Dear Canada: A step back in time

From Isobel's diary:

November 3

We arrived today at The Forks!

We are ensconced in the main building at Fort Douglas, in a small room. I sit by the fire and on the rough wooden table is a cruisie lamp which gives me just enough light to see these pages.

So much has happened since my last entry, and weeks have passed. Near the end of the journey we had to endure another trial. We ran out of food. The hunters were only finding small game, not nearly enough to feed such a large group. The pemmican was gone. We became weaker by the day as we subsisted on a watery stew of roots, some sort of wild turnip. Robbie became pale, and he shivered easily as he had no food inside him to keep him warm. (And dear diary, so did I, although I never would have complained and worried Father.) It seemed after a while that we would be travelling forever and never reach our destination.

Being on Lake Winnipeg was once again like being on the sea, it is so large. Our boats had to hug the shore because the winds would have been too much for us out in the open. At times all I could think of was my empty stomach, and I'm afraid I barely noticed my surroundings. . .

This morning when we arrived at The Forks the sun shone and Jasper McKay played his bagpipes. On the rough wooden dock, waiting for us, were thirteen families — the only settlers who had not been driven away by the North West Company. . . We leapt onto the dock as our boats pulled in. Everyone seemed to talk at once. . . .

It was chaos as news was exchanged. Tears flowed, people called to one another. I looked around anxiously to get a good view of our new home, but it all looked similar to the landscape we had just travelled, trees, bushes and shrubs near the river, tall grass and shrub farther on. I could not really see beyond this so I was anxious to go exploring. I was about to suggest this to James and Robbie when Father hurried over to us and said, "We cannot even unpack."

"But why not, Father?" I asked, dreading what he was to say.

". . .Nothing is ready for us. Apparently there is not enough food for us to spend the winter here. It appears that we will have to leave The Forks almost immediately, before it gets too cold for us to travel. . ." He shook his head.

I cannot yet believe it even though I am reporting it in these pages. Such a long and difficult trip, only to discover home is still beyond our grasp. It is heartbreaking news that we must spend an entire winter away, and that it will only be in the spring that we can return, to begin our new lives here at The Forks.

From Dear Canada: Footsteps in the Snow, copyright © 2002 by Carol Matas.