The obsidian for this carving was obtained from the enterprising rock merchant Asad on 118 Avenue, Edmonton, just before his retirement. The carving itself was completed on June 30, 2016 during extreme thunderstorms sweeping through the Edmonton River Valley. Ring House YEG-GA is dedicated to the individual agency, accomplishments and contributions of female librarians in Alberta, past, present and future, especially those who contribute to the goals of Truth and Reconciliation as well as the memory of the students and casualties of Residential Schools in Canada. Ring House YEG-GA was given to T.B. in recognition of the completion of a B.A., an M.A. in Spanish and Latin American Studies, in anticipation of her completion of her graduate work in Library and Information Studies at the University of Alberta, and to celebrate the birth of T.B.’s two children.

Family History

I am a Métis woman. My grandmother’s maiden name is Lepine, which is a well-known name in Canadian history and the Indigenous community. My ancestor was actually Ambroise Lepine who was Louis Riel’s cousin and right hand man. Riel played a vital role as the leader of the Métis people. He fought for Métis rights in two resistance movements: the Red River Rebellion and the North-West Rebellion. This resistance movement resulted in the formation of modern-day Manitoba.

During the Red River Rebellion, many Métis were beaten and raped on the streets of Winnipeg. This drove many of them to the outskirts. My family settled in Saint Ambroise, a small village located at the base of Lake Manitoba. Because of our close proximity to the Red River and our ancestral involvement in Canadian history, some people might argue that we are more Métis than others. The reason for this is directly because of the government’s view that Métis people must trace their lineage back to the Red River. As we know today, this is not always the case. Many Métis settled far beyond the Red River, and many new Métis groups are formed every day. Our ancestral lineage has never been a secret. At the mere mention of Riel or Lepine, extended family members will become excited and regale stories of the rebellion. Outside of that, however, our family history is filled with stories of trauma -- trauma that is seldom discussed. In fact, the topic is often skirted or dismissed with a sense of humour. Rarely, there is only a passing mention providing a glimpse into the pain and suffering that occurred with our family.

If I can generalize here, hiding one’s identity is a particular Métis trait. It is something that some of us are afforded because of the light tone of our skin. Unfortunately, because of this “hiding”, many of us in the later generations are left without knowledge of our history or culture, which is where I would place myself. Hiding is something I’ve also done with most of my life. Some of my friends that I’ve had since I was little didn’t know that I was Métis. We grew up in a white-washed environment, and my mom raised my sister and I to fit within the community so that we wouldn’t suffer the turmoil that she did as a child.

This “disconnect” with my actual heritage followed me for most of my life. It wasn’t until my first year in the Master of Library and Information Studies (MLIS) program that I openly declared myself as Métis. This was a cautious decision, since I was almost convinced to do so. I say convinced with a light heart here. I received an email from the University of Alberta Libraries that endeavored to persuade me to apply for the Indigenous Internship Program. The program would set me up with an Internship and also would pay for my tuition. I figured that if they needed to contact me, that I would likely be accepted into the program, so I went for it! I was eventually accepted as their first participant (or “guinea pig” as I like to say).

The Internship Program is one of many initiatives set in place as a response to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC). The TRC is a report that was created to reconcile with the Indigenous community and to acknowledge the trauma caused by the Indian Residential Schools. This trauma created a negative legacy for the Indigenous Peoples in Canada, which has spanned across generations. A substantial component of the TRC are the testimonials gathered from survivors of these schools. These stories exposed the physical, mental, and/or emotional abuse that was administered by these institutions.

The first year of the internship program was extremely revealing. Because of the historic trauma suffered by my family members, we have been taught at a very young age to conceal our identity. My mother, especially, was an expert at hiding in plain sight and this is largely because of the torment that she suffered in the past. To save us from turmoil, she moved us away from our roots and erased several cultural components from our lives. As a result, my sister and I grew up not really understanding or knowing exactly where we came from or who we are. Being immersed in a cultural program where I am faced with Indigenous topics forced me to confront my lack of identity and to start asking questions. This opened a dialogue with my mom that I never had before and what I learned from her was shocking.

The second year of the program, I was introduced to two more Indigenous Interns that were a part of the next cohort of students. An effort was made to open a dialogue between the three of us. Given my background, I have never really had an opportunity to discuss my identity crisis(es) with anyone who may be suffering from something similar. I was able to confide in them the many things that I have witnessed in the program: the good and the bad. With this in mind, these last two years have been an intensive learning experience, one found at the professional and personal level.

