by Richard Wagamese
Dear Prime Minister:
When I heard your words in the House of Commons that were deemed an apology for the debacle of Canada’s residential school system, I was heartened. At that time, it was nothing short of amazing to hear a prime minister use the word “wrong” in reference to Canada’s treatment of aboriginal people.
I write in the dimness of morning. Outside, the world is a shape shifter. Light eases things back into definition, their boundaries called from shadow, hardening, forming, beginning to hold again and the land shrugs itself into wakefulness, purple moving upward into pearl grey.
by Richard Wagamese
Some nights there are stirs of echoes in the dark. It's an age thing, I think. Nights when sleep eludes you are the times when things past seem to take on lives of their own and present themselves to you as clear as yesterday. Sleepless. Reflecting. Longing sometimes. Moments when you maybe didn't hold on strong enough or long enough and the spirit of them and the people in them return fully formed, making you understand the nature of regret.
I wonder if everyone gets that. I wonder if it's a part of the human condition to have to exist on the edges of your memory sometimes and replay scenes from your life just to see how much you can actually recall. I know it's not just a First Nations thing. I believe that when you've lived here long enough, your past informs you as much as your present. If as, the Zen people say, the map is not the territory, then revisiting individual landscapes have much to offer us.
by Richard Wagamese
We've lived in our mountain home full time for about five years now. After a lifetime in the city, we've had to learn how to live as rural people. It's been interesting, aggravating and hilarious all at the same time. We came here knowing absolutely nothing and had to learn from scratch. I've lost a few thumbnails, a lot of hair and the odd ounce of blood learning to maintain a rural home. There's a lot of wild stories to be shared with friends about it all.
by Richard Wagamese
I remember a story told to me a long time ago. It was about a small field mouse who decided that she wanted to see the world. She was curious and friendly and the desire in her to see how big the world could be was honest and pure. She wanted to know. She wanted to learn and discover so she could become more herself. In that, she was a very brave little mouse.
