Regional Writers' contribution

If everyone

Treated the Earth and all that dwell thereon with respect
Remained close to the great Spirit
Always showed great respect for the fellow beings
Worked together for the benefit of all Mankind
Gave assistance and kindness wherever needed
Did what they know to be right
Looked after the well-being of mind and body
Dedicated a share of their efforts to the greater good
Was truthful and honest at all times
Took full responsibility for their actions
Our world would be a much better place to live

BEING DIFFERENT

They take my kindness for weaknesses
They take my silence for speechless
They consider my uniqueness strange
They call my language slang
They see my confidence as conceit
They see my mistake as defeat
They consider my success accidental
They minimize my intelligence to "potential"
My questions mean I'm unaware
My advancement is somehow unfair
Any praise is preferential treatment"
To voice concern is discontentment
If I stand up for myself, I'm too defensive
If I don't trust them, I'm too apprehensive
I'm deviant if I separate
I'm Fake if I assimilate
Pride in my culture can turn into contempt or resentment
Other than the above I am treated like everyone else?

Author unknown

"A MILE IN YOUR SHOES"

A song written by Larry Cromie for the Foundation of the Parade of nations

When I walk a mile in your shoes
When I try to know what it's like to be you
When I feel the things that you do
Will I understand the life you choose
When I walk a mile, in your shoes

We all walk our own road
We all have to find our way
We all have our own load
We all carry everyday

When I walk a mile in your shoes
When I try to know what it's like to be you
When I feel the things that you do
Will I understand the life you choose
When I walk a mile, in your shoes

What some see as black and white's just different shades of grey
As different as things might appear, we are all the same

When I walk a mile in your shoes
When I try to know what it's like to be you
When I feel the things that you do
Will I understand the life you choose
When I walk a mile, in your shoes...

Gratitude prayer

This is a prayer of gratitude reflecting theme of the Fondation of the Parade of nations.

As we remember the importance of gratitude, thank you Creator for everything!
For the gift of life itself and health and well-being,
For the love and support of our friends and family,
For the kindness of strangers,
For the natural beauty we see all around us--valleys, rivers, trees,
For the spiritual wisdom we’ve gained from many teachers and books,
For the courage of social activists protecting our rights and our environment,
For the laughter of children reminding us to play more often,
For the strength we’ve gained from difficulties and hardships,
For the opportunities we’ve had to serve in making Akwesasne, Cornwall, SD&G and the world a better place.
For the acceptance and respect of our diverse cultures,
For the conscious creating of goodwill and harmony,
For the peace and co-existance of all people on these beautiful lands we call our home.

Amen

Poem

Translated for the purpose of sharing the text
Ensemble (French title) - Together

At the heart of nations
One anthem
One soul
Resonates

Float the dark stories
Mixed with clear tenderness
Float proud memories
Mixed with soft promises

At the heart of the ancient tribes
One man
One woman
Gathered in the two
Multiplied Multiplied
Listen ... Listen
Behind the sheet that I hold
Lies the fate of all human beings
You look at me
I look at you
Straight in the eyes
In my eyes
Finally you find yourself
There is no difference
You and I we are the same
A unique goal
Walk in the footsteps
of the elders Wise passages
Walk in the footsteps
Towards favourable moons

Building fire
Light the flames

One heart vibrates
From the depths of obscure cities|
From the top of centuries old trees

One voice
Disrupted by absent glass fragments
By fragments of voices without words

One smile
Imagined in the face of your child
Your child, my child
Our world

Keeper of the earth
Guardian of terrors
The light is shining
Shining is the light
Your heart beats
As my heart beats
United are my words to your silences

Sewer of ardours
You lounge the banks of rivers to come

Living is not difficult
The length of a moment
You blinked your eyes
Dazzled by a sun that never fails to strike

Living is not difficult
At the dawn of our enthusiasm
Standing
On the eve of a day
Together
Which seems to fail
From my mouth to your ear
From mine to yours

We have to cross other waters
To awaken our visions
To wake up our echoes

We had to kill a land so that the word love could live

And if and if
The centuries survived us
How many great eagles will remember
That that the cry of you and me together
This one
The same
Of America in Tibet
This cry gives life

Do not shut our voices anymore
We cannot keep quiet if we want to live

Pour ici, où je fais partie.

