Many allusions appear in pages 78-90 of Thomas King’s novel Green Grass Running Water.

In the beginning, both the Lone Ranger and Norma reference the need to stay awake.  Lionel then goes on to reference the mountains and how “if it weren’t for the clouds…you could see all the way to the mountains” (79).  Norma then responds, “you could see the mountains real good if you came out to the reserve once and a while” (79).  I believe that King’s references to sleep and the mountains are symbolic of Lionel’s need to deal with his problems head on.  Working in the city, allows him to escape somewhat from his demons, but the closer he gets to the reserve the clearer and bigger the mountains are; thus, the bigger and clearer his problems become.  Looking at Dream Interpretations it is clear that mountains symbolize obstacles that you will/need to face.

One of the big obstacles that Lionel has to face is his dead end job.  In the flashback where Bill Bursum is trying to recruit Lionel as an employee, he refers to Lionel’s cousin Charlie as “Charlie Looking Back” (80), which Lionel then corrects to “Looking Bear” (80).  Between this mistake and the fact that Charlie “brought a lot of business [to Bill] from the reserve” (80), it is obvious that Bill doesn’t genuinely care for Charlie, but just likes the fact that Charlie brought in “all that easy Indian business” (83)–hence why, Bill now wants Lionel to work for him too.  Bill even goes so far as to stretch the truth a little in terms of the position’s pay in the hope of reeling Lionel into the position.  But, more importantly, this all leads up to the fact that Charlie refers to Bill as “Buffalo Bill” (83).  Buffalo Bill was a former “Indian Fighter”, yet made most of his money by exploiting Indigenous people with his traveling “Wild West” shows.  Buffalo Bill, essentially used First Nations people and their hardships for monetary gain, under the pretense of giving Indigenous people the opportunity to leave their homes and represent their culture.  Though, it is not absolutely certain that Buffalo Bill was the “Indian Fighter” that many believe him to be, I believe that the “Buffalo Bill as a killer” version of the story is what King is using to allude to Bill Bursum.  Like Buffalo Bill, Bill Bursum is exploiting Indigenous people by using Charlie and Lionel to get more customers;  Bill did not hire them purely for honest reasons, but more so as a means to an end (a.k.a a means to make more money).

This section of the novel also carries on Alberta’s story and, more specifically, her marriage to Bob.  One of my favourite quotes of the novel is the description of Alberta’s hatred of planes, which is an allusion to her marriage to Bob.

“[Alberta] rarely flew, hated planes, in fact.  In a plane, she was helpless, reduced to carrying on an inane conversation with a total stranger or to reading a book while she listened for the telltale vibration in the engine’s pitch or the first groan of the wing coming away from it’s fuselage.  And all the time, that faceless, nameless man sat in the nose of the plane, smiling, drinking coffee, telling stories, completely oblivious to impending disasters.  Marriage was like that” (85).

I love this quote because it paints such a clear picture of her marriage to Bob.  She knows that the impending doom (divorce) is inevitable, while Bob is pretty oblivious and just continuing on living as if nothing could be, or go, wrong.  At the same time, I find it curious that King chose the name “Bob” for Alberta’s husband.  Alberta’s name is original and gives the impression of wide open spaces and freedom, just like the province of Alberta itself.  Bob (short for Robert) on the other hand is a name that has been popular for generations and doesn’t produce any substantial images, except maybe an image of British decent.  Compared to the name Alberta, it is ordinary and lifeless.  As a result, Bob seems to want very mundane things.  He wants a government job, kids, a “larger apartment” (86), and a car.  In response to his requests, Alberta says, “we don’t need them” (86), upon which Bob replies, “Nobody needs those things.  But everyone wants them.  You want them.  I want them.  You don’t want to spend the rest of your life in a tepee, do you?” (86)  This quote shows that Bob only cares about living a “normal” life and just being one of the billions of people who buy things they don’t need, but want.  Likewise, he dismisses the idea of Alberta even wanting to live in a “tepee”.  After all, in Bob’s opinion, why would a sane, “normal” person, want to live in a tepee?  Bob is clearly chasing a dream, that isn’t technically his own, but society’s.  Like the socially accepted idea of a woman’s place being in the home, “Bob wanted a wife; he did not want a woman” (87).  As a result, he represents Alberta’s struggle against societal norms.  Bob is everyone in her world telling her to “be a woman” and  settle down, not go to school, make a home, and have many children.  Thus, when Alberta meets up with Bob for coffee after they’ve broken up and learns that Bob is finally living the life he wanted with his new woman, Alberta realizes at that moment that she “had never felt so free” (87) before.  By escaping Bob and his plans for her as his wife, she escaped the socially acceptable responsibility of being a women.  So now, instead, she can live free of her gender stereotype, just as her name suggests.

Near the end of this section, we are also introduced more in-depth to Alberta’s father, Amos.  Interestingly enough, Amos refers to Alberta’s mother, Ada, as “Daarlink” (88), which “is what comes out when a Russian says ‘darling'” (Darlink).  But at the same time, Amos is of Hebrew origin (Amos).  Likewise, “the name is seldom used in this century, perhaps because of lingering negative connotations from the highly politically incorrect radio show ‘Amos ‘n Andy’ that was popular in the 1940s and 1950s” (Amos).  Within the radio show, two white men created an “aural blackface” (Bowman) by putting on various voices and acting out various “black” stereotypes.  The infamous name, therefore, aptly suits Amos (Alberta’s dad) because within this passage we see that he is an abusive drunken idiot who refers to his wife as having an “ugly cow face” (88).  The apple doesn’t fall far from the name, if you get my drift.

