The cottage is a comfortable little place on Bras D’Or Lake in Cape Breton, owned by Mama’s parents. They routinely make the mistake of inviting us back every year, Those Johnston Kids and all. Despite the racket and mess created by energetic kids, Bobby and Granfa are most genial hosts, and so we return as often as we can. Most summers we’ve been there, it’s been hot and humid, relieved by swims in the cold, briny water of the Bras D’Or.

This summer has been unusually cold and wet however, as we witnessed first hand. The kids swam on the first day there, but not again. On Tuesday, staring out the windows at a steady rain, I realised that we would have to make our own gravy. I compiled a list of projects that we might undertake with the limited tools, time, and resources available to us. It became a sort of shopping list that led to a trip to Sydney and stops at Home Depot, Walmart, and Michael’s. We came back with a small pile of cool stuff.

Most of the ideas came from Howtoons, an engineering and art graphic work collaboration that inspires kids (and me) to learn about and make things. Throw a bucket of small hand tools and a Howtoons graphic novel at your precocious pre-teen and you won’t see her again until she has something to show you or she needs a bandage. I wish these had been around when I was short. I’d have even more tools than I have already.

We didn’t have time to work on everything that made our short list of neatest projects, but we did make stilts from 2x2s and bolts, and designed our own stuffed toys. I did the most intricate bits, but Those Johnston Kids took sewing needle in hand as well to complete a cute and cuddly owl, as well the beautiful and deadly vampire squid. Shame on those that mistook the (sort of) anatomically correct squid for an octopus. Everybody knows squid have 10 arms, including the 2 long feeding arms. I mean, duh.

One of our favourite makes was fresh ice cream! We couldn’t agree on the flavour, so we made two batches: fresh fruit strawberry and caramel pecan cranberry. That stuff was good. I’m not even a big fan of ice cream, but my mouth cried a little when it was all gone. I tried to save some for you, honest.

Still on our project to-do list: a fart maker (why? 7 years old, that’s why), an air cannon, and Tyvek kites. Oh, and jack up the single-storey cottage, dig out a basement, and pour a foundation. I’m going to need a lot of rainy days next summer.

Those Johnston Kids will swim anywhere, anytime, so I was not surprised when the first thing they did on their first morning at the cottage was jump in the lake. ‘Jump’ means pick their way out through the rocky shallows to a point deeper than their hips. The water in the Bras D’Or was actually warm, relative to the glacial runoff they’ve become accustomed to. The chill drizzle didn’t seem to dampen their spirits either. They frolicked with the assortment of swimming accoutrements that Bobby and Granfa keep stockpiled for grandkids. Like literally all of them. Every plastic, rubber and inflatable toy spread out across the deck in a day-glo potpourri of water toys.

I had them tidy it all up again before taking them out in our fat-bottomed sit-on-top kayak. It’s not my favourite craft, but it’s stable enough for amateurs and has a useless window in the hull for looking at things that are immediately under the boat. It seemed like a good idea when we bought it, but there is never anything immediately under the boat. The window well also fills up with water, bugs, and whatever is on your feet, rendering its efficacy as an actual window nil. We went for a short circuit, just long enough to drain the last of the blood from their extremities and turn their lips a healthy shade of purple.

My phone was completely dead, but it’s a Nexus 5, with built-in wireless charging. I realised that I just needed to find a wireless charger. That’s not a common bit of kit yet, but it’s growing in prevalence. Within a couple of years, all new mobile devices will charge wirelessly. Cables will be for suckers.

Accordingly, we took a trip to town to find a charger. It took a few stores, but I eventually found the last (only) one in Cape Breton, in a Source outlet. They didn’t really know what it was, so I patiently explained that it wasn’t an Apple accessory, it was a wireless charger based on the Qi standard that could charge any compatible device. Like mine, making this entertaining post possible.

Then we had to rush back to the cottage because it was only raining a little bit. That’s good swimming weather.

