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  • EPISODE 106 RACING DONW THE DON RIVER… TRAPpED UNDER THE THWARTS

    EPISODE  106   RACING  DOWN  THE DON RIVER…TRAPPED  UNDER THE THWARTS 


    alan skeoch
    august 2020

    Splashing through the Don River's momentary class 2 rapids. (Photo: Lake Ontario Waterkeeper)


    ” Suddenly upside down in foaming white water.?”  “What happened?”  That thought flashed through 
    my brain  “My head is bouncing off the river bottom rocks.”  Wiggling I made a
    sudden and sodden discovery, “I am trapped by he thwarts.”  Trapped by the thwarts.!!

    HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

    FLASHBACK

    The phone rang earlier.  “Mike here, Alan,  I have a great idea for a radio 
    program.  We can do it live…from a  canoe racing in white water down  the Don River.”

    “There is  no white water in the Don River.”

    “Once a year the Conservation Society opens  the dam upriver so  that canoeists
    can  race down the Don like it is the Frazer River canyon.  PADDLE  THE DON.
     The race is a money
    raiser for improving the Don River.   We can do  it.  Are you  interested?”

    “Sounds  exciting but I have one big problem.”

    “Problem?”

    “Yes, I fell off a  small cliff in France a week ago.  Bashed  myself up badly…cuts,
    bruises  and  a broken wrist.   Surgery.  Wrist is pinned together with long spikes.
    In a sling.   Bottom line is I  cannot paddle.”

    “No need to worry.  You will be wedged  under the thwarts. SAFE.  A friend  and  I will
    paddle while you record the trip  on tape.  CBC  mobile equipment.”

    The concept intrigued  me.  I had been doing nothing much while convalescing.
    The black bruises had turned  brown.  Stanless steel pins holding bones in place.
     The wrist was  in a  sling.  Truth be told,  I was bored.
    Marjorie was not too enthusiastic though.  “Just think a live radio program from
    white water on the normally lazy Don River.”

    So it was  a go.  About 600 people gathered at the launch  point high up the Don River
    below the dam.  Once the water was released  the lazy stream  turned  into a  raging
    hurricane.  And the canoes  began  to be launched…quickly to get the full value  of
    white water canoeing.  The field once full of canoes was soon emptied.

    Our turn came, “Get in fast, we’ll push you off,” said a person who seemed to be in charge.
    I wedged myself under the thwarts, pillow under bum.  Snug.  Mike got into the back.
    His friend to the front and before we could adjust we were pushed off into the foaming
    white water.  Mike would steer with the flat of his paddle.  At least I thought he would.

    “Mike, do you know how to use the J stroke…to steer?”

    So much noise…too much speed…not sure even a J stroke could rescue us.
    We failed to get control.  Immediately we began to spin… to cart wheel down
    the Don.  Horizontally. Best seen by a helicopter.  Dizzying to me… my thwart  was dead
    centre of the cart wheel.  We came around  a  sharp bend  and there before us was another
    canoe…green as I remember.  It was hung up on some rocks in the middle of the River. No
    sign of a crew.  Then again no bodies piled on shore.  

    As  we spun down the foaming flow there were other canoes in trouble.   Some beached.  Of  course
    veterans of white water were whizzing buy in complete control.  Not us.  We were doomed . Spinning
    Destined to pile up somewhere.  Hopefully on shore.  But that was not to be.  A huge roller
    hit us broadside.  Then hung up on a rock. Tipped the canoe.  Water rushed in and over we  went.

    Suddenly I was head  down in the  Don River.   I remember my head  bouncing on
    the bottom stones.   It happened  so fast I had no time for fear or action.  The canoe
    was still moving. Air trapped kept it afloat.  Sort of.  But I was looking through a haze
    of fast moving water.  Odd  sensation.  It may  surprise you to know that I was not afraid.  I had no fear
    of drowning as long as I could  get my body clear of the goddamn thwart.  Last man
    aboard.

    Underwater.  How long?  Not very long.  Suddenly a muscled arm grabbed me by the back
    of the neck  and hauled  me clear of the canoe and back to an oxygen supply.  it was Mike.
    A little embarrassed but relieved he had  not lost me.   My broken wrist was still in 
    a sling.  And in the other hand I held  my pocket camera.