Learning About the Fur Trade

The fur trade is often where elementary schools begin the discussion of Canadian history. At least in my memory, the only thing that I remember learning from this era is about the European ‘big wigs’ John Cabot, Samuel de Champlain, and Henry Hudson. I believe we were even shown a documentary about Henry Hudson in Grade 5. I have absolutely no recollection of being taught anything about Indigenous culture or Métis culture (outside of the rebellion). I would like to hope that this is just me memory playing tricks on me, but the fact that I don’t remember anything is really telling -- we likely did not spend much time on the subject. Strangely, I have a strong memory of learning about Frankenstein and Pirates. So, the pecking order is abundantly clear! By the time I was in university, I was too frustrated to even consider studying Canadian history. The fact that I could avoid it altogether in a History degree worked well for me in this respect.

Most of what I know about Métis culture comes from my mom. Naturally, the way that I learned about my culture is through stories that were packed full of emotions. This makes it a lot easier for me to remember. Unfortunately, the factual representation of the fur trade in the course likely won’t stay with my memory as long. That being said, I often place a higher value on experiential knowledge, especially when it comes to Indigenous history -- I would rather take the story from someone who has lived through the history, which is why my mom is so connected to this project and my advocacy work.

Intergenerational Trauma

My grandma had five siblings. Of the six children, five received an education from Catholic nuns at Bernier school in Saint Ambroise. Originally, the school was run by The Sisters of St. Joseph from St. Hyacinth Quebec from 1948 to 1959. In 1969, it was petitioned by the people of the area to be taken over by the White Horse Plain Division. While the school itself is was not recognized as a Residential School, the children there suffered at the hands of the Sisters. My aunt was beaten within an inch of her life by these nuns and was never the same again. The same could be said about my other family members attending the school. My uncle, for example, was attacked by the school principal for not attending school regularly. This was routine education back then. The children could not afford to go to school because they were living in poverty, and they were afraid to go because of the hardships they experienced there.

For me, something that is often overlooked when discussing the TRC is the effects of trauma across the generations. More often than not, the “Indigenous problem” is diagnosed with a necessity for basic needs. In a recent public library meeting, one of the Library Assistants claimed that the Indigenous patrons were misbehaving because they didn’t have enough food or water. This was infuriating to me because it represents the lack of understanding and empathy towards the Indigenous Peoples who have suffered.

Experiencing trauma is not something that just affects the victim, it affects several generations afterwards. Both of my grandparents suffered as a result of Bernier School. This was then transferred to their children and my mom’s generation. My mom has two siblings: an older brother and a younger sister. I have heard several stories from family members about my grandma’s treatment of her children. My great aunt once told me that mom was playing outside and picked a small flower from their bleeding heart bush. She was around two or three years old at the time. Mom brought the flower to show Grandma how beautiful it was. My grandma was angry at Mom for picking the flower off of the bush and slapped her across the face. Mom had bruises for weeks. It was this type of abuse that tarnished my grandma and great-grandma’s relationship. My great-grandma did not agree with Grandma’s treatment of the kids and refused to speak with her for long periods of time.

Experiencing trauma is not something that just affects the victim, it affects several generations afterwards. Both of my grandparents suffered as a result of Bernier School. This was then transferred to their children and my mom’s generation. My mom has two siblings: an older brother and a younger sister. I have heard several stories from family members about my grandma’s treatment of her children. My great aunt once told me that mom was playing outside and picked a small flower from their bleeding heart bush. She was around two or three years old at the time. Mom brought the flower to show Grandma how beautiful it was. My grandma was angry at Mom for picking the flower off of the bush and slapped her across the face. Mom had bruises for weeks. It was this type of abuse that tarnished my grandma and great-grandma’s relationship. My great-grandma did not agree with Grandma’s treatment of the kids and refused to speak with her for long periods of time.

