia later.
What can be simple or no big deal for others
can quickly become dangerous, even life-threatening, for me.

But the good news is that Terry and I made
the 100 Day Celebration for our great niece Ella Grace,
and we got to spend a couple of days with my family.
It was amazing!

I'm not up for much on the computer yet,
still lying on the couch and binging on the Y&R.
I'm hoping I can begin visiting around
my blogging buddies posts later today.
No promises about a northern post on Friday.

I once told Terry that he needed to worry if I wasn't taking photos.
I didn't take many in Calgary.
But I have a few to share.
It wouldn't be a Fundy Blue post without some photos.

It's always great to arrive home!

International Terminal, Calgary Airport

July 20, 2017

Photo by Louise Barbour

Our Niece Jeannie with her daughter, Ella Grace

Ella's 100 Day Celebration

July 22, 2017

Chinatown, Calgary

Photo by Louise Barbour

Our Great Niece in Her Grandmother's Loving Arms

Ella and Susan MacBeath

Ella's 100 Day Celebration

July 22, 2017

Chinatown, Calgary

Photo by Louise Barbour

A Kitty for Pat, Orlin, and Cassie

My Sister Barb's Beloved Scotia

July 21, 2017

Calgary, Alberta, Canada

Photo by Louise Barbour

Another Kitty for Pat, Orlin, and Cassie

My Sister Barb's Beloved Smoke

July 21, 2017

Calgary, Alberta, Canada

Photo by Louise Barbour

A Last View of Calgary

as I head for the airport on Sunday morning

July 23, 2017

Calgary, Alberta, Canada

Photo by Louise Barbour

A Happy Great Aunt and Baby Ella

Family BBQ

July 20, 2017

Calgary, Alberta, Canada

Photo by Roy MacBeath

I'll be back asap!

It's the first Wednesday of the month:
the day when members of the
Insecure Writer's Support Group
share their writing struggles
and writing successes
and offer their encouragement
and support to fellow writers.

To visit the IWSG website, click here.

To become a member of the IWSG, click here.

Our wonderful co-hosts who are volunteering today,
along with IWSG founder Alex Cavanaugh are:
Christine Rains, Delorah@Book Lover, Ellen@The Cynical Sailor,
Yvonne Ventresca, and L.G. Keltner.

I hope you have a chance to visit today's hosts and thank them for co-hosting.
I'm sure they would appreciate a visit and an encouraging comment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every month the IWSG poses a question
that members can answer with advice, insight,
a personal experience, or a story in their IWSG posts.

Or, the question can inspire members
if they aren't sure what to write about on IWSG Day.

Remember the question is optional.
This month's featured question is:

What are your pet peeves when reading/writing/editing?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My pet peeves require little thinking on my part.
They've been persistent peeves throughout much of my life.

My pet peeve when reading is lack of time!
I cannot go a day without reading,
and I could literally read day in, day out, all day.

But life doesn't allow that,
so I sure hope there are libraries in heaven!

A Heavenly Place to Read

The Main Reading Room

The Library of Congress's Thomas Jefferson Building

in Washington, D. C., USA

Wikipedia

My pet peeve when writing is having to stop!
When I'm writing I don't want to eat, sleep, shower,
or do anything but write.

That means my supportive husband Terry
frequently plops food next to my computer,
often along with the questions,
"Are you sure you're having fun?
Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

Behind every happy writer is a supportive spouse!

Craft Beer Market

Calgary, Alberta, Canada

December 29, 2016

My pet peeve when editing is my need for perfection!
My perfectionism had driven me crazy since early childhood.
I've managed to get it under control in most areas of my life,
but writing ...

I keep repeating my mantra,
"Perfect is the enemy of good!"
But it rarely works when it comes to writing.

Not Enough Arrows on this Flow Chart.

I can loop around almost endlessly!

Wikimedia

Maybe I should try a new variation,
"Good enough is the new perfect!"

A Better Mantra, Perhaps?

Honolulu, Hawaii, USA

March 2, 2016

I'm looking forward to visiting around
and discovering everyone's pet peeves!

Happy writing in August!

IWSG: Wednesday, May 3, 2017 ~ Flint Knapping

The Lansdowne Letters: We Love Our Land

The Lansdowne Letters: Puss, Puss, Puss!

The Lansdowne Letters: Imagination and Inventiveness Equal Barreling

The Lansdowne Letters: A Surprise for Daddy

The Lansdowne Letters: A Difficult Day

The Lansdowne Letters: No Skip, No Lie!

IWSG: Wednesday, June 7, 2017 ~ I Quit! Not!

The Lansdowne Letters: Empty Skies

The Lansdowne Letters: Another Crisis in the MacBeath Home

The Lansdowne Letters: Food of the Angels

The Lansdowne Letters: Suckered!

IWSG: Wednesday, July 5, 2017 ~ A Lesson Learned

The Lansdowne Letters: A Different Way of Thinking

On the Downhill Slide at Great Sand Dunes

Never Say Never in the Great Sand Dunes

The Lansdowne Letters: Everyday Lessons in Our Common Humanity

The Lansdowne Letters: An Ever-present Concern

An Unexpected Change of Plans

IWSG: Wednesday, August 2, 2017 ~ Pet Peeves