The Elders Speak

Page 10

Elder recalls colorful past and sees sad changes from hospital bed

When I first met Elder Pierre Auger, late in the evening of Sept. 29 he was in a hospital bed at St. Theresa Hospital in Fort Vermilion. Through a friend, Roy Randolf, we had contacted an interpreter, Iola Ducharme, to accompany us because Pierre only spoke Cree.

Pierre tried to sit up when we entered his room and then, in a soft voice, he complained about a pain in his stomach. Eventually, sitting in that hospital bed, he began to recall his earlier years.

Pierre has lived at Tall Cree reserve since he was a teenager, when at the age of 15, his family moved from Wabasca to the Tall Cree reserve just east of Fort Vermilion.

Born in 1910, Pierre had not lost his humor for when I asked him how old he was, he replied with a twinkle in his eyes, "I'm a young man today. I'm 27-years-old."

Growing up at Tall Cree in the earlier days was not easy, Pierre's father died when he was 24-years-old and from then on, Pierre said he spent all of his time hunting and trapping in the bush. "There was nothing else to do at that time but trap," Pierre explained.

Trapping in the area of Tall Cree was a trapper's dream and Pierre recalls the land with the Caribou Mountains to the north, the Mikkwa and Wabasca Rivers, Owl and Harper creeks, all of them "good trapping areas."

"We used to use dog teams when we went on the trapline. Then I put a garden in and bought some cattle and horses. That's how we would go to town, with our horses," Pierre said.

Pierre remembers when a squirrel pelt sold for 25 cents, lynx for $40, beaver at $25, and a fox would bring him $25.

"Last winter I sold a lynx for $500. I sold an otter for $300. The prices have changed since those days," Pierre said.

He talked of his days on the trapline as if he was re-living his adventures. "I trap many times with my brother Maxium. We would stay in the bush all year round and only come out to sell fur and buy grub. Sometimes the snow would be deep. It would reach to our waist. Sometimes it was very cold," he said.

When he talks of his wife Isabel, his words in Cree come out with great sadness. Pierre and Isabel had eight children, six girls and two boys. Four of them have since passed away. Pierre lost his wife seven years ago.

"We used to have everything, a farm, cattle, horses, but when I lost my wife I sold everything, I let everything go. Now today I still trap, that's all I do. This way I never have to work in summer. I'm 77-years-old but I make enough in the winter from trapping to tide me over in the summer," he smiles.

The use of sweetgrass is a way of life with Pierre and he says that he used it always. Indian tradition is also a part of his life although he said that he never goes to sweats anymore.

"I used to travel all over to the powwows. They would send for me to sing and play the drum. No matter how many people were there I was never shy. I travelled lots of times to sing at Fox Lake, Wabasca, Meander River, yes."

Today, Pierre sees a change in powwows although he says they still dance about the same as before. "Sometimes it is a different way of dancing. Now they wear many feathers when they dance. I once sang at Hay Lakes. They paid me $50," he grinned.

Another thing that saddens him, is the fact that many Native youth are forgetting their Cree language.

"It is sad. They won't speak Cree, only English. With me, I can travel all over and make many friends because I can speak Cree. It would be nice if the young people would speak both languages," he says softly. "We ran away from school that's why I don't speak English. My dad came and got me and we ran away to the bush."

As old as he is, Pierre says he still wants to continue to travel and trap. He laughs again when he says, "But now I don't use a dog team, I use a skidoo."

I handed Pierre a newspaper of Windspeaker and he turned it to the Cree written by Joe Redcrow. "I always read the Cree. It's good to read it in her because sometimes I get lonely," he smiles.

Pierre has been a trapper since he was 15-years-old and says, "This may be my last winter. I might go this winter but I don't know ? pain. I can't do my work. I might go this winter but I get lonely."