March 25 – Queen Charlotte

It’s a gray, blustery afternoon and one of our famous Haida Gwaii storms is brewing. A giant gust of wind hits hard and knocks over more than a few things in its path, including a towering, heavy, plywood sign I happen to be standing directly in front of. It misses my noggin by inches. Maybe I should invest in a hard hat.

The type of activity at the dryland sort today reflects the sudden switch in weather. Supporters of Islands Spirit Rising are busily cutting and stockpiling wood for the bonfire, and a good sized, tarp-covered shelter has been constructed. Beside the shelter, a small motor home is parked, providing bunk and toilet facilities for anyone who might need one or both. A few paces to the left sits a storage trailer, which serves to keep the rain out of the incredible variety of foods and beverages that Islanders continue to donate.

I’m asking only one question of people at the log sort today: Why are you here? (This isn’t an existential-type question. I just want to hear why folks are supporting and involving themselves in Islands Spirit Rising.)

Irene Mills, an elected Council of the Haida Nation representative, explains she is here because she wants to “ensure we have a future for ourselves on the land.” I ask her if she’d care to comment on the honour of the Crown. “We’re helping the Crown restore its honour,” she replies, “so that we can again sit at the table and negotiate the management of land and water resources.”

Rose Russ, a Skidegate business woman, is on the road talking with drivers and waving traffic through. She tells me she’s here because her partner is a logger and logging money is what helped raise her. “I support my partner, I support loggers, I support sustainable use, and I support a stable Islands economy,” she says. “If we don’t fight for sustainable use now, down the road our children - and by that I mean Haida children and the children of our neighbours - will have no resource-based economy to draw from.”

Melvin ‘Mooney’ Pearson is here today because logging was his livelihood. He was laid off two years ago, and hasn’t logged since. He tells me that the company he worked for brought in men from the lower mainland to do the work he used to do.

Cindy Davies has completed a road shift and is knitting a pair of multi-coloured socks as she warms up by the fire. Her fingers are flying and she’s working with the tiniest pair of knitting needles I’ve ever seen. “Being here is the only thing to do,” she says. “I’ve lived on the Islands for 30 years, and you learn by living here how important it is to be together. This is a place where you discover what the real connections are between people, land, sea, and each other. You also learn about what colonialism does - how it dehumanizes and separates. And living here connects you with some things that are very, very old...it brings you peace.”

A young woman, Mare Levesque, explains she’s here for many reasons. “I was born on the Islands and since that time, my parents have worked on environmental issues. I know this type of work is intergenerational, and it’s my turn to step up to the plate. I’m also here because I’m thinking about my future children, and about and my husband’s family - his father is a logger who isn’t working. I don’t want my husband’s family to have to struggle. I want them to feel at peace.”

Betty Douglas is an Elder who has been coming to the log sort every day. “I’m here because I want to be, and because there’s a good feeling here,” she says with a big smile. “I like the way everyone is working together.”

Wesley Pearson is an Elder who’s wearing a sporty hat on his head, and a long, magenta scarf around his neck. “I’m here for the fire,” he deadpans