Françoise Le Guen
Journaliste/Reporter

Message to leaders of our community

• with well-rooted human values and who will accept and respect talents and contributions given by others, especially within our community;
• who can create an atmosphere of risk and creativity; and
• who are not afraid to reject intimidation or manipulation; and
• who want to be recognized as an important part in these changing times.

I’m proud to be Canadian

By Jason K. Gr. 4
Shared by Ron Begg of Cornwall

I’m proud to be Canadian
It isn’t hard to see,
That we are a famous country,
That spreads from sea to sea

I’m proud to be Canadian
I bet that you are too,
We have some famous animals,
Such as the caribou.

I’m proud to be Canadian
‘Cause we have the famous moose,
We also have the famous bird,
And its name is goose.

I’m proud to be Canadian
We have famous people too,
Like Michel J. and Terry Fox,
There’re Canadian through and through.

I’m proud to be Canadian
Where there isn’t any war
And then when refugees come here for Help,
We open up pour doors.

I’m proud to be Canadian
A land that’s free and strong.
There’s no where else I’d rather live,
For here’s where I belong.

Why I’m proud to be Canadian

By Sandi Barabas, Grade 5 Holy Rosary School
Shared by Ron Begg of Cornwall

Do you want to know why I’m proud to be a Canadian? Well here it is! I think everybody who lives I Canada is happy! Good health, home, friends and anything great you can think of! There is much more!

A reason why I am happy to be a Canadian is because there is enough food and drinks for me, my family, and everyone else not to starve. A lot of people here, in Canada, are nice, and we all have a great environment to live in. I have a nice, loving, warm, cozy home to live in. I also have a great family that loves me and I love them.

Canada is not a poor country. It has schools for kids like me to get their education. It has food and water for people to drink and eat so they don’t starve. You can see landscapes and buildings you could never have dreamed of! Most of the people are wealthy from what Canada has.

Freedom is the number one reason I am proud to be a Canadian. There are no wars in Canada. We do not have slavery either. Everybody is free to do anything (except for cruel things).

A lot of people in Canada are helpful to animals, people and the environment. Teachers help people get their education. Crossing guards help people all over the world. They help people get across roads and streets. The government helps people with a lot of different things like taxes, stores and resources.

So you know why it’s great to be Canadian eh? Later on I hope I will still be as proud as I am right now. Trust me, it’s great! You should be proud too!

THE AUSTRALIAN DEFINITION OF A CANADIAN

An Australian dentist wrote the following editorial to help define what a Canadian is, so they would know one when they found one.

A Canadian can be English, or French, or Italian, Irish, German, Spanish, Polish, Russian or Greek. A Canadian can be Mexican, African, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Australian, Iranian, Asian, Arab, Pakistani or Afghan.

A Canadian may also be a Cree, Métis, Mohawk, Blackfoot, Sioux, or one of the many other tribes known as native Canadians. A Canadian's religious beliefs range from Christian, Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu or none. In fact, there are more Muslims in Canada than in Afghanistan. The key difference is that in Canada they are free to worship as each of them chooses. Whether they have a religion or no religion, each Canadian ultimately answers only to God, not to the government, or to armed thugs claiming to speak for the government and for God.

DON’T JUDGE

Submitted by owner of KAB Boutique 163 Pitt Street, Conrwall

Don’t judge people you hardly know
You don’t know what their day has been like.
You don’t know what their life has been like
Don’t’ judge

Don't judge someone who seems as if they are overreacting.
You don’t know if they have love someone they loved dearly of if their parents are getting a divorce or fighting or nothing.
Don’t judge

Don’t judge someone who is different. They are probably one of the nicest people you will know, or the funniest or the smartest.
Take time to know the people
Walk with them
Run with them
Share their triumphs and their sorrow
Maybe they don’t dance through life as you thought.
Please don’t judge

THE VALUES OF MUSIC IN US.

