Submitted by Christie Amyot,
Volunteer/Director, Golden Dawn
This brief story is one of a series of articles featuring past and present indigenous residents of Golden Dawn Senior Citizen Home in Lion’s Head, ON.
The following is a story told by Johnny Keeshig featuring his father Donald, who was a resident at Golden Dawn, and how Donald named the Chi-Cheemaun.
A special thank you to Johnny, who has embraced the opportunity to share his father Donald’s history alongside the history of his ancestors – the original people of this beautiful Peninsula!
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By John K L Keeshig (Maya-Waasige)
Wewenai Boozhoo / Hello,
My spirit name is Maya-Waasige, the Man from the Upright Light or Good Light. I am of the Wolf Clan, my blood flows from the Ojibwe, Bodewadomi, Huron-Wendat. I am a member of Chippewas of Nawash, our community is Neyaashiinigmiing formerly known as Cape Croker, we nestled along shores of Georgian Bay once known as Manidoo-gamiing.
My Christian name is John Keeshig, I am the second son of Donald Keeshig and Kietha Johnston; I am the grandson of Gregor and Mary Keeshig, and also Murray Alexander Johnston and Beatrice Johnston. Most of my childhood was spent with my brothers and sisters exploring the Niagara Escarpment that encompasses Sydney Bay. We all did our schooling, grades 1 to 8, at St Mary’s Elementary School on the reserve. After which we attended Wiarton District High School. For the most part in the 1970s we would be assigned a place to board. We would be bused out on Sunday afternoon around 4 pm, and return Friday evening after school. Early in the 70s, the March Break was introduced into our school year. Prior to that the School Board would have us working from January 2nd to Easter weekend.
Fifty one years ago this last March, the first Saturday morning of the March Break, found my young brother and I struggling over which of the two television stations we were going to watch. Yes, back then there was CKNX Wingham and CKCO CTV Kitchener. In fact we could see the CTV tower situated at Hope Ness from our front yard. Another thing yet to find its way into our houses was the TV remote, this meant that someone had to physically get out of their seat and walk to the TV, when the darn thing needed to be adjusted. Often, the darn thing would correct itself just as one reached forward to the knob. This often saw one trying to deke the TV to adjust itself.
Our mother was busy in the kitchen, brewing coffee, popping toast, frying bacon and eggs. Preparing Dad’s breakfast. The aroma of her hard work brought Dad out of their bedroom, down the hallway, in his house coat, to his place at the kitchen table. No sooner, as he sat in his chair, coffee was poured and placed in front of him, then his plate dressed with bacon and eggs, home fried potatoes and toast.
He didn’t even get a sip from his cup, when a grey sedan turned down our driveway of a hundred yards and proceeded to hit every pothole, sending slush in every direction. “Well who could that be” came from the table, followed by “Go see who that is”. My brother and I paused our struggle as I got to the front porch, to see three of my uncles and one of their wives fall out of the car, two from the front and three from the back seat. All trying to avoid the wet snow and slush that had arrived overnight.
Before I could even offer a greeting, they all shot by me pointing their fingers at my Dad, exclaiming “You’re the one we want!” Dad replied “I don’t have any refreshments, just coffee”. “That’s not why we are here,” they countered. “Then why?” my dad wondered. The five looked at each other, “How would you say this in our language?” they uttered.
Little did we know, our father was quite fluent in Anishnaabemowin (the language of our ancestors). Often, when I was with him I heard him speak to the older members of our community. The smiles it would bring to all their faces.
“Whoa, hold on a minute” my dad paused. “That is not how you ask. First you must tell the context you wish to use it” he stated. There was a pause, then their spokesperson uttered “They are having a contest to name the new ferry they’re building to replace the two ferries that travel from Tobermory to Manitoulin Island. We believe that it should be someone from our community to name that boat”.
