Catching enough fish was not our only concern. At 5 a.m., a bear, trying to pry open Tycoon’s camper truck, had rocked the camper, leaving behind muddy claw marks. Fishing remained good, but even the smallest cloud made us worry. What if more rain hampered the bridge repairs? What if strong winds churned up the lake so we couldn’t fish? Our refrigerators were out of propane, so even if we managed to catch enough fish to tide us over during more bad weather, how would we keep it from spoiling? I had brought along my preserving kettle in hopes of finding a good patch of wild raspberries. What if I used the jars we had emptied along the way and refilled them with canned fish?
The men found some dry wood and soon had a roaring campfire snapping and crackling under my old blue granite kettle holding seven pints of pickerel. As they stoked the fire, I overheard talk about further washouts and road repairs, about stretching food supplies and safety issues.
“I gotta gun,” said Tycoon. “If that bear gives us any more trouble, we’ll have bear steaks!” The bland diet of fish day after day was soon depressing. The kids roasted the last stale marshmallows over a campfire. They relished the last tin of pork and beans. To boost morale, the men tied a string between two trees and rallied the campers for a volleyball game. Come Sunday morning, a woman named Deidre invited us to a church service she had organized, conscripting my husband Leo as preacher.
Our family trooped up the gravel road to the appointed “sanctuary,” a high knoll overlooking the lake with towering pine trees in the background. A teenage girl carrying her little white dog joined us, followed by a young couple leading two toddlers. Then along came Jean, Lance, Olga, Tycoon and all the others. “Say preacher! Ya forgot to take off yer fishin’ cap!”
Leo read from Psalm 19:1: “The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament shows His handiwork.” After reminding us that God is with us in the storms of life but also in the good times too, he suggested we sing the first verse of “How Great Thou Art.” That afternoon Tycoon organized a fishing derby. To tell the truth, after catching fish, smelling fish, filleting fish, frying fish, and eating fish, I was just plain tired of fish, and besides, there weren’t enough rods to go around.
A twelve-year-old boy proved my excuse wasn’t valid. He tied some castoff line to a short stick, hung a lead weight and a rusty hook on the end and tossed it overboard. Within minutes his line pulled taut, and reeling it in hand over hand, he landed a three-pound pickerel.
On the sixth day we heard the unmistakable chop of a helicopter bringing in two government employees, who told us the road out would be passable the next day. After packing up, and waving goodbye to the other campers, we slowly wended our way across the makeshift bridges and drove back down the road that had brought us all together. As we turned toward home, I caught sight of two bear cubs trotting along beside their mother. Somehow, even then they symbolized a vacation that would in retrospect be twice as meaningful as any others we have ever had.
~Alma Barkman
Winnipeg, Manitoba
Found in the Fire
Today — our hearts and prayers are with the people of Fort McMurray. Tomorrow — our hands, backs, trucks, and tools will be with you to rebuild. Stay Alberta Strong.
~Worldviews Project
My husband Stewart and I stood by the river, watching the wildfire ravage Fort McMurray, a surreal scene that mesmerized the world. They were watching it on TV, but it was a very real and terrifying sight all around us. The hour before had been frantic: watching the orange glow of the sky as the fire approached; attempting to contact the kids at school; calling Stew home from work; trying to pack; and then hearing the emergency evacuation alert scream through the radio. We escaped our small subdivision just as the first flames were visible behind our house. It was chaos as tens of thousands of people fled the inferno, flooding roadways and the single highway heading south out of town.
We didn’t want to be stuck in traffic, so we decided to take the exit to the college. We pulled into the parking lot in time to watch the forest behind our house engulfed in monstrous flames. Then, the fire moved rapidly toward the highway where people were sitting in their vehicles. Fear for their safety had my stomach in knots. The ash showered us, and smoke stung my eyes. It was hard to breathe — physically and emotionally.
We needed to move on so we got back on the road. Progress was slow, so once again Stew pulled over and parked along the riverbank. We watched the hill on the other side of our house burn. It took three minutes to burn from top to bottom, with a final huge plume of black smoke as it destroyed the houses. I stood in silent disbelief as Stewart uttered out loud the thought that was in my head. “That’s it, our house is gone.” Our home of twenty-four years was gone just like that.
We moved on to what was most important — our children. The safe haven where they were was now under threat and further evacuation had been ordered, so we joined the long line of vehicles continuing our escape. After we got the kids I felt surprisingly calm, almost content; we were together, we were safe. We were on our way north of the city now, deeper into the boreal forest but away from the imminent danger.
The hours we crawled along in the convoy gave me plenty of time to reflect. The book A Course in Miracles says there are only two emotions — love and fear — and all other emotions are derived from those two. I could definitely see those two emotions at play during those days of the fire. People had lost homes, vehicles, belongings, a sense of safety and security, and irreplaceable treasures. Most tragic was the death of two teenagers killed in an accident south of the city as they evacuated.
There was fear and severe loss to grieve, and yet I had witnessed so much good as well. Part of the healing process was finding the “good” or light in the darkness of this catastrophic event. What we found in the fire on May 3, 2016 burned long after the last flame was extinguished months later.
