Keeper'n Me

We are granted vision in this life through the territories we navigate with those we share the planet with. I've moved through varied geographies in this short lifetime, and along the way there have been many amazing personalities who have added to the fabric and texture of this life. This book and this story could not have been born without their influence. Saying “thank you” seems so insignificant when people have helped me realize a dream, but thanks anyway to all of these people who are in here somewhere and with me always.

First and foremost, to the Spence family, Dave, Doreen and Kim, who gave me a haven during a very stormy time, shelter from a variety of demons and a home in which to write this book. I owe it all to you.

To my editor at Doubleday, Jill Lambert, who came looking for a story one day and found only a writer who carried one but needed a hand getting it out. I thank you for your dedication, patience, honesty, insight and friendship.

To all the native organizations, groups and individuals that ever sat down and talked with me through sixteen long years of communications work, I thank you for giving so openly of yourselves so that I could understand and one day bring this story to your homes and offices.

To the elders who guided this work and have asked to remain nameless, I thank you for your encouragement, guidance, prayers and support. Without you there is no story.

And finally, to these people, who have populated each of the territories I've navigated, who convinced me I had stories inside me: Morningstar Mercredi, Bill Park, Lorna Crozier, John Cuthand, Carolyn Deby, Maria Campbell, Ray Fox, Paulette Jiles, Tomson Highway, Chief Leonard George, Buffy, Tantoo Cardinal, Norval Morrisseau, Lorraine Sinclair, Helene Kakakaway, Wil Campbell, Gord Enno, Diane Meilli, Gary Fry, Karen Huggins, the
Calgary Herald
, Viola McLure, Marlena Dolan, Brad Braun.

There are more, of course, many, many more, but there's a story waiting to be told …

KEEPER: A PROLOGUE

Get a lotta tourists this way now. Never used to be. When I was a boy this here country was still Ojibway land. Anishanabe we called ourselves. Lotsa huntin' and trappin', fishin' still good in the rivers. Not like now. Everywhere there's big expensive fishin' and huntin' lodges for rich Americans that don't know the difference between a good pickerel and a bad one. Only fish for the photographs them. Us we used everythin', every part of everythin'. They come up here year round now with their guns and rods and reels, big boats and Kodaks makin' lotta noise, botherin' ev'ryone
.

Okay for me, I'm an old man now. I just play dumb Indyun
and they leave me alone. But it's hard on the young ones. Kinda caught between two things them. Want the big boats, big guns, big money, same time as they want the culture. Hard to find your way sometimes in life. Me, I'm just an old man that's been down many trails. How they say in them movies? The ones that got lotsa Mexicans bein' Indyuns? I lived many winters? Heh, heh, heh. Guess that's true, only me, I don't talk so romantic anymore 'less some of them rich Americans are ready to dish out cash to hear a real Indyun talk 'bout the old days
.

Funny thing is, like I told the boy, the old days never really gone. Not for us. The outside world goes crazy all the time, findin' new ways to do old things, forget the teachin's their own old ones taught. But us we listen all the time. To old guys like me. Always talkin' anyway, might as well listen, eh? Heh, heh, heh
.

What I mean is, us we always had our storytellers. The ones who come and listen to the old men and the old women when they talk. Listen hard, learn the stories, then go tell everyone same thing. That way the old days are never gone for us, see? Always got a storyteller to pass those old teachin's down. Works good long as there's old guys like me. And we got it good us. Young ones bringin' us fresh fish, fresh meat, driving us here and there, doin' all kinda work around the place, hanging around all the time. Not just rich Americans got hired help, eh? Heh, heh, heh. Nope. Us old guys had 'em beat years ago. Anishanabe got a good word no one ever argues with, Indyun or not, makes everything right and okay. We say
—
TRA-DISH-UNN. Heh, heh, heh. Wanna make white people believe what you tell 'em? Say its TRA-DISH-UNN. Same thing with young ones round
here. You gotta do it, we say, it's TRA-DISH-UNN. Good word that. Makes life easy
.

Don't mind me. Been around as long as me get kinda busy in the head and talk all kindsa things at the same time. Gotta listen though—it's TRA-DISH-UNN! Heh, heh, heh
.

