Rebbraur 4

A blogger friend in New Zealand, Merinz from New Zealand Links commented on the fact that old barns and such around here weren’t built with roofs steep enough to cope with the snow in the winter. I had to go back and look at my pictures and can only agree – many roofs are seemingly way too flat. Without having any scientific data to back this up, I’d venture to say that this may be so because these parts of the country mostly got dry, cold snow back in the days when these buildings were erected. Another reason could be different styles of building under different periods – I have seen some houses and barns with much steeper roofs – in fact there is one at my family’s old homestead.

This storage shed is totally out of character and probably put there after the old boathouse/shed had fallen over. I’m not familiar with the whole story of the people who lived in this place, but the last one was an unmarried son to the first settlers. The original buildings has stood the test of time much better than this one which was built from scrap lumber and plywood it seems. I probably should make a point of visiting the library and our excellent museum to see what I can find out about the family!

Rebbraur 3

This was a barn for hay at one time – now it’s used as a woodshed. It was probably built close to a small field or a marsh area where they would gather some of the hay for their animals and then eventually moved to the farmyard and its’ new use.

The building style was very common in days gone by – with the walls leaning like this, the roof could better protect the bottom layers of logs from rotting.

Rebbraur 2

The barn in Rebbraur is quite impressive with a large room for dried hay, room for lots of farm equipment, stable and enough room for 5-6 cows, a few calves, chickens and some sheep.

The dung heap was housed in the far corner where the roof has caved in. The fireplace in the barn was used both for heating and to boil water and feed for the animals. I remember watching Grandma do that in her barn when I was a child.

Yesterday, Fawn asked what Rebbraur means and by now I have the answer.  Most likely it’s a combination of the Sami words for liver (ribrre) and lake (jávrre) so in Sami it would be spelled Ribrrávrre. Why? Probably because the lake has the shape of a liver.

Arctic Cotton

This is another one of my favorites – which I share with an excellent photographer i Kotzebue, Ak.

When Mom was a child, it was used as stuffing in pillows. It lasted a year, but apparently the pillows became very thin towards spring.

Grandpa’s Skates

I spent a week in my cousin’s cottage which is in the tiny village where our mothers were born. Grandpa and Grandma farmed the land from 1927 until Grandpa died 30 years later, but the place had been in the family from 1916. It was Grandma’s adoptive parents who started breaking ground there. The place is still in the family and I really hope I’ll be there to celebrate when it’s been “ours” for a hundred years. The place is nothing fancy, it is a crofters legacy that is slowly being reclaimed by the bush, since it hasn’t been farmed during the last 50 years. No matter – it has a very special place in my heart, since I’ve lived there both as a newborn and as a teenager.

I found these when I was poking around in one of the sheds on the property. I don’t remember seeing them before – they may very well have been nesting in some box or other secluded place – or they weren’t significant enough for me to remember from when I was a teenager…

That’s my Grandpa’s name, Johan Oskar Abramsson. A very sweet man who fathered 10 children and would lie down on the kitchen sofa with Grandma for a nap after the midday meal – every day right until his death at 67. I have fond memories of them both – Grandpa loved children and had a light heart, Grandma had a darker personality – possibly because she suffered from epilepsy and was always aware that the seizures could come any time. My middle name Helena was also my Grandma’s name and if I pulled all of my hair back into a bun, I’d look a lot like her.

Sachs Harbour

A few days ago I heard the characteristic honking of geese on their way to the nesting grounds in the mountains. Their calls immediately transported me back in time almost 20 years to a early morning in May in Sachs Harbour on Banks Island.

My boss had sent me there to perform some of the audit work on the books for the municipality. This was all boring pouring over ledgers, files and various records – not to mention the fact it also took a lot of time! Sachs was (and still is?) accessible only twice a week by plane – weather permitting – so I had a double-edged time constraint on me. The job had to be done in a timely fashion at the same as I tried to fit it all in between two flights – or at the most three. Consequently, I worked til all hours of the night – or until my eyes could take it no longer.

