Transforming Greed into Generosity

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There is an abundance of Goldenrod and Joe Pye Weed tis year.

 Harvest time is all about abundance.  During August, I feast on the fresh corn, tomatoes and peaches that are grown near me.  Visiting local fruit and vegetable stands and seeing all the fresh local produce makes me very happy.  Walking the local trails, this year, I am seeing apple trees that are so heavily laden with fruit that the branches are bending over to touch the ground.  Many apples have already fallen onto the ground and I’ve seen flocks of Canada Geese and Wild Turkeys feasting on them.  It is, as they say, a good year for apples.

We had to add a stick to hold up the branch on our apple tree so that it
wouldn't crack under the weight of the apples this year.

Late summer is a time to renew our relationship with the Earth and to be grateful for her abundance and all she shares with us.  Last week, I renewed my relationship with the Elderberry bushes near me.  They shared their dark purple berries with me.  I cooked them down with cinnamon, cloves and ginger and then added honey to the strained liquid to make a kind of syrup that can be added to water.  It’s good for my immune system and so I froze small jars of it in the freezer to have all winter.  We discovered lots of Highbush Cranberries and Chokecherries while we were looking for Elderberries..  My partner is learning how to make Chokecherry Jelly with the Chokecherries we picked.

Elderberries

Highbush Cranberries

Chokecherries

It’s also a time to share with others.  Our local Community Garden is planted with donated plants and seeds and anyone who wants to, can pick the vegetables as they are ready.  I prepare a basket of surplus vegetables monthly and take it to the local library to give away. I deliver zucchinis, squash and kale to neighbours as well. When the local Food Bank was looking for a location for their Sharing Cupboard, they thought of the Community Garden as a location.  The Cupboard houses food that people can share with each other and is also stocked by the Food Bank to help fill the gap that some families experience in food security.  We chose to locate this cupboard under the big Red Oak tree to provide shade and beside the Community Garden to connect the idea of food sharing.

Sharing Cupboard in front of the Community Garden

This is a mast year for the Oak tree and there is an abundance of acorns that the squirrels are enjoying.  The Oak trees have an interesting relationship with the squirrels.  The mast year will mean that there is a good chance of more acorns sprouting into oak trees and that there may be more squirrel babies next spring.  The Oak trees will not produce as many acorns next year in order to control the squirrel population. 

Red Oak acorns in the park near the Community Garden

 However, it is not a good year for Wild Grapes.  Last year, they were everywhere and we made lots of Wild Grape Jelly to share with our friends and family.  Perhaps the grapes have the same kind of relationship with the animals and birds that eat them.  This year, we may make a smaller batch of jelly or we may make applesauce instead.

This Wild Grape vine is growing on top of our apple tree so we will
harvest the grapes when we move the vine later in the fall.

When I think about the settlers that came here to Turtle Island who were escaping scarcity of food, land, freedom and jobs, I wonder what this abundance looked like to them.  I wonder why this abundance didn't heal their traumas of scarcity.  Instead, it seems that the trauma kept them and even us today, taking as much as we can.  Indigenous Peoples would never take all the berries or apples.  They would leave some for their relatives the animals, birds and insects and leave some for seeds so the plants could thrive into the future, for seven generations at least.  It feels like it's time to heal these traumas and come into balance with the abundance of the Earth.  It feels like it's time to take only what we actually need and make sure we actually use it.  It feels like it's time to think about providing food security for everyone by thinking collectively.  It feels like it's time to heal the trauma and let go of the greed.  We can do this. The trees and squirrels, birds and insects, and the plants who have all been here longer than we humans are here to teach us.

A grasshopper samples a cherry tomato left on top of the bulletin board
at the Community Garden.  Our community is more than just humans.

It took only what it needed and then sat to digest the meal leaving lots for other insects.

Brightness Explodes

 

Brightness explodes in my mouth

Raspberry redness delights my eyes

And tiny seeds crunch in my teeth

As I chew the bites of jam on toast

And sip my morning tea.

 

Outside, darkness deepens

Ladened grey clouds roll in

Bright lightning delights my eyes

As thunder explodes all around me

The storm gets closer

The clouds relax, releasing their load

Raindrop ping on the steel stovepipe.

 

I am safe and dry, warm and fed

Domesticity and wildness

Fill up my sense concurrently

I feel alive.