Translated for the purpose of sharing the text
LES VALEURS MUSICALES DE CHEZ-NOUS (French title)

"Our home music values" are a talk-paced with the theme of multiculturalism that calls for the promotion of understanding, acceptance and respect for all cultures. More than a talk-paced, it's a talk highlighting the values of our Mosaic,of our beautiful country.

Bravo for the music! Yes! Yes! Yes!
This is the soul, the fire of our country.
We sing and dance while having fun;
We celebrate and scream, it’s fun.

Rhythm, melody and harmony,
This is the only language of the people here.
We know very well all the shades;
We also accepts all the sounds.

Everything is possible in friendship;
It is to listen and respect
The various beliefs, all nuances,
The range of color, the differences.

Bravo for the music! Yes! Yes! Yes!
It is a language that unites us.
It invites us to take the hand,
To accept everyone as a friend.

Vivianne Panizzon
Cornwall

Legends

http://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/RemakingTheWorld-Sioux.html

OUR BELIEFS

The Staff of the Seaway Valley of Stormont, Dundas and Glengarry Legal Clinic

Everyone who comes to us for help has a right to be treated as we ourselves would like to be treated. If we were in their shoes – in confidence with courtesy and competence. People are counting on us.
We also believe that we must reach out to those who do not come to us for help but who are the victims of injustice. Bringing justice to our community is why we exist.
We are proud of the work we do. We have the opportunity to use our skills and knowledge in order to help others. Our work is important and helpful.
We have the right to enjoy what we are doing. We must make our office a nice place to work so that we can help others more effectively. Part of this involves treating one another with respect and fairness

About Poverty

Cornwall and District Immigrant Services Agency.

My name is Sarah Maynard and I am the Employment Program Coordinator for Cornwall and District Immigrant Services Agency.

In my 7 years of working with the newcomer population in Cornwall I have seen far too many of my clients fall in to the hands of poverty-due to many reason which include lack of credential recognition, discrimination and lack of social inclusion.

The increase in the minimum wage is a hopeful sign that people can begin to live better quality lives however the importance of dignity and respect at work should not be overshadowed by a higher wage.

Looking out at all of you today the belief that we need to fight poverty is evident. but in order to be successful, we need to keep the passion of today and bring it in to all of our tomorrow’s working together to build a community that recognizes the need for an inclusive community, one that takes care of the people who reside in it and one that promotes self respect and quality living for all.

HOW TO BUILD A CARING COMMUNITY

Think of no one as "them"
Don’t confuse your comfort with your safety
Talk to people in your community
Imagine other cultures through their art, poetry and novels
Listen to music you don’t understand, dance to it and act locally
Help build economics from the bottom up
Visit people, places and cultures – not tourist attraction
Learn people’s history of those composing the area genetic make-up
Redefine progress
Know physical and political geography of newcomers
Play games from other cultures
Watch film with subtitles
Know your heritage
Honor everyone’s holiday
Look at the moon and image someone else, somewhere else, looking at it too
Read the UN’s Declaration of Human Rights
Understand the global economy in terms of people, land and water.
Honor indigenous culture
Eat adventurously
Choose curiosity over certainty
Assume that other share your dreams
Know that no one is silent though many are not heard
Work at changing this vision.

Misconceptions of Poverty

by Helene Paquin

This cycle called poverty affects everybody,
As much as some may want to disagree,
"So many people are thinking , It doesn't affect me."
It doesn't live in my neighborhood or in my back yard.
Their eyes are blinded by what they can't see.
Is it because their bellys are full and that they care not to know
what it is like to go to bed hungry, or is it that
they choose not to associate with me or my story.
They close their eyes so not to see a fellow neighbor, struggling to
survive daily.
They choose to think Poverty could never happen to them as it did to me.

