The Harvest

As many North Shore communities celebrate harvesttime this week, we’re dedicating this week’s blog post to the important role that a harvest has for Anishinaabe people. The following is taken from the recently released Anishnaabe Koognaasewin: Anishinaabe Laws & Customs Research on Child Wellbeing report (please visit https://www.koognaasewin.com/reports to read the Summary or full report)

An excerpt from Matthew L.M. Fletcher and Wenona T. Single’s Indian Children and the Federal-Tribal Trust Relationship describes the central role of the family in its connection to the land and to harvesting for healthy Anishinaabe child development:

Great Lakes Anishinaabek (or Anishinaabeg) Indian children in the decades surrounding the founding of the United States would have known their own families and clans as the sources of their law and governments. For Anishinaabek children, their clan was their family, their family was their village, and their village was their government. In the summer, they likely worked in the fields near the beaches of the Great Lakes growing the Three Sisters of corn, beans, and squash. They may have learned how to hunt and trap in the wooded areas and fish in the lakes and rivers. They may have helped in the preservation of food for the winter. In the winter, lodging inland away from the harsh cold of the lakes, they listened to the stories and lessons of their elders. In the spring, they went with their families to the sugar bush and began to harvest maple sugar. And then they would return to the lakeshore to start the process all over again.

And from Christopher Vecsey’s Traditional Ojibwa Religion and Its Historical Changes, the interconnected of Ojibwa communities with harvesting and ceremony is an important factor in the sustainability of strong, self-sufficient and governance-based communities:

Through the course of a year an Ojibwa community celebrated the following rituals. At the time of the first maple sap run in the spring, at the appearance of the first berries of each species through the summer, during the wild rice harvest in the fall, when the first animals were killed in the late fall, the Ojibwas conducted thanksgiving feasts for the manitos, providing them with burnt food offerings, prayers, dances and songs. Throughout the winter each family told and retold the tribal myths, thereby recalling and invoking the manitos for the good of the group. At midwinter the family held a feast to the bear Owner and to the bears themselves. At midsummer the extended family made petitionary prayers and offerings to the manitos at a painted pole ceremony. In addition, each person presented a feast and offering to guardian manitos at some time during the year.

Ceremonies also connect individuals to non-human and spiritual worlds in ways that contribute to their wellbeing. As Kim Anderson explains, “In past times (as in many communities yet today), ceremonies were important in building the relationships (human, animal, and spirit) that would be necessary to maintain a lifetime of good health and well-being.” Ceremonies such as the naming ceremony also help to protect children from ill health and ensure their wellbeing into the future.  Thanksgiving ceremonies provide a means of developing reciprocal relationships with those plant and animal relations whose death ensures our life. As Cary Miller describes in relation to rice gathering:

“[a]s with other harvests, families held thanksgiving ceremonies when they finished processing the first rice. Communities fearing future retaliation from offended spirits, never considered eating new rice without this ceremony.”

As Anishinaabe families move throughout their territories and practice gathering food, they also participate in thanksgiving ceremonies that communicate and pass on the value of these relationships to their children. Martin Assiniwe of Sagamok describes how a ceremony was always held in the spring to protect community members from beings in the water that could cause them harm.

A participant in the Serpent River Community Story said that “early childhood programs are…an ideal place to initiate language learning and activities that promote positive cultural identity.”  Another participant in the Serpent River Community Story emphasizes the importance of cultural programming and ensuring children have access to educational experiences outside of school that enhance their connection to culture and the land.

Focused attention is needed to ensure that what children are learning in school reinforces a strong cultural identity and helps them become fluent in Ojibway. School programs also need to create time for cultural activities (such as spending time in the bush during the harvesting time for maple syrup). This will mean excusing children’s absences when they participate in such activities with their families and other community members. These activities will benefit the children from Serpent River, but also be a valuable addition to the education of children from neighbouring municipalities. They will also help break down stereotypes and an us-and-them mentality that sometimes grows up between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal peoples.

Lianne Leddy describes the relationship between the wellbeing of Anishinaabe akiing and Anishinaabe values. “The values inherent in traditional Anishinaabe relationships with the land and water were affected just as the river itself underwent rapid change in the mid-twentieth century. As resources diminished and were compromised, so too were the traditional ways in which the community interacted with the land.”

