Understanding the promise of returning...

Page 4

Tansi, ahnee and hello.

Against the sky are geese. On this frosty morning, they fill the air with messages to those of us earthbound. The goose song tells of winter and the approaching darkness. It tells of travelling and the memory of thousands of journeys before. It

tells of the never-ending promise. The promise of returning.

For me this morning they sing my grandfather's name. He told me of the geese. He told me that the geese work together. The strongest of the flock will head to the front of the column. Using his strong wings he beats the air. The heavy beating

of his wings creates thinner air for the geese coming behind him. It's easier for them to fly through this thinned-out air and the travelling is easier.

When he tires, he drops back to the very back of the column to rest. Another well rested and therefore stronger goose takes up the very important front position until he too tires. On and on they fly helping each other through great distances.

My grandfather told me that people have much to learn from geese. Movement is easier with cooperation. He told me that the true nature of travelling lies in the returning. The geese know this and so should I. I should always return to my home

no matter how long a time I've been away and tell those I return to all the things I've seen and done on my travels. In this way the travelling has real meaning.

John Wagamese. My grandfather.

It's been almost two years since he travelled on. I miss him a great deal, especially on mornings like this. These times when I feel the need to go home. When my body and my spirit feels that almost indescribable urge to return and walk those

northern woods and allow myself the freedom to become comfortable again with the land.

We had to speak through a translator. I had disappeared for almost twenty years into the foster care system and my Ojibway language had been replaced by English. He was always a man of the woods and had never learned English. Our

conversations were slow and tedious sometimes but he gave me very much in the short time we had.

I remember once being very troubled. It wasn't very long after I'd discovered my Ojibway family again and had returned to northern Ontario. I would disappear all by myself into the bush. During these day-long walks, I would remember the games

I played as a boy and how the bush was always more of a home than the foster homes I found myself in.

After awhile I began to notice that I knew things. I knew deer signs and bear signs. I knew the names of plants and what they could be used for. I knew the places in the rivers and lakes where I could catch fish. I knew the animals and bird sounds

as well as if I'd never been away. I knew this wilderness world as well as an old friend.

It seemed too much to believe. I'd been away almost twenty years and yet in a very short time I could understand the movements and stillness of the bush. And so I asked him why.

He smiled in that special way that our elders do when they just know they're about to lay something important on you. When I was born, he said, I lived on the trapline. I was born into the world in the Indian way. I was born into the world with

the sounds of my animal brothers and sisters all around me. My first breath was a breath filled with the smell of the north. My first awareness was one of being safe in the arms of the world.

Then he told me something really wonderful. He told me that when he would head out on his trapline he would carry me with him. As he worked and as he walked he would tell me about everything he saw. He would introduce me to every animal

that we passed. He would introduce me to every plant, every tree, every waterway, every sign so that when I got old enough to travel there on my own I wouldn't be a stranger. He introduced me to Creation and allowed me to become part of it

forever.

And that was shy I knew those things. I knew them because they were the first things I was introduced to as a baby. I knew them ecause my grandfather knew that I would need them someday to heal myself and I would need them in order to

become what I was sent here to become.

Against the sky are geese. The goose song tells of the travels. I tells me of the love that a grandfather has for a grandson. A love that begins well before birth and carrys well beyond the limits of this world.

If there is a message in all of this it probably lives in the fact that we need to continue to pass on whatever knowledge we have about our Indian ways to those who follow behind us. If we only know one word of our knowledge, pass it on. If we

only know one thing about hunting, pass it on. If we only know of one way of speaking to our Creator, pass it on. In this way, like the geese who travel tremendous distances through a shared effort, there will always be a returning and always

another tale to tell.

Until next week, Meegwetch.