Works Cited

Amos. n.d. Web. 18 July 2014. <http://www.thinkbabynames.com/meaning/1/Amos>

Bowman, Dona, et al. “Amos ‘N’ Andy was the rare representation of black culture on 1950s TV–but at what cost?”A.V. Club. 7 July 2013. Web. 18 July 2014.

Buffalo Bill. n.d. Web. 18 July 2014 <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buffalo_Bill>

Darlink. n.d. Web. 18 July 2014 <http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=darlink>

King, Thomas. Green Grass Running Water. Toronto: Harper Collins, 1993. Print.

Mountain. n.d. Web. 18 July 2014 <http://www.edreaminterpretation.com/mountain-2/>

In his novel Green Grass Running Water, Thomas King uses the Indigenous spiritual character Coyote to add life and more dimension to his story.  Coyote acts closely alongside the narrator and even manages to provide some comic relief to the story.  But what I found most interesting about King’s use of Coyote in his novel was the fact that King presented Coyote as more human than spiritual or mystical.  Because of this, I couldn’t help but feel that King used Coyote as a means to represent basic human instinct and thought processes, when preconceived “truths” are taken out of the equation; mainly, how most people think, feel, and act, when they are not told or “programmed” how to act (basically when people are not taught a preconceived idea of what is right and wrong–usually taught through religion).

I found Coyote’s interaction with GOD to be hilarious, yet incredibly truthful.  Coyote just doesn’t seem to understand why GOD is the way that he is and is constantly puzzled by GOD’s actions.  At the same time, King’s portrayal of GOD is quite comical in itself and, yet again, comes from a place of truth.  After First Woman eats from the garden, the narrator says, “That GOD fellow doesn’t eat anything.  He stands in the garden with his hands on his hips, so everybody can see he is angry” (69).  This image of GOD is amazing because it is representative of many religions, and, quite frankly, most authority figures in general.  It represents the fact that we view many real or believed persons/things as having superior status over us and, therefore, we feel they must be respected and listened to.  But, what is interesting is the fact that Coyote, and many of the other characters for that matter, find GOD’s behaviour not “all-mighty”, justified, worthy of praise, and/or worthy of submission.  Instead, they see him for what he really is–someone who makes lots of rules and attempts to make everyone follow them.  Seeing God represented in this light makes me think of how God in the Christian faith has been put on this pedestal, yet at the end of the day, he was/is just one guy making rules and I can’t help but think how things would have worked out differently if people like Coyote were there to argue against God or those who spread his word.  After all, the heart of the issue is: Why should I allow someone else to dictate what is right from wrong and how I should live my life?  Can’t I live according to my own rules and just trust that I can live the happiest life by carving my own path instead of following someone else’s?

This is why I believe Coyote serves the story so well.  He represents a version of the type of human beings that we would all be if we were free from certain control and could ask the questions that most avoid as well as question certain ways of living. Period.  He is a prime example of a character who just does what he sees fit.

I don’t mean to bring up religion so much because I know it is a touchy subject, but I was shocked in my reading about how many insights came up that tied directly to religion in my mind.  As I have said before, I am not religious, but I am fascinated with the religious culture.  So it intrigued me greatly every time King brought up religion.  “This is a Christian ship… I am a Christian man.  This is a Christian journey.  And if you can’t follow our Christian rules, then you’re not wanted on the voyage” (148).  When I was young, I had to fill out a medical sheet for a Naturopath and one of the questions was: “What are your religious beliefs?”  Yes, I could’ve put: “None”.  But I was struck by the question and actually remember thinking hard about it because I wanted to give an honest answer (I have a point to this story, I swear).  So, after thinking long and hard about it, I wrote: “Lara-ism”.  And then on part two of the question (explain your religion/beliefs), I wrote something along the lines of: “I believe that we are all our own god and should have the power to make choices as we see fit, independent of others opinions/ beliefs.  I choose to be the best person that I can be according to my own personal morals/values, not through someone else’s, or strictly due to a innate fear of going to hell and/or being punished”.  I brought this story up because throughout my reading of Coyote’s involvement in the story, I kept being reminded of it.  In my mind, it is clear that Coyote is his own god as well.  He acts purely through his own will and it is clear that he does not bow down to anyone else or, conversely,  put anyone else on a pedestal.  At the same time he is not perfect and often gets reprimanded by the narrator.  After Coyote asks, “where did the island come from?” (293), the narrator responds, ‘that’s what happens when you don’t pay attention'” (293).  Coyote is funny, charming, and, ultimately, just being himself, which is inspiring in itself.

All in all, I think Coyote can be used to represent all humans in the most basic form, which is evident in this interaction between Coyote and the narrator:

“‘And there is only one Coyote,’ says Coyote.

‘No,’ I says.  ‘There is a world full of Coyotes.’

‘Well,’ says Coyote, ‘that’s frightening.’

‘Yes it is,’ I Says. ‘Yes it is'” (272).

After reading Green Grass Running Water, I can’t help but feel like we are all Coyotes or conversely, we all have a Coyote within us; we just need to let our own unique Coyote within shine through.

Works Cited

King, Thomas. Green Grass Running Water. Toronto: Harper Collins, 1993. Print.