It came down biblically the night before so everything was damp again on the morning of the 23rd. After a couple of days of hot, muggy weather we were overdue for showers, so that was the first activity of the day. Short Pants goes readily to the showers. He has decided that he likes being sprayed by warm clean water. Baby Girl still treats every shower as a consignment to a soapy labour camp. There was much pouting, stamping of feet, and loud sighs from her as we made our way to the free (!) showers with normal taps (!). She came out happy enough. You just can’t argue with clean.

The shower stall was about the same width as my shoulders, so Short Pants and I had to take turns. He reminisced fondly about the extra large showers at the KOA campgrounds. KOA has made a lasting impression on the boy for the cleanliness of their facilities. I had no idea that it was so important to him.

With the exception of the campground in the Cypress Hills, and Cape Croker park, every campground we’ve visited has had potable water. I contrast this with Cape Croker which has had a nearly unbroken streak of boil water advisories for years. My mother lives in the Maadokii senior’s residence, and even they can’t use their tap water. Cape sadly isn’t alone among reservations in that regard. I think the percentage of reserves without safe drinking water is something like 40%, but I will update this post with the most recent numbers that I can find. This is the Third World in Canada and we ought to be ashamed. We can provide clean water to every backwoods campground in the country, but we can’t ensure the same service to native communities. I think Indians should occupy national parks, just for the drinking water. We’ll call the movement Liquify. Or Boil No More. Something catchy.

As we were hooking up the trailer, I noticed that a wire had snapped in the wiring harness. That necessitated a pause while I dug out tools and tape to repair the harness, because legally we can’t roll without lights.  Check out time was 11 AM, but we went over about 20 minutes. Just as I was putting it back together, the next occupant of the site pulled up in a pickup, with his massive trailer behind, and asked if we were leaving. Our car was packed, the campsite clean, the trailer hitched, and I was obviously working on something. Check in time was also not until 2 PM. I replied that we would be done and gone in a few minutes. No problem, he said, because he could go dump his toilet water for 15 minutes anyway. Then why did you ask, I wondered. I finished the repair, then asked Short Pants to have his last pee right into the fire pit. I know, I know – but I hope Mr. Pushy enjoyed his campfire that night.

We tried to go for a trail ride at Brudenell Park before we left, but Short Pants was too young for their uptight regulations. We decided to do something else that we could all participate in, so we went kayaking instead. Well, Short Pants and I did. Baby Girl had herself a good bad sulk because riding was out. We left her on shore, contemplating the harsh vicissitudes of her young life. On the water, we had a great time. I believe this was SP’s first time piloting his own kayak, so he was pretty stoked. He’s a natural with a paddle. Coming off the water, a fellow on the dock asked how old Short Pants was because he had looked so good in the boat. In the end, BG came out on the water for 10 minutes, but she was a lot more noncommittal about it.

From Brudenell Park we drove down to the Wood Islands ferry. That would take us over to Caribou, Nova Scotia. I had successfully charged my phone with a wall charger the night before, but when I plugged it into the car charger, the cable fried and melted. When I yanked the cord out of my phone, it trailed threads of melted plastic. I think there’s a short in the USB socket on the phone, so that current just flows back into the wire. In any case, it doesn’t work at all now. My reanimated phone was a dead device walking again.

The ferry was full with reservations, so we had to wait a couple of hours for the next departure. While we waited, we were entertained by a group of teenage performers on a small stage near the loading area. There was a chubby boy on guitar and vocals, and the rest were girls. Three girls playing fiddles, a singer, and a step dancer. A couple of adults played a keyboard for some arrangements, but the kids were the show. The boy playing guitar was especially talented.

On the ferry crossing, we saw a few dolphins, as well as some seals bobbing at the surface. I always look, but that was the first time I’ve ever actually seen wildlife from a ferry. They were probably hired to promote the magical charm of the Maritimes.

The drive from Caribou to Big Pond, Nova Scotia is only about 2 and a half hours, but Those Johnston Kids were eager to arrive, which made the leg seem longer. Short Pants asked frequently how much further there was to go, but I had no ready answer. No phone. I guessed from a linear extrapolation of our distance travelled on the paper map, but that did little to satisfy him. With only 15 minutes left until our arrival, he became convinced that I had taken a wrong turn – and told me so repeatedly in increasingly anxious tones. Finally even Baby Girl came to my defence, sparing me further degradation of my tooth enamel.

