Richard Wagamese

For the longest time I wondered what it really meant to be Ojibwa...

I’ve come to love predictability...

My wife is a tremendous cook. She’s creative in the kitchen and can conjure fabulous meals out of whatever she finds in the larder. Unlike me who seems perpetually condemned to the same old unenlightened throw-it-in-a-pot and watch it boil philosophy, she’s a whiz.

There’s a thin, bubbly creek I walk to that spills out of the mountains and through a small meadow a mile or so above our home...

My brother Jack had passed away before I made it back to my people...

Becoming a professional writer is a process.

When I think back to the number of books that have affected my life, I’m incredulous.

I’ve heard it said that morning is the universe shrugging itself into wakefulness...

You give up everything about your identity when you’re an Indian in the city.

I met a man some years ago who was a vaunted Ojibwa teacher. He’d published books, taught at universities and been a high profile ethnological speaker.

We’re heading into our sixth year of being on our piece of land in the mountains.

I stand at the sink washing dishes.

Nowadays we live in the mountains of the BC Interior...

Some days, when you get to the middle of your fifties like I am, you look back and wonder how you ever made it this far without certain things happening.

I’ve gotten to know Canada pretty well as a journalist.