Person - North of normal: a memoir of my wilderness childhood, my counterculture family, and how I survived both

For Mom, who taught me to focus on the positive and banish fear to the dungeon of useless emotions

Novembers winds

are keen and cold

As Brownies know

who roam the world

And have no home

to which to run

When they have had

their night of fun

But cunning hands

are never slow

To build a fire

of ruddy glow.

PALMER COX,
Brownie Year Book

Contents

T his is the story of my life. Most of the memories depicted here are my own, but I have also drawn on the memories of my mother, grandparents, aunts and father. My early life was a complicated jumble of events that was difficult to put into order, even for my family, but I have done my best. Timelines may not be exact, and dialogue and settings have obviously been re-created in the interest of storytelling. I have also omitted certain events in my life that were not significant to this memoir. Some names, distinguishing features and locations have been changed to protect certain individuals.

I rolled over in bed, reaching for the warmth of my mother under the bearskin blanket. She wrapped her arms around me, and I pulled Suzie Doll into my chest so we were three spoons. The birds were just starting to call. Through the tipi poles above, I could see a patch of lightening sky. Any moment now, our canvas walls would begin to turn from gray to orange. It was the time of day I liked best, because it was the start of everything.

Mommy, I whispered.

Shh... still sleeping.

I turned to look at her, then placed a finger on each eyelid and pulled them up. Mommy. Is this the day Papa Dick gets back from hunting?

Maybe, she mumbled, batting my hand away. Now go back to sleep.

I lay quietly beside her, but I was too excited to keep still. It had been a long winter, the meat from my grandfathers last big hunt had run out long ago, and he had promised he would try to get a bear, my favorite. My feet jiggled back and forth under the covers. I finally got them to stop, but then my fingers started to twitch. I drummed them on Moms hip. Mm-mm, she said, putting her hand on top of mine. Cea, if you cant sleep, why dont you go start the fire? Heat up the footstone for meits cold this morning.

I lifted the bearskin and reached for the heavy rock. Wrapped in one of my grandfathers old wool shirts, it smelled like smoke and pine needles. I set it down beside the stove and pulled my clothes on: turtleneck, sweater, cords and leather moccasins. The summer before, one of the visitors daughters had shown me something called underwear. They had tiny rainbows on them, and they were the most beautiful things Id ever seen. Mom said I could have a pair one day, probably when I was five. But right now, I was still just four.

Mom was snoring lightly. I crept across our fir-needle floor, lifted the canvas door flap and stepped outside. It was no colder out here than it was in the tipi, but a breeze made goose bumps pop up on my skin. I hurried across the meadow to the shit pit and dropped my pants, peering down at the massive pile of poop beneath me as I peed. After zipping my pants, I slid the cover back over the pit and skipped over to my grandparents tipi, stood quietly outside. I could tell by Grandma Jeannes breathing she was still asleep, but there was another sound coming from my aunts tipi a little farther down. I walked toward it, my moccasins skimming over the dewy grass, and peeked inside. My Aunt Jessie was asleep in her bed with her mouth wide open, but across from her, my Aunt Jan was doing the screwing with the guy visitor. She was sitting on top of him, her long blond hair hanging over her breasts in sweaty strings. I gazed at them curiously, wondering where the visitors woman was. Mom said it usually wasnt a good idea to do the screwing with a visitor who had a woman, but my aunts didnt seem to mind. Maybe the woman was looking for her cat, which had disappeared yesterday. Anyway, Grandma Jeanne said that lady was awfully silly for bringing her city cat all the way to the wilderness like that.

I was starting to shiver. In the distance I could hear the rush of the river, finally set free from its winter freeze. The sun was peeking over the top of the highest mountain now, flooding our meadow with orange light. I headed toward the woodpile, thinking that I would build the fire and then ask Mom to make hot porridge with prunes for breakfast. I picked up a log, but was distracted by the sight of one of my stick horses propped against the sawhorse along with my bow and arrow.

Me in front of our tipi in Kootenay Plains, sitting on the sawhorse that we used to cut our firewood.

Dropping the log back onto the woodpile, I mounted my horse, threw my bow over my shoulder and galloped across the meadow. Giddyap! Giddyap, Apache! I yelled, whipping the leather rein behind me. Randall, the Indian chief who lived across the river, had told me that word meant go really fast in horse language, and my horse always listened. He circled me around the meadow and then headed for the forest, almost bucking me off. Branches tugged at my sleeves, snagging my sweater as we ran, but my horse wouldnt stop. He kept going until we got to Porcupine Tree. I pulled back the reins and slipped off his back, gazing upward with my hand shading my eyes. It was dark in the woods but the sky was bright. And porcupine was exactly where I had left him yesterday, snoozing high up on a branch.

Crotch, I said to myself quietly. Crotch crotch crotch! I giggled. Mom said that was what that part of the tree was called, right where the branch met the trunk, and I thought it was super funny. I reached for my bow and arrow, but then stopped. Papa Dick had told me that unless you were starving, you should never kill an animal when it was sleeping because it just wasnt fair. I looked around for a rock and pitched it at the tree trunk with a loud whack . The porcupine shook and snapped its head up. I set my arrow and pulled back my bow. It was a miss, but closer than I had come yesterday. I scrounged around in the bushes until I found the arrow, then mounted my horse again and pointed it home. I couldnt wait to tell Papa Dick. He had said that if I kept practicing every day, pretty soon Id be allowed to go hunting with him.

After corralling my horse with a circle of rocks, I returned to the woodpile and loaded my arms with kindling. Back in our tipi, I built a fire from the embers in the stove, placed the footstone in the flames and waited for it to heat up. Then I carefully pulled it out with oven mitts, wrapped it up in the wool shirt and rolled it over to the bed.

Thank you, sweetheart, Mom said with her eyes still closed, and opened her arms for me.

I snuggled into her naked body and she kissed my hair. After a little while, I decided to stop being so excited about Papa Dick maybe coming home, tucked my head under Moms chin and fell fast asleep.

THE SUN WAS JUST starting to hide behind the tipi when I saw him. I was playing in the dirt, mixing it with water to paint on rocks, when I spotted Papa Dick across the meadow. I jumped up and ran full-speed until I slammed into his arms.

Peanut! he cried, spinning me around in circles.

I laughed and buried my face in his bushy hair. My eyes fell to the wheeled sled he was pulling behind him, brimming with chunks of bloody meat wrapped in wax paper.

Did you get a bear? Did you get a bear?

Aha! Now thats a surprise. What do you say we get Grandma Jeanne to cook some up and see if you can guess what it is.