Agency

In Which the Divine Feminine is Given Her Due

later that afternoon, on the Reserve

It is still a gorgeous late-may day. In fact, it might be even more gorgeous now that the sun is starting its languorous descent behind the crest of trees. The entire sky is beginning to glow pinkly. The air is hung deliciously with tendrils of smoke rising from the various barbeques and corn boiling stations scattered across the grounds. Children scramble through the comfortably sized crowd, sticky handed, holding cones of dripping ice cream. All day, they've been good -- they did not get under the dancers' feet, they tried to keep quiet during the elders' stories -- and now they are rewarded with freedom.

The whole day has had a neighbourhood street party kind of feel. This is a community event. Even those who have come from off the Reserve are treated as if they belong. The Rosses and their dog are petted and welcomed. By the end of the afternoon, they've been introduced around to nearly everyone in attendance who, individually, seem to know all the details of how they accidentally stumbled upon an important piece of Indigenous history in their backyard, then had to pay with their own money to help the government meet the obligations of law. Many find this part of the story delightfully, knee-slappingly humorous, in fact, because who amongst them hasn't found themselves totally screwed by Canadian law? It's nice for a change to see it turn around on somebody else.

Over and over, the Ross' story gets repeated back to them like a revered bit of comedy until it starts to sound funny even to them.

"I would have kicked that bone right back into the ground and pretended it never happened. I'll bet you wished you'd never dug around back there, eh?" says a man with smiling eyes. He's still dressed in his dancing regalia and is holding a (free) bottle of Labatt's Blue that he's just plucked from the stack of iced Two-Fours.

"That was my decision," offers Berenice. "My fault. I wanted a project. I guess I got one."

Berry takes her hand. "It's nobody's fault. It was there. We'd have found it eventually."

She squeezes his hand. New-old Berry is very level headed.

"Anyway," says the man, clapping Berry on his good shoulder. "Now we get to welcome her home. All's well that ends well, right?"

***

When it's time for the re-burial part of the day, a smaller crowd makes a tight procession to the outer edges of the clearing where a beautiful old Redbud tree stands draped in its bright spring blooms. Under the tree, there is a modest hole that has already been dug into the warming earth. Tracy and another Clan Mother ceremoniously carry a maple box containing the human remains and her possessions. Other Council Members take the box from them and reverently lower it into the earth.

After a moment of silent reflection, during which Berenice whispers a private prayer to the disturbed spirit, wishing her quiet and contentment in her new resting place, Tracy clears her throat and addresses the small cluster of people in attendance.

She tells them what they know of the woman who is being laid into the earth today. She describes the land as it would have been when this woman walked it. She asks the crowd to reflect, in her memory, on the Haudenosaunee creation story, which she calls 'Sky Woman.'

As Tracy launches into a rich-voiced retelling of the story -- how the Great Spirit's daughter stepped through a hole in the ground, floating down into our dimension, diving right through the water and re-emerging on the other side, and becoming the mother of all peoples on earth -- Berry's synapses light up with recognition.

He feels, for the first time, connected to the earth. His feet feel rooted. His heart feels light. And he knows, without a whisper of doubt, that he is just a man -- flawed and flawless -- living in the creation of something altogether greater.

As Tracy finishes her retelling, she leads the group in a prayer of peace and hope. She closes by saying:

"As mother earth awakens, we plant the seeds given to us by the Creator. We pray to remember that we borrow the earth from our children's children. We cannot know what lies ahead. But we can look behind us - to preserve it, to learn from it and to find peace in it."

She places the first handful of dirt onto the box, and the other members continue the job. As they do, the crowd watches in silent reflection.

When it is done, Tracy dusts her hands off on her pants and says, "Well! I don't know about the rest of you, but if we hurry, we might still catch the last act at She Fest. I heard a rumour they got Buffy Sainte-Marie!"

Tracy hurries off in the direction of the spotlight beams that scan across the dimming sky.