Xavier Kataquapit

I was shocked recently while at the cottage when I discovered a tragic sight near the entrance to the garage. The overturned remains of a nest sat next to three tiny chicks on the ground. It was a nest made by 'Pepeshchel' – the Robin. It was a sad sight to see the three tiny creatures fighting for life. They had landed next to an ant hill and the insects were crawling over the vulnerable little intruders. My friend Mike and I decided to take matters into our own hands and we rounded up the surviving chicks.

I drove the half ton back to the house today. This old Ford is a beat up work horse of a truck that serves mainly as basic transport these days rather than something I would take on a long trip. Tonight I didn't have far to go and it was a pleasure to amble alone down the highway late in the evening. The falling sun bled a ruby red in the sky and the lakes and rivers on my way reflected the crimson shimmering glow.

I spent some time in the deep forest this past week. It felt great to breathe in the fresh air and to stir the coals of a fire while the weather turned cool and wet. One morning, a young eagle, or mikisew in the Cree language, glided over head and began to screech and cry as I stood amongst the tall pine. No doubt he was not happy at my incursion into his domain. He kept circling and crying overhead as I went about my work around the camp.

I enjoy listening to my dad Marius reminisce about his early life on the land around Attawapiskat. His family settled along the banks of the Attawapiskat River and they travelled regularly along the shores, tributaries and mushkeg surrounding the community. He grew up in a big family of seven brothers and one sister during a time when our people were still following a nomadic lifestyle on the land.

It is four in the morning, the room is dark and quiet as I lie still in my bed. I am in a cabin in the wilderness and in complete silence except that I can hear scurrying and scratching in the walls. The sounds move from the ceiling to my right, then shuffle overhead and disappear off to my left. A mouse or wahpookoosheesh, in the Cree language, has made his home in the crudely built plywood and insulated walls of the cabin I have rented. There are more than enough cracks, holes and broken boards in the building to allow a tiny mouse to crawl through these spaces.