I sit here quietly on top of the hill. The wind rustles through the aspen grove and the meadowlark’s call seems forlorn today.
When I look around I want to see hard work and determination that got us to this place I love. But in reality it’s white privilege and cultural genocide. The land I dearly cherish was appropriated from the first Nations peoples and then sold by our government to settlers.
And I’m having a hard time that my piece of Canada I love belongs with the Canada that did this. I know I’m not alone with this feeling and this post The Heaviness of The Past talks not just about the past but what we do next.
The evening walk took us out the front driveway. We tied orange ribbons around the trees to mark the entrance to what, surely was, once the same kind of paradise to the Nations people that it is to me. It’s a very small step towards recognizing the truth.