The sun breaches the horizon on a spring Manitoban morning in 1996, in Winnipeg, the Heart of the Continent, where my journey begins, painted on a canvas of contradiction. Winnipeg — a Cree word meaning “murky water” according to Artibise — resides near the convergence of the Assiniboine and Red rivers. Within the murky waters, a Métis child was born, into the confluence of European and Indigenous blood. I am of mixed ancestry, imbuing my life with a sense of disconnection and longing to fully belong somewhere. Anywhere. I navigate the muddy waters, seeking clarity from the murkiness, and attempt to rekindle the embers of my Indigeneity. My heart yearns for an understanding of my heritage, as lost and distant as the flickering stars.

Decades later, now, I stand on the sacred and stolen lands of the Blackfoot Nation in Calgary, Alberta, specifically in Shaganappi Park. The park is precariously positioned in the heart of a concrete jungle, alongside the roaring of Bow Trail freeway. Urban commotion meets the tranquility of ancestral lands. It’s currently midday. Steel and rubber echoes from the road, becoming the unintended backdrop to my meditative walk. Yet, there is a profound silence to be found beneath the relentless urban cadence. I look upon the surrounding forest, a miniature yet potent reminder of the once boundless wilderness that dressed these lands.

Shaganappi comes from the term for thin, narrow cord made of buffalo rawhide. “The Métis once used shaganappi to repair and bind parts of their Red River ox carts and dogsleds” noted by Colombo. The park, much like rawhide, is tough and enduring despite the encroachment of urbanization, harking back to a time where nature ruled and we were just a part of it, not false masters trying to control and shape it to our whims. “Shaganappi is a corruption of the Cree word pesaganappi, meaning to ‘shred in a circle’” according again, to Colombo. The circle is inescapable. The circle is inevitable. Calgary’s true name is Moh-kíns-tsis, “the Blackfoot word for ‘elbow’” as mentioned by Wilcox, referring to the bend in the Bow River around the city. This elbow is akin to the bend in my personal journey of self-discovery, a turning point, a change in direction as I strive to embrace my Indigeneity.

Entering Shaganappi Park, the city noise immediately dulled, replaced by the subtle rustling of the leaves, the distant echo of bird songs, and the gentle sigh of the wind. The transition between these two worlds, my two worlds, was jarring — yet brought a semblance of peace. I am struck by the hilly terrain that undulates beneath my feet. Each rise and fall parallel emotions within me as I seek to reconnect with the wisdom and traditions. The apparent thickness and tallness of the forest is surprising, for even in its size, looming majestically and shielding me from the chaotic outside world. In my hand, I carry my copy of Richard Wagamese’s Keeper’n Me, a book I’ve been reading since the start of the semester, acting as my guide on a journey towards reconnection with my Indigeneity, towards a reclamation of my own heritage. I’ve long felt severance — the sense of being neither here nor there.

Keeper’n Me brings light on my inner tumult, challenging me to reflect on my understanding of self, heritage, and my place within the larger weave of existence. The air, too, is thick with the gentle scent of cottonwood, the wispy seeds floating through the atmosphere like ethereal messengers. As these tiny cotton clouds drift, they settle upon the ground, blanketing it in a soft, downy layer resembling a sort of heaven. With each step, I feel as though I am walking on clouds, carried by the whispers of those who walked this path before me. The Red Road, Wagamese states, is a spiritual journey, the “path of the heart,” and I am determined to walk it.

The land here, I feel, acts as a guide with connections to the lessons encapsulated in Wagamese’s work. Among the wilderness I notice fences erected — not to confine growth — but to aid in the regrowth of natural habitats. These boundaries serve as a reminder that healing and reconnection require deliberate effort and care, standing as a testament to the resilience of nature and the strength required to restore what has been lost. The fences become a symbol of my own journey, a necessary structure to guide me back to the good teachings. This was the present moment, the very essence of the Indigenous paradigm.

In Wagamese’s words, I was striving to appreciate the “small moments and details in your environment and surroundings”. Every little element mattered — the scent of the air, the touch of the breeze, the crunch of leaves underfoot. Bridges made of stone and wood span the narrow stream, beckoning me to cross from one side to the other. Each step upon these humble structures serves as a bridge between my past and my present, connecting me to a lineage nearly torn away from me. As I traverse this sacred space, the small stream gurgles and dances alongside me at times, its gentle melody soothing my restless soul. Waters pure and untainted. I pause to listen, allowing tranquil nature to envelop me, bonds forming by whispering ancient songs, for “[i]n the Indigenous world, knowledge is about relationships”.

As I walked, I mused over my relationship with this land, my relationship with my disconnected past, my relationship with myself. What knowledge am I seeking? How could I reconnect with a heritage that felt so far removed from my daily experience? To address these questions, I found myself turning again and again to Keeper — his teachings emphasize the importance of balancing the gifts of both our mother and our father, of finding wholeness in the synergy of strength and gentleness, logic and emotion, mind and heart. In doing so, we could “fill out the circle of [our] own life. Be complete”.