The purest and richest of human virtues had emerged in epic proportions. It was profound. It was powerful, and, yes, sometimes it was overwhelming — in a way that made my eyes tear up and my heart soar.
Courage and Strength: I observed the collective courage of people, not only in the early hours of evacuation when the threat and danger was imminent, but also in the many days after, as displaced residents adapted to unfamiliar surroundings and uncertainty about the future. The stories of courage and strength were remembered long after the crisis passed.
Compassion and Kindness: The gestures of kindness, generosity and compassion are all expressions of love. In a time when fear was naturally present, the light of these acts of love overshadowed that darkness. There were several moments that touched me deeply. I watched three young men stand in the food line ahead of us at the Dorothy McDonald Business Centre. Volunteers from the Fort McKay First Nations had put together an impromptu barbeque to feed the exhausted evacuees taking refuge for the night. When these three young men got to the front, they saw that supplies were running low and decided to step away, stating, “There are kids and families that need this more than us — let them eat.” I so appreciated their sacrifice so that my children could be fed.
Evacuation centres popped up quickly around the province, overflowing with donations of food, household items, and clothes, from Albertans and from across Canada. I am especially proud of some of the young people we know — our nephew Daniel and his girlfriend Ashley who worked tirelessly to collect and unload donations at Wandering River, as well as buying vast amounts of food for a barbeque to feed thousands of people. And, two young men — Justin and Jon, who grew up in Fort McMurray, took the day from work to transport fuel from Bonnyville, helping stranded motorists, stepping in without question to help strangers — with no expectation of payment. They said it was simply “what we needed to do.”
In the early hours after we had slept one night in our vehicle, we made it to the small village of Plamondon where the local co-op had been open for twenty-four hours to ensure the evacuees had access to supplies. When I thanked a woman for voluntee
ring to bag groceries for patrons, she touched my arm and replied, “This is nothing compared to what you are going through.” It was a moment of pure love and compassion.
Connection: People who collectively experience an event of this magnitude have a sense of camaraderie, like nothing they would experience in day-to-day living. In that same grocery store in Plamondon, when asked, “paper or plastic?” the lady responded, “Oh, I brought my own bags!” Another customer and I had a chuckle together as we recognized a shopping bag from one of our stores at home. I may not have had time to get much out of my house, but we did manage to escape with our rather large collection of re-usable grocery bags, because they were already in our car.
While the rest of Alberta hosted us in their cities and towns they got to experience the richest resource of the Canadian oil sands — the people. And in our fatigued, frazzled, and frustrated state, perhaps we were not at our best, but they graciously accepted us with open arms. For that I am grateful. I am also grateful that when we had watched the hills around our house burn, we had actually witnessed a miracle. We just hadn’t known it at the time. Our house — and most of our subdivision — was damaged but still there.
When I reflect on our escape from the wildfire, Canada’s largest natural disaster, and the record-breaking evacuation of 90,000 people — it was those small moments of courage, compassion, and connection that stayed with me and soothed my soul. After the fire was quenched, it was those embers of human spirit and love that continued to burn brightly.
~Carla White
Fort McMurray, Alberta
Conversation Circle
Recognize yourself in he and she who are not like you and me.
~Carlos Fuentes
It’s Wednesday evening at the Windsor Public Library, and the Conversation Circle is gathering. We have all come from different countries and different ethnic backgrounds at different times. But we are all eager to practice our English with each other. Even our facilitator Wendy is an immigrant.
I came from Bangladesh as a landed immigrant, and joined the Conversation Circle in 2011. It had started fifteen years earlier when some ESL students approached Mongai, one of the librarians who was an immigrant himself, and complained they had no place to practice speaking Canadian English. Mongai started the Conversation Circle. All the teachers are volunteers, and most are first or second generation immigrants themselves. Julius, who was from China, was the founding participant. When I met him he was in his late eighties. He walked with a walker and used a hearing aid, but I never saw an older gentleman so enthusiastic and eager to learn. It was an amazing experience for me.
As time passed many teachers and students came, and then went on their way. Even Julius eventually stopped coming due to health reasons. Then Mongai left the library, but even now the group continues to meet every Wednesday evening. Some are old members, some are new. We discuss different topics like festivals, food, flags, and holidays in our countries of origin. We talk about how our home countries are different from Canada, and how they have changed since we left. As we speak English and share our experiences, we all have different accents and we struggle to find the right words to describe things. But we do our best to encourage and listen to each other.
As I watch the new participants struggling, I remember the early days when I first came to Canada and went to a job workshop. The speaker said to me, “You can’t speak English like me because I was born and raised in Canada. But I can’t speak your language like you. Always remember that language is just a means of communication. As long as you can communicate, you are okay in Canada.” I never forgot her words of wisdom. Over the years I’ve shared them with so many people I’ve lost count. Her wisdom provided such encouragement for me, and then for others. Those words have become my mantra.