It must’ve been going on 4 AM when I came stumbling out from the hamlet office. I had just finished going over various payroll records for the past fiscal year and my mind was clogged with numbers regarding payroll taxes and other deductions. This was my fifth day in the hamlet and I had been doing 10-17 hour shifts every day in an effort to get the job done before the next flight out. The only sound I could hear came from all the little rivers of muddy water running down the hill. I picked my way down towards the bay between snowmobiles and komatiks parked here and there. As I came closer to the shore, I admired the dogs staked out all the way along the shoreline. Some of them looked to be really handsome, big and powerful working animals and I would have liked to take a closer look at them.

Suddenly, the closest team all began moving and one by one they lifted their heads towards the sky and started howling. They were soon joined by the dogs from the next team and then the next, until their eery voices blanketed the bay. In my overworked state, I at first thought they were howling at me as if to greet me… I even considered going closer to pet a few of them – despite being aware of the dangers of going near strange dogs.

At about the same time, I began hearing a weird, rushing sound somewhere behind me. Having never heard the likes of it I blamed it on being overtired, until the sound began to almost drown out the howling dogs.

That’s when I finally saw the thousands of geese. They were flying low over the bay, below the mountains on the opposite shore and no longer in distinct V-formations. The sound I had heard came from their powerful wings propelling them forward. I don’t recall a lot of honking but I remember thinking they all seemed so determined.

When the geese had passed the dogs and me, Sachs Harbour became quiet again and I continued on my way to the private house at the far end of town where I was staying while there. I snuck into the house and made my way to the room I called mine.

Not even 2 hours later I was awakened because there was a lot of activity inside and out. I could hear people talking and moving about, someone walked outside and there was the sound of a snowmobile starting up. Pretty soon I heard the unmistakable whirring of more machines – all of them going past the house and out onto the land. In my exhausted state, I fell asleep again and didn’t surface until well into the morning.

When I returned to the hamlet office some time before lunch, I got the explanation to all the early morning activity. Just about the entire population had gone out goose hunting – there were only a handful of us left in town. The spring hunt was laden with traditions as this used to be the very first fresh meat people in the region got in the spring – and everyone wanted to be in on it!

I finished my job in time for the next flight and never had the opportunity to return to Sachs – but I will always remember the sound of those geese!

Muskrat Love*

Phil from Inuvik posted this picture a few days ago and it reminded me about something that happened while I lived there.

One Easter weekend, my son and I had been invited to a wedding in a small community outside Inuvik. Aside from being very honoured at having been invited, I was also really excited about driving on the ice road across the Delta by myself.
The ceremony was held in one of the churches and the bridal party looked lovely in their mix of traditional wedding attire, coats made from fur and beaded moccasins.
After the ceremony we went to the Community Center where the dinner and dance was to be held. The food was laid out on a sumptuous buffet table where everybody could help themselves to various country meats, potatoes, vegetable and salads. We sat at long tables and I ended up across from a southern lawyer who was doing some work for the IRC** in Inuvik. His wife had come for a visit over Easter, and was absolutely thrilled over everything she got to experience in this quaint part of Canada. The conversation covered a multitude of subjects while we were enjoying the food and untold cups of sweet tea. The lawyer’s wife thought everything was delicious and I really thought nothing of it when she dug into another helping. While picking up a piece of BBQ, she turned to her husband and asked:

- Darling this is divine – but what IS it?

Her husband looked at me as if to beg me to be quiet, then he turned to his wife and said:

- Well sweetheart, that’s muskrat…

Whereupon she dropped the piece of meat as if it had given her a strong jolt, meanwhile sqealing from absolute shock and disgust.

I did my level best not to break out laughing, but I’m not entirely sure I succeeded. Instead, I steered the conversation towards something totally different, so she could compose herself…

*BTW – is there anyone under the age of 50 who remembers this song?