 

A Mischief of Magpies

 

Ever since my trip to Calgary last month, I’ve been thinking a lot about buffalo, (the common name of bison).  Every morning for three weeks in July, I took my daughter’s dog out for an off-leash walk around a fenced athletic field near their home.  Aivah, the dog, had her own route and I trailed along behind her adjusting myself to the new terrain.

I normally live on the shore of one of the Great Lakes and spend time in mixed hardwood forests with a great diversity of plant life.  The grasslands biosphere of the prairies feels quite different with its Poplar and Aspen trees. Within Calgary, there does not appear to be a great diversity of natural species.  The Bow River is the tuquoise water that carved out the river valley where my daughter lives.  It undulates through the city with parkland and trails accompanying it on its journey.  Instead of power boats, seadoos and canoes which I see on Georgian Bay near my home, the fast flowing Bow River is dotted with rafts and kayaks all floating along downstream, carrying their passengers effortlessly.

I feel more at home on the land where I have grown up even though it is not the land of my ancestors.  It is familiar and I know the birds, plants and animals.  Visiting the ancestral land of the Siksika (Blackfoot), Stoney Nakoda and Tsuu T’ina Peoples feels quite different.  I was curious to visit with the plants, trees, waters and the birds.  Some of the birds are the same as those that I share a home with.  However, one bird in particular is different.  The Black-billed Magpie does not live where I do.  But, in Calgary, it flourishes.

Black-billed Magpie

Although many people dislike Magpies for their mischievous nature, I find them intriguing.  Members of the Corvid family like crows and ravens, they are intelligent birds.  Their wings are black and white with a blue patch on their backs.  Their long tails are iridescent black.  They are loud, raucous and curious.  And I love them.

I started to notice a few magpies in the field where I walked the dog every morning and eventually found a dead tree that they liked to frequent.  They were curious about me as well and one started to sit on the fence every morning to have a look at me.  Every now and then, one would swoop down and fly close to the dog’s back as if having a closer look.

A Mischief of Magpies

The field we walked in had soccer nets in various places and was mostly green grass with some poplar trees planted at the edge.  The magpies sat in those trees as well.  Very near the field was a tall ridge that marked the edge of the river valley.  The Canadian Olympic Park is built on the side of the ridge.  You can still see the ski jump that was part of the 1988 Olympics built on the side of the hill.  Part way through my trip, I learned that this part of the ridge was used by the Siksika as a buffalo jump in which the buffalo were herded off of the edge so that they fell to their death.  Then the people would come and dress the meat, preserving it for the long prairie winters by drying it.

Top left, you can see the tower and ski jump of the Canadian Olympic Park.
This is the ridge that was once used as a buffalo jump.

After I learned this, I started to feel into the land.  I imagined buffalo grazing where I was now standing.  I imagined them running off of the edge of the ridge and flying through the air.  I imagined how the buffalo kept the people alive and the interrelationship between them and those people.  I learned that the magpie and the buffalo were also interrelated.  The magpies would eat ticks and insects from the back of the buffalo, helping to keep the magpies fed and the buffalo healthy.

Tragically, the settlers killed almost all of the buffalo in their greed for land.  As the First Peoples began to starve without the buffalo, they were coerced into signing treaties that forced them onto small pieces of land.  Without the buffalo, the First Peoples were at the mercy of the greedy government.

And so, as I walked on the grass of the soccer fields with my daughter’s dog who had been adopted from the Stoney Nakoda First Nation in Kananaskis, AB there were no buffalo.  Many of the Siksika (Blackfoot People) were displaced onto reserves.  Only the magpies remained on this field as loud reminders of this big disruption.  The magpies have learned to live with the settlers, finding food where they can.  As I felt into the land, I felt the absence of the buffalo who played a critical part in keeping that ecosystem healthy.  I could feel the land’s longing for them. Some say, that the magpies are waiting for the buffalo’s return as well.  I feel grateful for the Siksikaitsitapi-Blackfoot Confederacy Nations of Kainai-Blood Tribe, Siksika, Peigan-Piikani and Aamskapi Pikuni who work for the betterment of the people and the land.  I felt their absence from the land as well and I got a better sense of why land back is so critical.

