Albert Dumont

I write to tell the poetry lovers of my friendship circle, how greatly you filled my heart with warmth and joy at the recent (Sunday, December 14) launching of my new poetry book ‘The Sound my Heart Makes‘. Close to 100 supporters were present. Energies of solidarity swam in gentle currents over and around all, in the room. Many hugs were exchanged and wide smiles were on every face I saw before me. My spirit danced, my heart soared!

I dedicated the time at the Great Hall, Christ Church Cathedral, where the launch occurred to my sister Anne who died at age 21 from kidney failure on December 4, 1979. Anne was perfect in the spiritual sense while she lived among us. She popped into my thoughts many times in the weeks before the launch. Migwech little sister for your love!

Dean of Christ Church Cathedral, Beth Bretzlaff, who OK’d the launch to take place in the Great Hall is first and foremost on my list of those to whom I say ‘Migwech, kichi migwech’! Beth and I are solid buddies. And what an awesome human being she is!

Among the people present (all of you are so precious) was Phil Jenkins, who worked with me to piece together the play ‘Bloodline’. The play is about how John A. Macdonald’s ‘Indian Act’ spiritually and emotionally impacted my dad, his dad and my life while living under the severe oppression it dished out on us for so long. Phil is a highly respected writer and playwright, living in unceded, never surrendered Anishinabe Algonquin territory.

Andrea Rowe was there as well. Andrea who was with the TaDa! Festival at the time, first brought Bloodline to the public at La Fab in Chelsea, QC on May 26, 2022. I consider her a very dear friend since then.

My close friends, with whom I am only one of a ‘Team’ (Harmony Circle for Palestine with Albert) helped out, offering skills specially generated by them, to assure success for the book launch. They include: Sylvia Smith (Project of Heart), Lindsey Barr (World Changing Kids), Evneeki Roufail (Professor at Algonquin College) and Nadia Abu-Zahra (Professor at uOttawa). Lisa Howell (Professor at uOttawa) was unable to make the launch because of being stricken with the flu.

Randy Boswell, another good friend and Professor at Carleton University was in the audience. Migwech man!

Margaret Embleton (Mamawi Together) was also helping out in a big way.

A new friend, Dr. Yipeng Ge was there (what an honour). Yipeng is a hero to many (me among them). Rarely have I come across a person who is as dedicated to human rights to the degree Yipeng is. With human rights activists such Yipeng in it, the true definition of what is ‘humanity’ has a chance of living in the future!

John Howard Society had representatives there. Migwech Jan Goatcher for taking the time to support me.

I began the evening with this: “My poetry is not refined, it is not polished, it does not sing, so I have been told. It is so because I am not a refined and polished human being. My poetry might not hum or whistle but it is written from my heart. And my heart makes a sound, a sound heard in my poetry.”

Family members were there, to listen and learn, to offer their love and support for me, their brother, their dad, their grandfather, their great-grandfather and cousin. Yup, even Princess Isla was in the audience. Baby energies, it is the purest energy of all living things on Mother Earth. When I asked for comments after reading some of my poems, Isla let out a delightful chant! And then her mom, my granddaughter Kyrstin, read a poem she wrote to close the evening. What a nice way to end a beautiful gathering!

I want to acknowledge and say migwech to CBC for arranging an interview, done by one of their many highly skilled reporters, Giacomo Panico. The interview was aired on Saturday and some people in attendance told me they came because of what they heard during the ‘In Town and Out’ show on Saturday. Long live the CBC!

A special thanks to Evelyn Huer, the owner of the Mother Tongue Books on Bank Street (closed in 2012). Evelyn was the first big supporter of my poetry style. Her and I have been steadfast friends ever since. 

Michael Ferguson needs to be mentioned as well. Mike worked for the City’s Ottawa Public Health department and contracted me to write ‘Grandpa’s Wisdom’, a children’s story teaching about the West Nile Virus and Lyme Disease. He is a good buddy!

June Girvan was sitting close to the front row. June is a longtime activist and a woman I consider a dear friend. She believes in the healing power one can access in our traditional circles. What a good friend you are, June!