The Immigration Act of 1910 was another means for the Canadian government to control who immigrated to Canada.  Under this act, the federal cabinet “could arbitrarily prohibit the landing of any immigrant deemed ‘unsuited to the climate or requirements of Canada'” (Immigration Act).  “The act also introduced the concept of domicile, or permanent residency, which an immigrant could obtain after residing in Canada for three years. Until domicile was granted, an immigrant could be deported if they became classified as undesirable. Undesirable immigrants included prostitutes, pimps, vagrants and inmates of jails, hospitals and insane asylums. Under the new act, political dissidents advocating for the forceful overthrow of government and those attempting to create public disorder were also subject to deportation” (Immigration Act).  But it doesn’t end there.  Under this new act, the boards of inquiry were given the power to admit or, more importantly, deport immigrants to Canada “based on any evidence they considered to be credible or trustworthy” (Immigration Act).  Furthermore, the Immigration Act of 1910 banned “courts and judges from reviewing, reversing or otherwise interfering in the decisions of the minister responsible for immigration and the proceedings of the boards of inquiry” (Immigration Act).  Lastly, the Act stated that all immigrants of Asian decent must have at least $200 in their possession to enter Canada, while every other male and female immigrants were required to have only $25.  This acted as a tool for government officials to assess if immigrants were poor, which would, in turn, prevent them from being granted access to Canada (Immigration Acts).

Because of the increase in power of control over immigrants in Canada, by 1913 the Canadian government was able to deport “almost 870 people on the grounds that they were insane. [Likewise,] another 6,900 were ordered out of the country for criminality and some 2,850 were forced to leave for fear that they were about to become criminals. Since detailed crime statistics weren’t kept, historians think this could be anything from a would-be pickpocket to someone who was a political protester” (Immigration Acts).

All of this leads me to believe that my findings support Daniel Coleman’s argument about the project of white civility.  It seems like the Canadian government was very concerned about keeping Canada predominately “white” and “British”.  Taking a closer look at actual copies of the Immigration Act of 1910, I am struck by the term “alien”.  Under the Immigration Act of 1910, “alien” is defined as “a person who is not a British subject” (Immigration Act), while a Canadian citizen is defined as being: 1) a person born in Canada who has not become an alien or 2) a British subject who has Canadian domicile or 3) a person naturalized under the laws of Canada who has not subsequently become an alien or lost Canadian domicile.  Throughout the Immigration Act of 1910 is a constant separation of people.  It is clear that there was a class system imposed to separate different races/cultures of people, with British people at the peak, gaining easier access into Canada.

In terms of the word “alien” that is thrown around quite often, I am surprised by how much it hits home for me.  Reading about the Immigration Act of 1910, I can’t help but realize how hard it must have been for people to immigrate to Canada during these times.  At the same time, I get a sense that there must have been thousands of people who became Canadian citizens, yet didn’t feel completely Canadian because they weren’t of British descent.  Even though I was born in Canada and so were my parents, I still don’t feel completely Canadian, so I can’t imagine how first generation immigrants felt.  I mean, when you have to be a British subject in order to be unclassified as an “alien” it’s hard not to feel excluded.

Reading up on the Immigration Act of 1910 makes me think what kind of nation Canada would be like now if it wasn’t under British control and wasn’t so concerned with upholding “white civility as a definitive of Canadian identify” (Paterson).  At the same time, it makes me think how ridiculous it all is.  Canada was the home to countless indigenous people and then in came immigrants (a.k.a the British) who then decided who they would let in to “their country”.  Furthermore, deciding that a “true Canadian” was white and British, when in fact the “true Canadian’s” were those living on this land well before the British.  But the very crux of the issue is that there should be no “true Canadian” but rather, people leaving harmoniously under one nation.  Is that too much to ask? Probably, but as soon as we start classifying people into different groups it can only create problems, especially when we are all humans and therefore one people.

Works Cited

Immigration Act, 1910. n.d. Web. 3 July 2014. <http://www.pier21.ca/research/immigration-history/immigration-act-1910>

Immigration Acts (1866-2001). n.d. Web, 3 July 2014. <http://www.canadiana.ca/citm/specifique/immigration_e.html#1906>

Paterson, Erika. ENGL 470A: Canadian Studies: Canadian Literary Genres. University of British Columbia, 2014. Web. 3 July 2014.

After reading more in depth about the story of Coyote and his twin brother, I definitely have a greater sense of the story.  In reading Harry Robinson’s version of the story, I was more concerned with the fact that the younger twin stole the paper and what that action said about that younger twin, versus what that action meant to Coyote.  I was so caught up in the younger twin’s actions, that I missed the fact that Coyote’s literacy was stolen after he was already literate.  I thought that it was stolen before he was given even the chance to be literate–which shows my ignorance.

After reading Keith Thor Carlson’s Orality about Literacy: The ‘Black and White’ of Salish History, I realized that I, along with most European settlers, was taught to believe that the European’s brought literacy to the Indigenous people of North America.  This assumption only further led me to believe that Coyote’s white younger twin stole literacy from Coyote even before Coyote was able to become literate.  Thus, my assumptions ran so deep that I misread Robinson’s story in the first place.

