Friday, January 9, 2015

The Lansdowne House Letters: Robinson Crusoe



Dad's Trunks on Father Ouimet's Beach,
Couture Island, Lake Attawapiskat,
Northern Ontario, Canada
Photo by Don MacBeath,  September 13, 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved





My father wrote:
"Somehow 
when I took this picture, I thought
of Robinson Crusoe.  
I felt quite alone 
and lonely 
because 
then I didn't know ... ."





Dad's Trunks on Father Ouimet's Beach 
(Back of Photo)
Photo by Don MacBeath,  September  13, 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved




Didn't know what
I wonder.














Do you have old family photos: 
worn, 
scissored, 
faded words 
penciled on the back?

My family has only a few photos 
from Lansdowne House.
Our parents simply couldn't afford 
to buy film, let alone develop it.1

On the back of the photo 
of Dad's trunks on Father Ouimet's beach, 
I can read my father's words,
but the rest is missing; 
cut off by someone who
trimmed the photo decades ago.
Quite possibly me!

It's maddening, 
because I would love to know
what Dad didn't know then. 



Flying to Lansdowne House
Photo by Don MacBeath,  September 13, 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved


My father took 
the photograph when 
he first flew into Lansdowne House 
on this Norseman
on September 13, 1960.

The pilot off-loaded 
Dad's luggage
on the dock, and
someone paddled it
across the water
in a canoe
and deposited it 
on the beach. 








And there Dad stood in the sand,
knowing not a single soul 
in the remote Northern village ~
left behind in Nova Scotia,
his wife Sara, five children,
and his familiar life.




Brother Raoul Bernier
Photo by Don MacBeath,  October 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved


But almost immediately 
a French Canadian 
Oblate brother, Raoul Bernier,
hauled Dad's trunks 
to his rented cottage,
where Dad met his
new roommate Uno Manila.









I'm sure the cottage was a bit of a surprise.
Shack is more like it.

Two rooms, unfurnished,
cold running water,
and a cantankerous wood stove.

Uno and Dad rented the cottage
from Father Ouimet for $15.00/month,
with fuel and lights included.

For an additional $2.50/day each,
they took their meals at the Father's rectory.
Unfortunately, the only furniture
the Father could loan them 
was two single beds.

But they managed ...



On Tuesday, October 4, 1960 
My father wrote:

Hi There:
Everyone ready for the daily blurb?

Today has been quite eventful for me.   
A while ago, I wrote to Gowan2 
to see if the Department would send me some furniture, 
since the Father could only loan us two beds.  

Living out of trunks can get irksome at times, 
and it is nice to have a couple of easy chairs to relax upon.  
One gets sick of lying on his bed all the time.  
Well, today the furniture started arriving.



The Front Room
in the Cottage that Dad and Uno Rented from Father Ouimet
Photo by Don MacBeath,  October 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved


The first things that arrived were 
a large double bed, 
a mattress and a spring, 
and a large double bureau.  
We stored the double bed in the Father’s attic, 
but we are making good use of the bureau.  

All the furniture will be used 
in the new teacherage next year, 
so we are taking good care of it.  

I didn’t see the plane that brought the furniture, 
but I wish that I had.  
guess it looked like a flying junk wagon. 

The spring and mattress were too large 
to put inside the plane, 
so they lashed it to the outside.  

There was so much wind resistance 
(there was also a canoe lashed to the outside) 
that the plane took two hours and forty-five minutes 
to fly from Nakina.  
This is normally a one and one half hour trip.



Dad's Bed with the Small Table 
Uno and He Shared
in Their Two-Room Cottage
on the Father's Island
Photo by Don MacBeath,  October 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved



When I was coming home from school, 
I saw all this stuff on the DOT3 wharf.  
I didn’t know how I was going to get it across 
in my little canoe.  

Fortunately Duncan came along just then 
and helped me out.  
I don’t know what I would do without Duncan.  
He is a really good friend.  

He got the DOT speedboat 
and hauled it across to the island for me.  
Uno and I then carried the freight up from the beach.



