24 hr rain
We have experienced our first 30 hrs straight of rain fall. It never ceases to amaze me the soothing quality of rain drops, even when torrential rain always manages to renew the soul by first soothing the spirit. I remember always wanting to curl in bed with my winter coat during the harsh rains of San Cristobal, though tin roofs always made the calming rain turn into a war zone, it still got its point across: quiet. As if all creation was telling us to stop, listen and receive. As a child all i could do was stop. Though in the hotter days i just wanted to get soaked from head to toe, specially when our street would flood up to the sidewalks and it was time to come out with the best paper boat design in the block, the one that lasted to the end of the street.
Island rain feels different however. The reality is that at this moment we are surrounded by the emcompasing power of water. I think about the ancestors of this land, how did they learn to live here? I actually have heard that Cortes Island was a seasonal territory for various first nations, the abundance of wild food here during the spring and summer months made this a heaven for prosperity ans a strategic stop that ensured the survival of these communities. There seem to be quite a few “sacred” areas which not many know of, they just speculate. The Klahoose keep to themselves, except for the one or two members of the community that actually engage with others via business, shopping or selling. The island survives, not without deep wounds of colonial represtion, as is in the rest of the world. The First Nation here however, have in the last two generations been personally affected by the colonial boarding school system.
In last friday’s market a member of a first nation community (I can’t exactly remember the name of his tribe) was selling his artwork, i had seen them there a few weeks back, he had brought out some sketches and small paintings then. This time though he had a piece representing the boarding school experience, the image showed white men inside a big room destroying first nations’ ceremonial clothing. The regalia was full of color, reds, whites, blues, blacks, but the men and the background where laying far into the backdrop of this image, as if even in the hateful action of destruction, the first nation spirit survived. He was selling it for $600 canadian (which by the way is worth more than the u.s. dollar right now), an amount that would never get close to express what the painting does, what the artist does. But then again, is all that the artist, a first nation desendant of such an act, needs to eat.
While it rained today, Dave used a chain saw to cut one of our frozen 13 pound tunas. I cooked the tail. The rest has been fillet and placed back on the deep freezer. Ceiba and I made apple pies, which I have almost mastered. People here keep gifting us apples from their trees, and many of them are staking up on apple juice, cider, hard cider, dried apple rings, apple sauce, and whatever else you can do with apples. It is while i cook, wash dishes, and sweep that I dive deep into the thoughts around the intricate history of this island, faced once and again with heartwarming humanity vrs human responsibility, how is it that we continue to perpetuate colonial paradigms? as if the white propective about how things need to play out is the only one we depend upon to do anything about it. it is clear to me that I am an outsider, that my 1/2 indigenous self does not give me credit to proclaim any better understanding about the experiences that Klahoose and other first nations have had and continue to have, and even less any right to decide how to move towards a new empowered first nation reality. But, i am here, and I won’t be here in any less capacity than that to end this useless cycle of colonizing madness, at least from my every action and with each relationship i foster.
May the rain bring about this new beginning.