Common values and ways to describe the sense of home (in order of prevalence and the amount of time/wordcount spent writing about that value).
1.) Family.
There were many different ways of exploring the importance of family and how at home family makes us feel, but it was the most consistent value brought up. Some people spent more time on siblings, others on parents, and some talked about their partners. In summary, home can be a person or people.
2.) Home grows.
My classmates used many different synonyms—expand, moves, etc.—but the idea that a home can change locations and add locations was consistent. There was also a more abstract way of looking at this by understanding how values of meditation can be found or expand or grow into different religions.
3.) Exploration.
Whether it be exploring new places, new ways of thinking, or new ways of doing things, my classmates seem to be very high on intellect/openness. I think valuing exploration ties into the idea that homes can grow.
4.) The sacredness of food.
Whether it be the smells that bring us back to our childhood, the food we ate with our siblings, or the foods associated with religion, the sense of home and what we value is intertwined with food.
5.) Balancing work with play.
This value wasn’t explicit in all the blogs I read, but there seemed to be a need to balance the things we ought to do and the things that bring us joy. The places, people, or life circumstances that allow us the find this balance seems to contribute to how at home we feel. Of course, these things can be the same at times.
6.) Nature.
This was usually glossed over or briefly mentioned; however, it was still mentioned in most of the blogs that I read. Whether it be the sight of the ocean, the smell of the forested endowment lands, the majestic mountains of North Vancouver, or a family garden, nature was a way to anchor us to both our old and new homes.

Different values and sense of home.
1.) Religion.
It was difficult for me to find values and descriptions of home that I did not share with my classmates. The closest thing that I could find was religion, but even the descriptions of religion were closely related to what I value and makes me feel at home. I might be an atheist in the religious sense of the word, but I could still relate to what my classmates described. I have done several types of meditation with my mother, I eat sacred meals, and I try and connect with people through movement and shared spiritual experiences.

Special Thanks to my classmates, Kynan, Charlotte, Kirsten Boyd, Marianne, Laen, and Simran. I chose my classmates in no particular order. For this assignment, I used the blogs that I saw posted first. I look forward to reading everyone else’s work as well.

Works Cited

Smelt, Walter. “The Sacredness of Food.” Harvard Divinity School, 22 Nov. 2016, hds.harvard.edu/news/2016/11/22/sacredness-food#.

Villines, Zawn. “7 Types of Meditation: What Type Is Best for You?” Medical News Today, MediLexicon International, 22 Dec. 2017, www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/320392.php.

My home was created before I was born, in a country I have yet to visit, with people I will never meet.

It all started with an equestrian gaucho whose father and brother had been killed during the Argentine War of Independence. The gaucho’s mother refused to live throughout the war years. Even in 1825, when the war had ended, the gaucho’s mother rested where she could keep her youngest son close to her body while staring at her husband’s fine horse-riding ass. The gaucho visited his mother in a time before the war and said, “Mama, come back to the present with me, and I will find a wife, and she will give you grandchildren.”

His mother could not hear him.

The gaucho returned to the present, roaming the pampa region of Argentina in search of a wife. He rode his horse all day and night, replacing sleep with mate tea. When the dream world finally entered his withering reality, he found his wife sitting next to some burning coals. Even her modest grey dress couldn’t disguise what the gaucho thirsted for. Her brimming eyes filled with the type of desire that could bring her to do anything. But she wasn’t staring at the gaucho, she was staring at the dark red steak heavily marbled with fat.

Inevitably, the gaucho woke with a pitched tent that finally collapsed when he pissed out the mate. With high spirits, he set out to find his wife. Days turned into weeks that turned into months, but the gaucho knew that love didn’t exist in linear time. Solitude overwhelmed him, and he had nobody to turn to but his horse.

“What the hell am I going to do?” The gaucho asked.

The horse didn’t answer.

“It can’t just be you and me for the rest of our existence, buddy.” The gaucho said.

The horse stayed quiet.

“Please God, tell me what the fuck I should do!”

“Make her come to you,” the horse finally said.

The gaucho thought long and hard about what the horse had said. The answers weren’t coming to him. He began to count all the wild cattle because what the hell else are you supposed to do when it’s just you and a horse? He counted until he reached a thousand, and then it dawned on him. The dark red steak heavily marbled with fat.