Every year we have a potluck Christmas party. We all enjoy it no matter what our race, religion, or ethnic background. Usually people bring dishes from their country of origin to share with the others. Before eating we always explain the ingredients of the dishes. We get to practice speaking and learn something new at the same time. It is always a lot of fun.
Perhaps one day, like Julius, I won’t be able to come anymore. But I know the Conversation Circle will continue — it will always be there to help whoever wants to come.
It reminds me of one of my favourite Bangla songs, “Coffee Houser Sei Addata Aaj Aar Nei…” This song is about a group of friends getting together in the evening to chitchat over a cup of coffee in a café, and how their lives have changed over time. The café is still there, but as time passes a younger generation has taken their place at the same table to chitchat over a cup of coffee — just like they used to do. Long live Conversation Circle!
~Durre N. Jabeen
Windsor, Ontario
Christmas Ice Storm
Having a place to go — is a home. Having someone to love — is a family. Having both — is a blessing.
~Donna Hedges
My sister and I had already put up our Christmas tree, trimming it with strings of colourful lights, glass ornaments, and tinsel. My parents and my brother had decorated our home with outdoor festive lights and garlands, and had placed a Christmas wreath on our front door. The neighbourhood was decked out for the holidays as Christmas approached.
Then, on Saturday December 21st, we were hit by a severe ice storm in southern Ontario. The freezing rain fell continuously, and the ice began to build up everywhere. On Saturday night, somewhere in the distance, I heard the frightful sound of electrical transformers exploding. The lights flickered on and off, but I was relieved each time the power came back on. My mother went to the basement to find candles and flashlights in case we needed them. When my sister returned home from work that evening, she was soaking wet, and really cold. “The roads and the sidewalks are covered with ice,” she exclaimed. “It’s a miracle I didn’t fall.” My brother, who was visiting, decided to stay overnight, fearing the roads were too dangerous to drive home to his own apartment.
When I awoke the next morning the house was eerily silent. I realized the furnace had gone off, and we had lost power. We had no lights, no heat, and of course our electric stove did not work. The house was already cold, and we had no way to boil water or make coffee to warm up.
Outside, the trees and streets were covered with a thick layer of ice. It looked like the kind of winter landscape you see depicted on a Christmas card, with rooftops shimmering and trees encased in sparkling ice. However, the reality wasn’t as pretty as the picture. As the freezing rain continued to fall, the temperature dropped steadily in our home. As the hours went by we waited, hoping for the power to be restored. A neighbour came by to help us scrape the large build-up of ice from our driveway and walkway. Another neighbour, who had a gas stove, came over to offer my mother a kettle full of tea. “This will help warm you up,” she said.
With no radio or TV, we had no news about the extent of the damage, or when the power might be restored. My sister was scheduled to work that afternoon, but the slick, ice-covered sidewalks had grown even more treacherous overnight. She wasn’t sure she could get there, so my brother offered to drive her.
It was now early afternoon. With no power to make a hot lunch, we settled for making sandwiches. As we were preparing them, my brother returned with some good news. He had passed by his own apartment and discovered that his building had power!
“You can’t stay here — it’s too cold,” he said. “We’ll have lunch at my place.” We quickly packed up the sandwiches we had prepared, and left. When I opened the back door to my brother’s car, a sheet of ice fell to the ground. As we drove through the city, there were fallen tree branches lying in the middle of roads and hanging dangerously from power lines. Some streets were closed with yellow police tape blocking off the sections made dangerous by fallen trees or electric wires. It was a strange combination. There was the frightful scene of downed power lines and branches and, at the same time, a picturesque scene of sparkling trees and
glittering rooftops.
When we arrived at my brother’s apartment we turned on the television and learned that the power outages were far more widespread than we’d thought. Hundreds of thousands of people were without power, we learned, and it might be several days before it would be restored. It was only three days before Christmas, and no one was sure if people would be able to return to their homes by Christmas Day. When I heard this, my heart sank.
From the beginning, Hydro workers worked day and night to restore power. Others came from all over Ontario and then from all over Canada, sacrificing their own Christmas at home with their family and friends to help Ontarians through this crisis. They worked fourteen to sixteen hours a day in cold and freezing rain to get the power back on in homes.
That evening we returned to our own home to see if the power had been restored. But it was still dark. There were no streetlights on in our neighbourhood, and there was no warmth in our dark, silent house. Using flashlights and candles, we gathered together some overnight supplies. We let the water run to prevent the pipes from freezing. To our surprise a glass of water which my mother had left on the kitchen table already had ice in it.
On our way out, my mother saw our neighbour outside. He had decided not to leave his home despite the loss of power. They had a gas stove, and were able to at least prepare hot food and drinks. His little granddaughter was at a relative’s house, however, because her lips had turned blue in the cold.
“I wish I didn’t have to leave,” my mother sighed. “I’ve never had to leave my home before, especially at Christmas.” She gave him a box of chocolates as a Christmas gift and asked him, “Please watch over our home, and call me if you see anything.” He smiled when he saw the chocolates, knowing they would cheer up his granddaughter. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll let you know if I see anything.”