    So all three of  us survived.  We even  waved as  other canoes  road  the white water
    southward towards the Keating channel.

    “What about the sound equipment…the recorder, microphones, cables..gear?”
    “Gone…who the hell knows where.”
    “We will have to figure out an explanation…that stuff cost CBC money.”

    “What do we do now?”
    “May as well continue…we held  onto the paddles…just need to pull the canoe
    ashore  and drain it.”
    “Are you up to finishing the trip, Alan?”
    “No choice.”
    “There is a portage a little way from here…mustn’t miss it or we’ll
    be caught in a patch of  rocks.”

    That portage point worried me but we pointed the canoe to the landing
    point.   Mike and his friend carried the canoe while I followed…shivering.

    The rest of the ride down to the catchpoint called the Keating Channel 
    was uneventful.  The white water calmed itself down.   Maybe this is  a good
    point for observations.    If we had our equipment the story would have
    been delivered something like this.

    THE LIVE RADIO BROADCAST THAT NEVER HAPPENED

    1)  Good morning listeners,  today we are going to ride down the
    white river rapids of the Don River.  PADDLE THE DON DAY. 
    Only one  day each year does
    the Don  River have enough water for canoe  racing.   Only  today
    May 3, 2015.   Why?  Because today  the Conservation people will
    open the upriver dam and  create a  sluiceway. 

     We are picking up
    speed.  Keeping the  canoe straight.  To do otherwise would be
    a disaster.  Exhilarating.  Smooth J stroking…heading where we want
    to go.  Missing the big rocks that appear now and then.  Some other are
    not so fortunate.  Beached.

    2) Whups, looks like one canoe are in trouble, we just passed
    a green fibreglass canoe that will never make the Keating channel.
    Seems to be hung up on a  rock…maybe pierced.  No sign of
    the owners.  No other debris.   No dead  bodies.



    3) Some veterans  of rapids are rocketing past us.  No fear of speed and deadfalls.
    Veterans of the river.  We are slower.  Being very careful.  What a grand day!

    4) We beached  at the portage site perfectly.  To fail  would  have been
    a disaster as  the Don River tumbles over a jumble of Ordovecian slabs.
    Broad patch of shallow  water.  No deep water.   Had we missed the portage we would have
    been smashed  up a  bit.

    5) We are now in the water of the lower Don River once again.  Much
    better…slower…restful.  Easy paddling.  Slight changes in the back paddle
    and we change direction.  Easy.   

    6)  We  are paddling the full 10.5 km through the heart of  Toronto.  Amazing
    wilderness only visible  by canoe on this day.

    7) Not really that pretty on close inspection.  There are 872 storm sewer outlets on the River.  Some hidden
    in greenery.  Others blatantly obvious.  Add to that the 30 sewer outfalls and  the Don does not
    seem  so pretty.  The water colour is brown now.  What makes the water so brown?   Smells a bit.
    Some say the Don River had  so much bundle fluid was that it would catch  fire in places.
    Overflow tanks fail more often than not.  When that happens  all kinds  of guck
    gets in the river.  We have been using the Don River as  a sewer for 150 years  and just
    now starting to clean it up.  The money raised  by this PADDLE THE DON experience
    will provide $100,000 to help clean the river.



    8) There are other living things watching us.  Rabbits, Herons, ducks, geese…

    many with young.   Must also be foxes  unless they have been usurped by the new top
    predators of the Don River…the coyotes.  Never saw any of them.  No doubt they saw us.

    9)  Pictures of the Don River Valley at any time of year are thrilling.  Nature at its best
    you might say .  But don’t say it too  loud.  Snow melts.  Heavy rains and meltwater flow
    where opposition is least.  In other words  into the Don River Valley…into the River.
    So many contaminants come with meltwater and spring rain.  Let me count some of
    them…cigarette butts, de-icing fluid some of  which spills  each time your windshield wiper
    tank is replenishedl,  dog shit left by those who care not, heavy metals that are not seen
    but will be deadly to fish stocks, soapsuds  by the tonne, and as  many or more tonnes of road salt.
    tire rubber, 
    It all heads for the river.  Turns the Lower Don into a  stinking mish mash of things that float and
    things that are water soluble.   Not nice.  But there is  hope.  Toronto is more aware of the need
    to clean the Don and  signs  for the future are not as dire as they seem right now.