Last but not least I want to acknowledge Chris White, the co-founder of the Ottawa Folk Festival at Britannia Beach, now with CKCU. Chris is a friend and co-host of his show at CKCU. Christophe Elie was at the launch, too. Christophe is a great activist (as is Chris White). He writes and sings songs of protest. Both these guys are musicians and songwriters and are so important in my life.

There are many more I can mention. All of you have a place in my heart. I will keep you there always.

If any of you want to purchase a book, it is available on my website http://albertdumont.com/books/the-sound-my-heart-makes/ 
and at the following stores:
Perfect Books, 258A Elgin St., Ottawa. Tel. 613-231-6468
Singing Pebble Books, 206 Main St., Ottawa. Tel. 613-230-9165
Khewa, 737 Riverside, Wakefield, QC. Tel. 819-459-2112
Hawks Trading Post, 276 Kichi Mikan, Kitigan Zibi. Tel. 819-441-1673

Be well, dear friends, and see you soon.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

Home, it is a place where I am at peace and feel safe in mind, body and spirit, much the same way as I do when I stand in ceremony, in the sacredness of my forest prayer circle. The energy of my home is calm, it is inviting and welcoming to those who enter it with hearts filled with much kindness. My home has never experienced even a hint of violence in the years I have been here. When my grandchildren visit, only goodness in its purest form, comes to life within the walls of that place I call ‘home’. It is brought there by an energy created by children who only ever knew love in their lives. My future generations leave behind them in my home, echoes of ancient drum songs, floating in great layers throughout each and every room they laughed and played in.

When I cook in my home, my mind travels to the memories of past cooks of my bloodline. My mom and her mom were so appreciated by family for the abilities they had as bakers and cooks in bringing perfection to the meals they placed before us at feasting times. My dad was a good cook, too. I feel these relatives by my side, when I cook for a family get-together.

In the familiar and peaceful surroundings of my home, I often sleep a good and restful sleep only a happy heart can possibly hope to enjoy. Proper rest is so very important! I am a man who lives with chronic pain day in and day out but at home, the pain magically subsides and I find I can relax and enjoy an evening with visiting family or friends. It is the medicine of a happy home which make it possible.

Home, a sanctuary, a place where love lives strong, a place where the songs of my ancestors echo in the vibration of my drum. The drum is so spiritually special to me and has a place of honour in my home. All things of my sacred bundle are kept safe and secure in that space I call ‘home’. My home is a dwelling where the spiritual scents of sage and sweetgrass often fill a room.

I am inspired in my home to write poetry, to meditate, to pray, to recall the wonders of those people known as the Anishinabe Algonquins. The counsels and spiritual directives I offer to grandchildren and dear friends are more profound and powerful when shared in my home. It is so, because of the fact that my home sits in the heart of the never surrendered, never ceded territory of the Algonquin Nation, which in turn sits in the heart of Turtle Island. In my home I welcome energies of birds, trees, flowers and of nearby waterways.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

Going to my cabin on Bitobi Lake recently (Nov. 3), I was surprised to see a snapping turtle slowly, and I mean very slowly, making his/her way across the track road. I got a nice pic of it. I was thinking, “Gee, why isn’t this guy all curled up in a nice winter bed at this time of year?”

I’ve had WW I and WW II veterans in my thoughts and meditations a lot lately.

When we think about snapping turtles and their shells, the purpose and role of our military personnel come to mind for me. Like the shell protects the turtle, our military personnel are on alert 24/7 to stand in front of us as a mighty shield, dedicated to keep us out of harm’s way. Before pain can be inflicted upon us, the shield would need to be shattered. Something not easily done. Our military is the best of the best! Our veterans who experienced the horrors of combat in those dreadful world war years, are especially deserving of our praise and honour. Those of us who fail to recognize what our military did for Canada during WW I and WW II, are not what I would describe as an honourable citizen of this country, nor would I want such a person as a neighbour.

