BOTTLED WISDOM


BOTTLED WISDOM                  copyright     Frances K. Van Mil

Spring had arrived.  At Cape Croker Reserve that meant, among other things, eager foraging in ditches for wild leeks and…beer bottles.  Beer bottles, plentiful and redeemable for cash, were the mainstay of the economy in some households.
This spring, Cape Croker was to be the host of the AA Roundup—the annual regional conference of Alcoholics Anonymous.
            I have great respect for AA.  From friends involved in it, I have absorbed much Biblical teaching expressed in practical terms.  Such slogans as “One Day at a Time”, “First Things First”, and “Let Go and Let God”, as well as the well-known Serenity Prayer have been useful in my own life—God’s big guns for those tearing-out-my-hair crises.
Although the local AA group consisted of only a few members—none too anonymous on such a small reserve—the Roundup was a community event and community pride was at stake.  True native hospitality must be shown.  The best cooks on the reserve had been asked to help with the fundraising banquet which was open to all.  Verna, our seventy-five- year-old landlady, took the responsibility so seriously that she brought both her microwave and her freezer to the Community Hall for the grand occasion.
           
My husband and I planned to attend the banquet.  As voluntary workers with a Christian organization we had a dual role.  The first was to help with the economic development project—a cow-calf and commercial garden training venture which would provide employment, increase self-esteem and bring resources to the reserve.  The second was to live with our two young children on the reserve, being a Christian witness and forming relationships with the people in our own way.
Even at fifteen dollars a ticket, the banquet was a sellout.  Father McGee was there, anticipating a sumptuous feast instead of his usual bachelor fare of liver and onions or a boiled egg, all in the name of an upright cause.  Irene came prepared to cover the event for her weekly column in the Wiarton Echo.  The Chief and Council had been invited.  When the elders had been served, we all sat down to enjoy a feast:  corn soup, bannock, wild rice, turkey and venison.
After the meal, we settled back to listen to speeches on the theme of attaining and maintaining sobriety.
“My name is Tom.  I am an alcoholic.”
 The solemnity was shattered as two children ran through the open door to the left of the platform, shouting excitedly.  Suddenly I realized that they were my children, and that they were pulling a wagon loaded with empty beer bottles.  A ripple of laughter spread through the room. 
“Look, Mom, a whole wagon full.”  We’ll be rich!” shouted the excited children.
My face was as red as the cranberry punch.
“Don’t worry, dear”, said the lady beside me, patting my arm reassuringly.  “It never hurts us to “Remember When.”

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