Being Métis is a unique, sometimes confusing experience: we are neither Indigenous nor European. Instead, we are a mixture of the two peoples. Unfortunately, children don’t often see it that way. My mom and her siblings started going to school at Bernier. At this point, it was no longer run by nuns, but by the school board. Most of the children going there were Indigenous and would torment the Métis children for being European. After a while, they were pulled out from the school and enrolled in a white school in Portage la Prairie, a nearby town. To arrive at school on time, the kids had to wake up at 4:00AM to start their chores and to take the 1.5 hour bus ride. Upon arrival, the white kids would them torment my family for being Indigenous. There was no winning. At least in the white school, they had far more opportunities. Among these ‘opportunities’ was the possibility to take speech therapy. Speaking Michif from a young age, my mom had a very thick, French accent. She went through therapy to get rid of it. Now, she speaks with an English accent, but oftentimes her “Frenchisms” will come up in a conversation.

While my grandma did not possess many traditional maternal qualities, she did understand survival. My mom says that my grandma “didn’t want her children to grow up and marry a Ducharme”, so she packed up the kids and moved to Winnipeg, the nearest city. That way, she reckoned, the children would be given their best chance of survival and happiness. Winnipeg is where I was born and I lived there until I was about four years old. I remember little things about my native heritage. I remember going out on the ATV. I remember my grandma and my mom in the basement making fishing nets by hand. For the most part, though, that part of my heritage is something that was purposefully forgotten and left behind.

This loss of cultural identity was further strained by my mom and Grandma’s relationship. When I was around thirteen years old, they had a huge falling out. It seemed to be a long time coming, but the reason why they stopped coming was largely because of me. Much like my mom, I was not treated equally in my grandma’s eyes. My sister was a golden child, which is appropriate because of her long blonde hair and blue eyes. I was labeled as a troublemaker, and, when visiting my grandparents, I spent most of the time in the corner. When I was older, all the children in our family received an inheritance of $500.00 when my Aunt passed away. The money for my sister and I was given to my grandma to disperse to us. She then sent us a cheque that we could cash later on. When I went to cash my cheque, it ended up bouncing. When my mom confronted my grandma about it, she said that she didn’t want me to have the money because I was going to spend it all on partying. That was the end of my relationship with my grandma.

It wasn’t until I was much older that we began talking to her again. My grandma was diagnosed with dementia and forgot that her and my mom had been fighting for years. So, she started wanting to talk with my mom again. Strangely enough, this disease made her forget a lot of things -- even us at times. Since her primary diagnosis, she has reverted back to a childlike state. It seems like a sad end to her story, but (at least according to my Mom), my grandma has always been a tortured soul. This is the happiest that she’s ever been, as if she’s been freed of her past and able to move on.

Linking myself to the concept of intergenerational trauma, I can definitely myself as a link in this chain. My mom raised us with the motto of “what would my mother do” and do the exact opposite. She created a warm, loving atmosphere for my sister and me. I have nothing but good memories of my childhood. What was missing was a connection to our heritage. My mom suffered a great deal from her parents, from people inside the community, and from people outside of the community. Because of this, our culture was hidden from us as a survival tactic -- to protect us from harm. Unfortunately, that left me without any knowledge of who I truly am.

Indigenous Peoples in the Library

When I think of social media and Indigenous initiatives, I always think of my mom. Since beginning this program, I have seen a real change in her. Before, she would rarely discuss her past. The only stories that she would mention were funny anecdotes about the shenanigans that she would get into. The internship has given us a platform to discuss her past. I have been asking questions and trying to piece things together with her. Equally, I think that she is starting to come to come to grips with her past and is beginning to introduce Métis culture into the family: we are now eating bannock at family gatherings; she has recently gone to my children’s daycare to do a presentation on Métis culture; and she is now wearing her Métis sash and getting them for her grandchildren. Lastly, she is using social media to tell her story. The fact that she is sharing this information over social media is a huge step in her healing process.

Outside of my mom, I have seen many trends within the university, the library, and the library school. From what I have experienced, I see it as a decolonization process. I specifically call it a process because it is far from perfect. There is still a long way to go. The reason I say this is because of the treatment that I have received over the last couple of years. Being Métis (and at times a quiet one), people often forget or don’t even realize that I am an Indigenous woman. Because of this, people often speak to me more candidly than they probably should. For example, in discussing my history in class, one of the students said to me “this is probably inappropriate, but [...] you don’t look native. You’re not brown.” I know that this is a question that was asked out of curiosity and general lack of knowing, so it’s an easier pill to swallow, but it still feels awful.