At night time, he snuck up behind a sleeping bull and slit its throat, letting the peace of sleep remain in its meat. After he sliced the bull into steaks, removed its delicious intestines and glands, and ripped off its big round balls, the gaucho let the meat cure. As the meat cured, the gaucho searched for a parilla. He found one next to a quebracho tree and bag of sea salt. He attributed the miracle to God which gave him the strength to chop the quebracho tree into little pieces of wood and lite a fire. The meat was cured. The fire had burned to coals. The time was now and everywhere.

He put the sweetbreads on first and showered them in salt. He looked around but saw nobody. Then he looked at sweetbreads, and half of them were gone.

“Who took my sweetbreads? the gaucho asked. “Show yourself!”

The gaucho pulled out his horsewhip, ready for battle. Then the laughter came. It was the laughter of the first guest, his brother.

The gaucho’s brother reminded him how much their father loved intestines. The gaucho immediately threw them on, and moments later, his father arrived with a gust of wind.

With the three boys together again, the gaucho’s mother finally left the past and arrived in the present riding a horse.

“All those years watching me taught you something,” said the father to the mother.

The mother stood up on the horse while it was in full gallop and said, “I think I could be teaching you.” Then she jumped off the horse and blew a kiss to the wind.

The gaucho enjoyed listening to his family laugh and talk and lick the salty fat from their lips, but he was still waiting for his wife. The coals were at their hottest, and it was time to grill the dark red steak heavily marbled with fat. After a moment, the fat started to drip onto the coals forming a small cloud of smoke from which the gaucho’s wife appeared. The gaucho wiped his hands on his pants and wrapped his arm around his wife.

“This is my wife,” he said.

“When did you get married, hijo?” his father asked.

“Tomorrow,” he answered.

“And in five years, we’ll have these little troublemakers,” the wife said and pointed to two little girls playing soccer with an armadillo.

As the night went on, people from neighbouring campos came to eat. They brought wine and stories of love, loss, and hope. Then more people came with more wine and stories of mistresses, war, and politics. The people laughed. The people learned. The people formed a culture. And it all started with an asado.

***

The asado stayed in South America until my grandfather brought it to Belgium. It was the only time his father ever said he was proud of him. He then showed his sons and son-in-law how to make an asado with steaks and merguez from Spain. There was never a need for salad, maybe the occasional tomato. My father then brought it to Canada. A land where the soul of the animal was destroyed by gas BBQs. As the indigenous people of the land, my father knew the power of wood and smoke. We began to use North American cuts and Italian sausages that we covered in curry sauce, blending cultures but holding onto what is sacred. The coals and the people.

Asado. It’s where we talk for hours about food, throw in some sociopolitical discourse, drink, dance, tell dirty jokes, and unite our friends from all over the world. The asado is my home.

Wors Cited

“Argentine Parrilla Grills.” Fenwesco Custom, 17 Jan. 2017, fenwescocustom.com/parrilla-grills/.

Longmore, Anna. “STEP-BY-STEP GUIDE TO THE PERFECT ARGENTINE ASADO.” The Lomito Steak Sandwich: a National Treasure | Argentina Food, Therealargentina, 15 Jan. 2015, therealargentina.com/en/step-by-step-guide-to-the-perfect-argentine-asado/.

Longmore, Anna. “STEP-BY-STEP GUIDE TO THE PERFECT ARGENTINE ASADO.” The Lomito Steak Sandwich: a National Treasure | Argentina Food, 15 Jan. 2015, therealargentina.com/en/step-by-step-guide-to-the-perfect-argentine-asado/.

   There once was a community where the fear of death ceased to exist. Deep inside the forest, where the streams were raging rivers, the cedar trees reached the stars, and a single huckleberry fed a family, lived the gnomes. They weren’t the strongest. They weren’t the fastest. And they sure didn’t mess around with violence. But they understood one thing better than any other animal. Connection. 

     At first, they told each other stories about how everything was connected through joy. But then they figured out that everything still grew when they were sad and ran out of fermented juice. Then they told stories about how everything was connected through light. But most things survived the dark ass winter. Then they dug deeper and said that everything was connected through roots. But then they saw that the roots were selfish assholes that were all up in their own business. Eventually, they figured it out.

     They noticed that the fungi communicated with every plant in the forest through an interconnected web of strings they called mycelium. And that’s why they built their homes inside of mushrooms. The mushrooms felt their needs. Then the mycelium would whisper things to the roots like: Grow some berries, let your leaves drip more water, close your flowers before it gets too cold, and make some for ganja, please.