Despite fog, twisty roads, and darkness, we arrived safely. The kids rushed inside joyfully to greet their grandparents and tell them that there was no bedtime on vacation.

Bon matin!

The overnight downpour had resigned itself to contemptuous spitting as we broke camp Saturday morning in Mount Carleton. We had flirted with the idea of a swim or maybe a canoe rental in the morning, but the overcast morning deflated our eagerness. Baby Girl was also a bit subdued as she’s come down with a head cold. She sounds like a heavy smoker despite eating Halls like Tic-Tacs.

Before we left the campground, I effected some repairs to the trailer again. When we were escaping from Montreal down a potholed street in the suburbs, we were startled by a Québécois driver coming the other way honking, yelling in French, and pointing behind us. When I looked in the mirror I was aghast to see that we were dragging our propane tank by the hose. It looked like the bolts holding the tank on had rattled loose. The tank had fallen from its seat, pulling the hose mount out of the trailer wall, leaving ragged holes in the aluminium side. At the time, I had just tied the tank back onto the frame and crossed my fingers. It was time to fix it properly. I drilled out the holes and put in expanding bolts, then remounted the tank with lock washers. That’s not as interesting a story as our propane tank exploding on the highway, but probably safer.

My phone is a vital part of our trip logistics. It provides communication (sometimes), maps, research on upcoming destinations, WiFi hotspot for various devices, and photography. Imagine my dismay when Baby Girl kicked the charging cable by accident while we were driving and let the Magic Smoke out of my phone. (All electronic devices rely on magic smoke to function, and if it gets out, they don’t work anymore.) I yanked the blackened half-melted wire out of the phone, but it seemed too late. The phone still worked, but even with another new cable, the phone refused to charge. It was just a matter of time before the lights went out.

Given the crisis, we searched out a Bell-Aliant store in the town of Shediac, on the Atlantic coast of New Brunswick. Unfortunately, the fellow there couldn’t do anything to help because they were a Bell partner store, not a corporate store. He did let me know that my phone bill was overdue after two months on the road, so I took care of that anyway. When I throw my phone into the Atlantic, it should at least be paid for.

We bought a paper map and filled up on gas too before we left town. Baby Girl likes to do the pumping now, so I just run my credit card and leave her to it. It’s usually pretty helpful. Less so on this day, as we were to discover.

The bridge to Prince Edward Island is 2 lanes wide, about 15 kilometres long, and very high. With the ever-present rain, the grey clouds over the strait were vast and dramatic. I think it would be cool to ride a bicycle over it although the narrowness of the lanes would make it more than a little nerve wracking.

We stopped at the information centre on the PEI side of the bridge. We’re never sure what there is to do, so we like to visit the info centres to get the lay of the land. As we got of the car, Short Pants noticed that the gas door was still open and commented loudly as he shut it. I popped it open again with a nagging fear that turned out to be justified. We had no gas cap any longer. Baby Girl had pumped the gas, replaced the pump and collected the bill, but hadn’t replaced the cap or shut the door. Oh well. We needed candy. I needed candy. We got candy.

Nerves calmed by sucrose, I used a few previous milliwatts of my dying phone’s life to locate a Canadian Tire in Charlottetown. Then I had another good idea and plugged my phone into a battery, rather than the car. A competent scientist accounts for all variables, and I wanted to rule out the car USB adaptor. I left it plugged in while we made our way to Canadian Tire.

Happy, happy, joy, joy, it charged! It seemed like the adaptor had surged and fried the cable, not my phone. We purchased a gas cap and a new adaptor and we were a going concern again. Gotta roll with what hits you.

With the sweet tang of electrons filling my phone I called up Tourism PEI and made a reservation for the last serviced campsite at Brudenell Provincial Park. The lady on the phone had a great down east accent and was exceedingly helpful. It was full dark by the time we arrived. We chased out the mosquitoes and blackflies and went to sleep.