Poverty affects us all, and for me, I'm finding it harder to do things as my health
now begins to fall.
Directly and indirectly , it's time that we all answer this call ;
Make Poverty History, Invest in other poor people just like me,
Help me and others to become all that they can be.
Please hear my plea.
Help save others from living in this life of misery we call
Poverty.
"What's that you say? I choose to have my family live in Poverty."
"Absurd," is what I have to say.
I just didn't just wake up one day and say, "Today, I'm just going to work on
living in Poverty."
Poverty, to some people may just be a pay check away, from becoming part
of their daily reality

It's time for a reality check people, remember there are a lot less fortunate
people out there as you are all cashing in your pay cheques.
Check out my wish list .See, if you agree, as I begin to count 1,2,3,.... :

• I want all of Gods children young & old to be fed.
• Being able to afford to buy and take their daily meds
• For everyone to have affordable housing and a roof over their heads
• For everyone to have decent clothes on their bodies, covering them from their heads to their toes
• Affordable and reliable daycare for all to share
• A warm bed to sleep in , Not having to sleep in some make shift bed and having pillows to lay down their head,
• A chance to learn a new skill or to get affordable education for a job that is worth having, that would cover all their monthly costs.
• Not having to worry about your family , or freinds , if there alive or dead , after a long and cold winters night.

Let's all come together , and do what's right.
This is not just my plight.Open your eyes to sight to see what I see and you 'll
see that poverty is all around you and me.
Poverty is not free, it's not a choice , it's nothing pretty to live or see.
Hire someone like me and you will see, We're not lazy, as you have perseived
us to be.
We are all Gods children, so the bible tells me
Justice for all, Lord, and to everyone who hears my call
It's time to make Poverty history for all
Lets bring an end to Poverty and all its misconceptions.
That my wish list may be completed someday , by someone , even once I'm gone.
Stand up, take Action, To make poverty history Today, is that day, for all of us to have our say.

Une lueure d'espoir

Aujourd'hui c'est une lueure d'espoir que nous avons dans les yeux et le coeur.

Car nous avons enfin l'espoir d'un avenir prometteur

Un avenir ou nous aurions tous le droit et ou nous pourrions tous manger a notre faim, ou nous pourrions tous être au chauds la nuit comme le jour et ou nous pourrions tous être en santer.

Un avenir dans lequel, lorqu'un enfant nous demanderais

"Quest-ce que la pauvretè?"

Nous pourrions tous répondre en caeur avec un immense sourire

"La pauvretè nous l'avons vaincue, c'est maintenant chose du passer."

Le premier pas vers cet avenir prometteur est fait et c'est ensemble que nous ferons les autres.

Écrit par Mélanie Dazé , mère de trois enfants vivants dans la pauvreter.

BREAD AND ROSES – FOR INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY

Bread and Roses dates back to 1911 and received a new lease of life with the resurgeance of the women's movement in the late 1960s and the interest in the role played by women in trade union history.

Song by James Oppenheim

As we go marching, marching, in the beauty of the day
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray
Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses
For the people hear us singing, bread and roses, bread and roses.

As we come marching, marching, we battle too, for men,
For they are in the struggle and together we shall win.
Our days shall not be sweated from birth until life closes,
Hearts starve as well as bodies, give us bread, but give us roses.

As we come marching, marching, un-numbered women dead
Go crying through our singing their ancient call for bread,
Small art and love and beauty their trudging spirits knew
Yes, it is bread we. fight for, but we fight for roses, too.

As we go marching, marching, we're standing proud and tall.
The rising of the women means the rising of us all.
No more the drudge and idler, ten that toil where one reposes,
But a sharing of life's glories, bread and roses, bread and roses.

THE MISSION

Moe and I stared at it for months. From our second-storey classroom we watched the laborers move from one girder to another with the ease of a squirrel scampering along a telephone wire.

It was as if they were working with a life-size Meccano set. The constant rat-tat-tat of the riveters played havoc with our teacher’s sanity.