     The flourishing forest allowed the bakers to bake more goods, the healers to find more medicine, the artists and scientists to have more time, and the leaders to make less conflict or do shit all.

     Then the bears came.

     They sniffled, and they snuffled and eventually they detected the gnomes’ homes. They thought the mushrooms were delicious—even when the gnomes were still inside. The gnomes knew that was the way of life. They also knew their loved ones would return through stories.

     Then the green boars came.

     They clear cut the mushrooms treating them like an all you can eat buffet. The gnomes fled into a hole in a tree. Every night, they chanted and chanted and sang and sang and stomped and stomped, hoping the boars would hear them say, “stop eating all our mushroom houses, please.” When all they really wanted to say was, “fuck off, you greedy ass pigs!”

     Prophet, the fox, eventually overheard what he considered to be a prayer. He skittered towards the gnomes’ tree and told them that he was there to help.

     The one gnome leader that was left peaked out of the hole in the tree and asked, “What’s your name?”

      “Prophet,” answered the fox.

     “Why would someone name you Profit?” the leader asked.

     “Because that’s what I am!”

     “You’re the difference between the amount earned and the amount spent?”

     “No.”

     “You’re not the difference between the amount earned and amount spent?”

     “Yes, no. I mean, I am the prophet.”

     By this point, the dozen gnomes that were left crawled out of the hole in the tree.

     “Are you sure?” the leader asked.

     “Yes.”

     Then the baker interjected and said, “Because usually, profit is something I get when I make extra yummy cakes for my friends, and then they give me more than I need. Then I buy everyone fermented juice, and then we get silly, and laugh, and—”

     “No, that’s profit with F and an I. I’m the prophet with a P and an H. The proclaimer of God.”

     “What’s a god?” the leader asked.

     “Not a god! That’s old news. The God! It’s the man that created everything.”

     Then the leader’s sister grew tired of hearing her brother and said, “Are you sure it was a man? Because we’ve been thinking about it, and we thought it was probably a woman. But then we were like nah, women might be smarter most of the time, but they also talk behind other women’s backs a lot, and that’s not always productive. So then we did some star gazing and figured maybe it has to do with something bright. And then we realized that bright things, like fire and sun, are hot. So then we thought maybe the energy—”

     “Just stop, okay. You want to stop the boars and bears from chewing up your mushroom houses, yeah?”

     “Yeah…” the brother said.

     “Well, what if I told you that you are their master!”

     “No way, really?” the brother asked.

     “Yes, because God created everything and God created you, and only you, in his image.”

     “Only me! But what about the other gnomes?” the brother asked.

     “Them too. But nobody else. But if you want me to help you, you have to follow certain laws.”

     So Prophet, the fox, laid out the laws they must follow.

     1. Only worship one God.

     2. Don’t kill anyone unless it’s an animal or they worship another God. By the way, gnomes are not considered animals in the eyes of God.

     3. Don’t steal unless you’re taking stuff from a civilization that worships another God.

     4. You won’t say any bad words like, “fuggleberry, shitster, cun, dickles, etc.”

     5. Don’t do anything on Sunday except worship.

     6. Love your family… unless God tells you to kill one of them to show your faith.

     7. Don’t smash uglies unless you’re married.

     8. Don’t lie unless you’re quoting shit I, the prophet, say.

     9. Don’t check out your neighbours’ wife no matter how fine.

    10. Don’t steal your neighbour’s shit.

     Don’t steal and don’t kill was easy for the gnomes—they had never done that in the first place. However, they weren’t so convinced about the other rules. After all, gnomes were horny little buggers that liked to drink and laugh and swear.

     Prophet, the fox, had to devise a plan.

    He gathered the gnomes together and told them that if the gnomes didn’t follow the rules, they would go to a place called hell. The concept of hell didn’t exist in a gnomes heart. They thought to die meant that your body turned into earth and gave life to something new while the soul would live on in stories.

    “No,” Prophet the fox said. “After death, there are two options: heaven or hell.”

     He went on to explain that heaven was a place where you could walk on clouds, eat all the Philadelphia cream cheese spread you wanted to, and watch over your loved ones that were still on earth. Hell, on the other hand, was a place where you had a perpetual sunburn and little demons would five-star you as hard as they could. And if that didn’t do the trick, they’d stuff pineapples in an area you least expected it.

