After we finished shaving our heads we sang songs to our ancestors and in honour of Makwa. That night we gave the twins another honour. They would take the first watch and tend the fire.
In the morning we had a quick meal and headed on our way. Our absence from the village had been sixteen days. The last few days we had noticed the snow was disappearing and a lot of bare spots were appearing in the open meadows. That was not a good sign for our people that we had left behind. They needed the deep snow to hunt. Unless the hunters that had stayed with our small winter band had any luck at all in securing food, there would be problems. Our small winter band of Kitcisìpiriniwak numbered fifteen men, twenty-one women, and twenty-eight children. With the death of Makwa, we were down to fourteen men. Of the men who were left in the village, four of them had just taken the Wysoccan Journey this past summer and were inexperienced in all aspects of warriorhood. Three of the remaining six were elders, leaving only three men with the stamina and experience to hunt and guard the encampment. Our village consisted of fourteen shelters beside a small stream, sheltered by a large forest of pines and cedars.
After walking for most of the day, we soon came upon the clearing that we knew led to our families and lodges. As we walked into the forest that sheltered our family unit, we were taken aback.
7
Happiness
and Sorrow
OUR SHELTERS WERE OVAL wàginogàns (lodges) made out of birch bark and held together by saplings intertwined on the inside. On the outside we used slabs of cedar to hold the birch bark down, tying them to the frame. The birch bark was overlapped so as not to leak. The saplings on the inside were not tied end to end but were joined side to side to avoid poking holes in the birch bark. The young trees were bent in a curve and fastened together with spruce roots.
What caught us by surprise was that no one was on guard and that we could only see smoke coming out of seven of the wàginogàns.
“Wàgosh, announce our homecoming.”
“E-ya-ya-ya-ya,” Wàgosh sang. “The hunters have arrived with food and tales of adventure.”
Then Wàgosh sang a death song announcing the death of Makwa. With that his wife and our sister See-Bee-Pee-Nay-Sheese (River Bird) came out of her home, wailing and crying. I took my sister in my arms and told her that Makwa died a warrior’s death, and he would enter the afterlife with great honour.
See-Bee-Pee-Nay-Sheese would enter her home and douse her fire. She would mourn face-down on her mat for six days covered by her robes and receive only cold food for nourishment. The families would give her gifts to comfort her. She would not be allowed to marry again until our mother gave her permission.
When an Algonquin warrior marries, he always lived with the wife’s family and helped hunt and protect the family unit.
Nìjamik (Two Beaver), one of our elders, followed my sister out to the centre of the village leading the rest of the people.
“Mahingan,” he said, “we are happy to see you. This food will keep us from starving. We have lost one of the older women and a small child since you have left. Wajashk (Muskrat) took two of the young warriors three days ago to see if they could spear any fish through the open ice of the big river. Hunger has stalked us like an enemy on the warpath. We have huddled together in seven shelters to save wood. The people were getting too weak to forage for wood to burn. Thus the decision was made to come together. Now, though, we see that the Chief and his warriors have returned successfully with meat. Tonight we will feast and hear your stories and how Makwa died. The older women will take turns sitting with See-Bee-Pee-Nay-Sheesh and help her with her mourning. The rest of us will visit her in the days to come and help ease her grief with gifts. The moose and deer will get us through the winter until the bear wakes from his sleep and the elk come to the south from the deep woods. You have saved us, Mahingan. This will be a story for the ages.”
When Nijamik finished talking to me, I could feel a hand on mine. I looked around and saw a beautiful smiling face — my wife, Wàbananang. Tonight I would celebrate in many ways.
I followed Wàbananang to our shelter; she had been staying with my mother and her sisters-in-law while I was absent. The lodge was cold from the lack of heat but in a short time we had a fire going. The light from the fire enhanced her striking looks. As we sat and ate she told me what the last days were like with very little food and the people starting to lose heart that our hunt would be successful.
“Mahingan, five nights ago my father came to me in a dream and told me that you and your men had not failed and would be bringing the meat to the village soon. Upon waking, I told everyone my dream, and it raised their hopes. Then you arrived as my father had told me you would. You are a good husband and leader.”
“Thank you, my love. Your belief in me strengthens my heart.”
With that I led her to where we slept and felt the warmth of her body and the aura that always came over me when we made love. That always was an experience that quenched my soul and gave me the strength to carry on. Making love is a gift from Kitchi Manitou that is one of the great mysteries of being one of his people.
8
Spring Awakening
WE HAD BEEN BACK from our hunt for weeks now and on this day I awoke to the sound of the wind and rain falling on our wàginogàn. Wàbananang was lying at my side, and I could feel the warmth of her body and feel her breath on my neck. I arose without waking her. That day we would start taking the sweet water from the trees in the forest. Everyone helps in the gathering of the onzibàn (sap).
Our women had been busy making the birch bark containers that were used to catch the water. When I left the lodge, I woke Wàbananang and told her I was going out to start notching the trees. She and the other women’s job for the coming days would be to tend the fires that heated the sweet water, boiling it in the clay pots that made the sweet thick syrup we enjoyed. The clay pots that our women used for boiling the syrup had been obtained from the Ouendat in trade.
Everyone also liked to drink the tree’s water and cook our food in it. This was one of the things that our people looked forward to in the spring, harvesting the sweet water. After a long winter, this was Nokomis’s reward to us for surviving the cold and starvation. This was her sweet water, which was given from her breast for our nourishment.
I awakened Wàgosh and together we went into the forest with our axes. I did the notching and Wàgosh inserted the reeds into the openings and hung the birch pail underneath to catch the water. The birch vessels would stay on the trees and be dumped into clay pots to be taken back to the village. Hopefully we would get ten or more days of the sap running from the trees. When the women boiled the sweet water past the thick syrup, they then got the sweet brown granules that were added to our food over the summer.
Nokomis was also busy telling all the animals to bear their young in the spring. She then asked the earth to grow flowers to announce to all that the young animals would be coming.
As we were working on the trees and leaving the vessels to catch the water, Wàgosh wondered aloud if the Haudenosaunee would raid us this summer.
“Wàgosh,” I said, “they have been busy raiding the Nippissing the last little while and bypassing us on the great river Kitcisìpi. Ever since we defeated them two summers ago with our friends the Innu (Montagnais) they have given us a wide berth. The Nippissing though are strong and the Haudenosaunee have to travel across many miles to raid and to steal the furs and the brown metal that the Nippissing get in trade with the Ojibwa. When the Haudenosaunee tire of the Nippissing they may turn their attention to us. However, until then we’ll have to come up with a plan to handle them and maybe strike first. When we have our next visit with our friends the Innu and the Maliseet (Malìcite), we will then have to decide something.”
During the next