But, after reading about Salish history, I see the probability that “literacy [was] something indigenous that was itself once taken away” (43).  More importantly, “there was a time in Salish history, no matter how fleeting, when at least a few of their ancestors had working knowledge of literacy that preceded, and was therefore independent of, newcomer initiatives and influences.  They were literate because powerful forces from the spirit world had wanted them to be literate, and they would become literate again for the same reason.  Literacy is not, according to this version of history, something imposed on or introduced to Aboriginal people as part of the colonial process” (45).  Yet, this new development (for me) does not change my opinion of literacy being no more important than oral stories.  Bertha Peters, Salish elder, addresses this point by concluding that “literacy was not necessarily a source of knowledge or power in itself.  Rather, it was principally a tool for preserving certain kinds of knowledge that could have assisted Salish people during times of great distress, such as those associated with the arrival of Europeans.  White people’s mastery of literacy gave them an advantage not only in terms of preserving their own European knowledge but in terms of their ability and propensity to steal and profit from indigenous wisdom… [the] knowledge of medicine was taken away from the Indians by the white people because they didn’t write it down” (48).  Because Indigenous traditions put more emphasis on word of mouth/story telling than literacy, it is no surprise that certain things/ideas were stolen by the Europeans.  I find this fact very interesting because it is reminiscent of the whole ownership over land debate.  I feel like Indigenous people saw most things, including land and knowledge, as things that were not owned or patented.  There was no stealing of ideas, but rather knowledge was shared.  Conversely, I believe that the Europeans were more concerned with patenting ideas and having the pleasure of seeming superior and powerful by claiming Indigenous creations/inventions/ideas as their own.  This idea is especially heart-breaking when the only determining factor is the fact that the Europeans wrote things down.  Thus, generations of story-telling and information being passed down, meant nothing next to something being written down by a European settler later on.

In the end, the most important idea I learned was that literacy was not something brand new that was introduced to indigenous people, but rather something that was stolen and then brought back and embraced again by Indigenous people when their lives were threatened.  After all, “at least some Salish people believe not only that their ancestors were not necessarily awestruck by the arrival of Western literacy but that they embraced it as part of their historical identity” (52).

Works Cited

Carlson, Keith Thor. “Orality and Literacy: The ‘Black and White’ of Salish History.” Orality & Literacy: Reflectins Across Disciplines. 43-72. Print.

Robinson, Harry. Living by Stories: a Journey of Landscape and Memory. Ed. Wendy Wickwire. Vancouver: Talonbooks, 2005. Print.

Reading the story of Coyote and is twin brother, I can’t help but smile.  I found the story fascinating and, honestly, more believable than many of the other creation stories I have heard.  I don’t mean to discount other creation stories, but just find that I can relate more to this one; which, is essentially, the trademark of belief–feeling more connected to one thing than another.

What I find fascinating about the story is that it hits one of the most prominent issues between Indigenous people and European settlers: what is the truth, and whether or not it is proven by literature or story.  The very fact that “the younger twin [(the ancestor of white people)] stole a written document–a ‘paper’–he had been warned not to touch,” (9) shows immediately the connection of the younger twin to the written word.  This connection is only solidified “when confronted by his actions, [the younger twin] denied having done this” (9).  I find this element of the story fascinating because I believe it to symbolic of European settlers’ curiosity and need at the time to find a better way “to undertake a series of important tasks related to the creation of the earth and its first inhabitants” (9).  Yet, in contrast, Coyote (the ancestor of Indigenous People) “performed his duties exactly as instructed” (9).  I feel that these elements of the story show the heart of the problem of the conflict between the two cultures.  The European settlers live for change and making the world a better place according to them, and the indigenous people live for respecting the land and living through their promise to take care of the land and its people.

At the same time, with value being placed on either stories or truth, it is funny because although many people put more value on the written word, I have to admit that I place more value on stories.  Especially after reading this story, I realized why I have come to this conclusion.  In all honesty I believe that it all stems from fact that there is way too much emphasis put on the written word.  For example, the bible.  I don’t know too much about it, yet I know that it is a collection of stories that are believed whole-heartedly as truth and seen as fact by many people, mostly due to the fact that they were written down by someone who is believed to have spoken to “God.”  I feel like a lot of people justify their belielf in “God” solely because of the bible (a.k.a the written word).  But, because Indigenous people rely on stories as truth, I believe that this form of truth (especially before settlers came) is more reliable.  I feel that to believe a story requires more trust and thought than believing in something written down.  In addition, to continue to choose to pass down that story requires even more trust that the story is true.  After all, who would repeat a story/information that they felt was false?  At the same time, repeating said story and backing it up purely by trusting your ancestors for generations upon generations also requires a lot of trust, whereas backing up stories purely through a book means putting your trust in a stranger, essentially.  What I am getting at is that at the end of the day, more often than not, people tend to believe the written word than someone else’s.  If I were to tell you personally that UBC is closing down for the summer and then you went online onto a random person’s blog who said that it wasn’t, chances are you would believe the person online over me–regardless of the fact that both of us have the same credentials.  And I believe this is purely because somehow when something’s  in writing, it means more.   But, again, I feel like the spoken word has more weight.  I feel like anything can be written down, but through stories we strive to speak the truth.  Because of this, I rarely ever speak up in class because I am terrified of speaking lies (a.k.a the wrong things).  Yet, I am more comfortable writing (even when I am not sure of the “right answer”) because I am okay with being wrong on paper, as long as I write something down.  After all, it’s a lot easier to pretend like you know what your talking about on paper versus in person.  For that very reason, stories hold more weight for me because personal experiences hold more weight that “fact”/written word by a stranger for me.

I think the younger twin stealing the piece of paper is symbolic of the need for some people (a.k.a the European settlers) to hold the written word above all else as truth, so that when others question those truths they can pull out that piece of paper as evidence.  In contrast, Coyote’s trust in not needing to grab hold of that paper is symbolic of the trust he felt in whoever gave him the task and his belief that others would trust in him carrying out his task as well.  Thus, Coyote doesn’t have any reason to rely on the written word in creating his people until his twins decedents cross the ocean and start killing his people.  In a sense, he uses the written word only to stop his twin’s decedents from killing his own decedents because he knows the written world is the only thing that will stop them (people that hold the written word above all else).