    ETc. Etc.   THE RADIO BROADCAST THAT WAS NEVER MADE.

    BACK TO REALITY.

    Trash accumulating in the Keating Channel – the landing site for paddlers at the end of the course. (Photo: Lake Ontario Waterkeeper)
    The Keating Channel  catches  everything including the odd dead body.

    Not mentioned in my imaginary radio broadcast was the CBC  sound equipment that
    must be tumbling down the Don River with the white water.  Bouncing like my head
    did on the submerged rocks.

    Another thing not mentioned was the fact I was soaked to the skin.  Freezing cold
    by the time we  reached the Keating Channel.  We no longer talked to each other
    by then.  When we boarded the shuttle bus to take us  back to our cars, we were
    not talking at all.   Too embarrassed.  Too cold.  Too worried.

    Back at the launch site I waited shivering for Marjorie to pick me up.  Soaked to
    the skin.  Goose bumps.   Recovering from falling off  a cliff a few  weeks earlier
    and now recovering  from a near drowning.   Cats have nine lives.  How many
    do humans have?

    May 3, 2015 had  not been a good day.   

    Foolishly I thought the upside of the experience would make a good radio story.  I wrote
    and  submitted a  script.    And waited to hear when we would play the tape for all to hear.
    I have now waited five years or more.    Perhaps you can explain why.

    alan skeoch
    August 2020













  • EPISODE 105 LOOK WHAT HAPPENED WHEN MARJORIE ATE MILK WEED.

    EPISODE 105   WHAT HAPPENED  WHEN MARJORIE ATE MILK WEED


    alan skeoch
    august 2020


    A strange thing happened today.  I was  out in the back field
    binding flax when I found  a nice patch of milk weed which
    i also bound.

    Marjorie thought the milk weed was fresh salad greens
    so she ate it.

    Look what happened.

    Her next life she will turn into   Monarch  Butterfly.

    alan



    alan skeoch
    august 2020
  • EPISODE 104 “WE DO NOT NEED YOU ANYMORE.”

    EPISODE  104    WE DO NOT NEED YOU ANYMORE


    alan skeoch
    August 2020

    John Myers, a friend, has asked me  several times to
    tell him about my radio career …  with CBC radio.  I have not 
    answered because the  story is long with many twists  and
    turns.  You may  not want the full story because there is no
    high drama.  Maybe  I can tell the story in point form best.
    short form.

    1) At the Thompson auction sale near Kitchener, Ontario around 1980, I bid
    and  bought four threshing machines.  Beautiful things as big as
    five ton trucks.  Historic machines  doomed  to be burned by
    scrap dealers seeking  cast iron.  How could I explain this purchase
    to Marjorie?  She is  long suffering and  never crushes  my enthusiasm.
     What could I do with 4 huge dinosaurs  of  the
    harvest fields. ? 


    MY radio career began with this threshing machine …. believe it or not.

    I bought quite a few of them at auction sales…Was I insane?   No,  I managed
    to turn them into an 300 page M.A. thesis  at U. of T.  Three departments…history, engineering 
    and fine arts.  Loved it.  The engineering department shared my enthusiasm the most.
    Where did I keep them?  Gave the best to museums.  Others are still in the barn.

    2) The biggest was made in New Hamberg, Ontario about 1890.
    It was in great shape.   Wooden construction, wood  wheels, lavish
    folk art painting  done by professional stripers.  And  alligator for
    instance was added to accent the sharp teeth of the thresher when
    it tore grain sheaves to bits.

    3)  I donated the machine to Riverdale Farm,  a  kind of 
    salue to Ontario farm history located  in the heart of the
    City of Toronto.  To get the machine to its new barn I
    hired Gordon Hume and his flat bed  truck.  It was quits a sight
    rolling up Parliament Street.  Heart of the largest city in Canada.
    A  nostalgic farm! A  few years later Riverdale Farm
    gave it back to me.  Imagine that. The nerve!  So I regave the machine to
    Doon Pioneer village where it remains.

    4) As chance  would have it a  CBC radio producer was having
    a coffee break as  the thresher came by. Parliament Street studio.
     Or Perhaps  it was  noticed
    by the host of Radio Noon, then David Shatsky.  Someone followed
    the truck to the farm museum and asked “What is it?” “Who donated it?”
    So my name reached decision makers at CBC/

    5) “Would you drop by for an interview?”   I did and that interview
    went so well that I was asked  to be a regular radio journalist with
    a 5 to 10 minjute  slot each  Friday on Radio Noon.

