Waubgeshig Rice - Moon of the Crusted Snow

Terry took her suggestion and walked outside. The remaining councillors stayed, socializing with band members as they trickled in.

Earlier that morning, after Evan had returned his plough to the yard, he had adjusted the breaker switches on the power panel to provide lights to the main entrance and to the gym. He had filled the diesel furnace with enough fuel to heat the space where the community was to gather later in the day. Now he sat nearby in case they needed him for anything else.

“Just gotta wait now, I guess,” Candace said to him.

Evan adjusted the beak of his blue ball cap and looked down at his feet before asking, “So what’s going on, anyway?”

She sighed. “We’re not really sure yet. Terry’s gonna ask everyone just to sit tight while we wait for communication to come back and we hear what’s going on with the systems down south.”

The chairs filled steadily, and finally about a hundred people sat chatting in their winter gear while children chased each other down the aisle and along the painted sidelines on the floor. Evan saw his parents, his older sister Sarah, and her son Ziigwan stroll in. He smiled at them, and the little boy, just a little older than his own son, waved. He noted that Cam was not with them.

Back at the table, Terry scanned the gym. Relatives, friends, acquaintances, and political enemies sat before them. Governing a community this size, he and the council sometimes had to make decisions that not everyone liked. Some nodded or smiled at him. Others met his gaze without expression. The weathered faces of the dozen or so elders in the crowd analyzed his body language with their chins held high. He nodded at one in particular, Aileen Jones, and she nodded back. He cleared his throat and stood.

“Boozhoo, mino shkwaa naagweg kina wiya,” he began. “Good afternoon, everybody. Chi-miigwech for coming down here today. As you all know, we’ve been having some problems with power and satellite connections, so we’re here to give you an update. First though, I’d like to call up our elder Aileen to start this meeting with a smudge and a prayer.”

That was Evan’s cue, and he walked over to Aileen. She was in her late eighties, one of the oldest of their community, and she had difficulty getting around, so Evan offered his arm to help her up. She looked up at him with eyes so dark the pupils were hard to distinguish from the irises. She smiled her sweet slow smile that rippled the lines of her face. Her thin white hair draped the back of her neck loosely, and she mouthed a faint miigwech as she pulled herself to stand. She picked up the medicine bundle on the chair beside her and handed it to Evan.

Evan reached into the cloth bag, sewn with white, yellow, red, and black material. He felt around for the large abalone shell he knew was inside and pulled it out. The iridescent interior was smooth and gleamed with a swath of subtle pinks and blues. He held the shell upright, its rough exterior nestled in his hand while Aileen’s reached into the medicine bag. Evan could smell the sage before she even grabbed it. The entire gym was silent.

Aileen pulled out the sticks of sage and motioned for Evan to hold the shell in front of her. She began breaking them into smaller pieces and piled them neatly in the basin of the shell. She wiped the smaller leaves that stuck to her fingers and palms onto the rest of the medicine. It was important to get it all. The sharp herbal aroma soothed Evan. Next Aileen reached for a box of matches and a fan of eagle feathers that she handed to Evan.

Her wrinkled hands trembled as she pushed open the cardboard box for a match. Her fingers rattled among the matchsticks, and Evan worried she wouldn’t be able to pinch one free. But she did and brought the red head of the match swiftly to the coarse side of the box. The loud pop of combustion resounded through the first rows of gym, and the sulphur smell briefly wiped out the sage’s scent.

Aileen brought the flickering orange light under the carefully piled sage in the shell, and the medicine caught fire. She let it burn for a few seconds before blowing it out. Thick grey smoke billowed from the shell in Evan’s hand, and the unmistakable calming smell of smudge slowly dispersed through the gym. Aileen shook out the match and placed it carefully in the shell. The elder moved through the ceremony as if this were muscle memory passed to her through countless generations.

“Aambe,” Aileen said, motioning towards her torso with both of her hands.

Evan carefully waved the feathers across the burning sage, moving more smoke through the room. Aileen cupped her hands over the smudge and started to guide it over her body. She washed it over her head, up and down her arms, down her torso, her legs, and then turned so Evan could smudge her back and shoulders.

Many in the crowd watched intently, awaiting their turn. Others were skeptical, and a smaller few took offence to the ritual, though it was an integral part of Anishinaabe spirituality. It represented a cleansing of the spirit, and the ceremony was believed to clear the air of negativity. It had become protocol to open any community event or council meeting with a smudge.

This protocol had once been forbidden, outlawed by the government and shunned by the church. When the ancestors of these Anishinaabe people were forced to settle in this unfamiliar land, distant from their traditional home near the Great Lakes, their culture withered under the pressure of the incomers’ Christianity. The white authorities displaced them far to the north to make way for towns and cities.

But people like Aileen, her parents, and a few others had kept the old ways alive in secret. They whispered the stories and the language in each other’s ears, even when they were stolen from their families to endure forced and often violent assimilation at church-run residential schools far away from their homes. They had held out hope that one day their beautiful ways would be able to reemerge and flourish once again.

“Okay,” Aileen spoke softly to Evan, “your turn.” He handed her the shell and the fan and dipped his hands into the smoke to bring it close to himself. He turned so that his back was to her, and let her disperse the medicine up and down his body. From behind him, she tapped each of his shoulders gently with the fan, and he turned back to face her and took the medicine from her hands. He walked clockwise around the gym, fanning the shell to push the smoke into the air and towards the seated townspeople. He then took a spot over to one side of the council table where people who wanted to smudge could line up.

Aileen turned to the crowd and spoke. “Boozhoo, Zhaawshgogiiizhgokwe n’dizhnakaaz,” she said. “Wawashkesh n’dodem.” After introducing herself in Anishinaabemowin, she addressed the crowd in English. “Good afternoon, my relatives.” Her quiet, authoritative voice echoed through the large room. “Thank you all for coming here today.” As an elder, she had the full attention of everyone in the room. Any eyes that might have rolled during the smudge were nonetheless now fixed on her. She was everyone’s auntie, even if they weren’t related by blood.

“Winter is here,” she continued. “Maybe it came a little earlier than we all expected. It’s the time when the trees go to sleep. The bears go to sleep. We all rest. And then we will be reborn in the spring. But it’s important to make sure we’re ready. Now is the time to help your relatives prepare their winter homes. Make sure they have enough food. Enough wood. Enough medicine to make it through the dark season.”

Heads nodded in the crowd. Evan tried to read the faces, people no doubt thinking of their own winter inventory and what they would need. Some looked slightly panicked.

“So I’m going to offer a prayer,” she smiled. “I’m gonna ask the Great Spirit to take care of us this winter. We’re gonna need it.” She smiled reassuringly and began to speak in her first language once again, introducing herself once more in Anishinaabemowin, and then giving thanks for health and all the other gifts from the Creator.