Works Cited

Robinson, Harry. Living by Stories: a Journey of Landscape and Memory. Compiled and edited by Wendy Wickwire. Vancouver: Talon Books, 2005.

Reading other stories, I was shocked by the fact that although everyone’s story was different, there were still a lot of similarities.  What I found interesting was that quite a few people have trouble knowing where their home even is, whether it was because they moved around a lot or just don’t feel connected to a place that an outsider would view as their home.  But the what struck me most was the desire for a “home” read so strongly to me in other people’s stories.  Even though I have lived in the same house since I was born and my father has lived on the same street since he was born, my grandparents are all immigrants who came from Lithuania, Sweden, and Iceland.  Thus, even though I have a lot of roots in Langley, BC, when people ask me about my heritage, I say I am Icelandic or Scandinavian because that is where most of my roots are.  Yet, my last name (originally Deglau, but Canadian immigration/customs mistook it for “Deglan” and it never was corrected) is German because my Papa’s family were Germans who moved t0 Lithuania before WWI.  So even though my last name is German and I have lived in one place my entire life and see Langley as my home, I still feel like my other more important “home” is in Iceland.  I feel this way because my facial features come almost entirely from my Icelandic side.  At the same time, I have a much stronger connection to my Icelandic heritage because of all the stories my Grandma told me growing up about Iceland.  Thus, I feel like what is common between all our stories is the desire to have a “home” that is almost fictitious in a sense.  A place where everything is perfect and everyone we love is close.  Recently two of my brothers have moved away and I have realized how different home feels without them; because two people I love are no longer here.  So in a sense, reading other people’s stories has got me thinking that “home” has kind of a dream-like quality and is reminiscent of heaven.  Even as someone with no religious ties, I can somewhat understand the idea of heaven.  It is similar to “home” because although we all have somewhat different ideas of what is there, most of us want to go there.  I mean, who doesn’t want to go to heaven when it is advertised as having everyone we love who has passed, will house all of the people we have loved once they pass, and where there are no worries or pain?  Because of this, I believe that “home” is a lie.  Even though I have a home, it is by no means perfect and I still hope to find a better “home” for myself in the future.  I think our “home” is where we are right now and it could change tomorrow, but other than that a “home” is something that we strive for, but is something we will probably never achieve.  At then end of the day, I have never come across someone completely content where they are.  I don’t mean to be cynical, but rather feel like understanding this could only help us realize that because there is no such thing a “home,” we might as well live in the present and not be stuck trying to find something that isn’t there.  “Home” is wherever we are right now and wherever we have been and wherever we will go–we define our “home,” our “home” doesn’t define us.

As I lay outstretched on the grass in our backyard, I take a deep breath in and smell the lilac trees that separate our property from my aunt’s.  They were planted by my late Nana in the ’60s and still come back every year, smelling of her.

As I close my eyes and feel the soft grass squish into the tough ground beneath me, I can feel the spirit of my Nana blooming from the soil that she and my Papa nurtured long before my parents did.  With my eyes closed I can see her walking barefoot through the grass calling to me, “Lara! Ah, there’s my pet.”

As I open my eyes, I see the top of the cedar tree that should’ve died twenty years ago, but still holds on.  The top of if reminds me of the vulture tree scene from The Jungle Book, yet the middle and bottom remain relatively healthy; definitely sparse, but still healthy.

As I sit up, I see the cedar next to it that still has remnants of our failed tree fort.  Instinctively I grab my foot and hold onto the bottom, feeling the phantom pain of where the large nail sliced through the bottom of my foot.  My dad made my eldest brother take it down after that horrible day and I still feel to blame.

As I stand and walk towards the back of the property, I hear the faint buzzing that puts a smile on my face.  I pass our old ’91 Explorer and the buzzing grows as I get closer and closer.  As I round my dad’s old ’77 f150 gathering dust with weeds growing through the hood, I see the hive about 15 feet up from the base of a large cedar.  What seems like thousands of bees are flying around above my head and I can’t help but feel in awe.  This hive has been on our property for about 20 years.  Our neighbour was a bee-keeper so at one time he tried to bring the hive over to his property, but the bees just kept coming back.  Staring at the hive, I am amazed by how much things have changed in the last ten years.  I can’t help but be reminded of the time I single-handedly tried to destroy another hive on our property, causing my little brother to get stung countless times because he ran right, while I escaped the swarm by running left.  But now, looking at this hive, I feel a huge  level of protection.  I want these bees to prosper because there aren’t enough bees these days and we need them way more than they need us.

A yellow glare distracts me and I look to the left of the beehive realizing it was the sun reflecting off the Jitney (my Papa’s creation).  My papa invented it to take out tree stumps and it still runs to this day, even though it has taken up permanent residence behind our shop.  Looking at it, most would see it as an eye-sore, but all I see is the sweat and hard work that my Papa put in into building it.  It is also a representation of my papa’s gift of turning a dream into a reality and just his initiative to always build something he needed.

As I walk back to our house, I pass our shop.  Each window is new because every original window was broken from a time when my brothers and I went through a delinquent phase and didn’t realize the necessity of windows beyond the fact that they make cool noises when they are smashed.  It is the shop that my Papa built for his bulldozing business over 50 years ago and now it is my dad’s shop for his excavating business.

