law was her choice.
“Education is the new buffalo,” their grandmother would say. Raven can hear her grandmother uttering the phrase as clearly as if she was sitting in the car with her. It’s a saying her kohkum would often repeat, especially during high school when Raven toyed with the idea of dropping out. Her grandmother would remind her that before settlers arrived, everyone in the community had a role. Each held a purpose.
It’s why she taught the girls how to harvest the land, why she passed on traditional ways of thinking: like women forming the backbone of community and family, and the a matriarchal rite of including the perspective of women in major decisions. Kohkum would talk about how white-man ways shifted this notion and caused imbalance. “That is why you need to learn,” she’d remind Raven. “Don’t let other people decide your path. We need to take care of each other, our children and our communities.”
Raven decided pursuing a career in law would become her way of doing this, but it hasn’t been easy. Lately, she’s witnessed heartbreak and testimony about how families and communities are trying to cope with losing a daughter, granddaughter or other female relative. There are harsh stories about indifference. It still bothers her that an rcmp officer once commented that, “The problem with missing and murdered Indigenous women is drunk and angry Native men.” Raven swears she would have clawed him in the face if he hadn’t promptly left the premises in his police cruiser.
Raven is taking an active part in trying to change the status quo of indifference. She remembers the name of Helen Betty Osborne so often, and it breaks her heart. Helen was a Cree teenager who was found raped and murdered in northern Manitoba in the early seventies. Everyone in The Pas, Manitoba, knows the story. The community knew what happened but no one came forward for decades. Their silence condoned the murder and protected those who caused harm. Even sitting here, driving toward a much-needed visit with her sister, Raven feels uneasy remembering what happened to Helen. She sips back the last of her tea, frustrated that almost five decades later, not much has changed.
Raven is on a mission to help families and draft recommendations, suggesting ways to prompt authorities to reopen files, re-investigate and re-examine what changes need to be made to ensure the system protects Indigenous women. There have been too many stories about women going missing or being murdered, and a system that just seems to close the case file without seeing justice. More importantly, Raven is working towards something that will reawaken a collective consciousness. Our women are sacred. Those are Kohkum’s words, and they’ve become Raven’s purpose. It’s why she looks forward to revisiting the land in the valley. She needs to spend some time in a good place and wash away negative energy with the healing waters of Last Mountain Lake. Raven was taught that natural water heals, even if it’s just a puddle after a big rainfall.
Clusters of yarrow root come to mind. Kohkum used to pick them when the twins were teenagers. Kohkum would dry the root and grind it into powder to make a tea. With the careful instruction of her grandmother, Raven learned that the delicate wildflower holds the remedy to curing menstrual cramps, easing a woman’s Moon Time, reconnecting with the gifts of Mother Earth. Raven guesses that work stress is causing her pain and a heavy flow this month. She could use some yarrow now and will suggest that the sisters take a walk on the land to look for some. She hopes Wren remembers how to gather and prepare the root because Kohkum didn’t write any of this down on paper.
In the Scrapbooks of Memory
Food. Home-cooked and prepared with love. Always a part of the scene when the Strongeagle women get together. Raven loves the smoked turkey that her sister prepares. It reminds her of the dry meat Kohkum used to make.
“I stopped using a barbeque ages ago,” Wren explains while spooning some saskatoon berry pie onto a clay plate.
“Why don’t you barbeque anymore? Seems odd. It’s the closest thing to cooking over a fire, like our food when we were girls.”
“Honestly, I am scared of propane. I had a dream one night about an explosion. Haven’t used one since.” Wren retrieves a bowl of sweetened cream from the fridge. The twins have always enjoyed their saskatoon berries this way, regardless of whether they were baked, served from frozen, or served fresh.
“You and your dreams,” Raven giggles, taking the cloth napkin from her lap and attaching it like a bib, getting ready for dessert. “So, what’s the difference with a smoker? It runs on propane, too, doesn’t it?”
“Some do,” Wren says, “but ours is electric. Just makes me feel so much safer. Besides, it’s so easy. Turn it on, put in the meat and leave it. A few hours later, dinner is served.” She places the bowl of whipped cream in front of her sister who immediately scoops on several large spoonfuls, her pie starting to look like a baked Alaska.
“So, what’s up now, my lovely sis?” asks Raven.
“We put on our runners and hike up to the top of the hill so we can watch the sunset,” Wren replies. “I’ve done it hundreds of times since you moved, but it’s never the same without hearing your bad jokes.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll bring my Nikon.”
“Last one is a rotten egg,” Wren says, as the sisters lace up their runners and head out the door toward the prairie.
As they walk, Raven notices new invasive species of weeds lining the familiar pathway that snakes its way up the bluff to the top of a hill. She recognizes the common tansy, a brilliant yellow flower that looks pretty, but even cows avoid eating it, instinctually knowing it causes abortions during calving season. She notices an abundance of yellow star thistle, which is toxic to horses if eaten, and thick stands of purple loosestrife, which can overtake a natural habitat, choking out food and nesting areas for birds. Kind of like people do, Raven thinks. After sitting through talks with her clients this past week, Raven can’t help but think that the most dangerous of any invasive species is likely people. She’s still not relaxed from weeks of hearing tragic stories, but this visit is the exact medicine she needs.
“You know, Wren?” Raven begins. “The only thing that would make this moment even better would be if Kohkum was still with us. Bless her soul.”
The sisters talk about their grandmother’s guidance and how it has led them to where they are in life.
“She’d be proud for sure,” Wren agrees, and then laughs out loud at a childhood memory. “Remember when we were little, and Kohkum first taught us how to use the stove?”
“I remember like it was yesterday,” says Raven. “And even though we burned our first bannock, Kohkum ate it anyway, slathering it with jam and saying that the more we practise, the better we’ll become as bannock bakers.”
Giggling ensues as the girls remember wanting to be tv stars hosting their own cooking show with a focus on preparing picnic food from the tailgate of a truck. They would dress up in aprons and straw hats and pretend to talk into a camera, all the while preparing peanut butter and jam sandwiches with a side of homemade dill pickles. Their kohkum took a photo of them doing this one time. Wren makes a mental note to go through a box of old photos in her studio to see if she can find that picture.
The women reach their destination atop the hill, with a clear view of the lake and the land, just in time for sunset. During summer, the sunset is poetic, and the slow changing of light brings calm to both women. Raven announces there may be other changes coming in her life as well.
“I’m thinking that I might relocate back to Saskatchewan,” she says.
“Oh my god, that