    6) I must have done  about 100 shows.  My 5 minute special reached
    beyond Toronto.  Some covered Ontario.   Some were national. One 
    even reached an  Inuit village in the Northwest Territories.   He was being
    hounded by the local priest.  Scared.  Not much  I could do.
    I know the phone call makes not sense but it was memorable.

    CBC paid
    me eventually.  Around  $100 a show.  Not big.  The cost of parking
    took a big slice of the money.  Then the research and Union  dues took some as well.  I did
    not care.  It was a joy to do the programs.  I learned a lot about 
    communications.

    7)  On my third or fourth show, my produce, Doug Coupar spoke to me
    privately “Alan, your shows are terrific….”
    When someone says that to you be prepared for the follow up word which
    is ‘BUT’.    To repeat   “Alan, our shows are terrific BUT you must remember
    that the  radio audience attention span is  one minute at the most.  Get your
    big idea into that first few seconds  or you will have lost them.”  What
    grest advice.    Cut the bull shit…get to the point right away.  That advice
    changed  my whole approach to teaching.  For the better.  I began each
    lesson with a big question.  Often  a questions to which I did  not know the answer.
    Kids really got involved.  They often took over the discussion.
    (i.e. Why did  John A. Macdonald allow  Louis Riel to be executed?  Why?)

    8)  So I would race down to CBC on my lunch hours every Friday
    to trigger ideas in a public forum.  My personal ego trip some  must 
    have thought.  I loved it. Then race back to class.   On one of these trips I  was
    startled as I opened the truck door. A tall thin man in running shoes had
    jumped  on the back  bumper and then blocked my exit.  “I am going to
    fucking kill you,” he said. Made no sense.  I had not hit him.  What should
    I do.  I looked at my watch hand and said, “Sorry, I don’t have time for that
    …I am late for class.”  to which the deranged mind  said “OK!” and  wandered
    off.  Lakeshore Psychiatric  Hospital  had recently been closed.  I do  not
    have a watch.

    9) My tenure at CBC radio was quite long…maybe 3years or longer.
    That is an eternity for a radio host and also for radio journalists.
    One of the CBC personalities took me  aside  early in my career.
    He gave  me some great advice as well. “Alan, remember this…we
    all have a shelf life.”  WE ALL HAVE A SHELF LIFE.  Just like hamburger
    and  cheese.  Being an on air personality was not a lifetime job.  At some
    point a CBC exec that I would never meet would decide to change the
    format. Get rid of that Skeoch guy…we need a new direction.”

    10)  DAISY

    One of my best stories dealt with our grest dog Daisy.
    She died and I grieved her on the radio. One man phoned to say.
    “I had to put over on 401.  I was crying.”  The studio was  empty
    as I spoke because all involved got emotional.  As  did  I.

    10)  So one New Years Day, I phoned the CBC to outline my special
    program for the new  year.  I had a new  producer by then.
    He was a hatchet man  The conversation was short.
    “Just to let you know my plan for next week. I think…”
    The hatchet man cut in fast.
    “We do not need you any more.”

    That was it.  The kiss off.  The guillotine blade was falling.  My shelf life
    with CBC radio was over.  “Sorry, we  do not need you any more.”

    alan skeoch
    August 2020

    P>S>  Not quite over. I did  occasional programs  when they needed
    someone to cover a dead air space.  My second last program was such a shock
    to CBC decision  makers that they never let it go on air.  So when
    I tell you that story it will be fresh.  First time ever.  Next episode.
  • EPISODE 104 “WE DO NOT NEED YOU ANYMORE.”

    EPISODE  104    WE DO NOT NEED YOU ANYMORE


    alan skeoch
    August 2020

    John Myers, a friend, has asked me  several times to
    tell him about my radio career …  with CBC radio.  I have not 
    answered because the  story is long with many twists  and
    turns.  You may  not want the full story because there is no
    high drama.  Maybe  I can tell the story in point form best.
    short form.