Stefanie Recollet says that knowledge and practices that enhance food security were lost through the creation of the reserve system.

Our Anishinaabe grandmas were self-sufficient badasses; they grew and harvested their own food, cooked over a wood fire, had root cellars, and preserved through canning and drying. Pre-colonization, our ancestors followed the natural harvesting cycles of our homelands. The Rez system, which confined us to a tiny fraction of our territories, seriously restricted access to our traditional food sources. Rations replaced our healthy ancestral foods, so instead of our land providing all the sustenance our indigenous bodies needed, we were given what is now known as the three white devils of nutrition: flour, sugar, and dairy. These became a staple out of necessity, and it was out of resilience and our grandmother’s ingenuity that our precious frybread was born. Yes, believe it, or not our beloved Indian Tacos and Klik weren’t part of our traditional diet! Not only is the modern convenience diet wreaking havoc on our bodies but industrial agriculture is also hurting Shkagamikwe (Mother Earth).

In another example of reclaiming the right to Anishinaabe akiing, one Anishinaabe family has been making their living off the land for over two decades, running their business, the Great Lakes Cultural Camps (GLCC). During this time, they have

…raised their three boys following the natural harvesting cycles gifted to us as Anishinaabe people, following the seasons and their bountiful gifts.” This meal alone shows the profits of their immense efforts. In the spring they harvested ziizbaakwadaaboo (maple sap) and produced the ziiwaagmide (maple syrup) used in the moose meat dish from the moose they harvested in the fall, and the miinan (blueberries) they picked in the summer. The family also practice harvesting ogaa (pickerel) in the spring and atikmeg (whitefish) in the fall.

Through the processing and smoking of hides they are able to make clothing, crafts and other items that they can sell to acquire other things they may need, such as rent, a vehicle, flour, gas and other essentials. GLCC’s business tagline is Learn, Play and Explore. For over twenty years they have been building and expanding their skills, and transforming those skills into products for the business such as certified kayaking, canoeing, river rescue, wilderness first aid training/certification and adventures.

Regarding meeting the needs of families and the community, the redistribution of resources, including food was an essential component of Anishinaabe peoples’ lives:  

In the early summer after the Feast of the Dead, the Anishinabeg would travel to their summer villages, more than likely nestled along the shores and river mouths of the North Shore, Manitoulin down to Penetanguishene. Once settled into their wigwams, they would begin to organize for their productive season, including planting corn and vegetables and the harvesting of strawberries, cherries, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, and cranberries. In between these activities, the youth would engage in ball games, foot races, wrestling and hunting small game, honing their hunting skills with their bows and arrows. The boys also learned how to set nets and clean fish.

As summer draws to a close and the seasons begin to change, the Anishinabek would head inland, where each family had a designated  exclusive hunting and trapping ground, and prepare for the long winter ahead. They will finish processing their foods, smoking fish, deer and moose meat, drying fruits and vegetables and moving to their interior fall and winter camps. At these camps, they will gather firewood and fix any structures and equipment necessary to help them survive the winter. Although deer, elk, moose and bear were hunted for food and trade, fur-bearing animals were also trapped for trade. In addition, commercial hunting provided the Anishinaabeg with the ability to purchase firearms and other manufactured items such as cotton and wool, which were highly valued.

In the spring, they would decamp for the sugar bush. The isolation of winter was replaced with the friendliness of the sugar camp, where many families would come together for several weeks and cooperate in a festive atmosphere. Sugar was the main product. It was a profitable trade item valued by Anishinaabeg and traders. Once maple sugaring was complete, they loaded their canoes with sugar, furs, deer skins, pemmican, bear’s oil, deer tallow (fat) and sometimes honey and began their journey to meet up with other families at the gathering place. Anishinaabe gathered for 5 or 6 days to feast the dead. It is said that all the Anishinaabe and children would go around among the camps and greet one another, feasting and throwing food into the fire. The feast would take place at a traditional burial ground where family members who had passed on during the winter would be formally laid to rest, and memories of long-departed loved ones would be celebrated.

After the Feast of the Dead, all Anishinaabeg who wintered in the area would travel back to the shores of their summer homes and begin their seasonal rounds again.