Over the course of my life, I’m 75 years young now and in the winter of my time, I have met many people who, in one way or another, had a life-altering effect on me, some good, some bad. Such is the case for all of us, I’m sure! WW I and WW II veterans sowed, through the interactions I had with them, the seeds of the human rights activism I have embraced and have been heavily involved since April 1988. When in the springtime of my life, I saw First World War veterans walking on the street. Some of them still impacted mentally with what doctors diagnosed as ‘shell shock’. I remember them as gentle old guys who didn’t have much to say. There was one WW I veteran who returned from frontline fighting in Europe mentally intact, but lived the rest of his life with a left arm rendered useless from a war wound. The old veteran went about his business whistling a merry tune. He had great respect for my parents and always made himself and his car available to drive my dad and mom to Aylmer for shopping or the running of other errands. I hold memories of him in high regard. I also recall standing on the sidewalk as a boy, watching the veterans of WW II march by on November 11^th. How solemn their faces were, how proud their stride! I was so impressed with the accuracy they followed the marching commands of their sergeant. I must say that the sight of these old warriors conjured up images of frontline fighting in the mind of a 10 year old boy. The memories of those parades are still vivid in my mind today. I shall never forget them.

In the early summer of my life, I met a Second World War veteran who had been on the frontlines during the France and Germany campaigns. He had witnessed death in great numbers, those of the enemy and also those of his comrades. He showed me a dagger once, taken he said, from the lifeless body of a German officer. The veteran I speak about lived alone in a small shack, he was an alcoholic. Though the war had left him angry and bitter, he still chuckled when recalling ‘battlefield humour’. Other than that, he seldom laughed, his smiles were rare. The veteran loved the visits of young men. To sit with men in their teens or early 20’s in conversation, while drinking beer after beer, was delightful for him. My guess is that such times reminded him of the few happy memories he had of the war, taking a break from combat, getting drunk and singing songs from back home.

In the autumn of my life I met WW II navy veteran, Fred Berthelet. Fred served on auxiliary vessels, armed yachts and battleships from 1939 right up to the war’s end. Fred spent the last 6 months of the war in a hospital after his ship was torpedoed by an enemy sub. Fred always had a glint in his eye, the sharpness of his wit was beyond compare. He kept bushels of outlandish jokes on the ready that left me laughing out loud every time I saw him. Fred and his wife Thelma invited me to the Navy Officer’s Mess numerous times where we feasted on ‘fish & chips’. What an awesome couple they were!

I recall Fred telling me how it broke his heart knowing that navy warriors who died on the high seas did not have a marker, a cross, a visitor to a war cemetery can go and stand beside, to touch and reflect. Fred’s words brought out the poet in me and I wrote the poem ‘There is no Headstone or Cross for Him’. See it here:

There is no Headstone or Cross for Him
by Albert Dumont ©

That brave defender
Whose grave is the vast ocean water
There is no headstone or cross for him

But silent prayer and spoken words of remembrance
Still gather to fill the winds
And enter
Even to where his bones yet lay

While on high a bird soars
Singing a song of democracy
And cirrus clouds lift up
The pure heart of freedom
On this solemn autumn day

And we
Strong of will and noble vision
Stand proud at his graveside
For the ocean shore is long
And with united voice we vow
To guard ever vigilantly
Those passions he left behind
That brave defender
Whose grave is the vast ocean water
Though there is no headstone
Or cross for him

I also wrote the poem ‘Shimaganish’. It tells of a First Nations soldier who dies on the battlefields of Europe. Shimaganish had no rights in Canada. The ‘Indian Act’ of John A. Macdonald denied him even the very basic of human rights, yet there he was fighting and then dying for the freedom of others. Keep in mind, readers, that there were many First Nation communities where all able-bodied men living there ‘volunteered’ to serve during the Great War and the Second World War. See the poem ‘Shimaganish’ here:

SHIMAGANISH
(Defender)
Albert Dumont©
Dedicated to our brave Native soldiers who fell in the wars
1914-1918 and 1939-1945

Shimaganish
The vision conjured by authority
That his concerns were yours
Provoked in you a battle cry
To be heard only on foreign shores
But his enemy never broke your treaty
Nor did he crush your season’s lore
His enemy did not disease you
Nor your language, did he deplore

Shimaganish
Still, you marched into civilization’s madness
Only to be felled on a dreary dawn
And when your soul whispered, “You are dying”
Your heart overfilled with song
Then your thoughts travelled to the reservation
On the land where you were born
And you offered God a prayer of forgiveness
For all who showed you scorn

Shimaganish
A song awakened memories at the instant of your death
And the lullaby of Kòkomis
Brought you peaceful rest
Through wounded winds you flew
From the lifeless eyes of madness
To calm your mother’s aching heart, you knew
Would be filled with mournful sadness

Shimaganish
Your hair never aged to gray
And when your spirit watched
Your young heart buried, in a land far, far away
You heard God call upon your ancestors
To gather and to pray
So your heart might give its valour
To a relative born, on a future day

(Kòkomis is grandmother)

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

Today, I am grateful for all that my Algonquin ancestors did, through the power of their ceremonies, to generate health and wellness for ‘All our Relations’, the trees, birds, animals, fish and all things present, allowing human beings to live well.

