size and shape of raspberries. They’re redder in colour before they ripen, then turn a peachy hue. Bakeapples grow from a single stem a few inches from the ground.
Redberries are the last to mature. Newfoundlanders call this berry the partridgeberry. But to most Labradorians they’re simply known as redberries and are similar to cranberries, except smaller and tarter. They grow close to the ground, hugging rocks and spilling down cliffs. Once ripened in late summer and fall, they can still be gathered beneath the snow. Redberries are extremely hardy and freeze well.
These are the most common berries, but many others grow abundantly in Labrador such as raspberries, squashberries, red currants, and crackleberries. During my growing-up years, berries were an essential staple food for our people. They were invaluable to our health. Without an adequate supply of berries, people were prone to scurvy. It wasn’t unknown for people to die of scurvy in those days.
Fishermen clad in oilskins and hip rubbers tramped about the stages, now stilled from the swishing of splitting knives and the cracking bones of cods’ heads. It was time to gather fishnets and buoys, paddles and ropes, and store them for another winter. Schooners, heavily laden with the summer’s catch, hoisted sails in preparation to leave the sheltered coves, harbours, and bays for faraway places.
Shifting inside was a big undertaking. We Livyers moved from the rugged, wind-whipped fishing grounds each fall to more sheltered areas in the bays and coves for the winter. Whatever the success of the catch for the season, it was now time to prepare for winter. There was no government assistance available. The skipper took the money to cover his expenses first, and the rest of the men shared what was left. Each man was a share man, so whatever he ended up with after the squaring away was used to barter for the winter food supply. The barter system worked for the most part, but because the fishermen weren’t paid a fair price for fish, they were kept in the hole (in debt) from one season to the next.
I watched with pride as Daddy limped into the house, tossed his sou’wester onto the chair, washed his hands in the basin, and made his way to the table for a cup of tea. As Mommy placed the cup in front of him, he stroked her affectionately. They were tired and weary from preparing for the move inland to our winter home in Roaches Brook.
“Did we make anytin after de squarin way?” Mommy asked Daddy, looking concerned.
“Yeh. We got nough ta pay down fer de winter’s grub, but nuttin extra.”
“When’re we shiftin in de bay?”
Daddy sipped tea from his saucer. “Oh, p’raps de firs civil day now, Mammie. We mos done cleanin up, an when we get our grub from de store, we’re ready.”
My ears perked up when I heard the word store. I might get a candy.
“Can I go ta de store?” I dared to ask.
“Yeh, Jimmy, we’ll all go,” Daddy said.
“Go on outdoors, Josie,” Mommy said.
“But, Mommy, I gotta get me coppers!”
I was ecstatic as we chugged across the run, and when the boat pulled up at the wharf, I clambered ashore and ran to the store. The strong odour of rubber and rope filled the place. Hip rubbers hung from the overhead rafters, and there were fishing supplies such as jiggers and twine and cork floats. Oilskin clothing was piled on shelves around the room. As I approached the counter, I could smell something sweet — cookies, candy, or apples maybe.
Whatever money Daddy received as a share man through the summer went toward his tab from the past spring when he traded in his furs. After that was paid off, or at least paid down, he could then run it up again to get our winter food supply. Basic supplies were placed in boxes, and the cost was put on our bill. Flour, tea, sugar, molasses, margarine, onions, salt pork, salt beef, hard bread, yellow split peas, and navy beans were the extent of our store-bought food. Mommy gathered skeins of worsted to knit cuffs (mittens), caps, and scarves, and collected new flannelette to make underwear. Sadly, for us, there was no money for apples. However, we did get a few jellybeans. When I popped them into my mouth, I was in heaven.
As the day of the move approached, the men raced around in preparation. They helped one another haul out the motorboats and secure them for the winter. It was a big undertaking and involved most of the able-bodied men in our village of 25 families. The men had a method for getting the boats out. Several tree trunks were placed under the keels so they would roll easily. Finding the trunks was no small feat, since there wasn’t a single tree on the island. They’d been cut during the winter, limbed out, and stored away for safekeeping, much the way one would stow valuable treasure.
Several men lined up on each side to keep the boat upright, then a long rope was attached to the bow. Together they sang, “Haul on de bowline, haul boys, haul.” Slowly but surely, the heavy 30-foot boats were eased onto the shore. Once the boats were up and in place, timbers were nailed under the gunwales to keep them secure. Smaller boats and dories were turned upside down to protect them from the weather.
Most houses had a little shed called a store for stashing fishing gear. Each man sorted and put away his own gear, ready for the next year. After the boats were out of the water and the fishing gear was taken care of, everyone gathered for a celebration.
My family was known for their music and dance. At our house a dance could start up at a moment’s notice, and most of the village joined in. Homebrew appeared from secret hiding places as people started assembling in our home.
Daddy was an accordion player. Once he began playing, the weary fishermen, some in rubber boots, some in sealskin boots, others in duffle vamps (soft felt slippers), and a few in store-bought shoes, danced the night away. No wonder the knots stood up in our wooden floor! Shod in sealskin slippers, all the youngsters, including me, scuffled about in the corner, happy as could be.
The day after the celebration Daddy continued getting his supplies together for the winter’s work. His list consisted of different types of ropes, a new axe handle, saw blades, a sharpening stone, and ammunition. The list had to be carefully prepared because when winter set in there was nowhere to go. Since Daddy knit his trout nets during the winter, he also needed fishing twine. It was vital to make sure the dogs were fed well, so during the fishing season in the summer Daddy and Sam salted salmon, flatfish, cods’ heads, sculpin, and other by products of the fishery. They packed the salted fish in burlap bags and stored everything until moving day.
Our winter home of Roaches Brook was only 35 miles away, but the pounding sea was relentless and could keep us trapped on the island for days, sometimes weeks. Finally, the day we’d been waiting for arrived. The weather was civil enough to make the treacherous trip from Spotted Island to Roaches Brook. The distance might not seem very far, but we were at the mercy of the sea’s whims.
There was much excitement and a sense of urgency as Mommy and Daddy hustled about to complete last-minute preparations. Daddy finished boarding up the windows, and Sammy, Marcie, Sally, and I had to help carry everything to the boat waiting to be loaded at the stagehead.
“Is we ready yet, Daddy?” I asked.
“Awmost, Jimmy,” he said as he limped past me. “An stay outta de way.”
The motorboat was crammed to capacity as all our things were put onboard. Everything we needed, including the stove, was piled into the boat. I scrambled aboard and tried to find a comfortable
