“Pleased to meet you all,” said my new friend, Waylon, as I scooted down the bench to make room for him. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”
“Of course not,” we said in unison. We were just discussing the incredible countryside we’d been through — which parts we liked best and why.
“Crazy as it seems,” said my sister, “I love slowly pulling out of Vancouver — seeing it from a totally different perspective — under bridges and practically on top of the Fraser River and all that heavy industry…” She was a town planner.
“I can’t decide,” added my brother-in-law. “I guess for me it’s the Rockies; but there is so much else that is absolutely startling — it makes you suck in your breath.”
“So,” said Waylon, “if I were to ask each of you what you are most proud of — what is most Canadian for you, what would your answers be?”
My sister answered first. “Our cities and towns,” she declared. “They are such a multiplicity, so multi-cultural and so cosmopolitan, and yet they’re not cold. You know, they don’t seem to have outgrown themselves — to have become impersonal.”
We nodded our heads in agreement.
My brother-in-law was next to speak. “The countryside itself,” he stated. “What we’ve just passed through and what we’re passing through right now — mountains and prairies, glaciers and deserts. Where else on earth would you find such breathtaking diversity?”
I was fascinated by the Irishman’s question, and was not about to give an answer without at least some deliberation. “For me?” I began, “it’s our flag — one single red maple leaf. It’s recognizable all over the world, and it usually says good things.”
“Good things indeed,” agreed the friend with whom I was travelling. “It’s the help that we give other less fortunate countries — the recognizable flag and the help it brings.” She paused. “Maybe I’m being a bit brash,” she nodded to Waylon, “but you asked.”
“Yes, I did,” he nodded with a smile, “but you all missed it.”
“Sorry?” I said.
“And again, you’re proving my point. I say something that is not at all understandable, and you take responsibility. You are sorry for my mistake. In fact,” Waylon continued, “I’m told that ‘sorry’ is the most used word in the Canadian vocabulary. Yours is one of the most multicultural countries in the world — two official languages. You welcomed and included me tonight, as you welcome and include people from all across the world. And yes, I agree with all of you — all of the choices you listed — all of the things for which your one red maple leaf stands,” and he smiled at my apologetic friend. “But the one essential ingredient which you all missed — is yourselves. You are the welcoming committee, the aide givers, and most importantly, the voice of reason accepting responsibility for what is not your error and so creating peace. On all of these accounts, the people of Canada are peacemakers — to each other, and peacemakers to the world. You are your own greatest asset.
My eyes filled, and my throat suddenly had a lump in it. I truly believe that never in my entire life have I ever felt so proud — for all of us.
~Robyn Gerland
Chemainus, British Columbia
A Canadian Epiphany
We can best serve the cause of Canadian unity and understanding by living first in and through and then beyond our own immediate traditions.
~Former Governor General Vincent Massey
I became a Canadian in March of 1994. Actually, I was born in Burnaby, British Columbia in 1975 but I didn’t realize how much this country really meant to me until I was eighteen years old, and in grade twelve.
I was given the opportunity to travel to Ottawa to participate in the “Forum for Young Canadians.” At first I wasn’t too keen on the idea, but then I thought, it would give me a week off school, so why not? So I packed my bags and left for Ottawa for seven days to study the government, meet new people and see some new places.
There were six of us from British Columbia, and when we reached Ottawa in the early evening we were immediately thrown into a whirlwind of activity and excited chatter. There I was, standing in a room with 125 other participants from every Canadian province and territory. There were different languages being spoken, and many cultural differences. Ideas and opinions were all over the map, and we all carried with us many preconceptions and stereotypes about each other.
The consensus seemed to be that those from the Maritimes were all just fishermen; those from Quebec just wanted to separate, and anyway, it’s a province where you can’t turn right on a red light! People from Ontario were perceived as thinking they were the centre of all worthwhile activity and the only real province. It was thought that those who lived on the Prairies were all unsophisticated farmers, and folks from British Columbia were seen as wandering about in a laid-back dream world. And the North, well, only saints or martyrs would live in one of the territories.
I was very dismayed by this, and began to wonder how this country ever came to be. Did we have nothing in common other than the fact that most of our families had immigrated here, and that we were trying to differentiate ourselves from our neighbours to the south? But then something happened that started to break down the barriers and bring this group together — a small and simple thing really, but oh so powerful.
It was the third day, and the group was tired from a long day on Parliament Hill. I remember clearly someone saying, “Are we not here to have the full Canadian Experience? We haven’t even sung ‘O Canada’ yet!” We looked around at each other, and then as a group we all suddenly stood up and began singing our national anthem and, for the first time, I actually listened to the words.
I looked around the room and saw that everybody was singing. Everyone there came from a different part of the country and believed their part was the best, and I suddenly realized that all those best places together made up the best country in the world. As we sang our anthem, this group began to see just how wonderful our differences actually are.
