Mt. McKay i.e. The Place where Thunder Birds Nest Part V

Every time I go to this area of FWFN, interesting rocks present themselves to me. This one was on the trail going up the mountain. It looks like something, or some being, has been pressed into the stone.

This rock was also on the path. It had the most unusual blue and yellow patches. These hadn't been added to the rock by hand. The blue appears like Maya blue, however, that is southern hemisphere and this is northern, Anishnawbe blue.

These rocks make stone steps up to the mountain. The top of the steps were creamy smooth; the sides were bumpy and speckled with lichen.

This is the very top of the mountain; the landing pad of the Thunder Beings. The bedrock of the mesa, weathered by ancient winds; scratched by the talons of the giant birds.

The place where Thunder Birds Rest Part IV

This afternoon I baked blueberry and peach muffins; yesterday I had wild blueberries for breakfast.

My husband and I drove up to the lookout at Mt McKay. In the spiritual and territorial geography of the Anishnawbe this sacred mountain is known as the Place where the Thunder Birds/Beings Rest/Nest. No matter how many times I go to this Place, there are new gifts that I receive. Although originally my husband and I were going to hike up the Chimney on the Sibley Peninsula (that is by the feet of Nanabijou aka the Sleeping Giant), instead we thought, why don't we hike up to the top of the Place Where the Thunder Birds Nest? We weren't quite sure where the trail was, but we went searching behind a field, and sure enough we saw a path opening into the forest. The trail runs up the back of the mesa.

Yes, it is very steep. Going up is not bad, but going down is a bit tricky with the scree and stones and slope. The thunder storm and heavy rains the day before would've made of the trail a raging waterfall. Evidence of the water's sculpting power was at your feet. You need good shoes with excellent lateral support for this climb. If you have bum knees, don't consider the climb as going down would be hell. It was about 27 degrees C. On our way down we met a niece and her uncle going up. They were sweating profusely.

This is the flat rock top of The Place, looking southeast towards Nanabijou. There were junipers creeping about the rocks, jackpines gnarled by the winds, saskatoon shrubs,

and blue oh-so-blue blueberry bushes.

It was an amazing morning. A blue translucence shimmered from the lake. Pie Island was wrapped in blue, too. Looking out across this spectacular vista, I see why so many people love the colours blue and green. They are soothing, rich, majestic, earthy yet supranatural. The ridge on the right is very close to the hidden cove I've already told you about, which is also part of this thundering territory.

A conspiracy of ravens circled and soared along the cliff edge. A few flew off to battle with some hawks vying for control of the skies in front of the cliffs. The steady beat of the ravens' powerful wings cut the air, whoooosh, whoooosh, traveling with the wind to where I stood. Where I stood, you can see across Thunder Bay to the feet of Nanabijou where the Chimney is. That's another hike, for another day. Another direction.

Abha Dhayal and me

Abha and I dancing in Seda's kitchen in Hanover, Germany. That night Abha was preparing a large Indian feast for 20 plus women.When I was in Hanover at the International Feminist University for 3 months, I met and fell in deep sisterhood with a bevy of wonderful, wacky, intelligent, funny, generous, supportive, perplexing, honest, achingly beautiful women. Abha Dhayal, a filmmaker and poet from India was one of my closest IFU sisters. One weekends, a large gang of us women would party together, eat together, shop for food together, laugh together, dance together, make music together....our Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings were filled with amazing things to do, and we did everything together.

Abha and Samira (from Tunisia), my other heart-close IFU sister. Below, is a poem Abha wrote. It is about women sharing time together to help each other be strong.

Let us go laundering sister

the day is warm and the sun shines hot and unsmiling

the wind is not like melted butter today.....

we have a lot of washing to do.

Take out all your dreams sister

take them out of that dark cupboard

smelling and musty,

crumpled and torn,

beautiful, adventurous old dreams

that kept you awake

when you were a child...

I will take out mine and you take out yours

we'll wash them together

in a big, yellow, plastic tub.

We'll rub them and scrub them

till all their colours stand out,

squeeze out all the dirty water,

rinse them clean

till they smell of lilac

and all their colours shine like

they would hurt our eyes....

we will put them out to dry

on the line sister

together

you and I

your dreams and mine

all mixed and tumbled together

We will sit on the grass

still wet with last night's rain.

I will spread out my scarf

so you won’t feel the wetness.

