Inondé par la culture
Wells might seem like an unlikely place from which to dive into the deep end of Canadian culture, but this past week has proved that it’s far from impossible…at least in Katimavik.
Though the rainy Canada Day celebrations we attended in Barkerville might not have been quite as exciting as those I enjoyed in our nation’s capital last year, they were nevertheless equally as memorable. Despite reoccurring claps of thunder and lightning, intermittent downpours and temperatures resembling those of a cool autumn day in Vancouver, the Barkerville Historic Town was bustling with plenty of locals, RV enthusiasts and Katimavik groups from Wells and Quesnel.
The highlight of the day’s activities was undoubtedly the greasy pole climb. Imagine a 20 foot high wooden pole greased up with oil and slick rain. Add a few natural climbers intent on reaching the 26 oz bottle of whiskey waiting at the top and a rather wet but eager crowd and a history of men returning year after year to have their shot at the title, and there you have it. The reigning champion (excuse the pun) was the former Wells RCMP officer, but since he was reassigned a couple years ago the winner of the infamous pole climb became anyone’s guess. To the surprise of Quesnel’s Project Leader and I, this year’s crown was almost claimed by a Katimavik participant from Blackhawk, Ontario – a town of 16 where these kind of skills are apparently valued as much as the tax dollars of a potential new resident. To his dismay, however, he stopped four feet short of his target…even after getting carded at the bottom.
A long day of egg tossing, hammer tossing and a one-hour play at the Theatre Royale came to a close after an evening fiddle dance/hoedown at the Barkerville hotel, just in time for us all to make it to bed early for a 430am wake-up call the next morning. At the crack of dawn the next day we changed into our 19th century costumes – courtesy of Friends of Barkerville – and began the three hour drive down to Williams Lake for the Stampede Parade. There the eight of us and two representatives from Barkerville rode in a horse-drawn wagon in the official Stampede Parade (pictures to follow). The streets of downtown Williams Lake were packed three deep as we progressed through the parade route that morning, and by the end of it all we had walked away with a first place in the wagon category and a proud third place in theme.
The rest of the day was spent on the stampede grounds, where we witnessed four, count’em four, serious injuries from the grandstands. One cowboy was knocked unconscious after his bareback horse fell on top of him; another flew into a wall face first and likely suffered a broken nose; yet another’s arm was almost surely broken after being stomped on by the hoof a rather large bull; and the fourth – a fourteen year old boy – had his leg stepped on by an equally large heifer. Yes, it was a great day at the rodeo.
Aside from this weekend’s immersion in Canadian, or at the very least British Columbian, culture, I’ve also been speaking more French than I ever did in Montreal. Most of my conversations with our group’s two francophones are in their maternal tongues even though they’re both relatively capable English speakers. I’m finding that my French is improving with every conversation we have together, and it feels great to finally be able to speak so comfortably in the language I’ve been refining since my first day in Immersion at Sherwood Park elementary. Without it I wouldn’t have been able to talk in such depth to our sole guy and First Nations francophone from Quebec about aboriginal rights and treaty negotiations, nor to our other Quebecker – one of the six girls in our group – about the eastern townships and our mutual ties to her home province. Critics might argue that Trudeau’s bilingualism policy is no longer appropriate at this point in Canada's history, but if they all spent one day in the environment I’ve been living in for the past month they’d realize that they couldn’t be farther from the truth.
It’s gratifying to reflect on weeks like this. It makes me realize that Canadian culture isn’t quite as abstract as I once thought it was, and that it’s often right in my own backyard (or perhaps in that of an isolated community of 300). It is the juxtaposition of two official languages on a canvas of contrasting provincial cultures and socio-economic histories. And it’s never more visible than when watching young Canadians from disparate regions discover the many different shades of its colourful pallet for themselves.
Though the rainy Canada Day celebrations we attended in Barkerville might not have been quite as exciting as those I enjoyed in our nation’s capital last year, they were nevertheless equally as memorable. Despite reoccurring claps of thunder and lightning, intermittent downpours and temperatures resembling those of a cool autumn day in Vancouver, the Barkerville Historic Town was bustling with plenty of locals, RV enthusiasts and Katimavik groups from Wells and Quesnel.
The highlight of the day’s activities was undoubtedly the greasy pole climb. Imagine a 20 foot high wooden pole greased up with oil and slick rain. Add a few natural climbers intent on reaching the 26 oz bottle of whiskey waiting at the top and a rather wet but eager crowd and a history of men returning year after year to have their shot at the title, and there you have it. The reigning champion (excuse the pun) was the former Wells RCMP officer, but since he was reassigned a couple years ago the winner of the infamous pole climb became anyone’s guess. To the surprise of Quesnel’s Project Leader and I, this year’s crown was almost claimed by a Katimavik participant from Blackhawk, Ontario – a town of 16 where these kind of skills are apparently valued as much as the tax dollars of a potential new resident. To his dismay, however, he stopped four feet short of his target…even after getting carded at the bottom.
A long day of egg tossing, hammer tossing and a one-hour play at the Theatre Royale came to a close after an evening fiddle dance/hoedown at the Barkerville hotel, just in time for us all to make it to bed early for a 430am wake-up call the next morning. At the crack of dawn the next day we changed into our 19th century costumes – courtesy of Friends of Barkerville – and began the three hour drive down to Williams Lake for the Stampede Parade. There the eight of us and two representatives from Barkerville rode in a horse-drawn wagon in the official Stampede Parade (pictures to follow). The streets of downtown Williams Lake were packed three deep as we progressed through the parade route that morning, and by the end of it all we had walked away with a first place in the wagon category and a proud third place in theme.
The rest of the day was spent on the stampede grounds, where we witnessed four, count’em four, serious injuries from the grandstands. One cowboy was knocked unconscious after his bareback horse fell on top of him; another flew into a wall face first and likely suffered a broken nose; yet another’s arm was almost surely broken after being stomped on by the hoof a rather large bull; and the fourth – a fourteen year old boy – had his leg stepped on by an equally large heifer. Yes, it was a great day at the rodeo.
Aside from this weekend’s immersion in Canadian, or at the very least British Columbian, culture, I’ve also been speaking more French than I ever did in Montreal. Most of my conversations with our group’s two francophones are in their maternal tongues even though they’re both relatively capable English speakers. I’m finding that my French is improving with every conversation we have together, and it feels great to finally be able to speak so comfortably in the language I’ve been refining since my first day in Immersion at Sherwood Park elementary. Without it I wouldn’t have been able to talk in such depth to our sole guy and First Nations francophone from Quebec about aboriginal rights and treaty negotiations, nor to our other Quebecker – one of the six girls in our group – about the eastern townships and our mutual ties to her home province. Critics might argue that Trudeau’s bilingualism policy is no longer appropriate at this point in Canada's history, but if they all spent one day in the environment I’ve been living in for the past month they’d realize that they couldn’t be farther from the truth.
It’s gratifying to reflect on weeks like this. It makes me realize that Canadian culture isn’t quite as abstract as I once thought it was, and that it’s often right in my own backyard (or perhaps in that of an isolated community of 300). It is the juxtaposition of two official languages on a canvas of contrasting provincial cultures and socio-economic histories. And it’s never more visible than when watching young Canadians from disparate regions discover the many different shades of its colourful pallet for themselves.
posted by Per at 10:10 p.m.
<< Home