One Native Life

The text describes the dynamic and ever-changing nature of the lake near Wagamese’s home, likening it to a “shape-shifter” with its various moods and colors. This lake has drawn a small community of people, most of them formerly city dwellers seeking refuge from urban life. Wagamese and his life partner moved there in 2005 and gradually shed their city habits, becoming attuned to the “symphony of land and silence” (212). Unlike the city, where neighbors remained strangers, the lake community is truly a community. They’ve befriended the Haggartys, who built a log home and settled after tiring of the city commute. The straightforward and grounded Merv Williams and Ann Sevin share a love for the land despite their physical ailments. The community, including Annie the weaver and Rick and Anna Gilbert, values the privacy and serenity the lake provides. For Wagamese, life here is about slowing down, reaching out, and becoming part of “one great, grand tale” (214), where everyone’s stories intertwine.

For Wagamese, the land is a “sacred being” and a source of healing. He illustrates how the land fills the voids left by modern life, reconnecting him to the “web of creation” (215). Exemplifying this connection is an experience when, during a morning walk after a rain that left the world fresh and sharp, he and his dog came across a mule deer doe. The usual roles of predator and prey were suspended as both the terrier and the doe engaged in a silent, mutual curiosity. The doe, described in Ojibway as “Way-wash-ka-zhee,” or “the Gentle One” (216), approaches them, embodying nurturing energy. The interruption of a passing truck breaks the moment, yet in the doe’s parting glance, Wagamese perceives a shared recognition of peace. He concludes that living with the land doesn’t make one more than they are but rather brings them to their “proper size,” highlighting the importance of unity and community with the world.

A land-claim protest at a ski resort contrasts with the exhilaration and freedom of skiing. Protesters in camouflage, with drums and pamphlets, are ignored by families, and police simply monitor by police, so no confrontations occur. Reflecting on this, Wagamese understands their cause but not their methods. He recalls when, in his militant youth, he read extensively, from Indigenous American literature to Marx and Alinsky, to fit in with the Indigenous politics of the time. Alinsky’s work taught him that radicalism is about invoking justice with a generous spirit, not anger. He learned to seek peace instead of retribution, understanding that filling gaps between communities with truth is more effective than building bridges. This philosophy resonates with his view of life, paralleling the balance of yielding to and overcoming gravity in skiing.

This chapter begins with an Indigenous legend about animals planning to leave humans who no longer heeded their teachings. The animals, having taught humans survival skills, felt pained by the disregard but returned when humans changed their ways, influenced by the dog’s revelation. This story underscores the enduring presence of animals as teachers of harmony and sacrifice.

Reflecting on this story, Wagamese notices scars on his head after a haircut, reminders of past injuries from childhood recklessness or adult altercations and accidents. These physical scars, alongside deeper spiritual wounds, signify a history of learning through crisis and pain. However, now living among the animals in the mountains, he sees their way of life as a guide to living more harmoniously. The animals’ existence embodies lessons that shaped his current path, implying a shift from learning through injury to learning through observation and reflection.

A musician’s soulful precision can expose life’s profound truths, much like a surgeon’s scalpel reveals bone. This clarity, which Wagamese found in the music of Miles Davis, resonates with a life that once lacked triumph. His birth family was disconnected from its Ojibway roots by residential schools, so neglect and abuse marred their life. A severe injury left his arm malformed, symbolizing perceived inadequacy and fueling a sense of shame that lasted into adulthood. The true cause of the injury remained a mystery until his forties, hindered by falsehoods and denial. Healing began with a therapist, who helped navigate through the pain toward acceptance, recognizing the arm’s true meaning. It became a testament to resilience and survival, a “sign of [his] enduring spirit” (229), transforming from a mark of inadequacy to one of triumph. This shift epitomizes the personal responsibility for healing and the beauty inherent in overcoming adversity.

At 14, Wagamese’s chores included meticulous yard work around his adopted home, which was always subject to criticism, leaving him with no joy in the tasks. This experience fostered a deep-seated aversion to gardening, and for years he avoided such work. However, upon settling into a cabin, he and his life partner, both of whom had been searching for a sense of home due to past disruptions, began to renovate and truly make the place their own. Addressing the long-neglected garden, they enriched and tended to the soil, planting various flowers and shrubs. As he worked the earth with his hands, he felt a revival within himself. This act of planting not only brought life back to the soil but also symbolized their rootedness and belonging. Together, they found contentment in the land, feeling that they were finally “planted” and “home.”