Life Lived on a Bed
(when you have no other furniture)
Uno is trying to catch Baby McRae
who is making a break for it.
Photo by Don MacBeath,  October 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved


Tonight we spent rearranging our furniture 
and storing our trunks in the Father’s attic 
to make room for the furniture still to arrive.  

We are expecting a chesterfield, a bookcase, 
an easy chair, and a writing desk.

Another thing I found on the DOT dock 
was some parts for a new schoolyard swing.  

Now isn’t that just like the Government!!  
They send in swings just as winter sets in, 
but they can’t see to get my desks in for me.

I suppose you are wondering 
how I always find everything on the DOT wharf.  

First, it is the only wharf 
the plane can get to now, 
since the water is so low, 
and besides, that is the wharf closest to the school.  

I always check the dock 
whenever I see anything on it, 
because no one notifies you 
if you have anything on the plane.  
They just dump it and leave.

Thank goodness the Indians are trustworthy.  
They have never stolen anything from the wharf yet.  
I often wonder if white people 
would be so white in this respect.



Couture Island4 
with Roman Catholic Mission
Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Canada
Dad's cottage is below the wind charger between the church and the rectory.
Photo by Father Maurice Ouimet,  Probably 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved



Uno was just laughing at me typing.  
There was a rumba tune on the radio, 
and I was keeping perfect time to it with the typewriter.  

He says that I really make the old thing hum 
when there is a fast jazz tune like MUSKRAT RAMBLE, 
or some good Dixie Land Jazz tune playing.

Now it is my turn to laugh at Uno.  
He is doing his exercises.  
We have started a rigorous physical fitness campaign.  

It may be too late for me 
to turn into a Charles Atlas, 
but at least it won’t do me any harm, 
and it does help to pass the time.



Dad Standing Outside His "Cottage"
Photographer Unknown,  Fall 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved


Yesterday I was talking to 
one of my little girls, Alice,  
and I told her that she could be a very pretty girl 
if she would take better care of herself 
and try to wear something clean and reasonably good fitting.  

Well, it would have done your hearts good 
to see her today.  
I hardly knew her when she came to school.  

Her hair was clean and curled, 
her face and hands were clean, 
and she was wearing not a bad dress, 
and it was reasonably clean.  

I’m telling you, any parents 
would have been proud to claim her as their own.  
She was beautiful with her flashing brown eyes, 
her jet black hair, and her beautiful light brown skin.

You should have seen my grade one pupils
and my beginners today.  
I had them making paper hats, 
putting their names on them, and coloring them.  

They made wonderful hats 
and were very proud of them.  
In fact, they insisted on wearing them home. 

They went out like a bunch of fashion models, 
but as soon as they got outside they ran into trouble.  

There was a strong wind blowing.  
In a few moments the yard 
was filled with flying hats 
and running children chasing after them.  

In fact, I could still see some of them 
ten minutes after I let them out.

Well, I guess that just about sews up things for today.  
Will be back at the same old stand tomorrow.

Bye for now,
love,
Don.


1  This is why, if you've been reading some of my Northern posts,
    you may have noticed me using the same photos more than once.

2  Gowan ~ Indian Agent in Nakina, and Dad's immediate contact and boss.

3  DOT ~ Department of Transport

4  Couture Island ~ My father 's "cottage" was between the church and the rectory.  Dad invariably
    referred to Couture Island as "The Father's Island."  I never heard it called Couture Island when I
    lived there.






Till next time ~
Fundy Blue
 


Wednesday, January 7, 2015

IWSG: A Dizzy Dame Plans




It's the first Wednesday in January,
and that means it's time to post for the
Insecure Writer's Support Group.


Happy New Year, Everyone!



Don't forget to visit and thank 
our dedicated IWSG co-hosts:
Elizabeth Seckman, Lisa Buie-Collard
Chrys Fey, Michelle Wallace, and Alex J. Cavanaugh!


In his Monday postAlex 
asked members to introduce themselves
in this first IWSG post for 2015.


So here goes: 
Fundy Blue, Bay of Fundy, 2014

I’m Fundy Blue, born
overlooking my beloved
Bay of Fundy 
in Wolfville, 
Nova Scotia.


