Saturday, May 12, 2007

may 12/o7 I may have a terible mess made but is the best I can do.

MEMORIES page 1
by
JOHN NICHOLAS JEDDORE (MICMAC INDIAN)
CONNE RIVER RESERVATION
NEWFOUNDLAND JULY 10, 1989 page 1
October 1st 1922, I John Nicholas Jeddore was born to Peter Frances Jeddore and Sarah Ann House Micmac Indian Father White Mother,! am of the Land I am Indian, there are very few of us left that are a direct link to the traditional Micmac way of life, my destiny is from very early in my life you will find me skimming along over the water in a canoe, shooting down the wild rapids, or drifting along on raft on some beautiful steady as the muskrat the beaver and otter frolicked in the water all around me. at night you will find me lying under the stars by a campfire watching the flankers[sparkels] as they shoot skyward like find strands of brass wire, listening to the rhythm of the crackling wood as it steadily burns in the fire.as the fire dies down I cast thoughts




to my maker in thanks giving. and drift off in silent slumber ever alert to the sounds of the night, wether it be the knocking of hooves on the hard ground, the silent padding of hairy paws. or the light breeze in the treetops. I hear the slight shift of the night breeze in the treetops the sound of rippling water in the night air. as the sound disappears with the shifting of the light breeze. I hear the familiar sound of the River rapids far up the lake. and instinctively can almost tell for certain what the weather will be like the next day. As I fall deeper in slumber my last conscious act is to pull the thin worn blanket over me. with a final whif of smoke from the now dying fire I fall deep into sleep. and cross over to the mysterious land of dreams, there I lie while the spirits keep a silent vigil over my still form, with sleep I will revitalize my body through the long night in preparation for the many miles of walking the next day* Early before dawn the next morning I awaken to the hooting sound of the night owl. as I tear up the birch bark and strike a match to it. the wonderful smell of birch bark smoke fills my nostrels. a sensation that will remain with me forever. as I gather the dry splits and place them on the fire as the page 2
flankers start to ascend up through the smoke hole in the wigwam. the night owl go crazy. they hoot and make every kind of sound at times like rabbit screaming other times like babys crying. I lie back and enjoy the warmth of the fire for a few minutes before I get and boil some tea and with a piece of dried venison I will have my morning meal, next you will see me gliding silently over the marsh in mossicaned feet like a ghost in the pre-dawn hours of the morning. As the sun rises higher in the sky my only other sign will be blue smoke rising from some valley or gorge. as I stop to prepare my mid-day meal. of the same unstweetened tea and cold boiled beaver goose or some other wild meat, next you will find me high atop of some mountain. viewing Gods creation refreshing my whole body with the freshness of the mountain breeze and the beauty of my surroundings. As

night falls again. you will find me entering into some thick forest to rest again. to refresh my body all over again to continue the cycle of my way of life. While my kinfolke the animals. go on the prowl to continue their way of life, And so it was in the year of 19301 as I started my nomad way of life. To continued the unbroken chain. of my Indian Ancesters as they lived for thousands of years. Trapping hunting living off the land. taking care the land, the land was ours solely occupied by the Indian people .and their kin the Animals, It was on this day on the 20th of September 1930. we left Conne. in company was the following Uncle Nicholas Jeddore his two sons Uncle Matt and Uncle Paul Incholas, Uncle Noel Louis, my Father Peter Uncle Charles House Whiteman on Mothers side and myself John Nick, the elders had hired what
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