Standing Into Danger

Monday, July 10, 2017

On the Downhill Slide at Great Sand Dunes

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.

A Little Muley Foraging on the Sand Sheet Grassland

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

Hummingbirds Gather at a Feeder

Outside Our Lodge Room

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 rises up
against the base of the Sangre de Cristos
and comprises about 11% of a 330
square-mile deposit of sand in the valley.

The Sand Sheet Grasslands Sweeping Out from the Dune Fields

at the Base of the Sangre de Cristos

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 lodge for a siesta.

Heading Back to Our Lodge

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.

Terry Flahes Me a Smile

My Turn To Pose

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.

Ridiculously Hard at Times

Hoofing, hoofing, hoofing ...

Up and Up

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

The Goal

Looking Back

The Final Push

Summiting that first dune was one
of the hardest physical 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 ...

The Next Stop ~ Or Not

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.

The Downhill Slide

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.

Sunset on the Dunes

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.

A Dune Ridge ~ Not for Those Who Don't Like Heights

Terry Follows Me Down

Down and Down

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!

Approaching Medano in the Dark

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!"

Friday, July 7, 2017

The Lansdowne Letters: A Different Way of Thinking

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

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

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

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

Friday, June 30, 2017

The Lansdowne Letters: Suckered!

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

Pages

Monday, July 10, 2017

On the Downhill Slide at Great Sand Dunes

Friday, July 7, 2017

The Lansdowne Letters: A Different Way of Thinking

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

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

Friday, June 30, 2017

The Lansdowne Letters: Suckered!