Vendredi, il a plu dans la ville de Québec, mais nous avons mis sur nos imperméables et est allé pour une promenade. Nous avons cherché la cathédrale Notre-Dame, mais sommes perdus. Nous avons marché sur la vieille ville sous la pluie, mais il ne faisait pas froid. Notre marche était humide, mais il était aussi intéressant. Enfin nous avons trouvé la cathédrale et allés à l’intérieur.

La cathédrale Notre-Dame n’est pas grande, mais elle est belle et lumineuse à l’intérieur. Il ya beaucoup de décorations et statues dorées. Je enseigné Ces Johnston Enfants un peu plus sur le catholicisme.

Ensuite, nous sommes allés à l’Église anglicane à côté de Notre-Dame. Il avait plus de bois et il etait plus chaud. Aussi, l’Église anglicane avait un orgue géant. La chambre était petite, donc je pense que le son de l’orgue doit être incroyable.

Les enfants ne sont pas impressionnés par les églises. C’est bien.

Les enfants étaient fatigués, donc nous avons marché lentement vers la voiture. Nous nous sommes arrêtés dans une boulangerie pour acheter des macarons. Les enfants les aimaient, mais je ne aimais pas les macarons. Je pratiquais parlant français avec la jolie fille faire du pain. Je pense que je parlais bien le français. Elle me comprenait et était très sympathique.

Enfin nous sommes retournés à la voiture. Je devais un billet de stationnement parce que je ne pas acheter un espace pour la remorque aussi. Je sais que le mot remorque parce qu’il a été écrit sur le billet de stationnement. Cela m’a mis en colère. Maintenant, je déteste la ville de Québec, et à Vancouver.

Dans l’après-midi nous sommes allés au Parc Provincial Mont Carleton, au Nouveau-Brunswick. Il a plu toute la journée. Mont Carleton est pas à proximité d’une ville et il est très calme. Fille Bébé fait un feu et nous avons joué cartes avant de se coucher. Il a commencé à pleuvoir autour de 23 heures.

Nous sommes allés nager dans la piscine KOA avant le petit déjeuner. Ensuite, nous avons joué au hockey de l’air dans le KOA Kommunity Kabin avant le petit déjeuner. Aussi, nous avons pris des douches et rangé la remorque, avant le petit déjeuner. Enfin, on n’a pas mangé le petit déjeuner.

Nous sommes allés à Montréal pour acheter des bagels. Nous avons acheté des bagels, le saumon et fromage à la crème à Saint-Viateur Bagel et Fairmount Bagel. Ils sont les deux plus célèbres magasins de bagels à Montréal. Je fis sandwiches pour Ces Johnston Enfants.

Nous sommes allés à la ville de Québec prochaine. La journée a été très chaud et humide. Nous ne cherchons un terrain de camping parce Mama fait une réservation pour nous à l’hôtel Hilton! Nous avons garé la voiture et sommes allés pour une promenade dans la vieille ville.

La vieille ville est entourée par un très grand mur. À l’origine, le mur a été construit par les Français, mais les Anglais ont fait plus grand. Les bâtiments sont très vieux et intéressant. Nous avons regardé deux artistes de rue près du Château Laurier.

Ces Johnston Enfants jouaient dans une fontaine de couleur a côté de la l’hôtel de ville. Ils étaient humides et heureux. Aussi, la soirée a été un peu plus frais.

Nous sommes allés pour une visite dans un entraîneur de cheval. Le nom du cheval était Peu Pit. Le nom du guide était Donald. Donald nous a parlé de l’histoire de la ville de Québec. Peu Pit n’a pas parlé. Il est amusant de rouler à la nuit. La vieille ville est très belle. Pantalons Courts se sont endormis. Il peut dormir n’importe où.

Puis nous sommes allés pour le dîner dans un restaurant appelé l’Omelette. La nourriture était cher mais pas bon.

Je parlais français à pratiquer mais beaucoup de gens parlais anglais en retour. Je pense que mon accent est mauvais, que je parle trop lentement, ou je parlais français comme un idiot. Peut-être qu’ils pratiquent l’anglais.

Enfin nous sommes retournés à l’hôtel et on a regardé la fin de Spirited Away (Chihiro, en francais). Il est un grand film.