The looks on the faces around me reflected my own feelings: the tears of pride in realization of our unity in diversity. I felt chills run up and down my spine as our voices reached a crescendo in this joyous and passionate hymn to our nation. As it came to an end, I felt the tears rolling down my cheeks, and realized, fully realized for the first time, how lucky I was to live in such a great and awesome country. I saw clearly that our diverse geographic areas and political and cultural uniqueness shape what is truly the Canadian Experience.
~Shawn O’Brien
Calgary, Alberta
I Was a Teenaged Separatist
Traveling — it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.
~Ibn Battuta
When I was in grade ten I took a basic Canadian geography test — and failed. The teacher handed out a map of Canada and asked us to identify the locations of the ten provinces, the territories, the major cities and the largest bodies of water. The test was out of forty, and I scored a whopping seven. I managed to correctly identify my home province of British Columbia, as well as Alberta, Prince Edward Island (easy because it was small), the cities of Vancouver and Victoria — and two oceans.
At age sixteen, as far as I was concerned, that was all I needed to know. So what if I didn’t know Nova Scotia from Newfoundland, where Hudson’s Bay was, or which lakes were supposed to be “Great” and which lakes were just above average?
At that time, Quebec was talking about separating, and I was failing French class. I was hoping they’d leave before the end of the term so I wouldn’t have to take my final exam. I figured if Quebec could separate, then British Columbia could too — which wasn’t an unpopular sentiment at the time. I wasn’t sure what the rest of Canada had to offer, other than the CBC and the Toronto Maple Leafs.
That separatist-summer my best friend Bob and I bought VIA Rail passes to see Canada — although truthfully our plan was more about riding the train across the country than stopping at any particular destinatio
n. Bob was worldly. Not only was he almost eighteen, he’d lived in Quebec and Boston. I’d barely ever left British Columbia other than for a few family vacations to Hawaii, and that just involved flying across an ocean, not seeing anything along the way.
After many days on the train we arrived in Newfoundland, which I only knew as the home of “the barbarians who clubbed baby seals.” During our first night in St. John’s the locals at the hostel quizzed me about Vancouver, which they knew only as “the home of the people at Greenpeace” — who they didn’t like much. Despite being outnumbered a half dozen to one, I held my ground and spoke or at least squeaked up for Greenpeace.
“You don’t even eat the seals,” I said. So they talked about poverty and eating whatever they could get, and then they offered me a slice of flipper pie. I declined. The next day the guy who ran the hostel handed me a badge that read, “Save our seals — eat flipper pie.”
In Prince Edward Island public transit was almost non-existent, so in Charlottetown we hitchhiked to see the legislature where Canada was born and the Anne of Green Gables cottage. While we were there, two women sitting next to us at the Anne of Green Gables musical offered to show us Saskatoon on our way home. This was amazing to me. I was sixteen and looked it and they were adults with real jobs, and this really was just an offer to show us Saskatoon. From then on, everywhere we went — on the train or in the hostels — we made new friends who took us around and showed us the local sites.
We arrived in Quebec and I was completely smitten by the walled city. Unlike Bob, I’d also never been anywhere where people spoke a different language. I found it thrilling, and suddenly, learning French didn’t seem stupid. I wished that I remembered more words than bibliothèque. The longer we spent wandering the fascinating streets of old Quebec, the more I wanted to learn French — and every other language — and travel to other places to try them out. Realizing this city was actually part of Canada made Canada suddenly seem a whole lot cooler than it had two weeks earlier.
When we got off the train in Toronto I was completely overwhelmed. Toronto was the biggest city I’d ever seen and I absolutely loved it.
In Winnipeg we wandered through “The Forks,” dodging mosquitoes and eating at The Old Spaghetti Factory, which felt like home — and also very grown-up because I’d never eaten there before without my parents.
When we arrived in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan we toured the city and climbed “a mountain” made of trash and, being sixteen, after climbing it I asked where the mountain was. For some reason the folks in Saskatoon didn’t find this half as hilarious as I did.
As we crossed the country, I was continuously impressed by the differences between each province and each community. As the days passed, I found myself beginning to believe that I really did live in the Canada we were learning about in school — the mosaic. I began to see Canada as a place with dozens of diverse cultures blending together and living in something resembling harmony. (Other than the occasional hockey fight, of course.)
The next year I took a French language class during my summer vacation — not for grades, but because I wanted to learn my country’s other language.
Decades later I still can’t spot New Hampshire on a map of North America, and I find it tough to believe that New England isn’t actually a state — even though they have a football team. But if I took that Canadian geography test again, I’m sure I’d score at least thirty out of forty. I’m still not great with lakes. And I’ve still got my pin from St. John’s that reads, “Save Our Seals — Eat Flipper Pie.”
~Mark Leiren-Young
Victoria, British Columbia
A Special Retirement
There are two ways of spreading light — to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.
