Our intention was to expand on what two of our kids were learning as part of their Grade 3 curriculum. My concern is that their lessons focus too much on the past, a representation of aboriginal culture from the time of the early settlers. I don't doubt that the impressions they are getting are as politically correct as they are archeologically sound. The aboriginal people in their texts are certainly of the noble rather than cruel savage sort, and the detailed description of their ways of life - hunting, gathering, home life, family structure - all come from the archeological records. What is bothersome is that the cultural teaching appears very stunted. Ancient cultures are all around us, everyday, everywhere, in their latest form. Most of us wouldn't dispute that cultures are dynamic, fluid and changeable. The vicissitudes of culture is a reality that tends to be forgotten or not allowed when it comes to Native populations. Aboriginal cultures certainly have been decimated and damaged, and elements such as some songs, and customs may have been lost forever, but this would be more due to genocidal policies of religious institutions and governments rather than a failing of native people themselves. Taking a trip to the Woodland Cultural Centre in Brantford, Ontario was going to be a way to expose our kids to contemporary aboriginal culture in a learning environment dedicated to just this kind of teaching. Unfortunately, the day we went, the first day I had free in a very long time, they were closed. Undaunted by this wee inconvenience, we decided instead to go to the Chiefwood Museum, but halfway there, we realized we would not be there in time to have much of a tour before their scheduled closing time. Hrumph. Third times a charm, as they say. Seeing as it was a Sunday, we were pretty sure not much would be open, but figured at least there would be a gift shop. Yes, our good intentions were being thwarted, and we were resorting to the fast-food variety of 'cultural experience.' This was not our plan, but given the other options available at that moment: the Alexander Graham Bell Museum, the Brantford Military Museum, or going home utterly disappointed, we opted for the kitsch. We could at least include some of our own educative caveat to whatever the kids would end up buying; we just hoped it would at the very least be kitsch that would have been made locally.
We knew from experience there were craft shops of the stereotypically touristy kind in Ohsweken so we headed in that direction. We were coming at it from an angle we had never driven before, this oblique angle made the landscape opaque to us. Invisible signs - marks on the landscape that had meaning only to the locals - meant to direct drivers to unidentified landmarks, left us driving in figure eights that were quickly turning into infinity. Finally, after careful analysis of satellite imagery (i.e., looking for the speedway on google earth), we figured out where we had to be. Bingo! (No, I don't mean the game - though that was nearby as well.) We finally found the town. Of course, being a Sunday, everything was closed: the library, the pharmacy, and, of course, the big and very commercial looking gift shop. But next to it, almost on the corner, the corner where flowers were being sold for Mother's Day, the Sunrise Trading Post was, as the sign on the door said, OPEN. We parked in front on the old, 1850s, Band Council building next to the Veterans Memorial Park, and entered the low building across the street. I don't like to use the word serendipity too often, it sounds too saccharine, but here it is most appropriate. Defined as a 'gift of discovery', our entrance in the Sunrise Trading Post was most certainly serendipitous, though this didn't dawn on me right away. Immediately, upon entering, I knew this was not a 'gift shop' for kitschy beaded crafts; this was a honest-to-goodness artist studio, of a master stone carver no less. Power tools, air compressors, hoses, bits and dust were everywhere. Despite the attempt at gallery-style display of his sculptures on glass shelves, it was obviously a loosing battle against the necessary debris of creation. When we first walked in I thought, well, this is going to be a short visit. One small front room with sculptures the quality of which I knew were beyond our financial capacities, and not much else on display: how long could it take? Three minutes? But then the artist/owner stepped up from the back and welcomed us. After sussing us out to see if we were Native art collectors (we were not, but now with one of his pieces in our home, we can be). And after hearing our story of the long and convoluted journey that brought us 'to the territories', Jamie Henry turned straight to our kids and proceeded to teach them about time travel, the eternal supremacy of love, our symbiotic interconnection to the earth and other living beings, and the power of personal volition. Completely unexpected, after having given up hope of an instructive, enlightening contemporary cultural experience, this unlikely little place would be a repository of pedagogical wealth, and through the creativity and beauty of art no less! Culture comes to the fore. With his narrative teachings infused in his art, we learn that culture is hard to loose. Culture is deeper than any groove in a stone carving. Culture is not leather moccasins, or hunting with spears. Culture is not lost with the introductions of cars or the relocation to reserves. Culture is deeper. It can certainly be expressed and have meaning in objects and place. But materials are representations of meaning, and become imbued with the meanings of value to a culture by the people within that culture, people who embody that culture. I cannot retell here the teachings Henry shared; this is neither the place nor am I the best messenger. He is certainly a teacher of Native philosophy, and his stone creations are markers of that knowledge and wisdom. Suffice it to say, much of what he said is timeless and universal. His art is cultural, each piece a container of Mohawk and Six Nations meaning and messages. His art is also political and peace building, reminding us that as different as we may be, there are things we all share: good days and bad days, positive feelings and negative ones, we are all dependent on the earth, and we all need love. The wind, which the sculpture we went home with represents (a perfect one for us sailors), carries our experiences, like messages in an ancient smoke signal, like sound across the water, like information through cyberspace, to people all over the world. I'm not sure what impression this experience left on our children; I hope some of the lessons we have repeated will stick. I'm not even certain I really care at this point if they 'get it' that cultures are deeper than our material possessions on the surface may suggest. I'm happiest if they take with them the messages of peace, that despite our differences and distances, we can connect, relate and empathize across time and space.
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