I learned that buffalo, unlike cattle will face into an oncoming storm and walk through it, thus shortening the time spent in the storm.  Cattle will stay and huddle or walk with the storm, thus prolonging their exposure.  This behaviour of the buffalo is an excellent metaphor for facing oncoming challenges and dealing with them.  Perhaps, we settlers have acted like the cattle that we brought with us from Europe and are still not facing up to the consequences of the worldview that we have brought to Turtle Island.  I imagine us learning from the buffalo and facing the issues that threaten our survival together, as one huge herd. I imagine us learning from Indigenous worldviews how to respect the Earth and all our relations and how to live together.  And, I imagine, the magpies accompanying us on our healing path back to wholeness.

Listening to ALL the Stories

 

What do the numbers 113, 51, 137 and 151 mean?  I saw these hundred foot tall white numbers on the side of a high ridge in the southwest of Calgary recently.  I learned that the numbers are made of 16,000 rocks that have been painted white and the area is called Battalion Park.  The 113 geoglyph was created in 1916 as part of a training exercise for soldiers from the 113^th Lethbridge Highland Infantry Battalion of the Canadian Expeditionary Force preparing to fight in World War 1. 

In the summer of 1914, the Canadian government “leased” (read confiscated) a section of the Sarcee Indian Reserve to build a training camp.  Over the duration of the war 45,000 soldiers from 30 units trained at what became known as Sarcee Camp.  The camp boundaries were marked with stones that the soldiers carried in sacks from the Bow River in the bottom of the valley, up to the camp two kilometers away.  Some of the soldiers also created giant numbers to represent their units.  Many were small but four units created gigantic ones.

Over time, the prairie reclaimed the rocks and what they signified until in the 1990’s the geoglyphs were revitalized.  The 113 is in it’s original spot and the numbers from the 137^th Infantry Battalion of Calgary, the 151^st Infantry Battalion of Alberta and the 51^st Canadian Infantry Battalion were moved to join the 113.  The rocks were painted white, covered with wire mesh and are now maintained to honour those Albertans whose served in WW1.  They have become a highly visible part of Calgary’s story.

We continued on our way past the geoglyphs to our planned destination which was the Tsuut’ina Nation (formerly Sarcee Indian Reserve) to visit the Museum there.  The Tsuut’ina Nation is the only Dene speaking nation in Treaty 7 territory.  Treaty 7 was made in 1877 between the Chiefs of the Blackfoot Confederacy (Kainai, Siksika, Pikanii), Stoney Nakoda (Bearspaw, Chiniki, Wesley), the Tsuut’ina Nation and the Crown.  Chief Bullhead from the Tsuut’ina Nation was the only leader to be able to negotiate the exact location of the reserve for his people in 1883. In 1885, the Canadian government enacted a pass system that prevented the previously nomadic peoples from leaving reserves without permission.  This system lasted 60 years. Over the years, the Tsuut’ina Nations’s land has been reduced by confiscation or purchase for various reasons.  Calgary has sprawled up to the borders of the Nation and a section of the ring road that circles the city, now passes through the Nation.  The Tsuut’ina are adapting to this further intrusion by creating many economic projects to benefit the Nation demonstrating their resiliency and strength.

Land from the Tsuut’ina Nation was first confiscated in 1910 for military training exercises.  In 1914 Sarcee Camp was built on this land to train soldiers for WW1.  In 1921, the Department of Indian Affairs agreed to a 100-year military lease on lands in the northeast corner of the Reserve.  Some of these “leased” lands have since been returned but are now so toxic from exploded artillery shells and other military poisons that the land is unsuitable for any purpose.

We found the Museum down a gravel road.  The beautiful blue building was surrounded by a high security fence with three rows of angled barbed wire at the top.  Inside the museum were many cultural items and artifacts that told the story of the Tsuut’ina which means “beaver people” and “many people” (https://tsuutina.com/ ).  Story robes were used in the past to record the history of the Tsuut’ina.  These large tanned buffalo hides were painted with pictures denoting battles and raids between the Tsuut’ina and the Cree and the stories of Tsuut’ina leaders such as Chief Bullhead.  They are read from the bottom up. One story robe is on display at the museum.  Two others are housed at the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto and the Glenbow Museum in downtown Calgary.  Beautiful regalia is displayed in glass cabinets as well as artifacts such as wooden and leather saddles, arrowheads, tools, moss bags for carrying children and clothing as well as preserved animals and birds from the region. 