As I pass the shop and our house comes into view, I see the roof that my great-grandfather helped build and a house that my dad built.  My dad built the rancher part when he married my mom and then they added the addition after my second-oldest brother was born.

As I enter the mud-room, I am reminded that it used to be the garage and the fact that my brothers and I helped my dad add walls and fill it in.  Standing in the mud room I can still see the garage that it used to be.  The fact that all the concrete and plaster has been covered and it is now a beautiful tiled mud room is reminiscent of terrible memories that have been masked in my mind as well.  When I was 4 or 5 years old, my family and I were coming home from a relative’s house and I fell asleep in the very back of our car.  Like normal my dad had parked our ’91 Ford Explorer into the garage and locked the garage doors, thinking that my mom had carried me up because he didn’t see me in the car.  But my mom had thought that my dad had carried me up.  Needless to say, I was left in the Explorer and when I woke up freezing (because it was the middle of winter), I was terrified.  I got out of the Explorer and remember just banging on the garage door, hoping that my parents would hear me.  I was too short to reach the garage door opener, so it wasn’t long before I realized that I would be stuck in the garage all night.  So, I rounded up some tarps and coats and anything that I could use for warmth in the garage and went back to the Explorer and buried myself underneath them.  I then proceeded to cry myself to sleep.  I then woke up to my dad hugging me and my mom crying for their mistake.

As I walk through the rest of my house, there is nothing spectacular about it, yet it is spectacular to me.  The walls are loaded with pictures of my entire family and there isn’t any system to them, they were just hung at the times that pictures where taken and then more and more were added; baby pictures, little kid pictures, tween pictures, teenage pictures, and adult pictures.  Literally and figuratively, my brothers and I have grown up on/within these walls.

My home is filled with some of my happiest memories as well some of my most terrifying and most hurtful memories.  Home for me is about memory.  It is a place where I can look at something and have a reference/story that goes with it.  It is a place where I am comfortable, yet has places within it that are uncomfortable because of the events that happened there.  To me, home is not where the heart is, home is where the memories are (or rather, home is where the head is).  And fortunately for us, we can make memories wherever we are.  Most of mine just happen to be scattered on one piece of property that I continue to grow up on.

Works Cited

91 Ford Explorer SUV. n.d. Web. 12 June 2014. <http://www.edmunds.com/ford/explorer/1991/?sub=suv>.

“vultures from jungle book.” 12 Nov. 2006. YouTube. Web. 12 June 2014

My Story:

About 4 years ago, a psychologist named Jane Fletcher bought a cabin on East Barriere Lake in Barriere, B.C. to act as a summer retreat for her patients. The cabin was beautifully crafted and very secluded on a three-acre lot, complete with a beach volleyball court and a large fire pit area in which Jane used to hold daily meetings with her clients. Because Jane specialized in helping those who were prone to inflicting pain on themselves, most of the meetings she held included every patient so that they could all talk openly with each other as well as develop trust with people outside of themselves and/or their immediate family. Jane quickly became known as “The Cabin Psychologist” and over the subsequent years has helped more than 500 people to stop harming themselves. But everyone wants to know, what is her secret? Why does her retreat seem to help people cope with their issues better than any other retreat in B.C.?

Well, that is exactly what the current 10 people sitting around the fire pit where about to find out. Jane came barging around the corner of the cabin with a good-looking man who seemed to be in his mid 30’s. Because it was week three of their four-week retreat for those sitting around the campfire, this was the first time in over two weeks that the patients saw someone from outside the retreat. They were shocked, to say the least. Jane introduced the man as George Lefray and mentioned that he was a former patient who was there to listen to everyone’s stories of what brought them to Jane’s retreat, as well as tell his own.

Slowly but surely, each patient told their story of how they came to be at Jane’s retreat. Most shared stories of how the fast paced nature of their lives left them feeling inadequate and overwhelmed, causing them to cut themselves because their pain was one thing that they could control. Others felt guilt for committing crimes that they escaped charges for and, therefore, hurt themselves to ensure that they did receive some form of punishment. One thing that almost all the patients had in common was the fact that feelings of guilt caused by their involvement in something deemed “inappropriate” or “bad,” led to them harming themselves.