~Edith Wharton, Vesalius in Zant
“Come,” my friend Sherrill said to me on the phone. “I’m not sure exactly what to expect, but I think you should come.” So I drove the four hours to Jasper, Alberta to Sherrill’s retirement celebration.
We knew to dress warmly because we would either be sitting outside, or in a tepee with little heating. Because of the wind, the tepee was chosen. A few of us worked to cover the cold floor with blankets, and one or two people brought in wood and started the little fire circle, just inside the door.
The invitations to attend had been personal but casual, so the final number had not been determined beforehand. As we entered we were gently guided to our seating areas: the men on one side and the women on the other. The three Elders, and three other men from the Stoney Nation who had travelled from the South, were seated in an oval shape between the men and women.
Two small drums, a rattle, colourful fabric, blueberries, pipes, tobacco and a few other items were placed in the centre of their formation. The men sat cross-legged. One Elder told us that women kneel rather than sit cross-legged, so we did. There were eighteen of us in total.
As we settled in, the fire began to crackle and burn. The man at the end of the line added wood periodically. Dallas, one of the younger Stoney men, with long black braids, offered the “smudge” to everyone. From a dark container that looked like a shell, each of us gathered the smoke in cupped hands to spread over our heads, bodies and hearts. Those of us unfamiliar with this tradition learned from watching and listening. Charlie opened the ceremony with a brief explanation of Stoney beliefs, and followed by a prayer to our Creator, welcoming good guides and spirits. We all remained seated, and the Stoney sang to the steady heartbeat of their drum.
Then Charlie explained further that the reason for the gathering was to honour Sherrill and her work. He thanked us all for coming to share this celebration. We introduced ourselves around the tepee and explained our connection to Sherrill. She had worked for forty years as a Heritage Officer for Parks Canada, and since 1998 as Aboriginal Liaison.
The sounds of the sacred old traditions of the Stoney continued. Two long pipes were passed in traditional ways from one person to the other, with help from a Stoney man. The Stoney invited Sherrill to sit closer to them. Barry, one of them, said “you think you have done little, but to us you have done a lot to put us in the right direction with our ways and traditions. It is like a hunter finding the right path. We would like to give you this.” He handed her an eagle feather with a short, pink, beaded and leather strap. Another Stoney, John, added, “We would like to give you a new name, Anukatha G-A-O-E W-iye, which means Soaring Eagle Woman.”
Then they explained how the name came to them. “When we think of you, we think of a great soaring bald eagle, carefully scouting below, then tipping its wing in order to spot ones below who need help and support. We appreciate it.”
Then it was quiet. They knew only too well the milestones they had accomplished with Sherrill through her dedicated work.
“We give you this certificate that adopts you into our Stoney Nation, and we welcome you any time. We would also like to give you these earrings.”
After Sherrill received the beautiful beaded turquoise earrings, Barry joked quietly to her, “When you come to visit, you will have to paint this hat white and wear these gloves as claws.” But Sherrill knew the twinkle in his eye and laughter in his heart all too well.
John added, “There is no word or meaning in our culture for ‘retirement.’ ”
Mike, Sherrill’s close friend offered, “It just means you put new treads on your truck and you are ready to go.”
More traditional singing, drumming and chanting followed. The blueberries, a sacred food, were passed and shared by all. Charlie ended with a prayer of gratitude and thankfulness to the universe, releasing the good spirits that had been present. As we shared steaming tea, Sherrill thanked her guests and the Stoney for this honour. The Stoney thanked all of us again for sharing this special time for Sherrill.
Everyone said personal goodbyes to each other. We extinguished the last of the burning coals, and gathered the blankets and cups. One by one we left the tepee. As we got to the road, we took a la
st look at the white tepee standing against the mountain backdrop, and drove away knowing we had shared a uniquely Canadian experience.
~Glenice Wilson
Barrhead, Alberta
How the World Views Canada
When I’m in Canada, I feel this is what the world should be like.
~Jane Fonda
A Trip to Remember
Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.
~Melody Beattie
Back in 1981, when my now husband and I were dating, we lived in Germany, where I’m originally from. I met John when he was posted there with the Canadian Air Force. We were part of a motorcycle club called the “Lost Angels.” Most of the members were Canadian soldiers. The club took every opportunity to explore Europe, as most destinations were reachable on their motorcycles. Many of them proudly drove Harley Davidsons they had brought with them, machines not commonly seen back then in Europe.
The camaraderie of our club members was astonishing; it felt like we were a big family that always stuck together. Whenever a long weekend came up we were off to visit places we’d never been before. We drove to France, the Netherlands, Austria, Belgium, Luxembourg, St. Tropez and Bavaria, just to mention a few. On Easter weekend of 1981 we decided to take a trip to northern Italy. We drove through Switzerland, and had to ride up one side of the Alps and then down the other into Italy. To our surprise, the top of the Alps was still in a deep winter and we were poorly prepared for the snow and the extreme cold. So we rode without stopping to get out of the cold as quickly as possible.