**IRC – Inuvialuit Regional Corporation

The Principal’s Office

Some time ago when I was talking to my son, I asked him if he’d be OK with me using him as “material” for my blog. His answer was in the affirmative, although he reserved the right to prior approval, should I want to write about anything he might think would be embarrassing. I can’t reach him right at the moment to obtain his prior approval, but I think it’s quite safe to share these particular incidents with you.

When D (my son) was in first Grade, I happened to meet his principal at the Legion during lunch one day. He came up to me with a big smile and told me that maybe D would come home and have a strange story to tell. I immediately thought ” the apple of my eye” had done something really bad, but was relieved to hear that this was not at all the case. Instead, D had complained bitterly to his Grade 1 teacher that “he had NEVER been called to the principal’s office and that wasn’t fair!” Apparently, she had quite the time trying to keep a serious face, while she explained to him that being called to the principal was not something akin to a badge of honour. Since my son adored his teacher, I’m quite sure her explanation was all he needed to realise how fortunate he was, not to be called in for talks with the principal.
Within the following year, my son WAS called onto the mat after having done something less stellar. When asked why on earth he had done what he had done, his answer was:
“Well Sir, that’s a very diabolical question.”

Again, I was told about this by a smiling principal…

Sorry, Was This Your Trail?

Not too long ago, a fellow teacher posted this story about one of his first experiences in the area around Fort Smith, NWT. That reminded me of a similar event outside Inuvik some time in the mid 80’s.

Both my then boyfriend and I had put in a lot of hours at work for weeks on end and were really in need of some R&R. My son was staying at a friend’s place for the weekend while we would go for a two-day hike in the vicinty of Campbell Lake. After work on Friday we loaded up the truck with everything we would need, mindful of the need to carry everything on our backs until we found a nice spot to make camp. We left the truck in a gravel pit and headed out along some pretty good trails that would take us into the land between Campbell Lake and the East Branch of the MacKenzie River. My dog Thunder took the lead.

We soon realised that neither one of us had the energy to walk very far that first evening. We started looking for a good spot to pitch the tent but in an area with a lot of rocks and boulders this was not easy. Finally, after what seemed like hours we found an area big enough to put the tent on. We ate, had some coffee and enjoyed the quiet. Thunder crawled into the tent long before us and we were congratulating ourselves at being able to get away like this for a weekend.
We hung our packsacks in a tree and went to bed around 10 PM

Early, early the following morning Thunder started growling and insisted on getting out of the tent. She almost ripped the mosquito-netting in her eager and was obviously very upset that it took so much time. I couldn’t find my glasses and my boyfriend was trying to wiggle into his pants. (Not me – I’d slept almost fully dressed with the sleeping bag on top of me!) We finally got out – Thunder took off down the trail, my boyfriend grabbed his rifle and I was desperately trying to wipe my fogged up glasses.
I really can’t remember what was going through my mind – except maybe surprise that my normally quite docile dog was reacting the way she did. Normally this Collie and Husky mix was very much the lady and not one to show off her feelings.
Then things started happening – fast. As we got up on a little rise there was a noise coming from the bushes up ahead. Thunder stopped dead in her tracks – looked up at my boyfriend as if to say….

‘You’ll take care of this – won’t you?’

Then she turned tail, raced past me and disappeared behind the tent.

Meanwhile there was more noise coming from the bushes and a few seconds later we could see the back of a black bear as he scampered off towards the lake. By then we both had serious heart palpitations and everything we did that morning was done with utmost care. Thunder stayed close to me all morning and my boyfriend took the gun along when he went for water in the creek….
While we had breakfast, I started to really look around our campsite. It was then I realised we had placed ourselves right in the middle of an animal trail and if it hadn’t been for the dog, we might even have had the bear right outside the tent. The trail looped around the boulders to the flat area where we had the tent – then it continued behind the tent on down an incline and towards the lake….

Our need to explore the wilderness had been filled by lunch, so we packed up everything and went home after lunch on Saturday…