That Cree itch

As with most Crees from the James Bay coast, I am getting that feeling in my gut, that itch that arises during this time of year.
The emergence of spring is an uplifting time of the year for any person. But for us, there is an added sensation of excitement and anticipation.
It all began a few weeks ago, when family and friends from the James Bay area started asking me about my plans.
“Are you going hunting this year? When are you going? Where are you going? Who are you going with?”
That’s the excitement the season generates every year.
And as the days pass, the feeling grows as I begin to think about being out on the land in Mushkegowuk territory, my traditional territory.
And I look forward to it.
I look forward to arriving in Moosonee and seeing and feeling the excitement of the hunt; the ubiquitous sounds of helicopters; and the calls people make when geese are spotted flying over the Moose River.
I look forward to climbing into the box sleigh and embarking for camp; or, as is more common in recent years, jumping into the helicopter and getting the goose eye’s view of the swampy wetlands that is our home.
I look forward to settling into our family spring camp, a camp that has been in our family for decades, where my mooshoom, dad, uncles, cousins, friends and extended family have shared the experience of the spring harvest together.
I look forward to digging up the spot where our blind has been for years and constructing the blind in the way my dad taught me and my brother, as his dad taught him; and digging up the wooden decoys my dad made some years ago along with the tripod of sticks and putting them out on the pond, trying to place them strategically to maximize their visibility to the geese and so they may land close to the blind.
I look forward to sitting in the blind for the first evening, taking in the sounds, smells and sights of the land that I dearly missed while living in the city.
I look forward to getting that thumping heart and adrenaline rush when I hear the first geese of the season and call them in as I load my 12-gauge in preparation of their arrival.
I look forward to our little camp tradition of cooking the first goose killed, no matter who killed it, in celebration of the new harvest.
I do not look forward to plucking and burning the geese, necessarily, but I do look forward to completing such tasks, knowing it will help my mom, kookoom and whoever feasts on them in preparing the meal.
I look forward to blowing out the candle at night, climbing into bed as the fire crackles, and just as I settle under my blankets, hearing my dad suddenly speak up in the darkness and regale my brother and I with stories of his youth, humourous anecdotes from past hunts, and legends and stories of the area passed on to him from his father.
I look forward to coming back to camp after the morning hunt, and after a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs and hash browns, sipping a hot cup of tea as the cabin door lets in the cool breeze and morning sun, contrasted by the warmth of the fire.
I look forward to getting up at the crack of dawn and driving over to the “dance hall,” a field in a nearby swamp where partridges perform mating dances, and watching the spectacle before I load up my .22 rifle.
As annoying as they become, I look forward to the shrilling calls of sandhill cranes and being deceived by them in flight, as they at first appear to be geese.
I look forward to lazing around at camp on a sunny afternoon, and passing the time with my dad, brother, cousin and uncles with card games, puzzles, books and laughs.
I look forward to the playful jabs from my fellow hunters on how I missed (I had something in my eye) or why I was not in the blind when the geese flew by.
I look forward to the mixed feelings of waiting for the helicopter to arrive; the excitement of being up in the air again, and the dread that the hunt will be over.
I look forward to putting my geese in the freezer, and then giving them to my kookoom and my mom, knowing I provided a traditional meal they anticipated for weeks and had lived off in their youth.
And I look foward to looking back on the hunt and recalling all the little things that make being out on the land so special, and the good times my dad, brother, and family and I had that year.
The Cree itch is growing stronger every day now. And I eagerly await for the call from my dad to tell me, get on that train, Lenny. The geese are flying.
I look forward to it all.