    1) At the Thompson auction sale near Kitchener, Ontario around 1980, I bid
    and  bought four threshing machines.  Beautiful things as big as
    five ton trucks.  Historic machines  doomed  to be burned by
    scrap dealers seeking  cast iron.  How could I explain this purchase
    to Marjorie?  She is  long suffering and  never crushes  my enthusiasm.
     What could I do with 4 huge dinosaurs  of  the
    harvest fields. ? 


    MY radio career began with this threshing machine …. believe it or not.

    I bought quite a few of them at auction sales…Was I insane?   No,  I managed
    to turn them into an 300 page M.A. thesis  at U. of T.  Three departments…history, engineering 
    and fine arts.  Loved it.  The engineering department shared my enthusiasm the most.
    Where did I keep them?  Gave the best to museums.  Others are still in the barn.

    2) The biggest was made in New Hamberg, Ontario about 1890.
    It was in great shape.   Wooden construction, wood  wheels, lavish
    folk art painting  done by professional stripers.  And  alligator for
    instance was added to accent the sharp teeth of the thresher when
    it tore grain sheaves to bits.

    3)  I donated the machine to Riverdale Farm,  a  kind of 
    salue to Ontario farm history located  in the heart of the
    City of Toronto.  To get the machine to its new barn I
    hired Gordon Hume and his flat bed  truck.  It was quits a sight
    rolling up Parliament Street.  Heart of the largest city in Canada.
    A  nostalgic farm! A  few years later Riverdale Farm
    gave it back to me.  Imagine that. The nerve!  So I regave the machine to
    Doon Pioneer village where it remains.

    4) As chance  would have it a  CBC radio producer was having
    a coffee break as  the thresher came by. Parliament Street studio.
     Or Perhaps  it was  noticed
    by the host of Radio Noon, then David Shatsky.  Someone followed
    the truck to the farm museum and asked “What is it?” “Who donated it?”
    So my name reached decision makers at CBC/

    5) “Would you drop by for an interview?”   I did and that interview
    went so well that I was asked  to be a regular radio journalist with
    a 5 to 10 minjute  slot each  Friday on Radio Noon.

    6) I must have done  about 100 shows.  My 5 minute special reached
    beyond Toronto.  Some covered Ontario.   Some were national. One 
    even reached an  Inuit village in the Northwest Territories.   He was being
    hounded by the local priest.  Scared.  Not much  I could do.
    I know the phone call makes not sense but it was memorable.

    CBC paid
    me eventually.  Around  $100 a show.  Not big.  The cost of parking
    took a big slice of the money.  Then the research and Union  dues took some as well.  I did
    not care.  It was a joy to do the programs.  I learned a lot about 
    communications.

    7)  On my third or fourth show, my produce, Doug Coupar spoke to me
    privately “Alan, your shows are terrific….”
    When someone says that to you be prepared for the follow up word which
    is ‘BUT’.    To repeat   “Alan, our shows are terrific BUT you must remember
    that the  radio audience attention span is  one minute at the most.  Get your
    big idea into that first few seconds  or you will have lost them.”  What
    grest advice.    Cut the bull shit…get to the point right away.  That advice
    changed  my whole approach to teaching.  For the better.  I began each
    lesson with a big question.  Often  a questions to which I did  not know the answer.
    Kids really got involved.  They often took over the discussion.
    (i.e. Why did  John A. Macdonald allow  Louis Riel to be executed?  Why?)

    8)  So I would race down to CBC on my lunch hours every Friday
    to trigger ideas in a public forum.  My personal ego trip some  must 
    have thought.  I loved it. Then race back to class.   On one of these trips I  was
    startled as I opened the truck door. A tall thin man in running shoes had
    jumped  on the back  bumper and then blocked my exit.  “I am going to
    fucking kill you,” he said. Made no sense.  I had not hit him.  What should
    I do.  I looked at my watch hand and said, “Sorry, I don’t have time for that
    …I am late for class.”  to which the deranged mind  said “OK!” and  wandered
    off.  Lakeshore Psychiatric  Hospital  had recently been closed.  I do  not
    have a watch.

    9) My tenure at CBC radio was quite long…maybe 3years or longer.
    That is an eternity for a radio host and also for radio journalists.
    One of the CBC personalities took me  aside  early in my career.
    He gave  me some great advice as well. “Alan, remember this…we
    all have a shelf life.”  WE ALL HAVE A SHELF LIFE.  Just like hamburger
    and  cheese.  Being an on air personality was not a lifetime job.  At some
    point a CBC exec that I would never meet would decide to change the
    format. Get rid of that Skeoch guy…we need a new direction.”