Wikimedia






The Ever-Patient and I
Breckenridge
Christmas Eve, 2014



I live in landlocked
Aurora, Colorado
with my husband
and best friend, Terry.


Google Search
  





I love 
my native Canada 
and 
my adopted United States.




My Flag
Annapolis Royal, N.S. 
2011










After a stint 
in the Oil Patch ...




Driller Jack Taylor and I
DNB Rig Doghouse
Kansas, 1981









My Classroom, May 2012








... I became 
the eighth generation 
of teachers in my family.  











My Retirement with Joanne and Terry, 2012



I recently retired and
am writing full-time.





Hard at Work a Few Days Ago






   

I’m working on
a memoir about 
my family’s time 
among the Oji-Cree in northwestern Ontario.  









Fundy Blue Does Waikiki, March 2014



I have a passion 
for learning, 
traveling, photography,
and natural history.









And now for my IWSG post:


I'm excited about writing in 2015!

Last year I struggled, 
because I was reliving painful memories 
that I had frozen deep in my muskeg.

I’m past that now,
and I’m figuring out
how to research and write a memoir.

My memoir is personal, 
but it’s also historical
because it covers 
a pivital time in the history 
of the First Nations people
in Northwestern Ontario.


A quote my friend recently posted 
on her Linda's Peaceful Place
really resonated:







I know I haven't managed my energy well.
I fly high, until I crash and burn;
and I get involved in things that distract me.
Even worse, I'm a perfectionist.

I've had an adventurous life;
but I know I'd have gone further,
if I'd been more focused.

This year I'm concentrating 

on planning my days
to increase my writing productivity.

Wish me luck!
My blog isn't called
Standing Into Danger
for nothing!

I have a talent
for landing in unexpected situations.




And I realized a while ago,
what my brother
really meant
when he said I was 
a beautiful butterfly
flitting from flower to flower.

My Brother Roy and I
Peak 8, Breckenridge
2013






He and my sisters call me
the ADHD One
when I'm not around.

What an illuminating shock!
It explained so much about me to me.
Ironically funny, because I taught for many years!


I'll let you know 
how the planning goes.

Progress so far?
A little ugly!

I have what Terry is calling
Dizzy Dame Syndrome.

It's really quite funny!
I caught a nasty bug in mid-December
which precipitated a dental crisis
and morphed into viral vertigo.
Those pesky eustachian tubes ~
Who knew they could cause so much fun?

But I didn't have multiple root canals on Christmas Eve
or a heart attack on Monday ~
so I'm giddy with relief and optimism!





I'd love to hear about
your writing plans for 2015!




Saturday, January 3, 2015

Birthday Boy


In the fall of 1963,
I entered Grade Eight 
in Wolfville, Nova Scotia.

And among my many new friends
was an irrepressible bundle
of zany fun and energy,
the one and only Ronnie.




Always in the thick of things,
Ron was the life of every party.

Need I say that he was a popular
member of "Our Gang"?

This photo was taken
at a party at my home
on June 16, 1964.

Ron Tangled up with Renee and Mary


Here are a few more photos
from Ron's teenaged past:



Swimming at the Three Pools
was a favorite activity of ours,
especially after the long, hot
bike ride and hike to get there.


This photo was taken in
the early summer of 1964.





Ron Front and Center



Horsing Around in Wolfville
Pete, Ron, and David
Summer 1964 0r 1965




We had a lot of parties 
at various homes!
Beside dancing and eating,
we had intense checkers 
and chess games.

Bet that doesn't happen 
at teenaged parties now!

And look how dressed-up we were!  
Ron styling as always!




 Party Checkers
Jayne, Ron, Renee, and Pete
Summer 1965



Our Gang at the Swinging Bridge
~ at least some of us!

Pete (standing), Ron, Barb, Bruce, 
Jayne (standing), John, Lella, Margaret, Mary, 
David (standing) and me (sitting on the bridge)
May 24, 1964


I moved a lot,
and I only lived in Wolfville that one year,
until I returned as a Freshette at Acadia University
in the fall of 1967.