Aujourd’hui, nous sommes au Québec, alors je vais écrire en français. Je présente mes excuses à mon professeur. Elle est un tres bon professeur, mais je suis un mauvais étudiant.

Ces Johnston Enfants ont mangé du beurre d’arachide et à la confiture sandwiches pour le petit déjeuner. En fait, Pantalons Courts aime manger du beurre d’arachide et de sandwiches gelée pour chaque repas. D’abord, nous sommes allés à la National Gallery. J’ai aimé l’exposition Alex Colville, mais son point de vue est très blanche. Il y avait très peu d’art autochtone à la Galerie. Il y avait une galerie d’art inuit, mais d’autres personnes autochtones sont invisibles à Ottawa.

Ensuite nous sommes allés pour une promenade au marché Bywater. Il faisait très chaud, alors je acheté gelato pour les enfants. Ils ont fait un gâchis.

Enfin, nous sommes allés pour une promenade à côté du canal. Les enfants étaient très chaud et fatigué. Il était une courte promenade. Nous sommes retournés à la voiture et de partir pour Montréal. Ces Johnston Enfants endormis immédiatement.

Nous sommes arrivés au KOA-Sud de Montréal à 20:00. Les enfants sont allés à l’aire de jeux et moi avons fait le dîner. Il faisait chaud et nous avons dû nouilles froides, limonade et tarte aux pommes à froid pour le dîner. Après, nous avons nettoyé les plats et regardé un dessin animé.

Il était aussi mon anniversaire. Joyeux anniversaire à moi!

We enjoyed a brief respite at home on Monday. The day was mostly spent preparing the next, eastern, leg of our journey. I also did a great deal of cooking. For dinner, we had salmon, salad, fresh corn, and potatoes, with carrot cake for dessert. I make a mean carrot cake. We were stuffed.

On Tuesday, we packed Mama off to work and packed up the car again. Shortly after lunch, in the hot thick humid afternoon, we set out. It started to rain almost immediately, which did nothing to lessen the oppressive heat, but forced us to close the windows. No, the air conditioning is still not fixed. Who has the time? We cruised along the 401 east in a mobile sauna, simmering in our own juice and rubbing little clear circles in the steamy windows so we could see where we were going. Mostly we were going from someplace wet to someplace wetter.

We had outrun the rain by the time we reached Cobourg and the ever-popular Big Apple restaurant/factory/attraction. The kids had passed out from heat stroke so I had to wake them with promises of bunnies and treats. Everybody should wake up that way. We spent an hour and a half ogling desserts and candy, but mostly playing mini-golf. Both Those Johnston Kids consider a putter a kind of flattish driver, so my more nuanced touch won the day again. At least the course was not as laughably impossible as the one at the Thunder Bay KOA. We held our heads, and small apple pie, up proudly at the 18th hole.

The rain caught up to us just about then, so it was back to the car and squinting through maniacally waving wipers. Our route left the 401 at Belleville to go north-east through the more interesting farm communities. We made it to our destination, Fitzroy Provincial Park, as night and yet more rain fell. I stuffed Those Johnston Kids with leftover salmon sandwiches, veggie chili, and carrot cake. Baby Girl and I did our best to sleep in the cacaphonous downpour but Short Pants was out like a light. That boy can sleep anywhere.

On Sunday, we enjoyed more crazy pow-wow action, and spent even longer swimming at the government dock. We also collected rocks, because that’s what we do. You haven’t been somewhere until you’ve brought back some of it’s heaviest substances in your luggage. Specifically, we were looking for fossils. Most of the shoreline around Cape Croker is glacial moraine, piles of stones of various sizes, all scraped up by glaciers from the shores of the ancient sea that used to cover much of North America. The stones are full of little fossils of ancient sea life, mostly corals, sponges, and early sea plants. We have lots already, but it’s always fun to find them. It’s treasure hunting.

