The Berry Pickers

Author: Amanda Peters

Publisher: Catapult 2023

The Mi’kmaq are a First Nation people from Northeastern Canada and the USA. A Mi’kmaq family living in Nova Scotia travels with other families to berry fields in northern Maine to pick blueberries during the summer. (The story began to evolve in the 1950s.) The father of the family is the leader of the group. There are five kids in this family: three of them—Ben, Mae, and Stevie—are teenagers; Joe is just two years older than the youngest, Ruthie, who is only four years old. They live in a cabin in the berry fields during the blueberry season.

One day, Ruthie disappeared. The whole group searched for her throughout the summer but could not find her. One of the most affected by her disappearance is Joe.

Somewhere in Maine, four-year-old Norma, the only daughter of a family, is experiencing regular nightmares. She remembers a close friend named Ruthie and her baby doll. Norma’s mother thinks that Norma is just having bad dreams.

When Norma was about nine years old, she noticed that her skin was darker than both of her parents’. When asked why, her father explained that it was due to genes, mentioning an Italian grandfather in the family. Her mother is overprotective and does not let Norma walk anywhere or associate with anyone in the neighborhood.

Eventually, Norma forgets all about Ruthie. However, the Mi’kmaq family still hopes to find their missing daughter someday.

This is not a book I would usually pick up to read. I joined a book readers' group this month. They meet via Zoom on Wednesday afternoons during the first week of every other month. The next meeting is scheduled for October 2nd, and the book they are reading is this one. I joined this group for several reasons: first, they are former colleagues; second, there is sufficient time allocated for reading a book; third, there is no pressure even if I do not read the book; and fourth, I liked the way the discussion went at the only meeting I attended.

Amanda, the author, is of Mi’kmaq and settler ancestry, so I assume she knows about Mi’kmaq culture. She is also a good writer. However, I could not emotionally connect with the story. In my view, Norma seems too naive. There is almost no information about her school days, her friends, the bullies, or even her teachers, even though she attended school.

Towards the end of the story, the Mi’kmaq family prepares “tapatat” (potato) and “piteway” (tea). Tapatat and Piteway are Mi’kmaq words. I know that potatoes are native to the Americas, but tea is not. The British only began growing tea in the 19th century after learning from the Chinese. 

(Read “For All the Tea in China: How England Stole the World’s Famous Drink and Changed History” by Sara Rose.)

In Sri Lanka, we used to drink "Polpala," and "Ranawara" which are like tea but not tea. Is it possible that "Piteway" refers to a native drink similar to Chrysanthemum "tea" or Polpala "tea", or Ranawara "tea"?

I do not know.

Dear Life

Author: Alice Munro
Publisher: Vintage 2012

Alice Munro was a Nobel Prize-winning short story writer from Canada. She captured rural life in Canada, especially the lives of women, quite remarkably in her stories from the 1940s onward. Some of her stories evolved or started to evolve on the train from Toronto to Vancouver. Stories such as “To Reach Japan” from her book “Dear Life” and “Chance” from her book “Runaway” come to mind.

I traveled on the same train from Edmonton to Vancouver. This was the longest passenger train I have traveled on. It had an observation deck for every three compartments that you could freely move between. There was a small cafeteria below the observation deck. There were about 30 people in the three compartments to which I was assigned. The train was scheduled to leave Edmonton one minute after midnight on Wednesday and was scheduled to arrive in Vancouver at 8:00 AM on Friday.

(The following pictures were taken when the train stopped at Jasper on Thursday around 9:30 AM.)

 

The first two rows of a compartment (of the train) were reserved for families of three or more. They also got priority boarding. A mother and two daughters occupied these seats in our compartment from Edmonton to Jasper. They left the train at Jasper and were replaced by a family of five: father, mother, two sons, and a daughter.

Even during re-boarding, groups of three or more received preferential treatment. We (I traveled with a friend named Nalin) decided that we needed to form a group or family. 