The arrival of horses with Europeans changed the lifestyle of the Tsuut’ina.  They adapted to these new animals and used them for hunting and carrying heavy objects as they moved through the vast territories of the plains. This seems to me, to be a good example of Two Eyed Seeing as is the economic adaptation.   There was also a cabinet in the Museum dedicated to the members of the Nation who fought in WW1 and WW2.  Those veterans that returned were not given any government benefits unless they gave up their Indian status which meant they could not live on the Reserve again or be members of their Nation.  This was known ironically as “enfranchisement”.  It was just one more way that the Canadian government sought to assimilate Indigenous Peoples.  The veterans from Tsuut'ina Nation are however honoured in this Museum.

I have seen Indigenous artifacts in museums before, but this was the first time that I had been in their presence on the land where they belonged, being cared for by the descendants of the people who created them instead of them being housed by people who’s ancestors looted and stole the items.  This was a new experience for me.  If felt like an honour to be able to be in the presence of these cultural treasures where they were honoured and where they belonged.  Seeing these objects in a colonial museum always feels wrong to me.

As we drove back home past the geoglyphs in Battalion Park, I thought about who gets to tell their story and how.  The stones on the hill are out in the open and displayed with pride on land that was confiscated from the Tsuut’ina.  The cultural items in the Tsuut’ina Culture/Museum have to be protected by a high fence and barbed wire that speaks of the threat of vandalism or destruction.  This speaks to me of the continued racism that is still a part of the fabric of Canadian society.  We have much decolonizing work yet to do.  We need more space within ourselves to hold and honour the stories of everyone.  It may take more effort to hear the stories of people who are under threat from mainstream society.  However, all these stories can inform us and lead to further steps of reconciliation. 

A Softening of Sadness

 

The early June lilacs are fading

But the wind still brings

their sweet breath to my nose.

We, on our evening stroll

Come to the old cemetery

In the heart of the village.

A lovely carpet of English Daisies

Blankets the earth around

The reconstructed gravestones.

Shining white with yellow hearts

The flowers feel like a kindness,

A softening of the sadness shared

By the weathered stones.

Babies and children lie

Under this floral spread

White as the gravestones

Decorated with little lambs.

These first settlers on this stolen

land came to work at the saw mill.

Perhaps this was a new chance

For a good life in those 1880’s.

Not so for those who rest here.

In the distance, the church bell

Soberly rings six times

For these young ones?

For we old ones? For us all?

Nearing home a crow swoops

Low across my path

Reminding me to be grateful

For the life I am living.

 

The Twisting Road of Reconciliation

 

The road of reconciliation is full of twists and turns.  Sometimes you’re not even sure if you’re on the road and sometimes each step leads to the next one.  Sometimes the path can only be seen in retrospect. This story is a genre all of its own and it is being written collectively in many voices.

In May 2021, 215 unmarked graves of children were detected with ground penetrating radar on the grounds of the former Kamloops Indian Residential School in BC.  These findings, triggered personal, ancestral and collective trauma for Indigenous Peoples who always knew that there were missing children and sent a shock wave across non-Indigenous Canada who finally believed the stories recorded by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission.  One of the collective responses was to place stuffed toys and children’s shoes at memorial sites that popped up across the country.

In my area, people began placing these items on the steps of local Catholic churches.  My partner decided to tie two stuffed toys to the iron fence that encircles the Martyr’s Shrine in Midland.  This shrine was erected in 1925 along the shore of the Wye River across Highway 12 from the later reconstructed Ste. Marie Among the Hurons historical site.  The martyrs that are celebrated are eight Jesuit men who came with the French to the area nearly 400 years ago and died during conflicts over the fur trade.  These English - French conflicts were thousands of years old in Europe but new to Turtle Island.  In normal years, tens of thousands of people visit the Martyr’s Shrine every year.  However, in May 2021, the shrine was closed due to the pandemic.  The iron gates were closed and locked.

As the local Catholic churches quickly took the memorial items off of their stairs and railings, some of these items appeared at the shrine with the two stuffed animals. At that time the Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishops was highly defensive and not taking any responsibility for their part in the Indian Residential Schools' history of child abuse.  The idea of a memorial caught on and more items were tied to the fences.  On Canada Day of 2021 a group of Indigenous and non-Indigenous people gathered at the gate of the shrine to drum.  They wore black shirts to represent mourning.  Some Indigenous youth came as well, dressed in orange shirts and holding placards that read “They were children”.  We got a lot of positive honks from the drivers in passing cars on the busy highway.