Now, you have to realize this was about 1957, before television and long before computer games. Kids back then made their own fun; whether it was playing tag, hide-and-seek, or in this case, we had developed a plan; one which called for courage, strength and downright stupidity.

Our mission…to climb the city of Cornwall’s newly erected water tower located at the corner of Ninth and Marlborough Streets. You can just imagine the thoughts rolling around in our eight year old brains.

This was the tallest structure we had ever seen. It was in fact about 130 feet from the ground to the top of the huge storage tank which sat atop eight legs. Running up the centre of the water tower was a tube about 10 feet in diameter. I guess the water moved from there up to the holding tank. Fashioned around this tube was a spiral staircase which ran from ground level to a catwalk about 100 feet above. However, there was a problem. There was a door blocking the entrance to the stairs. We had to find a way to get over the top.

Since the tower had just been painted, there were several planks strewn about, we found one long enough to prop up against the door at a 30 degree angle. This allowed Moe and I to pull ourselves up hand –over-hand until we reached the top of the wall, then it was just a matter of lowering ourselves to the nearest stair. Once we there we were home free.

As we climbed, we could see our second-storey classroom at St.Paul’s school. Hey, this was neat. We could even see our homes. I lived on Ninth Street, while Moe lived on Gloucester.

You know, with all our planning, it never dawned on us someone may have actually spotted us during our mission. Being only eight or nine at the time, the idea of climbing the tower seemed terrific, but, as we continued our ascent, the realization of how high we were entered our minds. Neither of us had much experience with heights. Sure, we had climbed trees, telephone poles, and even the occasional bridge, but, this was the first time we had been so high. One hundred feet doesn’t seem like much when you’re in a tall building, just try holding on to a thin steel rail that wraps itself around a steel column. I remember staring at the huge under belly of that giant reservoir, wondering what would happen if it sprung a leak. (I seem to recall a story about a flood coming from the tower some years later).

We had only about 20 steps to go before reaching the catwalk that led to the outer edge of the tower. I don’t recall exactly what made us stop – it could have been fear – or maybe it was the fact a small crowd had gathered at the base of the tower. They were yelling something, but, I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Anyway, we started back down. It wasn’t long before the local constabulary was there. He was shouting at us to come down. I guess he couldn’t make out what we were doing, it didn’t matter. We wanted to come down. Both of us had to go to the bathroom. In what seemed to take forever, we climbed over the door and into the arms of the law.

This wasn’t our first run-in with police, and certainly not the last. To think that some ten years later I would become a police officer!

THE DAY THE CIRCUS CAME TO TOWN

When I think of my childhood years, (the 1950’s and 1960’s) growing up in Cornwall, some of my fondest memories were the times the circus came to town. Our house was located on Ninth Street, about three blocks east of the CNR railway station. This was fortunate, because the entire circus had to roll past our home in order to reach the old military training grounds on Marlborough Street. I thought about the arrival for days, and I had a plan. I would set my alarm for four thirty in the morning so I could watch the troupe go by. When I went to bed, I was as nervous as a kid on Christmas Eve, tossing and turning in an attempt to fall asleep. Sleep finally came, but, not for long. At around four o’clock I was awakened by a strange noise, as if something was being dragged down the street. I jumped out of bed and peered out the window; through the darkness I could make out the shapes elephants, circus wagons and large trucks.

I could barely contain myself, and not wanting to wake anyone, I crept downstairs and sat on our front porch. For what seemed to be hours, trailer after trailer slowly made their way to Dingwall’s field. I couldn’t wait for daylight, but, I knew parents would never let me out of the house at this early hour. Finally, eight o’clock rolled around. It was time to call Maurice, we called him Moe, and together we ventured off to see the circus being set up. Huckleberry Finn had nothing on us, when it came to being adventurous. In our short seven years on earth, we had hopped a moving freight car, swam in the St. Lawrence, which was quite a feat because Moe couldn’t swim, but, that’s another story. Now, here we were about to witness elephants with harnesses helping to erect the big top, and roustabouts setting up the ferris wheel. We thought we had died and gone to heaven. From that moment I knew what I wanted to do with my life. Just imagine, traveling from town to town, all that delicious circus food, AND you got paid!