Unlike me, Nalin stays connected to Sri Lankan culture by watching all the tele-dramas from Sri Lanka and keeping up with political developments. When we were growing up in Sri Lanka, we addressed our neighbors, and even strangers we met, with titles like “mama” (uncle), “nanda” (aunt), “akka” (elder sister), and “nanagi” (little sister). When my mother and I visited a boutique near the Sri Maha Bodhi in Buddha-Gaya, the vendor called my mother “Loku Amme, enna, enna” (Come, come, Elder-mother!). Apparently, they picked this up from Sri Lankan pilgrims. I also remember many songs by M. S. Fernando, a popular Baila singer of the 60s and 70s, with titles like “Mage Nangi” (My little sister) and “Pol Vikunana Magi Akke” (Coconut seller elder-sister Magi).

 

(The Observation Deck)

(A Picture Taken from the Observation Deck)

In the same row on the other side of the aisle sat a woman who got on the train in Winnipeg. Behind us sat a woman who got on the train in Edmonton with us. Nalin coined the name “Kathuru Akka” (K Akka)—meaning “scissors elder sister”—for the woman in the same row, and I coined the name “Kulati Nangi” (K Nangi)—meaning “meek younger sister”—for the woman behind us.  My name has a K in it, and naturally, I became K Sunil. Nalin proposed his name to be K Nalin (“Kottu Nalin”) since he prepared Kottu for dinner on the day I arrived in Edmonton.

Thus, the four of us—K Akka, K Nangi, K Sunil, and K Nalin—formed the “K family” for the purpose of receiving preferential treatment at the next stop when we had a chance to exit the train.

There was only one other stop (at Kamloops) where we got to go out, and no preferential treatment was given to anyone at that stop. Therefore, we did not get an opportunity to tell our family members about our scheme.

(At The Kamloops Stop)

There were two VIA Rail attendants assigned to our three compartments. We identified them as "Danda" (meaning "the tall guy") and "Honnda akka" (meaning "good elder sister").

Once we got on the train at Edmonton, it was Danda who was in charge. One of his duties was to explain the facilities available in the three compartments, as well as the rules and regulations. He started with K Nangi. His voice was gentle, smooth, humane, sensitive, and very friendly. He spent an unnecessarily long time in his compassionate, loving voice explaining things to her, even though she was not responding in kind. This was the original reason why we called her "Kulati Nangi." Finally and reluctantly, he moved on to us. He lost all gentleness, smoothness, compassion, and love when he reached us. He asked in a grim voice, "Did you hear what I said to her?" I told him, "No."

He went through his script very quickly and, as a conditioned reflex, asked if we had any questions at the end. I said I did. "Is it OK to shave in the lavatory?" He was taken aback at first and then started to explain, "There are thirty people in these three compartments and you should not use the lavatory for too long..." but he stopped when he realized that I was just pulling his leg. He smiled for the first time, pointed his finger at me, and then moved on to the next row.

H Akka was in charge after the train left Jasper, and she did the sensible thing. She stood in front of the compartment and went through the script out loud so that everybody in the compartment could hear her, and there were no questions.

There was a sheik security guard with a curled-up mustache and a big pot belly at the Edmonton station. He opened our bags and went through every inch of them, looking for scissors and knives. One German traveler had to give up his small penknife, sealed in a security envelope, only to be collected when he departed at Vancouver. Everything was so strict.

K Akka had a pretty hat, and she found some defect on it and decided to fix it. To our great surprise, she pulled out a needle, thread, and a pair of scissors. This was not any normal pair of scissors; it was the mother of all scissors. Later, the father of the family of five pulled out a knife to open a pack of snacks for his daughter.

Conclusion: The security guards at Winnipeg and Jasper were not sheiks with curled-up mustaches and pot bellies.

Everybody we met on the train was very nice. Even Danda, who abandoned our little sister (K. Nangi) for a better-looking girl ("Lassana Nangi", meaning "pretty younger sister"), who got on the train at Jasper, is a nice guy. He was probably a college kid doing a summer job as a train attendant.

Let me just say, if Alice Munro were alive and traveling with us, there would be enough material for her to write at least four new stories.

We arrived at Vancouver Pacific Central Station just one hour off schedule.

(Outside The Pacific Central Station)