We saved enough time for a few more dances at pow-wow. I bought Those Johnston Kids some new moccasins for dancing and the footwear seemed to inspire their efforts. Moccasins, interestingly, were and are still not a durable good like shoes today. When the people wore them exclusively, they were a consumable. Several pairs would be packed for a trip because they didn’t last for more than a few weeks. Or they could be made quickly on the trail from available materials. You can buy fake moccasins now with rubber soles, but that seems rather pointless. If you can’t feel the ground, it’s not a moccasin. It’s – I don’t know – a hushpuppy or something.

We were sad to pack up and finally leave Cape. It had seemed a much longer weekend and were relaxed and happy. I have lived many places, but Cape is Home.

It was just about time to get back on the road. The trailer required a slew of repairs, not all of which I’ve had to finish while we’ve been at home. Besides replacing the tires and installing a new jack, I had to fix a couple of electrical problems, and replace a leaky propane line. For bonus points, I made a couple of small improvements to the mini fridge and stove as well.

That work, plus the obligatory cleaning of car, trailer, laundry and gear took us up until last Friday the 15th. Then we were off to pow-wow at Cape Croker. Pow-wow was one of our goals all summer. Whatever else we got up to, we had to be home in time for the party. Baby Girl wanted, nay needed, to dance.

I will try to explain pow-wow a bit, for those that have never been to one. First, it’s a celebration of native culture and traditions. We dress up in our own regalia and dance to our own music because we like it and it makes us proud. It’s our thing. Second, it’s a sort of competition for the really good dancers and musicians. Third, it’s a tourist attraction that brings money and people from off-reserve. Historically, a pow-wow was a sort of party cum meeting between different tribes, to exchange news and foster goodwill. Gifts were exchanged, with all sides trying to give the most extravagant presents.

At the centre of pow-wow are the drums. A ‘drum’ in native parlance is both the drum itself and also a band of drummers. The drummers sit in a circle around their drum to play and sing. At any pow-wow there will be a number of drums that sit under a tent or arbor set up in the middle of the dancing ground to give them shade. They need it because they play all day in turns.

Around the drum arbour is a large circle for dancing. The dancers move clockwise (generally) around the circle. Around the dancers is an outer circle of bleachers and space for spectators and participants to sit between songs.

Importantly, somewhere on the pow-wow grounds there will be a ceremonial fire. The fire is tended by the fire-keepers, 24 hours a day, as long as the pow-wow is on. The fire is not extinguished until the pow-wow is over. Any guest at the pow-wow is welcome to sit at the fire at any time. Our protocol is enter the fire circle (sometimes another arbor, or a tipi) and offer a bit of tobacco or other medicine to the fire. As the medicine burns, our prayers are carried up with the smoke. Remember to always move around the fire clockwise, and if someone is sitting close to the fire, to never pass between them and the fire.

Lastly, at modern pow-wows, there are vendors selling food, art, crafts, regalia, and materials for crafting. So, in that way, it’s like any other small town fair.

Pow-wow is centred around the music. The announcer calls on each drum to play a song, and tells the crowd what sort of dance it will be. Most of the time it’s an ‘inter-tribal’ song, meaning anyone that wants to can enter the circle and dance. Some people dance their hearts out, while others just  walk around the circle. Kids run and jump out something in between.

At competition pow-wows, the announcer will also call for competitive dancers to perform specific sorts of dances, like a jingle-dress dance, or men’s fancy dance. Judges will pick out the most accomplished for a cash award at the end of the song. Dancers will travel long distances to compete at pow-wows with large purses.

Our pow-wow is more friendly than competitive. While there are some awards for ‘pro’ dance categories, there seem to be more fun cash prizes like spot dances. In a spot dance, the arena director picks a spot on the circle. Everybody dances with the music, then freezes in place when the music stops. Whoever is closest to the spot picked by the judge wins the prize. It reminds me of musical chairs. I’m reasonably certain that it wasn’t a pre-contact activity, but it’s fun anyway.

Mama, the kids, and I arrived just in time on Friday night to enjoy the spectacle of a long fireworks show. I don’t think I’ve ever been there on opening night, as it were, so I can’t say if the fireworks are typical, but it was fun. Those Johnston Kids were settled into their bags by the time Alison joined us in the campground, having driven up late from Toronto. We were all tired, so nobody stayed up late.