    The gnomes began to fear death, abstain from sex, and keep curse words hidden in their head. They started to feel ashamed about all their unholy thoughts which only amplified their sexual frustration. They grew hostile and ferocious. They longed for their old way of life that was slowly fading from their memories. Prophet, the fox, explained how he killed other animals through trickery and sharp teeth which gave the gnomes the idea of turning tools into weapons. They created catapults that aimed at the homes of boars and even the dens of bears. They shot giant rocks at them, but it wasn’t enough to kill them.

     Then they remembered the use of fire. They created fireballs that flung through the sky like an infestation of fireflies. The boars and bears had no escape. They screamed and yelled, telling the gnomes that they would limit their mushroom intake, but the gnomes hearts had already grown ice walls.

    Eventually, all the boars and bears were dead. Whether they went to heaven or hell didn’t even cross the gnomes’ minds. In triumph, they returned to their home, screaming, “Yeah!” but in their minds, they were still screaming, “Fuck yeah!” But then they noticed that they had burned all the flowers, grasses and weeds—the things that used to bring them joy. In the middle of what used to be their village, stood a mushroom. A poisonous mushroom that the bears and boars knew not to eat and that could make a perfect gnome home. But the bears and boars would never return and Prophet, the fox, could now roam the forest like a king. The story could not be taken back.

Reflection:

I noticed it was difficult to memorize the story in a short time span, especially the dialogue and specific syntax of sentences. Even though our internet age is full of written memes, I noticed how important (if not more important) it is to have a memetic quality to oral storytelling is. The parts that were easiest to remember were the parts that were most noticeably mutated from our cultural ethos. For instance, I had no problem remembering the structure of my story, how gnomes live, the part that reflected the 10 commandments, and the “prophet vs profit part of the dialogue.” I also thought about how King mentioned that humour is important in indigenous stories. Since indigenous stories were primarily oral, humour made them easier to memorize and share. The people I shared the story with seemed to enjoy my writing style more than the oral story, but the primary reason for that is the lack of time I had to memorize the details of the story.

https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/93027548526982165/?lp=true

Works Cited

Fleming, Nic. “Earth – Plants Talk to Each Other Using an Internet of Fungus.” BBC News, BBC, 11 Nov. 2014, www.bbc.com/earth/story/20141111-plants-have-a-hidden-internet.

King, Thomas. The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative. Peterbough:Anansi Press. 2003. Print.

     Rastafarian stories transfer ideas of unity and dismantling hierarchical power structures while spreading hate and discrimination. Chamberlin chooses to focus on the positive aspects of the Rastafarian belief as an example of how stories can connect and reconnect people through finding common ground. Throughout the book, If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories?: Finding Common Ground Chamberlin goes on at lengths about borders and contradictions, places where reality and imagination meet. Myths are one of these places. And Chamberlin believes that “Rastafarianism may be the only genuine myth to have emerged from the settlement and slavery in the New World.” (187). He points to the Rastafarian history and language to elucidate his point but avoids the negative aspects that could challenge his argument.

     Chamberlin first points to Rastafarian stories expressed through reggae. He explains that stories are places where things happen that don’t, and things are that are not. (82). He then goes on to say, “One of the stories that catches this contradiction as well as any is to be found in Rastafari and its musical expression in reggae, in which the Biblical story of Jewish exile and return is made over into the African experience of slavery in the Americas.” (83). Rastafarianism finds common ground between exiles, whether from Jerusalem or slaves brought to the Americas. Chamberlin explains that it is a “myth of dispossession and dislocation, of wandering and exile, and of home; and it draws on that other great account of racial and religious conflict, seemingly the site of some of the world’s most intense antagonism, the Bible.” (194). One of the songs that Chamberlin doesn’t mention but captures the essence of wandering, exile, and home is Exodus by Bob Marley. The line “movement of Jah people” represents both the physical and emotional diaspora from the past; however, Marley also uses the language to refer to the future, “We’re leaving Babylon/We’re going to our Fatherland.” These two lines capture the semblance of the African and Jewish exile story while uniting people with the repetition of the word we.

