Nature's Namesake
NATURE’S NAMESAKE
Taking a new step in the spirit of reconciliation and shared stewardship, the Nature Trust is partnering with Indigenous elders to help revitalize traditional languages at nature preserves
WRITTEN BY JON MACNEILL, COMMUNICATIONS MANAGER
Spasaqsit possesom is telling us a story when suddenly his eyes narrow and he locks onto something in the water. His mouth opens wide and his jaw hangs low as he reaches out an arm and points.
“Muskrat!” spasaqsit says in a half whisper. “He was looking at us!"
We scan the dark surface of the cedar bog, past blue irises lining the shoreline, through the reeds, sedge and lilies, searching for that telltale ripple in the water.
As we look, the Wolastoqey Grand Chief brings up an image of his nation’s flag on his phone, depicting a man and woman polling on the beautiful and bountiful river, the Wolastoq, with a muskrat swimming ahead.
“Our totem is the muskrat. It helped us find medicine,” spasaqsit says, pointing to a nearby patch of muskrat root (Acorus calamus).
“Wherever you see a muskrat, guaranteed muskrat root is there. In the fall, we dig the root out and dry it, and use it for sore throats and colds in teas. We eat muskrat, too, it’s good meat. And we use the fur. It’s our totem.”
The original flag for the Wolastoq, ‘the people of the beautiful and bountiful river.’ Source: treatyeducationresources.ca
It’s fitting that this symbol appears for spasaqsit today. He's here, standing on the banks of the Ketch Lake Nature Preserve, specifically in search of such a sign.
The Indigenous elder, who’s colonial name is Ron Tremblay, is participating in a new Nature Trust initiative to rename some of our nature preserves in the language of the Indigenous peoples who had stewarded these lands since time immemorial.
Over the last couple of years, we’ve invited Indigenous elders to join us at nature preserves to get a feel for the land, its ecological features and cultural or historical significance, and propose a new name in their traditional language.
“It’s been a really beautiful journey for us,” says Stephanie Merrill, CEO of the Nature Trust, who accompanied spasaqsit to Ketch Lake.
“We want to acknowledge that these places had names before, and these names often already described the beauty or form of the landscape. This is a small step that we can take on our journey of reconciliation and shared stewardship of the land, to revitalize some of the language at these preserves that we take care of for everyone.”
This was spasaqsit’s second visit to Ketch Lake. The first trip, at the opposite end of the preserve, was to the thick of the bog, and spasaqsit struggled to connect with the space.
“You try to get a sense of the land,” he says. “A feel for the features and the animals."
The muskrat visitor on this second trip was the muse spasaqsit needed. The preserve formerly known as Ketch Lake Nature Preserve, in the Meductic region of Carleton County, became Sankewopekahk Nature Preserve — meaning, “a place of calming and still body of water.”
spasaqsit possesom and Nature Trust stewardship coordinator Alex Ouellette look over the wetland at Sankewopekahk Nature Preserve.
Sankewopekahk is the sixth preserve to be renamed in this way. The first four include:
Malsonawihkuk Nature Preserve in the Grand Lake lowlands. It means “place of the silver maples.”
Noloqonokek Nature Preserve, also in the Grand Lake lowlands. Noloqonokek is the traditional Wolastoqey name for what is now known as ‘Middle Island.’ ‘Nolomiw’ refers to ‘upriver’ and ‘qono’ refers to a ‘long period of time.’
Sasokatokuk Nature Preserve, in the Meductic region, is the Wolastoqey name for ‘Big Presque Isle Stream’ and translates into English as ‘straight river.’
Welamukotuk Cinerea Nature Preserve, named after the traditional Wolastoqey name for Oromocto Island, ‘Welamokətok,’ and the scientific name for butternut, ‘Juglans cinerea.’ ‘Welamokətok’ roughly translates to ‘the place of good fishing where the water is deep."
Nature Trust CEO Stephanie Merrill wades through tall grasses as the former Tobique Island Nature Preserve, as spasaqsit possesom leads ahead.
We’d visited the fifth, formerly the Tobique Island Nature Preserve, earlier in the day.
Giving this preserve a traditional Wolastoqey name was particularly significant for spasaqsit, having grown up just down the way in Neqotkuk (Tobique First Nation).
He suggests a detour as we make our way to the preserve, so he can point out landmarks from his youth—the swimming hole he and his friends would bike to after school, with water so clear you could throw a white pebble in and fish it back out; the spot where floodwaters took out the Perth train bridge in ‘72.
After paddling through an unseasonably strong current, the river swollen from recent heavy rains, we land on the pebble beach of the island preserve and make our way through the tall grass shielding the inner island.
At one point, spasaqsit bends his knees and examines deer tracks in the mud.
“They probably sleep here in this long grass, knowing that the coyote can’t smell them after swimming through the water,” he says. “That’s my guess.”
A few minutes later we come across a patch of tamped down grass. “Look,” spasaqsit says. “One probably laid right there.”
We press on, encouraged by a chirping cedar waxwing overhead, into a new but equally thick layer of vegetation: ostrich fern, so tall and dense it brushes our cheeks before folding aside to reveal straight poplars and snags of deadwood at the narrow island's interior.
When we reach the other side, back onto a stretch of beach, spasaqsit wanders off from the group. He seems pulled to the waterline, making his way toward the beach’s long point. He bends down and lets the fast, clear water rush over his fingers. He studies the stones, some round, some oblong, all sanded smooth by water and time and coated in a layer of dust and dirt kicked up by the rains.
“I’d like to kayak around the island,” spasaqsit says when he returns to the group. “I’d like to see it that way.”
Paddling around the former Tobique Island Nature Preserve.
It’s from this perspective, as we paddled around the roughly 14-acre preserve, looking upon the scrim of cobblestone beach encircling the island’s tall grasses, straight trees and those impossibly thick ferns, that the name came to him: Mahsusuwi-monihkuk Nature Preserve, meaning “a place of fiddlehead island.”
We don’t learn these new names on this day, though. spasaqsit doesn’t reveal them yet. He needs to return home, discuss with other elders, and confirm the names with his ancestors through ceremony.
Even though we don’t get the name reveal right away, no one is disappointed. After a long day on the land with spasaqsit, there’s only a sense of gratitude among the group for the opportunity to witness this process.
“Being out here on the land with you and other elders is the highlight of this work,” Stephanie says to spasaqsit after handing him a small tribute of tobacco. “Getting to share this time together, getting to know each other, getting to know these lands that we all hold so dear—it’s a small step on this journey of shared stewardship, but it means so much to us.”
Nature Trust CEO Stephanie Merrill and spasaqsit possesom.