The same goes for the university and the library school. Since the TRC, both places are trying to reconcile and act in accordance with the Calls to Action. Because of this, the Indigenous students are feeling the negative side effects. I am still trying to grapple with this one in my head, but I can only describe it as tokenism. We are often treated differently from the other students. We are featured on the website. The academic staff makes a point to have individual meetings with us. They are going to rearrange the lounge to be more Indigenous. And countless other examples. This type of attention has put us in an awkward position with our classmates. I have heard many students (and students have said it directly to me) that the staff will only pay attention to you if you’re Indigenous. I have also heard students complaining about our Internship placements because it takes away jobs from them.

Students and libraries have also used the TRC to their advantage. Since the TRC is a ‘hot topic’ right now, there is a lot of funding and jobs available in this field. One student once said to me that they are studying Indigenous culture because they know that they can use it to get a job after their degree. Public libraries with Indigenous groups are also jumping on the bandwagon. One of my co-workers has a degree in native studies and requested to be a part of the library’s Indigenous team. She was turned away because the team only accepts full time employees; however, they would make an exception if she were Indigenous.

There are many more examples of tokenism (and racism) that I have experienced in my professional and academic life. Again, I know that most of these incidents are coming from an innocent place, but it’s tough not to feel “icky” at the end of the day. Ideally, I would love to be recognized by my own accomplishments. I want to feel and for others to feel that I am here because I deserve it, not because I’m the token Indigenous person.

The e-Geography of Canada Day
2:00PM, 1 July, 2016. 25°C

For Canada Day, we decided to go to Long Island Beach, which is about an hour and twenty minutes North of Edmonton. This decision was based upon a suggestion from a co-worker who also has little ones at home. It was a nice, relaxing afternoon in the sun. The highlight of the trip was burying my daughter in the sand and giving her a beautiful sand mermaid tail.

While the afternoon at the beach was amazing, getting there proved to be quite the challenge. Since we've never been there before, we decided to pop the location into Google Maps. The lady in the App would tell us where to go. No problem, right? Wrong. Following the App, we drove right past the beach and headed on a twenty minute detour. It was a large loop going everywhere around the beach, but not actually towards it. Before we realized this, we were (embarrassingly enough) about halfway through the detour. At this point we were too far gone to turn back so we had to continue along our course. When we finally arrived, we realized that they charged a five-dollar parking fee and none of us brought any cash. We only had credit cards. If not for the debit machine convenient store at the entrance we would have to go back to the city (and risk the loop again) to find an ATM. All things considered, I think we might be a little too dependent upon technology, a hard pill to swallow considering my plan to pursue a career in a tech-heavy field. Whatever the case, we know where the part is now. No more App for us!

Infant Memory and the Public Library Parachute
6:14PM, July 19, 2016. Highs and Lows: 27°C/15°C

Over the summer, I was scheduled to do the baby and toddler programming at the public library. With all the programs that we do, the one babies and small children have always been my favourite. It’s a nice reminder of why I actually wanted to become and librarian and go to library school. I was among the first of my friends to start having children. So, I often found myself sitting at home not really knowing what to do or who to turn to. That’s when I discovered “baby lap-time” classes at the public library. My daughter had so much fun in those classes and I learned so many songs and rhymes that it soon became a weekly ritual. It was something to look forward to every week. The library offered me the support that I needed, so I decided to give back to the community by becoming that person who inspired me in the first place.

It is funny because the toddler and baby programs are actually the least liked amongst the staff. While these are the most structured programs, every day is something different, especially with the toddlers. You never seem to know what they’re going to do -- or how you’re going to react! In this round of programming my most memorable class was with a little girl who was about three years old. We were nearing the end of the program, so I brought out the parachute. The parachute is my favourite part because the kids always go bananas when they see it. This particular girl was so excited that she stripped down to her diaper and started streaking in the program room. All the parents in the room banded together to chase this girl down to get her clothes back on. It only took a couple of minutes, but it was enough streaking to stay in my memories -- at least until the next time it happens!

Rock Memories Brexit Stage Left
6:58PM, July 24, 2016. Highs and Lows: 29°C/12°C

Today, I went to the Sting and Peter Gabriel concert. Last year, my cousin got married in Portage La Prairie in Manitoba. She asked me to be a bridesmaid, so I took on a lot of duties to help out with the wedding. Among these duties, me and my mom hand drew the numbers for all the guest tables (for about 300 people). We were happy to do it, but my cousin wanted to thank us by taking us out to the concert this year.