The next day was hot and dry. The grand entrance at pow-wow wasn’t until noon, so after breakfast we grabbed our swim suits and headed down to the beach for a swim. When we were there a month and a half ago the water was chilly and all but unbearable. Now, after a warm summer, the water in the shallow bay was still brisk, but refreshing rather than numbing. We had a quick dip, then gathered our things and ran for the pow-wow. Grand Entrance!

The Grand Entrance is a sort of parade of dignitaries that begins the celebration each day. Ours was led by a trio of elders and veterans, but in the next rank of the parade were representatives of the police, RCMP, and military. Following them were flags of the community, province and country, then more elders, and finally the dancers in regalia. I ground my teeth a bit watching the parade because I vehemently disagree with giving the various paramilitary organizations a position of privilege near the head of the parade. Of course we should honour our elders and veterans. They went through a lot and we understand and appreciate that. We respect and honour our elders for their individual achievements and sacrifices, however. We should not in any way be honouring the enforcement arms of Canadian government policy. We demean ourselves when we ask our own people to walk behind them. It’s as if we’re thanking them for the generations of abuse they committed and abetted. On the other hand, I think it would be rude to invite them to participate and then make them walk last, so the solution is to not invite them at all.

I understand that one of the primary purposes of pow-wow is to make and keep peace, but I think we are being far too noble in deference to people who have not shown any nobility at all.

I grumbled, but we had fun anyway, once that nonsense was over with. Despite the heat, we browsed, and snacked, and danced. Those Johnston Kids are still finding their feet, but it was great to see them unfetter themselves to whirl about the circle. That is exactly the way to start. They will learn more steps as time passes, and hear more of the rhythms of the music. Baby Girl had an ethereal, skipping, spinning style. She was the whirlwind. Short Pants asked for a rabbit skin, which he gripped and shook as he hopped mostly one-footed around the arena. He was the hare.

After a couple of hours we took a break to go visit my mother, sister, and nieces. The kids call my mother Nokomis, which is Ojibwa for grandmother. I am proud of her because she still speaks Ojibwa and Cree, although I don’t really know much myself. I will learn more in the next few years. I’m in study mode. I don’t recall ever hearing my own grandmother speak a word of Ojibwa, even though she must have known it as well. To be honest, there wasn’t much Indian left on the surface of her. I think she left a lot of it in the residential school she attended as a child. That trickles down to me and my own children because that was an important source of cultural teaching that was lost. This is the sort of generational damage that is referred to when assessing the harm done by the residential school system.

One of the most popular summer activities at Cape is swimming off the government dock. When I was a boy, the large L-shaped dock was all one solid piece of concrete. Fishing boats docked on the protected inner side, or were pulled up on the shores nearby. Vehicles would drive right onto the dock to take away the unloaded catch. From a perch on the side of the dock, you could always see many large fish swimming in the clear water beneath the boats, and crayfish as large as your hand scuttling across the bottom. There were always numberless leopard frogs croaking among the rocks, so that a walk along the shore was preceded by a startled wave of amphibians jumping into the water. The Bay seemed more alive then.

Now, the big fish aren’t seen anywhere near the shore, and the fishing boats are all but gone as well. Crayfish are harder to spot and are finger-sized at best. I saw one frog all weekend. There are gobys in abundance though. A goby is a small fish with a gargoyle mouth and round fins, that usually sits on the bottom motionless until disturbed. They’re hard to spot at first, but once you do, you see them everywhere. It’s an invasive species, and a troublesome one because it’s a voracious bottom feeder, eating the eggs and fry of native species.

On the surface, the water looks amazing, green and crystalline. We joined the small crowd of people already throwing themselves into it from the end of the dock. The dock is falling apart now, with half of it fenced off to prevent people from falling into the massive holes in the concrete. We picked our way over the broken remains to the deep end. Short Pants and I didn’t hesitate on the edge as most do. With a nod to the wind, we cast ourselves into the air and took the 2 metre plunge into the beautiful cool water. Mama and Alison followed shortly after. Baby Girl was still fussing about on the edge by the time we had made it back up, so I talked her into jumping with a small push to the back. I think I communicate well with my hands.