Ron and I had summer jobs at Acadia's library
in the summer of 1968 ~
when I was too poor to take photos,
let alone develop them!
He was still cute, still styling, and still 
a bundle of energy and fun.

We ended up in two countries
on opposite sides of the continent,
but I never forgot him.

And thanks to computers and the internet,
we reconnected over two years ago!
It was the reset of a great friendship.

And then, last summer, we met in person again!



Ron, Me, and Jim
Lawrencetown, Nova Scotia
Summer 2014



Wishing you 
the best of birthdays, 
and many more,
my friend!
Can't wait to see you 
again next summer!






Ron, Sophie, Jim, and my sister Barb
MacDonald Hill
Near Lawrencetown Beach, N.S. 
Summer 2014




Ron and Sophie with Mr. Orangie
MacDonald Hill
Near Lawrencetown Beach, N.S. 
Summer 2014


Oppsies!  When I first posted this, I forgot to add a link 
to Ron's awesome blog:  From Sophie's View

It features the equally one and only Ms. Sophie Doodle!
Ron is the person who pushed me into blogging!



Sophie with Mr. Orangie
MacDonald Hill
Near Lawrencetown Beach, N.S. 
Summer 2014

Friday, January 2, 2015

The Lansdowne Letters: A Cold Morning on Satan's Highway




For my first northern post this year,
I’m sharing 
Dad’s letter about
a cold morning at school 
and an unexpected visit
from the Indian Agent.




My School
Photo by Don MacBeath,  October 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved






For perspective, 
I’m quoting from a paper1
on northern teaching
my father wrote in the mid-1960s:
"The teacher is strictly on his own,
for usually he is the only government official 
within several hundred miles.  
The school inspector gets in usually
only two or three times a year,
and the teacher is lucky if he sees the 
agency supervisor once a month." 



My father wrote in his letter 
on Monday October 3, 1960:

Hello again: 
Today was considerably better 
from a reporter’s point of view, 
but not so hot 
from the point of view 
of personal comfort.  

This morning I jumped in my trusty canoe 
and took off for the mainland 
full of good intentions 
of starting the week off right 
with everything organized; 
but you know what they say about good intentions.  
The road to the hot place is paved with them.
  
Well, as of Monday morning, 
there are several new paving stones on Satan’s highway.






First, 
I slipped getting into the canoe 
and got my left leg 
wet up to the knee; 
but what the heck, 
I very seldom get across 
without getting 
one or more appendages wet, 
so that didn’t disturb me too much.



Wikimedia



When I reached my school though, 
a real treat was in store for me.  

Somehow the spaces heaters 
had gotten blown out over the weekend, 
but the oil had not been turned off.  

I opened the stove to light it, 
and I smelt this strong smell of oil.  

I happened to have my flashlight with me, 
so I shined it in the stove, 
and the cotton-picking thing 
was about three quarters full of oil.  

Well, there I was 
with a school full of kids 
and a stove full of oil, 
and everything, school, kids, 
and stove as cold as charity.  

I said the Lord’s Prayer 
in spite of the way he had let me down, 
called the roll, and let my pupils go home for the morning. 




Then I went 
down to McRae’s 
and had a couple 
of cups of coffee 
to warm myself up.

Probably McRae's House
Photo by Don MacBeath,  October 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

  


Then I went back across the water, 
changed into my old clothes, returned, 
and started to clean up the stoves.  
Duncan helped me. 



We took about 
three quarters 
of a bucket of oil 
from each stove.
  
Before we were finished, 
I was soot and oil 
from head to toe 
and smelled 
like an oil refinery.

Don MacBeath with Duncan McRae
Photographer Unknown,  October 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved




Just about the middle of the whole operation, 
who arrived at Lansdowne, but Mr. Gowan 
the Indian Agent from Nakina.  

I was glad he came in time to see 
all the difficulties under which I was operating.
He saw the makeshift desks that I was using 
and assured me that my desks would be in soon.