My Dad was originally supposed to join us, but had to stay home and work at the last minute. My cousin phoned to ask if I knew someone who would want to go, so I phoned my husband’s step dad, who is actually from London, England and a huge fan of the two singers. The concert itself was really fun and interesting because the ‘Brexit’ was still fresh in everyone’s mind. Sting and Peter Gabriel were quite vocal about their feelings towards the Brexit and how disappointed they were in how the vote went down. Sting specifically dedicated a very fitting song to the situation: “Message in a Bottle”. Peter Gabriel also took time to discuss the murder of British Labour M.P. Jo Cox, who was a personal friend of his and reminded us that “Love Can Heal”.

Generational Pursuits on the e-Go
10:14AM, Jul, 2016. Highs and Lows: 29°C/15°C

As anyone remotely aware of the Digital World is aware, the really big trend these days is Pokémon Go, the free-to-play App developed by Niantic for iOS and Android devices. For anyone not aware of this e-phenom, it’s a location-based augmented reality game that allows you to catch various Pokémon creatures in and around your neighborhood and catch wild Pokémon with your device.

I am a total sucker for this App. It actually brings me back to my childhood, when Pokémon first debuted in the 90s. Its e-history started out as a video game, evolved into a television show, and then “reverted” into an old-fashioned trading card past time. I never really played the video game, but I was really into the cards and the show. I remember walking to a convenience store to buy a pack of cards and how we would trade on the school playground during recess. It was kind of sad, actually. Everyone would sit around and play Pokémon, but I never knew actually how to play. I just collected them … and only the cute ones. Once, I bought a pack with a “Mewtwo” in it. For anyone who knows anything about Pokémon, this was a big deal. At the time, the card was worth around $100. Stupidly, I would trade it for a “Diglet” (which was a really common card).

Today, I really enjoy playing with my daughter and how times have changed. She gets really excited when there are the e-Pokémon to be found area. When she catches them, she screams, “I GOTCHA, I GOTCHA, I GOTCHA” over and over. It’s hilarious.

Family Memory Trappings
6:22PM, July 31, Highs and Lows: 19°C/12°C

There are only a few animals that hold personal meaning and provide me with a connection to my childhood. The fox is one of them. Strangely enough, it’s not because of children’s stories that I read or was told, but instead, when I think of foxes, I tend to think of their fur. My Métis family has a long tradition of fishing, hunting, and trapping. Trapping was one of the central vocations of my mom’s family. In some instances, they trapped because they were too poor to buy food. And frequently, they found themselves eating rabbit because that is what they caught that day. Aside from addressing basic food concerns, my Mom’s family earned a living selling the furs that they would get from their traps. My Great Grandpa sold muskrat, silver fox, fox, and beaver pelts. In fact, he owned a trap line that was on one of the first trails forged by the voyageurs. Today, it’s located in the area of Assiniboine Trail, Manitoba. Because of the location, Manitoba Hydro is trying to buy it out.

Thinking about the fur from my childhood, I remember my Mom always having a red fox fur in her bedroom. It’s a very special item in the household because it was from my Great Grandpa’s last run along the trap line. While all of the kids in the family were trained how to trap, it was my Mom who went out with Great Grandpa to check the traps. She also helped him stretch the fur. Whenever she talks about their relationship it is clear that it was something very special for her, so the fur is a symbol both of their special bond and central to our family's history.

Ring House Learning
6:22PM, August 3, 2016. Highs and Lows: 21°C/15°C

After I was admitted into the Master’s of Library and Information Studies program, I received a scholarship from the University of Alberta Libraries and an Internship with the University of Alberta Press. Since working a the Press, I’ve had my hand in a couple of projects, but most of my work has been directed towards organizing a conference called “The Writing Stick: Sharing Indigenous Stories”. The goal of the conference is to foster conversations about editing and publishing Indigenous stories. More specifically, it is meant to work out the “best practices” for collaboration with Indigenous creators, including the culturally appropriate ways of working together and to identify resources which will facilitate the larger goal of promoting Indigenous knowledge. The mandate of the larger project is to encourage all participants to consider traditional wisdom and original insight and to establish proper principles and ethical guidelines for publishing and editing materials by Indigenous writers.