When we were starving

The following is part of a series of interviews done with Job and Mary Bearskin. They were recorded in the spring of ’89. Both have since passed away. I am honoured that they felt they should take some time with me during those sessions. They were very patient with me. “I know you are very far away but we still like to talk with you,” he would say.

All the interviews were done over the phone. They took time for me. It was time which was very precious. I will be forever grateful that they decided to share with me and ultimately with you. I never thought that six years later the words they shared with me would reach these pages. Here they are.

They are for you. For us. Thank you to Brian Webb for his dedication in transcribing, translating and editing. A special thanks to CBC Northern Services in Montreal.

—Ernest Webb

There were a lot of people that fall going out to the bush for the winter.

And many people starved.

Two of my siblings starved and my uncle—my father’s younger brother— starved. My father almost starved also. We were hungry right in the beginning of winter.

Deep into the winter, the people who we were camping with left us. They were also starving.

We lived with my aunt who was not married yet for she was quite young.

One day during this hard winter, my aunt brought about seven ptarmigan. I clearly remember her bringing in those ptarmigan into the teepee. She gutted them like that without plucking them. At that time my father already couldn’t get up. My aunt cried while she cleaned those ptarmigan. She boiled the gizzards and intestines, then plucked the ptarmigan. She cleaned diem very quickly. She first gave us a drink of the water that she boiled. At that time two of my siblings and my uncle had already died. My father almost starved at that time while I tell this story. We were not living with the people who we were living with in the beginning of winter. My father could not get up when my aunt killed those ptarmigan.

Then as summer approached, we were so far away from our canoe. There was no ice on the lakes and we only walked. My mother, father and my aunt carried our home on their backs.

When we camped, my father only threw a night line. That was the only way we ate when we camped. Of course, we walked a long time for we were far from our canoe. When we reached a river, my father used to make a raft. That’s how we crossed, when he made a raft When there was only one river to cross before our canoe, my mother and father left us to get our canoe. When they reached the other river, my father made a raft again. That was how they crossed. Then they walked again. They still walked a long time. During this time, days are long and it was already late in the evening when they reached where our canoes were hung. But our canoe was not there but one which was not our canoe was there. They saw a note there where the canoe was tied. Two had already passed away at his camp, stated that man who wrote that note—his wife and his child. There is no ice on this very large lake. My father took down the canoe and they set off. He didn’t lose thought to where the lake was first clear of ice. That was where they paddled to.

They reached this area where my fattier thought where it was clear of ice in the beginning of spring. And here was this teepee standing there and near the shore close to the teepee was a canoe. It wasn’t pulled on to the shore. My father said, “I guess it had blown off shore.” In this canoe, there was a man lying in there—in the canoe that’s where he died. They paddled toward shore. They walked towards that teepee. And inside there were his people who must have still been alive when that man went off by canoe. The man’s elderly mother was in there and his daughter who was a woman. Also his son and another girl was in there. There were four in the teepee lying dead and that man was in the canoe. He probably wanted to paddle to check his net which was set there. They took down that teepee and buried thebodies. The ground was thawed where the hearth was and that is where they laid the bodies. My mother said the sun was setting when we were finished.

They set off by canoe because they did not want to be near that area. They paddled far for that was avery large lake. They paddled toward a small island and stayed the night.

In the morning when the sun was already shining, they set off. They paddled for us for they were bringing our canoe. It was already the middle of the day when they reached our home. My father talked as they came ashore for our home wasn’t inland. Our aunt was taking care of us and my father sounded distressed as he talked to our aunt. He was crying. I knew he was talking of bad news. My father and mother came in and took us in their arms. They told us of one teepee were everyone had passed away. For she was my aunt that we lived with in the beginning of winter, the one who died—my father’s younger sister that’s who died. They all starved those people I talk about.

It was almost the end of May when we had our canoe. People must have thought we were all gone for we haven’t arrived at Fort George. I clearly remember reaching the houses at Fort George. We are taken up the bank. The teepee where we were taken to was loud for people were crying. The minister, Mishtiwaahtin (Mr. Walton), came into the teepee and talked to the people including my mother and father. I was told the minister took me in his arms and said, ‘This child saw hardship.” I was told that tears were rolling down his cheeks while he was holding me.

My father received many supplies from the company manager. It was like the company manager gave my father everything without having to pay. That was how thankful the manager was for my father’s survival. It was said that my father had always killed plenty of fur. I guess that is why the manager did what he did—so thankful to see him alive.

Some of those people we lived with were alive but one young boy who had lived with another family died. He had lived with his uncle and that boy had starved. We were not living with them when that happened. And in telling this story, there was another whole family that starved—that teepee that stood as if people were living there. Starvation made them look like that. I guess it was very hard. We survived just by our canoe. My father and mother both still lived long lives after that.

The number of people who I talk about in this story, I’m the only one still alive today. I think about that many times. My days were still numerous even though it was that hard.