National Indigenous Day is past us and Nation Indigenous Month is ending. We’ve all heard the cries for Indigenous history to be taught in classrooms. One wonders what will be taught and how it will be presented. Candy-coated with a few dark spots would be most likely. How Canada got its name, how the Injuns helped the settlers, a few wars we helped one side or the other, the fur trade, and, of course, an apologetic reference to residential schools.
Only 43.5% of eligible voters showed up at polls during the recent provincial election in Ontario, making it the province’s lowest electoral turnout in history. That’s what often happens when parties don’t campaign for innovative social projects.
I’m rolling down the highway at the legal speed limit, fully aware that my gas-tank setting drops the faster I drive. These days, the price of gas is more than those in the far North, where high prices for everything are normal and if the price goes down, people go into economic shock. What? Gas prices have nearly doubled! What happened since the last lock down, did I miss anything? Well apparently, there’s is a war in Ukraine and the free world is doubling up all kinds of sanctions and blocking the Russian aggressor.
Chief Wayne Wabie called me this past week to share news that his community had officially been acknowledged as a First Nation by the Canadian government. This was a conversation of pure happiness, joy and relief.
For many of us in the professional world, there is nothing like attending annual meetings, regional conferences and other (earthly) events that take place in the world of business. It’s the need to meet-and-greet, schmooze-and-booze and then snooze the following morning during the most important meeting of your life.
I wonder exactly when it was that denying the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms became so popular in Quebec. Make no mistake. It’s now evidently a politically astute move, as evidenced by the National Assembly’s adoption of Bill 96, our new language law, in a vote of 78-29.
When I was younger, my mother told me how she finds it crazy that many people don’t know the stars and constellations although we see them every night. That resonated with me, and it lingered in my mind, making me want to read the night sky like my ancestors did. Since I was a child, I’ve found deep space to be equally fascinating and terrifying.
I’m driving my ATV on left-over ice and snow, crossing a creek and heading to the blind that I’ve frequented for the last few decades. The going is good with beautiful weather and one small mallard I managed to kill while waiting for the first geese to arrive. Facebook posts show plenty of harvesting just south of us and we are waiting for our turn up north.
Blockade season, also known as summer, is at our doorstep. First to set up camp may be the Mohawks protesting the Quebec government’s Bill 96, which they say will impose onerous French-language requirements.
I was getting prepared for the Goose Break hunt. Watching primer videos and photos of hunts down south put an itch in my twitchy trigger finger. I figured it was time to clean the gunk from last year’s hunt off my trusty shotgun and scrounge for loose shells from pockets and drawers so I could say that at least I had enough ammo.