Because of the care, respect and honour the original people had for the land long ago, the winds were free of poisons, the waters were pristine, free of pollution. They had no worry of animals and birds becoming extinct. My spirit soars like a raven, knowing how the Algonquins loved the land as they loved themselves.

This blog speaks about the hatred, many Canadians have for the Indigenous Peoples of this land.

Hate! I wonder if it existed on this land before contact with Europeans occurred.

I know with full certainty that I have never ‘hated’ anyone in my life. To me, hate makes no sense. It is destructive. It is ugly and against the teachings of the human heart. There is no spiritual payoff to hate (yeah, only a negative one). I can say this, for those who believe in a place known as ‘Hell’, where bad people go: “Carrying hate in your heart for the less fortunate than yourself, will get you a one way ticket to a hot place by Lucifer’s side.” If you don’t believe me, check out your ‘holy book’. If it doesn’t tell you that hate is wrong and to oppress other human beings is truly sinful, then there is nothing ‘holy’ or useful about the scriptures in the book you believe is empowered to save your soul.

Hate mongers! Since the beginning of this country’s birth, there have been people who prefer to fill their hearts with ‘hate’ instead of bringing in the warmth kind deeds can carry into it. It seems to me that it fills the hate mongers’ poisoned little hearts with joy and gladness, when the human rights of impoverished minorities are crushed under the thumb of hate. What a spiritually pitiful lot, hate mongers are!

Lowell Green, Maxine Bernier, Ezra Levant are fine examples of what a hate monger is. Even on Orange Shirt Day, some of them rail against the Indigenous people of this resource-rich country as if it was Europeans who brought the tremendous wealth of this country with them when they immigrated here long ago or perhaps, not all that long ago. The truth! The early settlers were poor as the proverbial ‘church mouse’ when they landed on our shores. The newcomers didn’t bring any respect for the Indigenous Peoples of this land when they arrived here nor did they bring wealth with them. They came to this country to acquire wealth. And they did so, in spades!

In timber alone, trillions upon trillions of dollars were made by the lumber companies of today and by the ‘lumber barons’ of long ago times. Oak, basswood, black walnut, were shipped from here to the four corners of the world. If the Algonquins had received even a 25% cut (pardon the pun) of the monies made, we (Algonquins) would all be living in the finest mansions standing in Rockcliffe Park. In Algonquin territory we have gold mines, copper mines, silver mines, mica mines, iron ore, mighty rivers (hydro), real estate and awesome pasture and farmland. If the Algonquins had received their rightful share of the dollars made from these resources, we would be driving the most expensive cars and have butlers and maids tending to the chores in our mansions. Mean-spirited oppressors created the Indian Act and with it forced us onto reserves to get us out of the way, so the raping and pillaging of the resources on our land could begin in earnest.

Green and the others never mention the fact that Canada’s Parliament Buildings stand on stolen land. To this day, the land claim has yet to be settled. Algonquin lands have never been surrendered or sold, not to settlers, not to the AOO (Algonquins of Ontario), nor to any other First Nations! When will these narrow-minded, cold-hearted, spiritless hate mongers like Bernier, finally start showing some respect for the Indigenous Peoples, instead of promoting hatred against them?

As much as I dislike Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu, I could never promote hatred against them (they’re pretty good at doing that themselves) or anyone else for that matter. I’m just not capable of it. There’s no doubt in my mind that this country has within its perimeters, the best of the best of all things of this planet. Goodness me, you would think that people who came here from all corners of this planet, would have at least a little bit of appreciation for the original people. It’s just the right thing and honourable thing to do, isn’t it?

