“But, Mommy, I gotta get me coppers!”
I was ecstatic as we chugged across the run, and when the boat pulled up at the wharf, I clambered ashore and ran to the store. The strong odour of rubber and rope filled the place. Hip rubbers hung from the overhead rafters, and there were fishing supplies such as jiggers and twine and cork floats. Oilskin clothing was piled on shelves around the room. As I approached the counter, I could smell something sweet — cookies, candy, or apples maybe.
Whatever money Daddy received as a share man through the summer went toward his tab from the past spring when he traded in his furs. After that was paid off, or at least paid down, he could then run it up again to get our winter food supply. Basic supplies were placed in boxes, and the cost was put on our bill. Flour, tea, sugar, molasses, margarine, onions, salt pork, salt beef, hard bread, yellow split peas, and navy beans were the extent of our store-bought food. Mommy gathered skeins of worsted to knit cuffs (mittens), caps, and scarves, and collected new flannelette to make underwear. Sadly, for us, there was no money for apples. However, we did get a few jellybeans. When I popped them into my mouth, I was in heaven.
As the day of the move approached, the men raced around in preparation. They helped one another haul out the motorboats and secure them for the winter. It was a big undertaking and involved most of the able-bodied men in our village of 25 families. The men had a method for getting the boats out. Several tree trunks were placed under the keels so they would roll easily. Finding the trunks was no small feat, since there wasn’t a single tree on the island. They’d been cut during the winter, limbed out, and stored away for safekeeping, much the way one would stow valuable treasure.
Several men lined up on each side to keep the boat upright, then a long rope was attached to the bow. Together they sang, “Haul on de bowline, haul boys, haul.” Slowly but surely, the heavy 30-foot boats were eased onto the shore. Once the boats were up and in place, timbers were nailed under the gunwales to keep them secure. Smaller boats and dories were turned upside down to protect them from the weather.
Most houses had a little shed called a store for stashing fishing gear. Each man sorted and put away his own gear, ready for the next year. After the boats were out of the water and the fishing gear was taken care of, everyone gathered for a celebration.
My family was known for their music and dance. At our house a dance could start up at a moment’s notice, and most of the village joined in. Homebrew appeared from secret hiding places as people started assembling in our home.
Daddy was an accordion player. Once he began playing, the weary fishermen, some in rubber boots, some in sealskin boots, others in duffle vamps (soft felt slippers), and a few in store-bought shoes, danced the night away. No wonder the knots stood up in our wooden floor! Shod in sealskin slippers, all the youngsters, including me, scuffled about in the corner, happy as could be.
The day after the celebration Daddy continued getting his supplies together for the winter’s work. His list consisted of different types of ropes, a new axe handle, saw blades, a sharpening stone, and ammunition. The list had to be carefully prepared because when winter set in there was nowhere to go. Since Daddy knit his trout nets during the winter, he also needed fishing twine. It was vital to make sure the dogs were fed well, so during the fishing season in the summer Daddy and Sam salted salmon, flatfish, cods’ heads, sculpin, and other by products of the fishery. They packed the salted fish in burlap bags and stored everything until moving day.
Our winter home of Roaches Brook was only 35 miles away, but the pounding sea was relentless and could keep us trapped on the island for days, sometimes weeks. Finally, the day we’d been waiting for arrived. The weather was civil enough to make the treacherous trip from Spotted Island to Roaches Brook. The distance might not seem very far, but we were at the mercy of the sea’s whims.
There was much excitement and a sense of urgency as Mommy and Daddy hustled about to complete last-minute preparations. Daddy finished boarding up the windows, and Sammy, Marcie, Sally, and I had to help carry everything to the boat waiting to be loaded at the stagehead.
“Is we ready yet, Daddy?” I asked.
“Awmost, Jimmy,” he said as he limped past me. “An stay outta de way.”
The motorboat was crammed to capacity as all our things were put onboard. Everything we needed, including the stove, was piled into the boat. I scrambled aboard and tried to find a comfortable spot to ride out the trip. The dogs were the last to be loaded. Daddy was coming down to the landwash with the dogs practically pulling him off his feet. Sam, at age 11, was big enough to help and was very good with the dogs.
“Ouch!” I cried. “Mommy, de dogs is walkin on me!”
“Josie, yer always complainin bout sometin,” she grumbled. And that was all the sympathy I got.
The dogs trampled all over us until they were tied in place. The boat was overflowing now. Everything we needed to sustain us for the winter was on that boat. All our food, the dogs, the dogs’ food, our stove, clothing, bedding, pots and pans, dishes, and all seven of us — Mommy, Daddy, Sammy, Marcie, me, Sally, Rhoda, and a new one on the way.
Finally, we were away, and my excitement increased. I glanced back at the rugged beauty of Spotted Island — the rough terrain, the little houses nestled around the cove. I thought of the fun I’d had over the summer. The fishing stages seemed deserted now when only a short time ago they’d been bustling with activity. As we turned past the point and headed into Rocky Bay, the raw north wind hit me square in the face. We were in the run where even on a civil day huge waves tossed boats around like wood chips.
“Mommy, I’m sick,” I said, rubbing my tummy.
“Oh, Jos, ya always gets sick, maid. Whass de matter wit ya atall?” She held me over the gunwale, and I proceeded to throw up my lassie bun.
Once we got into the shelter of the hills, I felt better and was able to enjoy the rest of the trip. The rugged, moon-like, treeless hills gave way to a gentler, sloping landscape with tall trees. It was wonderful to see that land again. As soon as I spied the trees, I knew we were getting close to Roaches Brook.
In the early nineteenth century, as oral history came down to us, two Curl brothers came from England and married Inuit women. My paternal grandfather, John Curl, was a descendant of one of these brothers. Born in 1867, John Curl married my grandmother, Susan (also part Inuit), raised a family of five, and built the largest cabin in Roaches Brook.
I remember that their cabin overflowed with family. In true Labrador tradition all five of John Curl’s family lived at home with their own growing families. My father, Thomas, who was the eldest, had built a little cabin for us so we wouldn’t have to crowd in with our grandparents. Even though Roaches Brook was completely shut off from the outside world for 10 months, the people had everything they needed to sustain them for the winter.
The cabins were crudely built. They were merely tree trunks limbed out and placed together vertically, leaving many seams to be filled with moss to keep out wind and snow. Aside from cabins, the settlement contained a sawpit for sawing logs and a scaffold built high off the ground to keep fresh game and dog food out of the reach of animals. Around each log cabin were an outhouse, a sawhorse, a chopping block, a vertical woodpile, a water barrel, a dog-feeding tub, a komatik (a wooden sleigh), and a coachbox for transporting families on dogsleds.
Our motorboat was chugging along at a good pace as we made our way through the choppy North Atlantic. It was hard to talk above the noise of the engine, and the fumes were so strong that my nose stung. I kept staring at the trees on the hillsides. They passed us by as jagged sentries against the blue of the sky.
“Is we dere yet, Mommy?” I asked, tugging at her coattail.
“Awmost, Josie. Jus round dat point dere. See?” She pointed at a group of hills.
My