Over the summer as more graves were “discovered” more gatherings happened and more memorial items were attached to both sides of the fence leading to the gate.  On a few occasions, the Director who is a Jesuit priest came to speak with us.  He acknowledged that people come to the shrine to pray and that this was a kind of prayer.  He was friendly and polite.  On another occasion, an older Jesuit priest came down and smudged with the drummers.

One of the drummers prepares the smudge of Sage.

 Then came the winter and another summer in which the collection continued to grow.  At some point in the priests took down all the memorial items and rearranged them with a red sign in the centre expressing their solidarity with Indigenous Peoples.  This was after the Pope had come to Canada and offered an apology.  People met from time to time at the gates to drum and again on Canada Day 2022.  Then came another winter.

The rearranged toys with the red sign from the Martyr's Shrine in the centre.

This spring (2023), on a rainy day, we gathered to clean up the items that had fallen down in the winter and clean up the area. We added some new ones.  We also took some of the toys home to wash them and brought them back.  I remember wondering how long the priests would tolerate this memorial now that the Pope had apologized and rescinded the Doctrine of Discovery.  The final toys went up on a Thursday.  The next morning, all the items were gone, as if by magic.  Speculations were varied.  Emotions were high.

One of my Metis friends had had enough.  She called up the shrine to ask what had happened to the memorial items.  She eventually spoke with the Director who explained that after three years, the shrine was opening again and they had removed all the items, washed them, blessed them and that they were going to bury them in front of the fence with a stone marker and a plaque.

Some people felt that they just wanted to bury the truth once again.  Some people felt that they had been very tolerant unlike the local Catholic churches.  Some felt that since the Pope had visited, apologized and rescinded the Doctrine of Discovery that some of the goals of the memorial had been realized. There were as many opinions as there were people.

When the items were buried and covered with wood chips and a big granite stone from the property, the drummers were invited to drum at the gates and then walk up the steep hill to the “Indigenous Garden” where chairs were provided.  It was a hot day and the climb was difficult for many of the drummers.  The “Indigenous Garden” had no flowers, just some statues of Indigenous people who had become Catholic.  The revue was mixed.

When the plaque finally arrived, the drummers were invited back again to smudge and drum.  The Director said a prayer, made the sign of the cross, sprinkled Holy Water and then read the plaque which you can see in the picture below.  It reads, "Enshrined here are tokens of remembrance left at this gate (2021 - 2023) to honour the children who died at residential schools, uniting us all in one spirit of truth, reconciliation, and action with our indigenous sisters and brothers.  Creator God, we pray for all indigenous peoples and their families who suffered so greatly at the hand of colonial ambitions and ask that your Great Spirit fill the hearts of all people with healing, renewal of life, and peace."

Upon careful reading, we noted that the word “indigenous” was not capitalized.  Using a capital is a sign of respect.  The following week, my friend once again called the Director to point out this “typo”.  He was shocked.  He was sure that he had capitalized the word in his instructions.  He promised to have a new plaque made.

The Director has explained that the priests don’t want the drummers to drum at the gate anymore now that they are open for business once again.  He has said that we can drum inside the gates, in the “Indigenous Garden” away from the public eye if we call ahead and let them know we’re coming.

Some think this is a good idea.  Some think it feels like hiding the truth again.  The Director will be leaving this summer and a new one will be appointed.  We can start again working with this new Director.  Or we can move on to other places.  Everyone has a different viewpoint.

There has been a kind of a dialogue going on these past two years.  The Jesuits have been tolerant and accepting and have responded rather than reacting.  Perhaps they have been pulled into this dialogue because of the memorial. This story does not have a nice neat ending because it is not over.  We are all moving along this river together, telling this story as we go along.  I don’t know what will happen next.  But, I do know that the Director will always make sure that the word “Indigenous” is capitalized in his future writings.

The Gifts of the Ancestors

 

I wrote this story to tell at a storytelling circle in April 2023.  The guest storyteller, Lori Oschefski told the story of the British Home Children.  Between 1869 and 1948, 100,000 poor children were forced to emigrate to Canada because they were orphans or their parents were too poor to keep them.