The speed at which the crew set up the tents and rides was incredible; at about eleven thirty in the morning everything was set to go. I remember staring at the banner atop the big tent, it read, RINGLING BROTHERS,BARNUM AND BAILEY CIRCUS. Of course, that didn’t mean anything to us, except this was really exciting. We strolled around the grounds for a short while, then, made our way home for lunch; after all, it was only a short walk. After eating our lunch in record time, we made our way back to the circus.

I was reading the other day that of all our senses, the sense of smell is the strongest and retained in our brain the longest time. I mention this just to describe the total assault on our senses. There was the hollering of the barkers as they tried to entice the curious to their sideshow. We watched in amazement as trainers led the elephants, giraffes, bears, lions and monkeys into the big top. What I remember most vividly were the smells, the freshly spread wood chips, the hot dogs, and of course the sweet aroma of cotton candy wafting through the air.

One of the carnies must have felt sorry for us, here were two seven year olds with barely a dime between us, and we probably looked for all the world like the urchins from a Charles Dickens novel. He motioned to us, can you imagine, two young kids being approached by a total stranger. Times were different then. He gave us two tickets to see the show. Before we could say anything, a clown with a sad looking face escorted us tour seats. Someone later told me that clown was probably none other than the world famous Emmett Kelly. This was every young boys dream come true, sitting almost front row centre watching the greatest show on earth. There were the midgets, the clowns, not to mention the elephants, lions and bears.

Now, I’m not sure how long we were there, but, I recall the surprise when we got out and it was dark. We weren’t too concerned because we only lived around the block. However, some conscientious adult must have thought we were lost. In what seemed just a few moments, Moe and I were rather unceremoniously placed in the back seat of a police car and driven to the station. The station was an old building that didn’t have any accommodations for big-time criminals like ourselves, so we were escorted to a cell, but, the door was left open. By this time I was getting nervous, I hadn’t planned on this happening. One of the officers told us not to worry because our parents were on their way to pick us up. Moe and I looked at each other with THAT look that comes from experiencing what happens when one gets into trouble; we had been there before. At about nine-thirty in the evening, my mother arrived to take us home. We sat in the car not saying a word. Moe was dropped off at his house. I didn’t have the nerve to say good-bye, good luck or anything. About thirty seconds later, we got to our house and there was my father waiting on the front porch. Isn’t that ironic, the same porch where fifteen hours earlier I sat watching the circus pass by. I can’t remember if it was the fly swatter or my dad’s belt, it was the quickest send off to my room I ever had. As I lay in bed, I wondered what other adventures lay in store for me.

THOUGHTS FROM A QUIETER TIME

A while back, one of my sons asked me what we did for fun when I was growing up. I must confess, I had to think about that for a few moments. With all the advances in our high tech world, sometimes I think that we, (the older generation), downplay what we did as children. In my opinion, we are devaluing the importance of growing up in a quieter, more innocent time.

As children growing up in the nineteen fifties and sixties, there seemed to be all the time in the world to do things. I don’t ever remember hearing the word STRESS uttered by my parents. Anyway, I’m getting away from the topic. What did we do for fun?

I remember that Saturday mornings were great; the house was usually very quiet.

Being the oldest of four children meant that I had the run of the place. My breakfast usually consisted of a bowl of corn flakes, toast and some juice.

A quick glance at the clock reminded me that the cartoons started at eight o’clock; of course everything was in black and white. It wasn’t uncommon for a few of the neighbour kids to drop by, as we had the only television set on our block. There we were, four or five of us huddled watching FURY, ROY ROGERS, and MIGHTY MOUSE.

At around ten o’clock, we would get on our bikes and ride around town. I’m sure some of us imagined we were riding out trusty steed as we raced to see who would be the first to get to Central Park.

