A second chance
"What you can do
or dream you can do,
begin it!
Boldness has genius,
power and magic in it."
—Goethe
Week 3 of Cree language school begins tomorrow, and I'm thinking about intuition. I realized this weekend that if anything's responsible for finally getting me Alberta-bound, it was something in my gut telling me I *had* to do this. 'Cause to be perfectly honest, the scariest thing about being here was/is having no idea what could come after. Which doors could close because of the dramatic new path I have chosen to take? Which might open?
Hence my appreciation for Goethe's words, because it does feel quite 'bold' of me to so totally uproot myself from all that I knew and had grown accustomed to. It is a leap of faith, especially when I don’t know exactly what I'm putting my faith in. But life is never certain, I tell myself, and we never know what's around that next corner, so you could argue I am living life as it really is. In truth, my life has been too certain and comfortable for long enough. Change is the flow of life, and vice versa. Perhaps there's more than one kind of immersion going on here.
Let me tell you more about my first week. The first few days only served to stoke my keen awareness of how few people I knew here. I was out of it. All I could think of was what I'd left behind. Leaving my friends in Winnipeg felt a bit too much like it could be permanent, even if I couldn't figure out why.
I soon got a chance to tour nearby Saddle Lake, a reserve of about 5,000 people, one of Canada’s biggest, I'm told, both in population and area. You definitely need a car to get around this part of the country, something I don’t have.
As far as my living situation goes, it wasn't long before I could see it'd be great. Without getting into detail (I want to respect people's privacy as much as I can), I am billeting in a house with 3 adult speakers of Cree (one as a mother tongue) plus a youngster. They're all committed to the language. You don’t get much better than that.
When the first week ended, it felt like I'd been here a month. I started to get my bearings bit by bit — geographically, emotionally and linguistically. But learning a new language is extremely unsettling and 'disjointing.' You cannot understand, you cannot make yourself understood. All you feel is futility and humility. (I'm still feeling that, nevermind!)
Then there was the sweat, a ceremony organized by the school as a way to welcome the students and have us meet the elders who'll be helping us learn Cree. For the uninitiated (which frankly makes you only slightly less aware than me), a sweat takes place within a round, canvas-covered enclosure known as a sweatlodge. There, drum songs are played as water poured upon super hot stones generates an all-pervasive steam cloud, enveloping those inside. They say it's meant to be like a womb: dark, hot and cut-off. To say more than that would likely risk my speaking either ignorantly or inappropriately.
It was my first-ever sweat. I've stayed away for personal reasons, ones I don't care to get into right now, but it's mostly out of respect for those who do regularly sweat. I wanted to wait until it felt right for me to be in the circle, and it did.
With the rounds of song over and everyone still inside, we talked about the program and the importance of keeping the language strong. When my turn came up, I broke down as I tried to tell a story about my late maternal grandfather and I, the single most vivid memory I have of him. He spoke next-to-no English, and I recall as a boy of about 11 or so standing in front of him as he sat on our couch in Winnipeg, speaking to me in Cree, smiling warmly, and holding my arm. As my mother translated, he said he could not understand the words I was saying. Without hesitation, I replied, "Well, I wish I spoke Cree too, because then I would talk to you all day." He laughed, and his big smile grew even bigger. I obviously can't fulfill that wish today, but I can do my best to ensure Nehiyawewin will never be a barrier in my family again.
After the sweat, we ate. (I prepared what I called a 'simple' version of thai chicken curry, a description the program coordinator teased me to no end about.) The meal over, we got to talk a little more with our language mentors, three older women and one older man. They're all residents of nearby reserves, and the idea is for us students to visit with them at their homes about 3 times a week.
They're a fun group, who didn't take long to start joking with us and each other. I took an instant shine to them. It's another component of the program that makes it unique. For me, when I think about it, I realize it's a sort of second chance to share in the wisdom, experience and generosity of an older generation, a chance I sincerely hope to take full advantage of this time 'round..
ekosi,
Rick
or dream you can do,
begin it!
Boldness has genius,
power and magic in it."