In the past Anishinaabe life was oriented around meeting needs for all family members and community members. Relationships were maintained through seasonal and yearly gatherings which followed the rhythmic abundance and scarcity of the natural world. Children and youth were a part of all of these seasonal movements, learning alongside their families about how to provide for themselves and how to contribute to their communities.

Today, a major reason why Anishinaabe families struggle and have children removed is due to poverty and not being able to meet the needs of their children in ways that are determined by non-Indigenous standards. According to a report published by INDsight consulting, “[e]xisting research shows a consistent pattern in which low-income families are more likely to be investigated by the child welfare system than other families, and poverty rates are higher for the First Nations population than for the non-Aboriginal population.”  Ardith Walkem describes how certain factors seen by outside workers as neglect may actually reflect poverty or the inability to meet needs including “overcrowding; a child not having their own room or bed; a child not having seasonally appropriate clothing; a family not having fresh or nutritious food available; or parents or extended family not calling or attending at access visits regularly where transportation or telephone access is limited due to financial concerns.” Youth aging out of care often struggle with the loss of support from the child welfare system. For many of these youth disconnection from family and community results in a lack of the support needed to meet their ongoing needs and achieve educational outcomes.  Meeting the needs of these families and individuals could prevent intervention with outside institutions in many cases. This is asserted in Mississauga First Nation’s Draft Family Unity Declaration which states that “all institutions in contact with Misswezahging children and families are responsible for working towards the resolution of systemic issues like poverty and homelessness.”

Meeting needs can be an incredibly effective response to helping children and families in challenging situations. Mildred Johnston describes how her mother would always take in kids “…she would clean them, make clothes for them, and told the father she would help out – my aunt had died. And so he took his kids, they came... he’d bring them, she’d clean them up, new clothes, and they’d go back home…” She also describes as a child,

…crying watching a child on the train, a child was taken to [Spanish], and I came and I couldn't stand there, I cried. I went home and I said to Mom, “Why does a mother do that, take that child to [Spanish]?” And she said, “They’ve got no food. That’s why, the mother can’t feed them.” And so, she said, “Well, we’ll go to [inaudible] and try and get food for them,” so I could stop crying that they were going to do something [laughs]. So the next morning, we went on the train to all the grocery stores, and they sent stuff from the train for us to give to the families that didn't have food.

Wilma Bissiallon of Mississauga explains that, “…even though we were…poor, the one thing that I can always remember is that we always had food on the table, we had clothes, we had a roof over our head, and we were happy.” A focus group participant said that,

…we’re all said to be poor. But, to me, we were rich in wealth because of how we shared and how we shared with our wildlife. And, when you went into somebody’s home, they didn't ask you what you wanted to eat, they just fed you or they gave you something to drink. There was always food on the stove or whatever. And that’s what my Dad would say, “You don’t ask them what they want to drink or if they want to... you just feed them.”

This type of redistribution and sharing ensures that everyone’s needs are met, especially those who are in the greatest need of resources or support. One focus group participant explains that the obligation to share with those in need was a law. “Because there were a lot of times when we enforced our Law prior to – us having the Indian Day School, or whatever... our grandparents or our parents, when the weather was cold, “No, you don’t keep that fish.” Because they’d cut it in half – one for his friend and the other for him – and my mother said, “No, you’ve got to share. They have enough.” My mother was a teacher so, in her eyes, they had enough...”

Community care of children was likewise built into structures of how women organized their collective work in the wild rice camps and the sugar bush.  Children were integrated into the work, and this integration was fundamental to their education.  Anthropologist Frances Densmore interviewed Nodinens, a woman of 74, in 1907 in Mille Lacs, Minnesota.  Nodinens noted that “elderly women organized labor and held things together in the sugar bush: ‘Grandmother had charge of all this, and made the young girls do the work.’”

Children would learn to make and use makak [birchbark containers] to store food, as well enjoy maple snow cones and sugar candy.  Child describes the wild rice harvest as “the most visible expression of women’s autonomy in Ojibwe society” where legal rights to use rice beds were exercised and essential food sources were secured.  It was “a model of intergenerational cooperation and learning, as collectives of women of all ages harvested and processed rice, supported by their children,” and where “Collectives of women controlled the entire social organization of the harvest, deciding on the rules and locations of campsites.” Children likewise had a role to play here, and historical photographs described by Child show “many different family members worked the bootaagan [carved wooden mortar for removing chaff], from children to elderly men.”