Something hate mongers never think about is if the shoe had been on the other foot, in regards to Canada’s history and it was the Algonquins who were out-of-control aggressors who violated the human rights of ‘white’ people by creating and passing into law an ‘Act’, which took away your right to vote, your right to assemble, seized your children to force the Algonquin language on them in far away locations, outlawed your Christian spiritual beliefs and YOU were forced by law, to get my (Algonquin) permission before you could leave your home to work (the Indian Act Pass System) at a site away from the ‘reserve’ where Algonquins placed you. There is no doubt in my mind that you wouldn’t put up with it for very long before the guns would come out. A bloody uprising would occur in the hopes that an end to the oppressive misery you were living under, might occur. And if you were able to free yourself of oppression through violence and bloodshed, YOU would not be called ‘terrorist’ for your rebellion but praised and celebrated as ‘freedom fighter’. Not so if the Algonquins had fought with guns for their freedom. They would have been called ‘terrorists’.

What I describe is the Indian Act. It is what Ernest Dumont (my dad) and his father before him endured. They never entertained the thought (that I know of) of taking up arms in protest against the Indian Act.

It would not have been so with me. I would not have tolerated it as it was till the early 1950’s for my parents and theirs before them. Let us all condemn oppression and demand that hate mongers be silenced. The world would be a better place because of it.

Still it must be said that I have no hatred in my heart for the hate mongers like Green, Levant and Bernier. They will answer spiritually, for the attempt they make to bring oppression and ill feelings down on the Algonquin people, and I am at peace with that. Though the iron ball of oppression and the chain of hate, has weighted us down for close to 200 years, the strong will and proud spirit of the Algonquins has remained pure and unblemished.

I have no doubt in my mind that if not for the severe oppression experienced by the Indigenous Peoples because of the cruelty of the ‘Indian Act’, we (Algonquins) would have had access to the best schools, the best universities and colleges. We would have become the most fair, the most compassionate, the most wise of prime ministers, premiers, mayors and other political leaders. We would have become surgeons, airline pilots, authors, poets and so on. The Indian Act didn’t allow it to happen, yet we, Algonquins do not ‘hate’ Canadians for what Canada did to us in the way of oppression. And that’s because to us, ‘hate’ makes no sense!

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

I protest all genocides! I stand against the oppression of innocent people wherever they are on this planet. The poem ‘Humanity’ declares how I feel about what is happening now to the people of Palestine.

Humanity

Humanity, what remains of it
Climbs a rugged hill
The trail, in need of repair
Leading to a distant light
Flickering in a violent wind

A flame, Creator knows
When extinguished
Will tell us the human heart
No longer has purpose
As an organ capable
Of producing what defines unconditional ‘love’
For all oppressed peoples of the world
Becoming only a muscle, serving to keep
A soul-less, hateful creature, alive
On sacred Mother Earth

The human heart, sinks
To see that the darkest hours
Of the night
Have descended onto the broken pathway
And humanity, wails
To see the blood
Of the innocent Palestinians
Continuing to spill
Hour after hour, day after day

Oh, I believe
If I could take my heart
And send it on eagle wings
Into war-torn Gaza
To be held there
By wounded people
They would know
Through its warmth and energy
How much I care
And the flame
In the fire of humanity
Would burn at least
A small bit brighter
Even against increasingly violent storms
And give hope
To the forgotten people of Palestine

Our hearts sink
When we look around us
And see our neighbours, acquaintances
Turning away from the sight
Of the starving babies of Palestine
I see in the Palestinians
What is the best of me
Not just in their children
But in their journalists, doctors
And everyday people
The ones who died
Because of the savagery of the IDF
The ones still living
Oh, I shelter them into
The safety of my human heart

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

Proper remembrance of our ancestors is very important to me. So important to me that in fact, I acknowledge them each and every day upon awakening. It is something I have been dedicated to doing each dawn, for many years now.

As I have done before, I went to Baskatong northeast of Kitigan Zibi, to sit for a while in the shade of an old pine tree in the cemetery where Algonquins are interred. The graves are old, going back to the 1800’s. I go there to show my respect and to offer tobacco, water, berries and prayers to them. “Kiságiyán” (I love you) I say, while sitting on a carpet of pine needles. All Algonquins buried there were honourable people, of this I have no doubt. I honour them with words describing how I feel about the Algonquin blood flowing strong in the vessels of my heart. Though their last heartbeat was received into the spirit land many generations ago, their healing energies linger still, in this place where today, their bones decay.