—Goethe
Week 3 of Cree language school begins tomorrow, and I'm thinking about intuition. I realized this weekend that if anything's responsible for finally getting me Alberta-bound, it was something in my gut telling me I *had* to do this. 'Cause to be perfectly honest, the scariest thing about being here was/is having no idea what could come after. Which doors could close because of the dramatic new path I have chosen to take? Which might open?
Hence my appreciation for Goethe's words, because it does feel quite 'bold' of me to so totally uproot myself from all that I knew and had grown accustomed to. It is a leap of faith, especially when I don’t know exactly what I'm putting my faith in. But life is never certain, I tell myself, and we never know what's around that next corner, so you could argue I am living life as it really is. In truth, my life has been too certain and comfortable for long enough. Change is the flow of life, and vice versa. Perhaps there's more than one kind of immersion going on here.
Let me tell you more about my first week. The first few days only served to stoke my keen awareness of how few people I knew here. I was out of it. All I could think of was what I'd left behind. Leaving my friends in Winnipeg felt a bit too much like it could be permanent, even if I couldn't figure out why.
I soon got a chance to tour nearby Saddle Lake, a reserve of about 5,000 people, one of Canada’s biggest, I'm told, both in population and area. You definitely need a car to get around this part of the country, something I don’t have.
As far as my living situation goes, it wasn't long before I could see it'd be great. Without getting into detail (I want to respect people's privacy as much as I can), I am billeting in a house with 3 adult speakers of Cree (one as a mother tongue) plus a youngster. They're all committed to the language. You don’t get much better than that.
When the first week ended, it felt like I'd been here a month. I started to get my bearings bit by bit — geographically, emotionally and linguistically. But learning a new language is extremely unsettling and 'disjointing.' You cannot understand, you cannot make yourself understood. All you feel is futility and humility. (I'm still feeling that, nevermind!)
Then there was the sweat, a ceremony organized by the school as a way to welcome the students and have us meet the elders who'll be helping us learn Cree. For the uninitiated (which frankly makes you only slightly less aware than me), a sweat takes place within a round, canvas-covered enclosure known as a sweatlodge. There, drum songs are played as water poured upon super hot stones generates an all-pervasive steam cloud, enveloping those inside. They say it's meant to be like a womb: dark, hot and cut-off. To say more than that would likely risk my speaking either ignorantly or inappropriately.
It was my first-ever sweat. I've stayed away for personal reasons, ones I don't care to get into right now, but it's mostly out of respect for those who do regularly sweat. I wanted to wait until it felt right for me to be in the circle, and it did.
With the rounds of song over and everyone still inside, we talked about the program and the importance of keeping the language strong. When my turn came up, I broke down as I tried to tell a story about my late maternal grandfather and I, the single most vivid memory I have of him. He spoke next-to-no English, and I recall as a boy of about 11 or so standing in front of him as he sat on our couch in Winnipeg, speaking to me in Cree, smiling warmly, and holding my arm. As my mother translated, he said he could not understand the words I was saying. Without hesitation, I replied, "Well, I wish I spoke Cree too, because then I would talk to you all day." He laughed, and his big smile grew even bigger. I obviously can't fulfill that wish today, but I can do my best to ensure Nehiyawewin will never be a barrier in my family again.
After the sweat, we ate. (I prepared what I called a 'simple' version of thai chicken curry, a description the program coordinator teased me to no end about.) The meal over, we got to talk a little more with our language mentors, three older women and one older man. They're all residents of nearby reserves, and the idea is for us students to visit with them at their homes about 3 times a week.
They're a fun group, who didn't take long to start joking with us and each other. I took an instant shine to them. It's another component of the program that makes it unique. For me, when I think about it, I realize it's a sort of second chance to share in the wisdom, experience and generosity of an older generation, a chance I sincerely hope to take full advantage of this time 'round..
ekosi,
Rick
posted by Rick Harp at 11:49 PM
1 Comments:
hi rick - love the blog. keep learning and reporting back. take care and talk soon. a.s.
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