You hold my hand while

I cry softly...

Waiting for the washing to dry

always takes

a long, long time...

We will fill this time with

our laughter sister,

and mix the colour of our skins

yours white, mine black.

we will churn it together

and make it the colour of the sky

while our dreams hang on the washline

drying,

drying together.

We will pull out our veins

still throbbing and pulsating,

red and alive,

warm and hot,

full of pain,

full of love...

We will exchange them sister,

so you can feel my blood rushing through your body

when the winter is harsh and

the frost settles on

the grass outside your window, and

I will feel your warmth

when I lay down my head on the cold stone floor

back home.

We will lie on the grass together sister

and dream of another day

like this...

warm and sunny,

like a new born child.

We will hold the day in our arms,

cradling it to our chests

caressing our hair together sister

while our dreams flutter in the wind

drying

drying..

And when the sun comes down

like a big ball falling beyond the earth

and the grass begins to turn dark

we will take down all our dreams

one by one

dry and crisp

we will fold them

one by one sister.

We will laugh

joyous and sad.

We will mix them all together in a big heap

and then share them.

You take half and I will keep the rest.

We will need each other’s dreams

when the sky is full of snow

and the earth turns hard

like a stone.

__________________________

At the moment I need all the dreams i can share

abha

Mummo ja minä

In this photo, Katja and I had just returned to Juonikylä having spent 3 months in Sweden. I know this because now I have my "new hairdo". I wanted to get a trendy new Swedish haircut while in Stockholm, but was disappointed when I looked in the mirror and saw the same haircut I knew so well from Canadian hairdressers.
The photos from 1974 are beginning to lose their colour. I read once that all colour photos turn black eventually; in essence, disappearing from sight. There are few pictures of me with my mummo Fanny. Here I am with my favorite red sweater, wearing the clock that she gave me. Her grey woolen stockings reminds me that she used to send us packages of knee-length wool underwear when we were little girls. They used to itch like crazy, as I have a sensitivity to wool. I used to boil up in them. Feel like a hot furnace. This was in the days when girls could not wear pants to school; you had to wear dresses. There was no such thing as snow pants in those days, so in the winter, walking to school and back and during recess, you really needed wool underwear. But in class, I died of itch and heat. Trying my best, of course, to not show that.

I still have the clock my grandmother gave me, but it never worked. Mummo told me that when she gave it to me, that it doesn't work, but here it is anyway.

First visit to Finland 1974

At one point, when everyone was still alive, I had about 63 cousins. Both my maternal and fraternal grandmothers were fertile and had lots of children. Fanny, who you can see on the right of this photo, had about 17 children. The last time I saw my cousin, Ari Laaksonen, was 1974 when my sister Katja and I went to Finland together. I was 18; Katja was 20. In this photo, I'm behind the camera, Katja is sitting between Ari and our mummo Fanny (our mother's mother). This is Fanny's tupa [living area/home]. You can see her muuri [heavy stone oven] on the left. The hella [range] part of it is out of the picture, but you can see the luuku [door] where Fanny would bake her ruis leipä [rye bread] and pulla [Finnish sweetbread], and make casseroles. Maybe kaalilaatikkoo [cabbage casserole]. Or perunalaatikko. Or porkkanalaatikko. [or potato casserole. Or carrot casserole]. Fanny cooked us a very large pot of klimppisoppaa [dumpling stew] when we were staying with her. She got really mad at us two girls when we couldn't finish the whole pot and accused us of saving our appetite to go and eat up the road, at our father's side of family.

Of course, we had an idea what Ari looked like because his mother, Helena (our mother's sister) had sent photos of her family to us in Canada. This may be Ari's rippikuva [confirmation photo]. I'm not sure, as I haven't seen Ari since I was 18, but maybe his hair is not so blonde and not so thick anymore? Just a guess. For sure he has a new style! Ari reminded me that his sister Paivi did not and has not lived in his mother Helena's house (as I mentioned last post). That Paivi has a separate house.

That summer we went to Finland we met a lot of our relatives who we had never seen before. Me in my halter top (I was an avid sewer as a teen!), Katja wearing a scarf, standing behind the counter of Maen Kauppa. The store, which is celebrating its 100th birthday in a few years, is up the road from where our mummo, Fanny's, tupa was. Fanny's farmhouse is torn down now. Gone.