Right now 
I have ten homemade double desks that the Father loaned me, 
a card table and four chairs 
that I borrowed from
the nursing station, 
and a card table
that I borrowed from
the McRaes.

Students in Father Ouimet's
Homemade Desks
Photo by Don MacBeath,  September 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

  



After I talked to Gowan, 
I came home and had a bath at the rectory, 
changed back into my clothes, had dinner, 
and went back in my canoe to open school for the afternoon.  

And I didn’t get my left foot wet this time.  
I got my right one wet instead.  
Oh well, it’s all in a day’s work.

To refer to the subject of desks again for a moment, 
along with the above-mentioned 
motley assortment of desks and tables, 
I have a rather unique kindergarten table for the beginners.  

The other day when I was coming home from school, 
I noticed a dozen sheets of plywood 
that the Department of Indian Affairs had shipped in 
to build a fish warehouse at Lansdowne House.  
There they were, big as life, 
sitting on the DOT wharf.  

I had an inspiration.  
I got two Indians to carry a sheet 
up to the school for me.  
Then I went down to see Bill Mitchell at the Bay, 
borrowed two low sawhorses, 
and carried them up to the school.  
I placed the sheet of plywood on the sawhorses
and had a swell kindergarten table for myself.  

The first thing Gowan asked me when he saw me 
was why I had taken his plywood.  
He wanted me to give it back to him immediately, 
but when he saw the use to which I was putting it, 
he decided I could keep it till my school furniture arrived.





I never cease to be amazed 
at how neatly 
the Indian children work.
  
Everything they do 
has to be done
to perfection, 
no halfway measures for them.

Students in Father Ouimet's
Homemade Desks
Photo by Don MacBeath,  September 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved





Whatever they do, 
they work at it till it is perfect 
and don’t want to be interrupted till it is finished.  

If fact, they don’t even want to 
go out for recess if they are doing something.  
If they start doing something late in the afternoon, 
it is quite a task to get rid of them at four o’clock 
when the school day ends.  
In this respect there is a lot more satisfaction 
working with Indian children than with white ones.  

I can’t figure out why they are so careless 
about their dress and personal cleanliness, 
and at the same time, 
so fussy about the work they do in school.  

I guess it isn’t so much being careless about clothes, etc., 
as being unable to do anything about it.  

Only a couple of the children, whose fathers happen 
to be better than ordinary hunters and trappers, 
have any sort of decent clothes.  
The rest of them just wear hand-me-downs 
from other children and other members of the family.  

And the shoes, 
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry about them.  
They don’t worry about fit at all.  
There is one little girl in grade two 
who is wandering around in a pair of loafers 
that would be too large for Sara.2  
She has them tied on so they won’t fall off.

Well, I guess that does it for another night.
Bye for now,
Love, Don.



My Father's Canoe Route
My father's cottage is between the white-colored church and rectory on the Father's Island.
Dad canoed back and forth between the island and the dock one or more times a day.
Dad's borrowed ten double homemade desks also made this trip by canoe.
Photo by Father Ouimet, circa1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved




On the surface, I find Dad's letter entertaining;
but in it, I see hints of the unfolding tragedy
that was Lansdowne House in later years.

I've been researching the relationship
between the government
and the Fort Hope Band,
which includes the Ojibwa of Lansdowne House.

In the early 1960s
government policies and programs
for the Indians of Canada
operated without practicable objectives,
monitoring, or accountability, 
and their failures had devastating consequences
for the vulnerable Ojibwa in Northern Ontario.3

My father arrived in Lansdowne House
at a critical juncture in aboriginal history, 
when the local Ojibwa, 
with strong government encouragement,
were adapting their traditional lifestyle 
of hunting, fishing, and trapping
to life in a settled village.

In his letters I can see 
the changes playing out.

This is one reason why I believe
Dad’s letters are an important
record of that time.




Notes:
1  MacBeath The Northern School Teacher 9
2  Sara:  My mother and Dad's wife
3  Driben and Trudeau When Freedom Is Lost:  
    The Dark Side of the Relationship between Government and the Fort Hope Band i





Till next time ~
Fundy Blue.