Once they had all finished their stories it was George’s turn. George admitted that he was brought up in a privileged family in London, Ontario. He was raised by two mom’s and therefore was a sperm donor baby, sharing genes with only one of his mothers. In grade 10, he and his moms moved to Vancouver, where he met his best friend, Beth, who was also a sperm donor baby with two moms. The only difference was that Beth was able to get information about her sperm donor, and at the very least knew that her father lived in Victoria and was of German decent. Though she didn’t know his name, she always bragged about being the kid of sperm donor 2H2T (or who she like to call “Too Hot To Trot”). Unlike Beth, George had no desire to learn who his biological father was and even if he wanted to, it was harder to get that information in Ontario. Though they disagreed on this point, they became very close due to their strong understanding of the struggles that they each faced growing up without a strong male influence in their lives. And after two years of friendship, George got the courage to ask Beth to be more than just friends and she said, “Yes!” George could not be happier because he knew that Beth was the love of his life. Two years later, they married and then were blessed with three beautiful children: Jack, Hannah, and Tim. After Tim was born they decided to move to London, Ontario because George’s Grandma was battling cancer and George wanted to help her win the fight—which he did. After a year of living in Ontario and enough nagging from Beth, George decided to find out who his father was, after all. He didn’t tell Beth that he was going to do it, but instead, decided to surprise her on her 30^th Birthday with the news. So the day before her big surprise party George was throwing for her, he went to the sperm clinic to pick up the results. He was hoping that his father was Swedish because Beth’s celebrity crush was Swedish actor Alexander Skarsgård, so he wanted to be able to joke about her falling in love with a fellow Swede. But the big surprise was that he wasn’t Swedish, but instead German. And the biggest surprise of all? His sperm donor was 2H2T. George stayed parked in his car for long time just staring at the sheet, hoping that the “2H2T” would morph into a “242T”. All he could think over and over was that his wife was his sister. His wife was his sister. His wife was his sister. THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE WAS HIS SISTER. After the shock began to subside form a 100/10 to a 90/10, George was faced with the question of what to do next. Does he tell his wife…/sister? Can he just pretend it didn’t happen and burn the results? What about his kids? George decided that because this news devastated him beyond belief and changed everything, he did not have the heart to tell Beth. The pain and, quite frankly, the disgust he felt made up his mind that he never wanted Beth or his children to feel as lost and upset as he was. Knowing he could not look at Beth the same way ever again, he knew he had to end it. So he did the one thing that he knew would make her leave him and allow for her to move on and possibly find someone else. He cheated on her with her co-worker and made sure she caught him in the act. Sure enough, she left him and George moved to Barierre, B.C. and now sees his kids for a couple weeks every summer.

George finished his story and everyone around the campfire was silent. George wiped the tears of his face and looked everyone in the eye one by one for the first time since he began his story. He then proceeded to tell everyone,

“That is my story. I have felt more pain than every single one of you around this campfire and have broken the hearts of every single member of my family.   Yet, I have still never managed to harm myself. So every time that you think you’re in too much pain and you want to harm yourself, think of my story. You will never feel as much pain as I have. Killing someone does not equal the pain I have felt. If I can keep living with the guilt I feel, then everyone around this fire can too.”

Everyone around the campfire wished they hadn’t heard George’s story, yet knew that they needed to hear it in order to bring tremendous perspective to their lives.   Jane ended the meeting by thanking George for having the strength to tell his story again and told everyone that not a day will go by that they will wish that they had not heard George’s story, yet not a day will go by that they will not be thankful for hearing it.

“And that my friends,” said Jane thoughtfully, “is why my retreat works.”

My Comments:

My goal for my story was to not only make sure that the characters in my story wished that they hadn’t heard the story, but also that all of you reading my story would also wish that you hadn’t heard it. Did it work?

I was inspired to create this story because the story that George tells is inspired by an allegedly true story that a man anonymously posted on an advice column. (Here is a link to the story).  My friend told me about it a year or so ago and I remember thinking when she told me, “I wish I could forget that you told me that.” Not surprisingly, I didn’t forgot it and it was the first thing I thought of when I thought of things that I could add to my story that would make my audience wish they hadn’t read it.

I never considered myself much of a storyteller, but when I told my family my story I realized that story telling is something that I do constantly. I love to laugh and I find that the best tool to make myself, and others, laugh is telling real life stories; personally, I think the absolute truth is hilarious (real life being thrown in your face).

I also realized how fun it is to write stories. I’ve always wanted to write a book and I feel like doing this assignment has made me even more determined to write one. After all, what’s the worst that can happen? Someone will read my story and wish that they hadn’t.

Works Cited

“Alexander Skarsgård.” IMDb. IMDb.com, n.d. Web. 31 May 2014.

Daniels Hussar, April. “Man Finds Out He’s Married to His Sister on Their Anniversary.” The Stir. 24 Feb. 2013. Web. 31 May 2014

King, Thomas. “The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative” Toronto: House of Anansi P., 2003. Print.

In his novel If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories: Finding common Ground,  J. Edward Chamberlin brings to light many important problems that people have faced for generations (and continue to face today) regarding reality versus imagination.  At the heart of this problem is the concept of belief and how our beliefs are what drive us to discount other people’s beliefs in the grand hope of finding the “truth”.  Chamberlin says, “the history of many of the world’s conflicts is a history of dismissing a different belief or different behavior as unbelief or misbehaviour, and of discrediting those who believe or behave differently as infidels or savages” (78).  With so much discredit being thrown around daily, it is no surprise that the concept of “home” is problematic and continues to cause conflict between Indigenous and European settlers today.

Though Chamberlin repeatedly states that “the history of settlement around the world is the history of displacing other people from their lands, of discounting their livelihoods and destroying their languages” (78), I believe that the real issue stems from what people believe to be their land, or rather, when people believe that they have the right to own land.  This issue becomes increasingly problematic when land is viewed as purely property to be owned to some individuals and as “home” to others.  When land is viewed as solely property for the taking, there is no emotional/psychological connection to it; it is something real in purely the physical sense of the word.  But when land is viewed as a home, it possesses emotional and psychological power that overrides the physical.  It becomes “who we are and where we belong” (76).  I believe that the European settlers viewed Canada as purely land because they were trying to find a true spiritual home, something that they had not found yet or had taken from them.  Conversely, I believe that the Indigenous people of Canada viewed Canada as a home because it was actually a homeland to them, having the spiritual connection to the land and the happiness that that connection brought with it.  Chamberlin quotes anthropologist W. E. H. Stanner who says, “no English words are good enough to give a sense of the links between an aboriginal group and it’s homeland” (79).  Stanner says, “when we took what we call ‘land’ we took what to them meant hearth, home, the source and locus of life, and everlastingness of spirit” (79).  As a result, we have two groups of people seeing the value of land completely differently, which can only lead to conflict.