    10)  DAISY

    One of my best stories dealt with our grest dog Daisy.
    She died and I grieved her on the radio. One man phoned to say.
    “I had to put over on 401.  I was crying.”  The studio was  empty
    as I spoke because all involved got emotional.  As  did  I.

    10)  So one New Years Day, I phoned the CBC to outline my special
    program for the new  year.  I had a new  producer by then.
    He was a hatchet man  The conversation was short.
    “Just to let you know my plan for next week. I think…”
    The hatchet man cut in fast.
    “We do not need you any more.”

    That was it.  The kiss off.  The guillotine blade was falling.  My shelf life
    with CBC radio was over.  “Sorry, we  do not need you any more.”

    alan skeoch
    August 2020

    P>S>  Not quite over. I did  occasional programs  when they needed
    someone to cover a dead air space.  My second last program was such a shock
    to CBC decision  makers that they never let it go on air.  So when
    I tell you that story it will be fresh.  First time ever.  Next episode.
  • EPISODE 103 MUSKRATS….PEST OR CREATORS OF OUR WORLD

    EPISODE  103    MUSKRATS…PESTS OR CREATORS  OF OUR WORLD


    alan skeoch
    August 2020






    IN THE BEGINNING THERE WAS  ONLY WATER…THE GODS LIVED ON TOP OF THE CLOUDS





    THERE were four to them cavorting in the swamp.  Young  kits.   Muskrat kits  that
    I had no idea were living and thriving in a hidden swamp  on our farm.  Only  made
    visible because I have been clearing  brush to get a better view  of the glorious
    little swamp.   Once they spotted me they arched their backs and dove down.  
    Muskrats can stay submerged for as long as17 minutes…longer than my patience
    it seems.  I waited and  waited.  Were they some kind of  mirage?   Not so, their
    home is likely under the submerged roots of some cedars and the four ran  home
    to their mommy.

    I was elated.  Our swamps, of  which we have four, seemed sort of  empty of late since
    the frog population has  been  immensely reduced and  even the leeches (bloodsuckers is
    a better word) have disappeared.   A  pair of Canada geese raise a  brood each year
    but once the little ones are big enough, they disappear somewhere.

    So  it was nice know the Muskrats have been thriving all the time.  But unseen.


    THE SWAMP…UNSEEN  FOR 20 YEARS…NOW VISIBLE…AND ALIVE.


    I  am partial to muskrats but the internet sure is  not.  The word ‘pest’ is used
    a lot.  Why?  Well they can punch holes  in dams but more serious is the presence
    of rabies and  other diseases.  Scary.  But the  presence of rabies  is  not
    exclusive to muskrats.  So do  not get your underwear in  a twist.  The internet
    goes  on to suggest poisons and  traps  to kill or capture the Muskrats. 

    Largely herbivorous, Muskrats like our human gardens.  They are nocturnal raiders
    whose presence can  be deduced by the tracks … four small feet about size of
    a cat and a long streak of the Muskrat tail in between.   That may account for the 
    anger some of us have towards muskrats.

    SOMETIMES we forget Woody…he waits knowing we will remember him


    Personally I think  these little beavers (related) are rather smart.  One late afternoon
    a few years ago we were driving home and had to turn around  to go  back to
    the farm.  Maybe  we forgot the dog, Woody.  That happens occasionally.  When
    we drove in the farm lane, there was an adult muskrat on the pathway.  He or she
    must have waited  all day for us to leave in order to get from one swamp to another…particularly
    to the hidden swamp.

    (I prefer the  term pond because it sounds  so  attractive.   But, that word,  implies  a wetland
    that has been changed into a place for goldfish.   The word swamp  is  better…allows  for
    wild things that are not controlled by human hands.)

    The muskrat stopped,  looked at us, and then turned around and disappeared into the
    mass of goldenrod that clothes  much of our open  swampland in summer.




    Why  love a  muskrat?

    A few years ago I wrote a  book on our indigenous people.  It was written with good  intentions
    …to highlight their depth of culture and the wrongs that have been committed.  The book was
    a failure.  Publisher went bankrupt the day  the book  came out.  And, worse, I was accused
    of appropriating indigenous voice.   True.  I had not considered there was a danger in my main
    protagonist using first person voice.  Writing exposes a writer to  criticism.  Painful always.

