I’m driving my granddaughter around the beach for no other reason than just to get out of the house and enjoy life. We stop and the little one takes off towards the shore, then turns around in joy squealing to get away from the small waves that gently wash up onto the sands where the Great Whale River meets Hudson Bay.
The fallout from the recent discoveries of unmarked graves of children who attended residential schools in Canada has far-reaching consequences and a variety of responses.
It would be a dismal world without chickens. What would replace them, one could wonder? There could be an episode on some nature TV channel imagining the world waking up one day without chicken.
This has been a worrisome month. After a year and a half of dealing with the Covid-19 pandemic, like everyone else I was hoping that things would be getting back to normal by now after our world shut down.
This editorial is the one that comes around time and time again. In Kamloops, the unmarked graves of 215 children were discovered. Shock, surprise and outrage spread across the country and the world.
As we grow up, friends become an important part of your life. Someone you can relate to no matter how goofy they may seem; it makes sense somehow to go along with any antic we could think up.
When I feel down, it motivates me to remember who my relatives are. My family – like many families in our communities – experienced hard and dark moments in their lives.
Joyce Echaqaun died September 28, 2020, in a Joliette hospital. Before dying she recorded and shared a video on social media of the treatment (or lack of it) she was receiving from the hospital staff. The video outraged people around the world as they watched and heard staff calling her stupid, a drain on the system and better off dead.
In our Weenabaykoo Ininew Peemahteeseewin, our James Bay Cree way of life, Elders play a pivotal role in the lives of everyone in a community. Our language, stories and history are all passed down in an oral tradition. We learn by listening to the stories our parents share with us and the teachings we hear from our Elders.
We thought spring was here, but as I write these notes, there is a blizzard blowing to remind us that winter is a tough beast to kill. The winds howl incessantly, and visibility is so bad that June seems to be a distant promise of the possibility to venture outdoors sans long johns and big fur mittens.
