WHEN THE GREAT SPIRIT SPEAKS
My last story/article based in the WAIT-A-BIT!
community, I’m told, was kinda gross. “With very
little redeeming value…”
Yeah, well, that might be true… but if
there are a few laughs in the piece,or a few bits
that make you smile… that’s the redeeming value,
as far as I’m concerned.
In the recent past, this community
of wild men and women, had been so stunned by a bomb blast that no one can remember the name of
the old town we used to live in…when the town still had brick buildings in it…
There are no longer any brick buildings So far as any of us know, the village now has 16 people in it. Some people live in foxholes just below the surface.There are some women who live a full tier below the surface bunkers, I am told, so it seems there are another 8 to 15 more villagers… too distrustful to ever venture up towards the surface.
With the summer flies and the almost unrelenting ice, not many of us enjoy
much surface time… Though there is the ever-rolling river down the hill, and three canoes
… two you can paddle…. only one that is reliable
over any distance…
I took a ninety mile canoe trip. I did it once. Artie and I made it to a village south of
Inuvik, where we ate great autumn food and moose steaks. Then we got drunk and I seem to remember having sex with a strong gal on top of me. I lost all my socks ( six pairs) and Artie
lost his wallet…mostly for the pictures in it.
But I paddled away south of there
wearing beaded leather pants
a lovely woman gave
This was when I had just arrived
in the Arctic, and I wasn’t used to
women being quiet. She didn’t say more than
ten words in three days, and I wasn’t mature
enough in the ways of the North to realize
that this was a sign of love, respect and
exceptionally good breeding.
Me, I talked too much
most of the time, I suppose. But never
once did I hear a word of recrimination.
We live in cities and we think we know all there is to know. That visit deeper into the north
was my first learning experience. It was the
first time I realized I knew nothing at all.
We made it down to WAIT-A-BIT!
8 days later… And going south, we were paddling
We paddled south into a glorious
crimson, orange and pink sunset
such as I never believed possible.
There are moments or Grace
and communion with the landscape up
here… It’s difficult to write about such
moments, because these moments are born
out of times when the harsh living world
is kind to us. It is inevitable that such
moments are lived in solitude
and silence, utter silence when
the Spirit of the Great One speaks.
(C)2014 by W.G.Milne