Boy's got some stories he wants to tell. Stories 'bout this reserve, this country, our people, how it feels to be a tourist. How it feels to need someone to show you the way. We all of us are tourists. All of us. That's my theory. Us we hitchin' and complainin' all the time about these American tourists that invade our land regular. But there's teachin's in evervthin'. They come to our docks, our camps, right onto the reserve sometimes, lookin' for a guide so they can get what they're lookin' for. Fish, bear, moose, anything. When they find one they're happy and when they get what they're lookin' for they're even happier still. Just like life, I say, even for us Indyuns. 'Specially the young ones. 'Specially now, in this world, in this time. That's why I told the boy that we're all tourists. Everyone. Same thing. Indyun or not, we're all lookin' for a guide to help us find our way through. It's tough. Takes a long time sometimes and not lots of people find one either. Them that do, well, they really got something to say then
.

See, things changed too fast and us we got a diff'rent way with time. Never had no punchclocks like the whiteman uses, never had nothin' like time management stuff I heard about one time, nothin' like that. Us we lived with the seasons. Always knew what needed doin' by time of the year not time of day. Always got things done, always survived. Was like that long time here
.

But the whiteman's been inventin' things for a long time now. They kinda got used to the speed of their world gettin' faster'n faster with each new invention. Got used to dealin' with time diff'rent even though they were just like us once. Them they lost touch with the rhythm of the earth, left their drums behind long time ago, forgot their old songs, their old teachings and got lost in the speed of things. But when they got here Anishanabe still lived the old way. My father was still trappin' the same territory been trapped by my family for a long, long time. Kinda seemed like the rest of the country got swept up in the whiteman's progress sooner'n us. But it's been only 'bout fifty years that things really started to change around here and maybe even lots less since the young people really started feelin' that lost kinda feelin'. Now they gotta choose between worlds. Wanna listen to that rap dance instead of the pow-wow drum, watch the television instead of hearin' stories, make up their own minds instead of hearin' the teachin's. It's hard. Wanna be part of one world cause it's all shiny and fast but afraid to let go of the other world that's slower and more familiar. It's not their fault. Us Indyuns we always like shiny things
.

Lotsa good things like school and workin' that the whiteman brought here but still, those young ones need a guide to bring 'em where they wanna be. Always lookin' for the sign, buyin' diff'rent maps, goin' here and there all the time. Got the old slidey foot. Always on the move and lookin'. Wanderin' around all owl-eyed lookin' for something
.

The boy knows this. He come here lookin' around too not so long ago. Funny-lookin' sight he was then, too. Fresh outta the city, not even really knowin' he was an Indyun, especially not
an Anishanabe. Learned lots though. But he was a real tourist that one. Coulda got lost in a bathtub then. Heh, heh, heh. But he learned and that's why I told him to write all of this down. Be a story teller. Any damn fool can get people's attention but it takes a storyteller to get their attention and hold it. Lots of people out there gotta know what happened, how you found your way and what it takes to be an Indyun these days. Real Indyun, not that Hollywood kind. That's what I told him. He's a good boy, you'll see. Me, I'll just come along for the ride, make sure he's doin' right. Besides, lotta stuff's my story too and maybe if you listen hard, pay close attention, you'll see that they're your stories too. Our stories all work like that. Its TRA-DISH-UNN. Heh, heh, heh
.

You gotta drive for miles on this bumpy as hell gravel road to reach White Dog. You turn off the Trans-Canada Highway a few kilometres outside Kenora and head north. Heading towards the little railroad town of Minaki, you follow this curving little paved highway as far as the White Dog turnoff, and that's about where you leave things like cottages, road signs, picnic tables and civilization behind. From there it's an agonizing trip on this washboard road that's hard as dusted steel in summer, soupy as a poor stew in autumn and slippery as the Department of Indian Affairs at funding time in winter. Calling it a road's a stretch even by White Dog standards, but it's the only way in here unless you care to boat it up the Winnipeg River about a hundred k. The only thing that makes the trip bearable is the country.
And what country. The trees come right out to the very shoulders of the road in places and are so tall and green it'll make you blink and just when you're getting used to that a big silver lake'll flash into view like a big mercury platter in the sunlight. My favorite thing is how on summer days the sun'll throw big stretches of shadows from those trees across the road and when you drive through 'em, all shadows and light, it's kinda like seein' the world through a strobe light. Anyway, about halfway in there's a huge cliff that looks like it's about a mile high leaning out over the road. The old people used to go there to pray, and I always wondered how they ever managed to climb the thing. We climbed it once, my brother Stanley and I, and it took all morning and all the gumption we had to get up there. But once you're up top the view is amazing. Looking away across any direction you can see miles and miles of green kinda pockmarked with drops of blue where the lakes sit. It's like a big green carpet rolling up and down like waves as far as you can see. You miss that from the road but you can still get an idea of the size of it all when you top one of the hills.