All eyes focused on Dad, he chuckled, as he pondered their suggestion, saying that word would not work because it was too long, it would wrap around the boat, what you need is a word that would fit nicely at the bow of the boat. The five uttered another suggestion, Dad shook his head “that word would be too difficult for them to pronounce.”
Their disappointment, followed with “Why don’t you tell us, what you would call it?”. There was silence as they all drew from their coffees mom had poured for them.
“Well” Dad started “You have to remember our people only had canoes. There were no ships or freighters. What would have gone through their minds, when first peered out from the bushes to see that first flag ship come sailing in – ‘Gitchi Cheemaun’ – that a great canoe, or you could shorten it to ‘Chi-Cheemaun’ or Big Canoe”. There was a great pause, followed by laughter – “That’s it! That’s the winner! You should enter it.”
“No, that is not for me to enter this contest, one of my children should.” The five finished their visit discussing the prospects of the upcoming NHL play-offs. The Flyers would eventually win their first Stanley Cup that year.
Six weeks later, again on a Saturday morning, which found my younger brother and I still trying to deke the TV, as Dad in house coat found his seat at the kitchen and Mom began to serve his breakfast, when that same grey sedan broke down our driveway, hitting every pothole, this time sending muddy water in every direction. They slid to a stop, before gingerly slipping through the mud to our front porch.
The same five could barely contain themselves, cleaning their shoes before racing to sit with my Dad, exclaiming “You’re in the final three!”. “What final three?” “For the name of the Boat contest!” “Well I never sent anything in.” “Well someone did with your name on it.” “One of the other entries is Mory-Bay, but there is a lot of interest in the Chi-Cheemaun. They are going to call here at 11 o’clock if you’re successful”
Well there were a lot of cups of coffee consumed between 9 and 11 o’clock that morning. Their conversation whirled around and around the table, from anything but the name. Dad who once was a distance runner, a boxer and hockey coach, once told me sometimes the best way to succeed is to just let it happen. So we all sat and drank coffee.
Residential phones were quite new then, especially in rural areas. I remember the hand crank phone, not everyone could afford one. So one would call a close by neighbour to pass on a message to you. To get you to call back. Then came the party line, where one line was shared by many, which led to many frustrations, especially if your neighbours were very talkative.
Everyone that morning took turns watching the phone, in hopes it would ring, Dad sat the furthest from the phone. If you weren’t watching the phone your eyes were on the clock. I never knew how loud a phone could ring and how much excitement it could bring until our clock stuck 11. The phone went off, everyone around the table jumped for the phone. “Hello”, “Hello is Donald Keeshig there”. The phone receiver was passed to the next in line. “Hello”, “Hello, is Donald Keeshig there?” “Just a sec”. Then the phone receiver was passed to the next in line. The receiver slowly made its journey around the table, before reaching Dad. “Hello…yes this is Donald… huh… mmm…” his head nodding up and down… before “okay and good-bye” as he hung up. His whole conversation lasted maybe 10 seconds before he hung up.
The air broke as everyone questioned “Well?”. Without a smile Dad replied “I won”. Wild chatter and laughter broke out around the table, everyone grinning ear to ear. The phone rang again, this time Mom answered it. Then reached for a pen and paper, to record all the details for what just transpired.
That morning as we all awaited the call, we heard how my younger brother had drafted up an essay on what our Dad had spoken on that first morning and placed it in an envelope to be mailed the following week. Later our older sister dropped by and heard what had transpired that Saturday morning, found our brother’s draft in the envelope, took it out and dressed it up before adding our Dad’s name to it.
And that is how the Chi-Cheemaun got its name. There are only three of us left who were there that first Saturday morning of March of 71.
About Golden Dawn
Golden Dawn Senior Citizen Home is a non-profit, registered charity – the only long-term care home in Northern Bruce. Located in the village of Lion’s Head, Ontario, it is also the largest year-round employer in Northern Bruce.
For more information, please contact: Christie Amyot, Volunteer/Director, 519-636-8505, christieamyot1@gmail.com or visit www.goldendawn.ca