My parents emigrated from England to Canada in the 1950’s and I was, as far as I can tell, the first person in our family to be born on this side of the Atlantic Ocean.  My parents and their parents before them were born in the Northwest of England, in Greater Manchester, specifically, the town of Oldham.  There is evidence of people living on that land for the past seven to ten thousand years.  Neolithic, Roman, Celtic and Anglo-Saxon people lived there but it was the Danes or Vikings that established a permanent hamlet there from 865 and called it Aldehulme which means a “high place”. 

Indeed, Oldham as the hamlet later became known, in the historic county of Lancashire, is situated on the west side of the Pennine Hills which form the “backbone of England”.  Since the land is rocky and hilly, it wasn’t very good for growing crops.  However, it was excellent for raising sheep and the area became known for wool spinning and weaving.  That was, until the Industrial Revolution.  It turned out that Oldham also had coal deep beneath it that was good for running the machines of the Industrial Revolution and the wet climate was excellent for working with textiles.  Oldham went from being a small hamlet to an urban centre with 400 cotton mills over the period of one hundred years.

In the 1800’s people were being forced off of the land by rich landlords and into the industrial towns.  Some of my great grandparents and many of my great great grandparents moved to Oldham from Ireland, Yorkshire and the south of England around that time no doubt as part of that rural to urban migration. In Oldham, the new spinning and weaving machines put the people who had worked in cottage industries out of work.  At first, the mills hired only women and children over the age of 4 to work in the mills.  They could pay them less than men and the increased productivity led to even larger profits. They began importing cotton from India and cotton that was grown by enslaved people in America.  During times of economic recession, there was huge urban unemployment and poverty.

In medieval times, the poor were taken care of by the monasteries but after 1536 when Henry VIII destroyed them there was a gap.  By the end of his daughter Queen Elizabeth I’s life in 1601 there was a huge problem and the government enacted the Poor Law under which aid was given at the parish level. This worked for about two hundred years.  However, with the influx of people into the towns and cities during the Industrial Revolution this system broke down.  And so, in 1834, the Poor Law was amended but not for the betterment of the poor.  Instead, poor houses were constructed that were so horrible that only the more destitute of people would accept that fate.  This attitude towards the poor was probably part of the decision to send poor children to Canada and elsewhere as “Home Children”.

During the Industrial Revolution, Lancashire was known for revolts, trade unions and people fighting for more equity.  They didn’t just accept that this was their lot in life.  My great uncle Stirling Marron was a counsellor, alderman and for a time, mayor of Oldham. Once the National Health Service was established in 1948, he fought to have the mentally ill taken care of under the NHS instead of under the Poor Law.  By 1959 this was achieved.

When I think of the strengths that my ancestors have passed down to me, one of them is this working towards a more equitable society.  That runs very strongly in me.  As I learn about what my ancestors had to live through, I can see that they have also passed resiliency down to me.  I also connect to the work of spinning and weaving through my love of working with textiles and the through the metaphor of weaving together people in community, or the weaving of ideas.  I also learned that I come from a line of Lancashire storytellers and that form of expression feels very natural to me.

 I recently decided to listen to an audio book on the History of Britain by Simon Schama.  The combined three volumes took 55 hours of listening. The history of Britain is a history of power-over hierarchy in which the monarchy, the churches and the governments battle endlessly for power and fund these battles through sucking wealth up from those at the bottom of the pyramid. It is a history of systematically creating poverty.   And that story didn’t change when they came to North America.  It was the same old, same old.  Take the land you want, kill or starve those who were already there and force assimilation on them.  The story is at least two thousand years old.  And so, my ancestors couldn’t teach me how to live here on Turtle Island in a good way.  They had no idea how to do that.

Instead, it has been the ancestors of the people Indigenous to Turtle Island who are teaching me how to live in a good way, on this land.  I hear their voices in the Elders and Knowledge Keepers, in the voices of Indigenous authors and in the voices of the children who are being found in unmarked graves on the sites of former Residential Schools.  They are sharing their worldview and ways of knowing and they are my teachers. They remind me that the earth and the water and all of life is sacred.  They teach me about a worldview in which all of life is interconnected and valuable without a hierarchy.

And so, it seems that only by putting together the gifts that my ancestors from the UK have passed down to me with the gifts of the Indigenous ancestors on this land can I learn to live here in a good way, working for more equity, weaving a worldview that has room for everyone and telling a new story.