Swimming was just one of the many activities open to us. Quite often, we would find a ball and bat and walk to Alexander Park, which was located on Adolphus between Eighth and Ninth streets. The park was a marvelous place, there were always kids wanting to play ball. If that didn’t meet your fancy, you could swim in the wading pool, swing, or play on the teeter-totter. I’m sure a sociologist could explain the curious interaction among the kids. There was some interesting jostling for position on the playground equipment. The big kids always got the swings first and wouldn’t share until they were bored. In the winter, the club house was a haven for us; it was heated, and interestingly enough was segregated, the girls occupied the south end while the boys used the north. A city employee would flood the rink, with hose in hand; he would rhythmically move side to side ensuring the entire ice surface was covered. After a snowfall, it was never a problem finding volunteers to remove the snow. At night, the lights and music came on, reminds me of one those old fashioned Christmas cards.

In the summer, getting around town was easy, as I mentioned earlier, most of us had bicycles. Bikes gave us so much freedom. In the daylight hours, we would pedal our way to the Silver Bridge, located at the foot of Marborough Street, or, to the east end of the city way past the Courtauld’s plant. It was possible to bike ten or fifteen miles, and we never got tired.

After supper, we would congregate for a game of hide and seek. Strangely enough, even some of the bigger kids would join us. This wasn’t a game for the faint of heart; there were fences to jump, garage roofs to climb and dogs to outrun. Sometimes, this game would last two or three hours. I don’t remember anyone ever getting hurt.

On rainy days, we would gather at someone’s home for an all day game of monopoly. Since homes were smaller, most games were played at the kitchen table. It was a hub of activity, with so much going on. Most of the families in our neighbourhood were large; the Constantineau’s had about seventeen children, not to mention the three or four of us who were playing the game. I was amazed how everything worked out; there were kids in diapers being cared for by the older ones. While that was happening, someone was baking bread. We just sat there and salivated, not able to wait for the baking to be done. Fresh bread and homemade jam; life just didn’t much better.

I remember raspberry picking. It was a real community affair, with about fifteen of us, including for or five of the mothers. We must have made quite a sight, marching up Ninth Street, armed with pots and pans. There was an area just east of the Hotel Dieu hospital that had many raspberry bushes. In a very short period of time, our little group had our containers filled with delicious red and black raspberries; of course, half the fun was eating while we picked. It was exciting to think of the many different recipes where those berries could be used. To this day, one of my favorite desserts is raspberry pie with ice cream.

One summer, someone got the idea that we should build racing carts. It’s truly amazing what could be found in garages and basements. We found neat stuff like plywood, wheels and rope. It took us about two weeks, but, in that time we made three carts, nothing fancy, but, they worked. With someone pushing with a broken hockey stick, we pretended we were on some giant race course. We raced them down the hill on Ninth Street just west of Marlborough Street.

Once, when we got bored of our carts, we tried rolling large tires we had found. It was fun to see how far they would roll before falling over. Some of you might have guessed what happened next. Now, I don’t remember who came up with this brain wave, but, someone volunteered Moe to get inside the tire. Since Moe was one of the smaller boys, he fit inside the tire nicely. It wasn’t long before we were pushing the tire towards the hill on Ninth Street. Let me first state that we were not rocket scientists. We figured if we let the tire go, it would roll a few feet then fall over. That’s NOT WHAT HAPPENED! The tire rolled, but, suddenly it veered to the right, directly into the path of traffic, with a gaggle of kids in hot pursuit. One of us managed to tip the tire, and out came Moe, a little unsteady on his feet, but, none the worse for wear. Wouldn’t you know it; one of the neighbors witnessed our escapade, and by the time we got home for lunch, the news had already preceeded us. It wasn’t a pretty sight. There was my mother, fly swatter in hand, issuing strict orders to never do that again. I can honestly say that I never did THAT again, but, that wasn’t the last time I was lectured about my behavior.

Darren Bonaparte

wampunchronicles@hotmail.com
613-932-9452

Clive Marin and Frances Marin

Len Faurney