Indigenous people revere the wind as the carrier of song and the essence of life itself. The wind carries the diverse melodies of the land and the whispers of ancestors. It’s an eternal force, “the exhalation with which Creator blew life into the universe” (233), joining every living thing in the shared act of breathing. Wagamese reflects on the changes in the status of Indigenous peoples in Canada, from not being recognized as full citizens to gradual empowerment and acknowledgement. He recounts the history of Indigenous rights, from the inability to gather publicly or travel without permission, to the changes after 1960, which included the right to vote and political organization. This shift toward visibility and empowerment occurred without his knowledge, during his youth. Reconnecting with his Indigenous family opened his eyes to his people’s resilience and pride, making him proud of his heritage and his country. The wind, in its movement, represents this collective history and connection, embodying the shared breath of all Canadians.

Moments in nature can be profound, and the light of dawn has the power to “fill you,” becoming part of one’s very being. Wagamese describes fearing a particular gray light in the mornings, a “purple feeling” that was sad and lonely, an emotional response he couldn’t understand. Therapy uncovered its origin: a traumatic childhood memory from 1958 when, at two years old, he was left abandoned in the cold with his siblings. The adults, expected to return from selling furs, left them stranded while they turned to alcohol to silence the demons and spiritual bankruptcy that persisted due to the legacy of residential schools. Police eventually found Wagamese and his siblings, nearly frozen. This sorrowful light represented the “despair of a toddler, abandoned in the bush” (239). Acknowledging this past event, he now wakes to appreciate the “glory of all the mornings of the world” (239), finding healing in the new light of dawn.

Wagamese describes the pre-dawn mountains as an ashen world where trees stand like “phantom sentinels” and bears roam freely. The dim light once evoked fear in Wagamese due to traumatic childhood experiences. His family’s unhealed energy from residential school experiences often erupted into violence, forcing him and his siblings to hide in the bush. He recounts severe abuse at the hands of relatives, leaving lasting physical and emotional scars. As an adult, he confronted these fears through therapy, leading to greater understanding and forgiveness. He acknowledges his family’s pain and the historical reasons for their actions, choosing forgiveness as a form of justice. Now, he sees harmony in looking at the “forest, not the trees” (243), recognizing the bigger picture of healing and forgiveness in the new light of each day.

While admiring a mountain ash tree laden with berries, Wagamese recalls an Indigenous tale about an exceptionally harsh winter. The cold was relentless, making hunting impossible and causing animals to freeze solid. The wise ones instructed the people to honor the mountain ash, which provided wood for their essential tools, by placing a drop of blood from the frozen animals on its branches. After prayers and offerings, the cold lifted, and the people found the tree’s branches filled with life-sustaining berries. These berries became a sign, foretelling harsh winters and allowing people to prepare. Observing the abundance of berries, Wagamese notes that they must gather firewood and supplies for the coming winter, as the “mountain ash berries were telling us that” (246), signaling the need for readiness during winter’s “Storytelling Moons.”

The night sky inspires Wagamese, reminding him of the “universe,” a term meaning “one song” in the original Greek. This concept resonates with his deep love for music, a sustaining force throughout his life. He recalls a desire to play guitar, kindled by a classmate’s performance, and despite being discouraged and ridiculed for lack of talent, the yearning persisted. Not until his late forties did he obtain a guitar and, through dedication, teach himself to play. Self-doubt lingered until a friend advised him to trust the music within and play without watching his hands. This advice transformed his playing, infusing it with a grace it lacked before. Wagamese draws a parallel between music and life, suggesting that over-control stifles joy and spontaneity. Trusting the internal song allows one to join one’s music with that of the universe, achieving a harmonious existence.

Wagamese finds peace in the quiet mornings by the lake, where the mist and the sense of ancient, eternal vastness give him a sense of connection to the land. This connection leads him to reflect on his identity and the many labels he has been given throughout his life. He recounts the derogatory names from childhood, the misunderstanding and the “shame” that came with displacement, and the harsh labels of adulthood that weighed him down until he turned to alcohol. Not until he reconnected with his Ojibway roots did he found solace in his true identity, which was “never to be taken away” (253). He learned to embrace life with all its imperfections and realized that being “Indian” means accepting and living life fully. In this acceptance, he finds grace and a sense of belonging, understanding that he fits here, “[n]o matter what they call [him]” (253).

In the fading days of summer, Wagamese describes a landscape preparing for winter, with the chill in the air and the wildlife behaviors signaling the coming change. This seasonal shift brings both sadness for the diminishing light and awe at nature’s transformative energy. Reflecting on this, he recounts a significant journey in 1986 to the northern territory of his birth. Renting a boat, he ventured down the Winnipeg River, driven by a deep need to connect with his origins. Despite not finding his family’s exact campsite, he sensed the stillness and enormity of the land, which brought him a profound sense of his Ojibway identity. Through this connection, he felt his people’s strength, spirituality, and history, realizing that his essence and place in the world are forever intertwined with the land. For Wagamese, land claims and treaty rights are about reestablishing this spiritual connection, a place where one can feel history and touch the essence of the Creator. Walking his ancestral territory, he found truth in every aspect of the surrounding environment.