I often ask our young people this question: Do I want my future generations to forget about me just because I’ve been dead for a hundred years? No, I don’t! To me, honouring our ancestors is something natural, expected and spiritually enriching to do. It is something which makes me feel good deep inside my soul. In this territory, there is the best of all things. The best fish, birds, animals, trees, flowers, lakes, rivers and yes, the best of the best of all human beings were born and lived out their lives here. I am not being boastful, I am stating what is to me, an indisputable fact!

Today while sitting in the cemetery, I heard the gentle rattle of the poplar trees, standing aplenty outside the fence which marks the perimeter of the graveyard. The spirit rejoices when the poplars sing. I marvelled at the magnificence of the red pine trees, spread here and there in the burial ground. A sole white pine stands tall in the graveyard and I delighted in taking shelter from the heat in the shadow of its branches. On the floor of the cemetery, I saw in abundance, wintergreen leaves. What a great addition they are to forest medicine tea. To me their presence there is telling me I should consume more of them than I already do. My health will benefit from doing so.

It is good to sit in an old burial ground such as this and ponder the greatness of your Nation. The poet in me imagines their last wish of these ancestors for them, the seventh generation. How true and sincere their prayer for their wellness must have been! In the lullaby of the nearby poplars I hear our ancestors speaking from their deathbeds, “Be good, be kind, be true to your bloodline. Never back down. Never give up.” Yes, this I’m sure was the final request they made of us before departing their never surrendered lands.

Not many of the grave markers are still standing. The snow of past winters, the heavy rain of spring seasons have taken a toll. Soon, only the stone and metal markers will remain, declaring that a body who was dearly loved while living the life of a human being lies below the sod. I will recommend that the grade 11 students at our school go to the burial ground, to sit and meditate and then write a poem about how they feel about them, our ancestors.

Before leaving the site a bird appeared, a blue jay! She went from branch to branch of a red pine tree. Then another bird, a robin alighted on the branch of the white pine tree over my head. Both were welcome visitors. Both birds are to me, messengers! I have no doubt that these birds were spirits. They came to say “Migwech for your visit today.”

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

Of all creatures moving about on the land, I see that none are closer to the earth than snakes! They do not stomp, walk or shuffle when going from one location to another. Snakes gently caress the land. They slither silently when travelling in and around gardens, searching for prey.

Snakes in Algonquin territory are harmless to human beings. Snakes – lots of Indigenous folks respect them as great messengers! I don’t fear them now but years ago they terrified me. At the sight of a snake on a forest trail or seeing one or two … ugh, crawling along a wall of a shed, my entire chest would tighten up. I felt panic, my heart pounded and I moved quickly away from where the snake lay. I didn’t want anything to do with them. Then one day, only months after my sobriety began, I was in Gatineau Park (Algonquin territory) at a site I had adopted as a healing place I could go to, assisting in keeping me strong in my vow to never allow alcohol to pass my lips again.

It was 5 o’clock in the morning. I had marked out my circle with sacred tobacco and was about to begin my prayers. Somehow, I felt that ‘eyes’ were watching me. “An early morning hiker,” I thought. I searched the landscape, hoping to see who it was. I saw no one and continued with my ceremony. Still, I felt certain that eyes were watching. I looked again to find who was there, this time searching closer to where I stood. I saw her then, a large garter snake. She was in my circle, resting on the root of a cedar tree. And because of it, for the first time in my life, I was not afraid.

“You have never hurt me,” I said to the snake. “You have never bitten me nor wrapped yourself around my neck to choke me. I have no reason to fear you. Today you have entered my circle and I welcome you here. From this day forward, I shall never fear you again.” My ceremony went well and after completed, the snake slowly left the circle.

