My first memory is of being in a canoe.
I am no older than three. I’m on the bottom of a canvas-covered, wooden-ribbed cedar canoe, lying on an assortment of coats and life jackets. I awake to the sound of my parents’ whispered voices, discussing the pickerel my dad had caught and brought into the canoe—the pickerel now tied to the stringer with the other fish, trailing along in the water.
I grew up in a large family with eight siblings and even more cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. We lived in an isolated community comprising mostly Native people. Most of our activities centred on hunting, fishing, gathering berries, and cutting firewood.
As the youngest child, I was dragged along wherever and whenever my parents went fishing. From the time I was an infant until my teens, I would spend many hours in a canoe or a boat. It was on those trips that my parents would talk about our ancestors—tales of trips from James Bay to the interior of the Canadian Shield to the shores of Lake Superior. Stories of the Windigo, Manitou, and Nanaboozho, and why we had to put offerings out for these spirits that inhabited the land. Those stories shaped my life, connecting me to nature and her beauty.
Today, with work and family competing for attention, I try to spend as much time as possible in a canoe, paddling remote northern rivers, exploring wilderness parks, and meeting other canoe enthusiasts from around the globe. The best trips are the ones with family and close friends, without pressure to cover great distances. These excursions into the wilderness bring back memories and clear images of my parents and the lessons they taught me.
Back in the canoe with my parents, I stayed quiet, maybe because I didn’t want the enchantment of the moment broken. I felt safe and protected. The gentle rocking of the canoe, the swirling and gurgling sound of the paddle as it’s pulled through the water, the fragrances of cedar and fish. As I watched Dad’s strong, deeply tanned, callused hands clutch the paddle, propelling us forward, I was content to remain on the bottom of the canoe, pretending to sleep.
Atikokan, Ontario