I was seeking that completeness, yearning for that circle to be filled. At times while walking, I stray from the gravel path, surrendering to the call of the wild. In the depths of the forest, I find solace and serenity. The earth beneath my feet feels alive, pulsating with ancient stories and forgotten knowledge. With each touch, I absorb the essence of the land, rekindling a long-dormant bond that thrives within me. As I ventured deeper into the park, I let my fingers brush against the rough bark of a tree, marveling at the sensation. This was life, this was energy, pulsating under my fingertips, Leroy Little Bear once wrote about the idea that every bit of creation is brimming with energy waves, suggesting that everything around us is alive and animated.

I sat under the tree, the trunk’s steady support against my back, the leaves whispering above my head. Wagamese wrote, “[t]he important thing about our stories isn’t so much the listening, it’s the time you spend thinking about them”. I heard the stories carried by the trees, and for the first time, I heard the truth in the silence. Truth is not an outcome to be achieved, truth I had been stupidly searching for in books and annotations, in courses and courses readings. The words of Keeper echoed in my mind, “[s]o I wanna spend time with you. Nothin’ big. Just walkin’ round talkin’, lookin’ at things. You got questions you ask, and I’ll try and answer. That way we both help each other find ourselves. Kinda be each other’s guides”.

Perhaps that was it — in this quest for reconnection — I was not alone. Perhaps, the land itself, the spirit of my Indigenous ancestors, the teachings encapsulated in Wagamese’s work were all walking with me, guiding me, helping me find myself. I see the vibrant tapestry of green — sunlight filtering through the leaves like stained glass. Tasting the freshness of the air, tinged with the subtle flavors of pine and wildflowers. Hearing the symphony of bird songs, harmonizing with the rustling of leaves underfoot. Feeling the cool breeze against my skin, carrying the whispers of ancestors. Smelling the earth, rich and fertile, nurturing life in its every molecule. The forest held a sacred silence, a space for contemplation and connection.

I felt the first stirring of understanding. As I left Shaganappi Park that day, the forest’s whispers still echoed in my ears, and Wagamese’s words had nestled themselves in my heart. Each step I took would bring me closer to reconnection, closer to understanding, closer to completing the circle of my life. Despite the noise from the nearby freeway, there is a deep peace that envelops the park, almost like an ethereal blanket. The land does not discriminate. The land cannot discriminate. It knows not the lines we draw on maps, the treaties we form and inevitably break. The land just exists, and has for millennia, and in Her quiet resilience, I find a reflection of my own journey.

The name “Bow Trail” seems fitting; a reminder of the balance between progress and preservation, akin to a bow drawn taut, pointing forward yet grounded in its origins. A sense of belonging begins to blossom within me. This piece of treaty land, where the Bow River bends, is home. My life has taken its turns like the river, and I find myself here, piecing together the puzzle of my heritage, walking the Red Road. In the quiet resonance of Shaganappi Park, I am just a wanderer — a tourist — on the sacred lands of those who came before me, seeking understanding, wisdom, and a return to my roots. More than a journey across physical locations — a spiritual expedition, threading through time and memory.

I am the murky waters of Winnipeg. I am the bending elbow of Mohkínstsis. I am mixed blood, standing at the crossroads of a modern highway and a forest whispering wisdom. And the journey along the Red Road, the pursuit of truth and personal harmony, is far from complete. But every step brings clarity, every ray of sunlight illuminates the path. For I am home, and the land is within me, as I am within it. “Learning how to be what the Creator created you to be. Face your truth,” Keeper had said. This was my truth. This was my path. And so, I walked.

  1. Winnipeg’s Rich History
    Alan F.j. Artibise gives an in-depth look at the history and significance of Winnipeg in his article on The Canadian Encyclopedia. Published in 2012, it offers a comprehensive overview of this major Canadian city.
  2. Discovering Shaganappi
    John Robert Colombo delves into the origins and meanings of “Shaganappi” in his 2006 article for The Canadian Encyclopedia. If you’re curious about this term, Colombo’s piece is a must-read.
  3. Indigenous Perspectives on Land and Treaty Making
    In “Aboriginal Paradigms: Implications for Relationships to Land and Treaty Making,” Leroy Little Bear discusses Indigenous worldviews and their implications for land rights and treaty-making. This insightful chapter can be found in the book “Advancing Aboriginal Claims: Visions, Strategies, Directions,” edited by Kerry Wilkins.
  4. Indigenous Knowledge in Modern Contexts
    Leroy Little Bear also authored the “Naturalizing Indigenous Knowledge Synthesis Paper” for the Canadian Council on Learning. Published in 2009 by the Aboriginal Learning Knowledge Centre, this paper sheds light on the importance and relevance of Indigenous knowledge in contemporary settings.
  5. A Journey of Self-Discovery
    Richard Wagamese’s novel, “Keeper’n Me,” published by Penguin in 2018, is a touching story of self-discovery, identity, and the power of community. Wagamese’s storytelling prowess makes this a captivating read.
  6. Calgary’s Many Names
    Ever wondered about the various names Calgary had before it officially became “Calgary”? Meg Wilcox explores this fascinating topic in her 2015 article titled “7 Names for Calgary before It Became Calgary” for CBCnews.