All this brings me to what is going on in my life today in regards to snakes. I live in a small log house, located in Kitigan Zibi. In the few years I have lived here, snakes have come into my home seven times. I found one in my cupboard last summer, where I keep sacred objects. He was sitting on my rattles. “Oh,” I said upon discovering him there, “a wannabe rattlesnake.” I caught hold of him and gently evicted him from my home. Turned out he was a ‘milk snake’. I had never seen one before (see photo). I have caught three more snakes so far this summer, all in my bedroom. I have nothing against snakes and am not at all ‘rattled’ at them being close to me but just to be clear, I do not want them as bunk mates. Someone asked, “How do they get in?” I told my friend, “Maybe they are like explorers of old and future times (Star Trek LOL). They want to boldly go where no snake has gone before.” To the snakes I say, “Please do so, just don’t show up in my bathtub, especially when I’m in it. There has to be a limit!”

I remember a priest telling children when I was 6 years old, “Snakes are good for a garden, don’t chase them from it.” Yes, I agree! But what about the ‘Garden of Eden’, where according to the Catholic Church a great ‘sin’ was committed? Though I am unafraid of snakes now, I think I might retreat from one the size I saw in a painting depicting a snake wrapped around a big branch of an apple tree where two naked human beings stood. It was a monster! The  fear I had of snakes most of my life likely began way back then when, as a kid, I saw that painting. I was traumatized! Adam and Eve didn’t fare very well after their encounter with the snake, did they? Hmmm, I wonder!

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

Travelling “up the Gatineau” oftentimes brings thoughts of spiritual wonderment to my mind, my heart and to my dear soul.

An example: Heading south December 22 at the time when the sun begins its skyward journey, I saw in the eastern sky, sundogs! It was only the second time in my life I have been blessed to see this spectacular phenomenon! I noticed the sundogs between Kaz and Low and kept them in sight till I was close to Wakefield. The teaching I received on sundogs is that they are looked at by some as predictors of fast approaching freezing temperatures. Others, such as I, believe that seeing three suns on the horizon signals the arrival of a time when deep spiritual meditation should take place to assure sacred enrichment for the human spirit. “Time to light your pipe,” was suggested to me by Maria Campbell, a celebrated author and an elder in Saskatoon whom I have great respect for.

Many years ago, I was instructed by a Cree elder (Raymond Ballantyne) to place my first pipe, made of red pipestone, onto the branch of a tree in the woods for four days and four nights before its first use in ceremony. I chose the balsam fir up the Gatineau, to keep the pipe safe till I returned to bring it with me to a ceremonial site. It was 1995, I still have the pipe and smoke it by and by when spirit calls on me to do so! The pipestone was carved as a gift for me by legendary elder Lame Buffalo (Bobby Woods).

The trees up the Gatineau mean a lot to me, both emotionally and spiritually. I embrace them, both for their physical beauty and how I hold them up as the most wise of all life Creator placed on this earth, helping human beings to live well. I write poetry in honour of trees, I press my face on their bark on extremely cold days to feel their warmth. What wonders they are! I once stood barefooted on a decaying old maple tree in the woods near the 105. My legs sank past my ankles into the tree. I felt the caress of the tree’s energy, still very much alive in the old maple. It was so soothing and spiritually refreshing! Trees are so perfect! 

Worthy

I will turn my face
Towards the sun and say
Grandfather
In your fire I find my strength

I will allow the winds
To gently stroke my thoughts
And I will say
Father
O how you make me wise

I will gaze upon
The full circle of the moon
And say
Grandmother
Through you I see
The love of God

I will lay down
On soft meadow grasses
And say
Mother
Heal me and teach me
To respect all the things
On this earth

And only after I have done
All of these things
Will I be worthy
To walk among the trees

I have a memory from the early 1960s of my uncle Maurice going out in a rowboat and catching a 36 pound catfish in the Tenàgàdino Zìbì (Gatineau River). I wonder today if such ancient fish of that size still roam the river, up the Gatineau. I hope so!

The Algonquins have a legend telling us that the first “treaty” or “promise” ever made was between a sturgeon and a muskie. The sturgeon proposed that if the muskie promised to never attack him, he (sturgeon) would forevermore keep the muskie’s hunting grounds clean. The muskie agreed. A treaty was made between them all that time ago and holds strong to this very day! In my view, a treaty is the word of the Nation! If your “word” means nothing to you nor to anyone else who knows you, then I ask, “What is left in your heart you can point to that declares, ‘I am a human being’?”