    Which gets me back to the muskrat.

    In  Mohawk legendary tradition the origin of our world is explored in a charming manner.
    Elements of this legend are also found in other First Nations explanations of how
    humans first appeared  on earth.   The Christian Adam and  Eve explanation is most
    common to Canadians.  Would that the Mohawk explanation was equally familiar.

    The legend comes down through the generations in spoken form. Thus  there
    are changes since storytellers  often like to make the story ‘better’.

    Yes, the muskrat will be featured.  Don’t get so anxious.

    This is my interpretation of the Mohawk legend of creation.  The basic elements conform
    to the tradition.   We are not dealing with something absolute.  Not Holy Writ you might say.

    “In the beginning, the planet was  covered in water.  There was no land…no earth. All
    water.  Above the earth was an envelope of clouds where the gods lived.  One day
    there was an opening in  these clouds and a  woman we call  Earth Mother peeked
    through the hole.  In order to get a better view,  she leaned  over too far and fell
    through the hole.  She was  tumbling head  over heals through the sky.   A loon noticed
    her and flew under her thereby cradling Earth Mother.  But the loon could  not hold her
    forever.  The loon called out to the creatures below, particularly to the big snapping
    turtle. “Can I let Earth Mother land on your back?”  The snapping turtle agreed and
    before long Earth Mother found herself  standing on the top of the great snapping turtle.
    Even though the turtle was  large it was not large enough to hold Earth Mother forever
    so the big snapper called all the water creatures together saying “we need some mud
    from the bottom below us.  If  we can get mud we can build a  home for earth mother
    on my back.  

    “So all the creatures  tried to get some mud…some earth.  The beaver dove down
    as deep as it could but never reached the bottom.  Died trying.  So the otter then
    tried but also died trying.  All  the water creatures tried and failed.  Then the big
    snapping turtle turned  to the little muskrat who had been ignored because it was
    so  small  and insignificant.  “Will you try?”  The muskrat agreed and dove down
    deep deep down.  It was down a long time.  Had  it drowned  like the others?

    “Then the little muskrat come to the surface.  Was ti dead or alive?  We do  not
    know but there clutched in a little paw was  a  handful of mud  from deep below
    the water.  When that handfull of mud was  spread on the great snapping turtles’
    back it suddenly began to expand  and expand…got larger and larger until the land
    we know of as our earth was  created.

    “All this happened because of the lowly little muskrat had an ability to live underwater’
    for a long time.  Without the muskrat none of us would be here.”

    NOTE:  Legends  of human origin are common to most cultures.  But the First Nation
    legends, particularly this one have some striking features.  The snapping turtle’s
    back, for instance,  fits the modern scientific of plate tectonics.  The crust of the
    earth is broken into huge plates that float snd clash. Below is a sea  of molten magma.
    To me, the Mohawk creation legend has  another feature.  All the  creatures of
    the world  helped Earth Mother survive.  Among the Mohawk the great Snapping
    Turtle is given much  credit…but most credit goes to the tiny Muskrat. There
    is a recognition that all the creatures have value.

    There are other features to this legend which I will not explore because my
    story is  about the muskrat but it is worth mentioning that Earth Mother was
    pregnant when she fell.  She  bore two sons.  One was a good son, the other
    was  a bad son. They fought. (as dud Cain and  Able in western legend)
    The good  son just barely squeaked victory
    but his victory is never secure.   Rings true to the Adam and Eve legend.  But
    foremost in the legend is the role of Earth Mother.  Among the Mohawk and other
    Iroquois women are given great prominence.  The Society of Matrons have been
    traditional leaders and decision makers.   It took a long time for British and 
    European ‘discoverers’ to understand that.

    Bottom Line…Our family will not be spreading poison  to kill the muskrats nor
    will be hiding leg hold  traps among the goldenrod.



    alan skeoch
    august 2020

    P.S.   Apologies if my interpretation of the Mohawk legend  of  creation differs
    from others.  Legends  come  from spoken traditions.  I am comforted  by the
    fact that our Mississauga First Nations…now living on land given to them by 
    the Mohawk people in the 19th century…that these people invited  me to speak
    at their historical conference a couple of years ago.  They were a most gracious
    and broad minded people.  We had a good  time.