    One of the ways that people exclude and include people is through language. Rastafarians use Dread Talk to incorporate their ideas and beliefs in the English language. For instance, “understand” becomes “overstand;” and “site up” means both “see” and “overstand,” but always in the further sense of standing up in one’s own place as in the Exodus. One of the most familiar features of dread talk involves the use of “I,” celebrating both the sanctity of the self (as in “I and I” for “we”)….” (195). This language is often heard in reggae songs with an anti-imperialist, anti-colonialist and liberating ideology. For instance, the use of I and I can be found the song Crazy Baldhead by Bob Marley. However, even though reggae and Rastafarianism have many positive messages, it also discriminates.

   Jamaica has been criticized for its homophobic culture, and much of it is due to the Rastafarian religion. Rastafarians have a selective use of the Hebrew Scriptures that results in opposition to homosexuality. (Hewitt 169). The anti-gay rhetoric has also leaked into the popular culture. “Rastafari ideology and Dance hall musical narrative have influenced the evolution of a highly toxic life denying environment that creates negative social factors, including the strong stigma associated with AIDS and homosexuality that engenders intolerance and even violence.” (Hewitt 169). For more on this, click here. Chamberlin also chooses not to mention that the man Rastafarian’s worship, the Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie, was tolerant of slavery, human-tracking, and indifferent to the suffering of his people. (Thomson). Visit The Guardian to find out more about Haile Selassie. Even though Chamberlin avoids mentioning these crucial aspects of Rastafarianism, it may have strengthened his ideas about borders and contradictions. After all, many Rastafarians are descendants of slaves and yet worship a man that endorsed slavery.

                                                                                        Works Cited

Chamberin, Edward J. If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories?: Finding Common Ground.  Vintage Canada, 2010.
Hewitt, Roderick. “The Influences of Conservative Christianity, Rastafari and Dance Hall Music      within Jamaica on Homophobia and Stigma against People Living with HIV and AIDS.” Alternation, Dec. 2016.
Thomson, Ian. “King of Kings: The Triumph and Tragedy of Emperor Haile Selassie I of Ethiopia by Asfa-Wossen Asserate – Review.” The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, 24 Dec. 2015, www.theguardian.com/books/2015/dec/24/king-of- kings-haile-selassie-ethiopia-asfa-wossen-asserate-review.

Hello Class 470-99c,

I’m that guy that posted a few too many facebook questions regarding the blog posts. As you may have been able to tell, I’m technologically challenged for a “millennial” (I’m over that buzzword, but I can’t seem to escape it).  I’m also a language and literature major with a psych minor. My greatest passion is writing, and if any of you are interested, I’m always happy to share my published works and collaborate on out-of-class projects.

I look forward to reading your blog posts throughout the term and collaborating on the research project due March 31st. Since this is an interactive and collaborative course, send me as many facebook messages as you like—just know that I stay away from all social media in the evenings (I have a meme, Trump, and armchair activism threshold that cuts off around 7 PM).

I am happy to see that this course focuses on indigenous communities and culture rather than primarily focusing on history from a settler’s point of view. Upon completing this course, I expect to have knowledge that allows me to dismantle and possibly roast my uncle next time he makes a negative comment about progressive ideas related to indigenous communities. That was facetious (kind of), but I am looking forward to broadening my knowledge and maybe even changing my perspectives on both historical and current policies.

I knew that this would be an awesome course after reading the first few pages of “Green Grass Running Water.” I look forward to more humour, new insights, and taking risks with storytelling elements. I hope that we can engage in tough subjects with humour and that we can comfortably express our stance no matter what that may be.

Here is one of my favourite articles that might pertain to this course. What if Natives Stopped Subsidizing Canada? The subversion of expectation in the title makes for great rhetoric—in my opinion. And here is an article I recently saw shared on Facebook: Canadian politician made history by giving a speech entirely in the Mohawk language

And since we are required to share a visual, here is a pic of the first and only sweatlodge I entered (I don’t know who is in the pic). As a white dude, it was a rare experience, and it was all thanks to my dad’s good friend, Ernie Phillip “Dancing Bear.”

Thanks for checking out my blog post!

Works Cited

Reserved., . All Rights. “What If Natives Stop Subsidizing Canada?” Canada.com, 2014. All Rights      Reserved., 8 Jan. 2013, o.canada.com/news/what-if-natives-stop-subsidizing-canada.

White Wolf. “Canadian Politician Made History by Giving a Speech Entirely in the Mohawk                    -Language.” White Wolf, www.whitewolfpack.com/2017/06/canadian-politician-made-history-         by.html?