Up the Gatineau! Long live this wondrous place on the unceded lands of the Anishinabe Algonquin.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

I went again today, as I often do, to my forest prayer circle. I go to my place of meditation to express gratitude for the blessings of life I encounter by and by, as I go here and there, sharing from my storytelling bundle or to recite poetry. At other times, I go to the circle to ponder my many shortcomings and also to reflect on the emotional and spiritual dysfunction weighing down society in general, at this time in our world. It is so worrisome! Today though, I had friendship on my mind, its meaning and purpose.

What is a friend? I can tell you that there was a time in my past where I felt I had not even one person whose face I could look upon and see in it, a friend. Such a feeling brings depression, it initiates rebellion, it puts a gigantic chip on the shoulder of a young person! Times have changed. In the last 15 years, I have been so very fortunate to have friends in my circle who trust in me to the same degree I trust in them. I can confide any and all things of my life with them. I am there for them as a shield and I have no doubt that they would act as such for me too, should I call on them to do so. I celebrate my friends, I honour them, I feast them! My life would not be as joyful or meaningful if not for these special people in it who I hold up as ‘friends’.

In the heart of a true friend, you find the music, the beat, floating in perfect harmony with the spiritual beliefs you lean on to take you to places of grandness never imagined before.

When I think of friends and how they so greatly enrich me in my emotional domain, my thoughts take me to the lives of my daughters, my grandchildren, my brothers and sisters, my nieces and nephews, my cousins and other relatives and I wish for them, true friends in their lives. I want the new life (born only a couple of weeks ago), my great-granddaughter Isla, to grow up surrounded with ‘good’ friends who will emotionally support her and stand by her (elbows up) in troubling times as I know she will do for them.

I picked up a feather after my sobriety began. It spoke to me, it said “Accept me as a symbol of strength, of purity and of truth and like a real friend, I will never let you down.” The eagle feather has been true to its promise!

I look to the trees around my house and see living beings I regard as friends. The pines, the balsam, the white birch, the maples, all of them, they are real friends as are all things I regard as ‘All my Relations’. I share with them things from my heart, my sorrows and joys. I touch them lovingly. I present them with offerings of sacred tobacco.

If real friendship was a tree in the forest, it would be an oak. For the oak is strong, eloquent and generous in its provisions for all things living in its domain. This is how I see my dearest friend.

I hope all the people I care about have a friend, a special one, who stands by them through good times and bad times. A friend who will listen carefully to you and will emotionally support you when your energy is at its lowest. A friend whose voice brings energy and smiles into your world.

I can’t end how I feel about friendship without mentioning our family dog (1956-1965).

Laddie was my first friend. I learned so much from him, like what it means to be protective of those you care about. What things of respect I have acquired in my life that came to me because of actions people described as ‘deeds of courage’, have their seeds in the teachings given me by Laddie. What a fighter he was! He went into instant attack mode when he sensed a threat was close by, ready to harm the Dumont kids. His presence near me when I experienced any kind of trauma was a tonic which brought instant relief. His heart was a place I could enter and curl up in and be at peace. I’ll never forget Laddie and know I will see him again in the Great Spirit Land.

Friends, they make the world go round.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

Isla, my second great-grandchild was born on April 21. She is little sister to big brother Carter, born May 29, 2023, deceased July 9, 2023. Isla is as perfect as perfect can get! Oh how I love her! When granddaughter Kyrstin announced that a baby was being created in Kyrstin’s birth waters, I told the baby “I love you”.

That is the way it is with our people, we love our future generations even before their first breath of life is taken.

I wrote the following poem for Isla:

For Isla

When I first held you close
On the morning of your birth
I told you, in whispers
About the magnificent trees
Surrounding my home in Kitigan Zibi
I introduced you to the robin
The partridge, the turtle and the hawk
Spirit helpers of mine
Now yours to spiritually embrace

I took you to Bitobi Lake
And shared with you
The origins of the canoe
Together, you and I
Floated over white water
In a birchbark craft
How I smiled
To hear your joys of glee

And as you fell
Into peaceful slumber
I whispered
“Listen to my heart
Hear in its vibration
The heartbeat of my father
And that of my grandfather
Hear in it, the drumming
Of the heart of my mother
And that of my grandmother
Hear in my heart, the songs
Of your ancestors”
Remember the heartbeat, sweet Isla

I whispered these things
As I held you close

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)