The fact that Chamerlin explains that “stories keep us sane and steady in a world in which we are always having to face loss and unhappiness” (78) and that “home–the idea as well as the reality–has something of the same power” (78), hits very close to home (no pun intended) for me.  I have lived in the same house my entire life and the surrounding properties were originally (as of 60 years ago) owned by my grandfather and his brother.  But because of development, the land is slowly being destroyed and being replaced by countless single family homes.  Seeing the changes occur, and knowing that our house will soon be demolished as well, is absolutely devastating.  It is not devastating because my grandfather owned it, but instead, it is devastating because of the memories and stories that encompass the land, as well as the connection my family has to it spiritually.  Because of this, I can sense the kind of hardship that the Indigenous people of this country faced when the European settlers arrived–though they obviously felt it on a much larger scale.  Yet, seeing land as not something to be owned, but rather something to protect and cherish is a belief that I share with most of the Indigenous people of this world.  As a result, like the Indigenous people becoming homeless in their homeland, I can already feel the sense of homelessness kicking in within myself because I know that my home will be destroyed soon–all the cedar trees will be chopped down and be replaced with concrete.

In the end, the consequences of the meaning of land and home holding different value will continue to cause conflict if “us and them” don’t find common ground and choose to take each others beliefs seriously and not discredit them.  Unless we “acknowledge the idea as well as the reality of the homelessness that afflicts us,  it is going to be difficult to understand the conflicts that are shattering our world” (80).  After all, we are all looking for a home, but often in the act of finding a home, we displace others from their home(s).  This has been happening for thousands of years and I believe that people are becoming more concerned about finding a sense of home now more than ever because of population increases and land being cleared and altered everyday; people being one with the land and calling it it home is no longer really possible.  Instead, lines are drawn and and only a section of land can be called one’s home, and often it is not enough to really feel genuinely like a home.  But ultimately, I feel that we are all homeless because one way or another, almost all of us have been displaced from our homes, whether it was thousands of years ago or a hundred years ago.  Yet still, we shouldn’t feel this way because the fact is, the earth is our collective home.  This is were the conflict lies: the belief of having/needing a home to separate us from other people and their differing beliefs. In the end, “whatever and wherever it is, home is always border country, a place that separates and connects us, a place of possibility for both peace and perilous conflict” (3).  Until we can start believing that the earth is our home, and land belongs to no one or everyone, we will continue to fight over it in an attempt to find our own “home”.

Reading J. Edward Chamberlin’s novel If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories: Finding common Ground, also made me really reflect on the idea of “us” and “them” and though I didn’t get a chance to write much about this concept, I wanted to share a video that really made me hyper aware of  this ridiculous concept.  It is a YouTube video of comedian Hari Kondabolu on David Letterman.  Watch the video (http://youtu.be/Ncv15dCVc7M) in it’s entirety or feel free to start it at about 2 mins 10 seconds and watch until the end.

Works Cited

Chamberlin, J. Edward. If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories? Finding Common Ground. Toronto: Vintage Canada 2004. Print.

“David Letterman – Comedian Hari Kondabolu.” 27 Mar. 2014. YouTube. Web. 23 May 2014.

Hello everyone!

My name is Lara Deglan (aka Lara Dee for Blog purposes, just because).  I just completed my final year in UBC’s Acting program and this is my last English course I need in order to complete my minor in English literature so I can graduate (thank god!… I mean, oh… I am so sad it’s almost over).   I barely made it into this course, but someone dropped and I got in.  So, my apologies for this late post.  I feel like this course is going to be very interesting because I know pretty much nothing about blogging, have very little patience for computers, and also know next to nothing in terms of Canadian literature.  But, that just means that I am going to learn A LOT over the semester.

What I like about this course is that it seems to revolve around story telling and the connection between Indigenous and European traditions.  I especially like this fact because though I know very little about Canadian historical stories, I am Icelandic and the world of my ancestors (the Vikings) also revolved around story telling; their conquests were “recorded” purely through stories passed on through generations because they could not read or write.  [Side note: If any of you are interested in learning more about the Vikings, I recommend watching the show Vikings on the History Channel (http://www.history.ca/vikings/)].  But what I like most about this course is the fact that Erika is open to us not only having freedom to write our heart’s desires within our blogs, but also to choose the type of paper we wish to write at the end of the course.  I am the type of person that loves to write my own ideas and thoughts, rather than reiterate another person’s, so I am very excited to have the freedom to do so.

All in all, I think this course will be a great learning experience and the blogging aspect will, in a sense, act as a reflective journal to navigate through the course. Talk to you all soon!

P.S.  I also found this encyclopedia link to kind of get an idea of what to expect in terms of our readings: http://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/literature-in-english/.  Also, here is a picture I took last weekend while I was on my first cruise.  I feel like it definitely encapsulates some of the beauty that Canada has to offer.  After all, a picture says a thousand words, and I feel like this photo (aka Canadian landscape) could definitely inspire some new Canadian literature.

Works Cited

New, W.H. “Literature in English.” The Canadian Encyclopedia. 12 Feb. 2012. Web. 20 May 2014.

Paterson, Erika. ENGL 470A: Canadian Studies: Canadian Literary Genres. University of British Columbia, 2014. Web. 20 May 2014.

Vikings. n.d. Web. 20 May 2014 <http://www.history.ca/vikings/>