Learning from the Field

This is a special place.

If any mantra has swayed to and fro within the empty space where my mind should be, it is those words. I keep trying to imagine what it felt like to be the ‘me’ of yesterday; the one who had never experienced today, who had never learned what I learned, or seen what I’ve seen this day. The one who still held today in yesterday’s wonder and worry.

It may be a fruitless struggle to imagine myself then, but it is a vital conflict. If we never reflect or acknowledge how little we knew yesterday, we could never truly appreciate all we’ve learned today.

My wife Kiyomi and her first cod 

(Photo: Ed Millar)

Today, my wife and I joined Ster Welcher and Kayla Hobbs on Ster’s speedboat to go catch cod on the first day of the fall recreational cod fishery which will close on September 30^th. Ster used landmarks on the shore to position the boat. Kayla told us that earlier the shoal was where the cod could be found, but later heard that they may have moved to deeper areas. Once we were in position, Ster and Kayla showed us how to cast the hand lines (each with a Norwegian jig) and how far to let the line down before reeling it in a little and jigging the line. If there were no bites within a few minutes, Ster would move to the next mark and cast again. After some unsuccessful casts, the cod started to bite, and within two hours we caught our limit for the day. Back on shore, Kayla showed me how to correctly gut cod and cut the tongue, which I then proceeded to do, while Ster fileted. 

My first cod (Photo: Ed Millar)

Yesterday, while I certainly imagined what it might feel like to go out on a boat to catch cod, I remained oblivious to what it actually came to feel like, not to mention being unaware of the nuances involved. While we had read and learned about the catching process, seeing it in person removed the filters brought on by my unfamiliarity, resulting in a clearer overall picture.  

I am so thankful for having been given this opportunity to go out and meet some truly incredible people, who have taught me so much in these last few weeks.

Phonse Ducey showing me the technique for mending a net
(Photo: Ed Millar)

Every day, I come to realize the basic importance of what it means to be a folklorist: to meet, record, and learn from others. Over time, that realization progresses into the notion that everyone, everything, and everywhere, is special. Regardless of which corner you turn, there will be people worth talking to, things worth doing, and places worth seeing.  

Keels is that special place. 

A Saturday Afternoon Stroll

On the rare chance that I find myself with a few moments to spare I like to take time to reflect on the weeks events. For me a leisurely stroll through Keels provides this much needed time for rest and contemplation. I think about what I am here to do and how I am going to confront my fear of that first interview, which is now looming closer and closer.

Street view of Keels from beside the Anglican Church
 (Photograph: Noah Morritt)

These walks, however, are not often moments of solitary reflection. Even in what I think are the most remote and removed parts of town I will stumble upon someone ready to chat. Over the past two weeks I have had some of the most interesting chats with people from Keels and other Newfoundlanders who are either from other communities or visiting from other parts of Canada. It is amazing how readily they are prepared to talk, and their stories often frame Keels life in very different perspectives. Upon reflection, these serendipitous meetings along the ATV trail or beside the berry patch are some of the most important. Often questions such as "when did you leave Newfoundland," or "were you ever involved in the fishery" result in a wealth of information. Perhaps I am more prepared for my first interview than I give myself credit for, but I do not think that anything can fully alleviate the recurring worry that I am going to completely mess up. After the final "goodbye" and "nice chatting to you" I go on my way, now with something completely new to think about.

As I finally begin to approach Keels I often find myself thinking about the people I meet and the buildings that I see. They seem to have become more familiar. What used to be just the quick friendly "hello," and "nice weather we're having" have become full length conversations and questions about the field school and our progress. I have read all about the process of building rapport in ethnographic fieldwork, but these guidebooks seem like some confusing mind maze. Instead, my entry into the world of ethnographic fieldwork seems to have begun with a simple Saturday afternoon stroll.

An ATV trail in Keels (Photograph: Noah Morritt)

In Strange Terrain: Berries and Fairies

I never realised how woefully ignorant I am about berry-lore until spending time in Keels these past couple weeks. I've always been comfortable in my perception that Saskatchewan's berry, the saskatoon, was the best around, that it was pretty much unique to the prairies, and that my saskatoon berry pie was delicious. Then I got to Newfoundland, and found out that lots of people have saskatoon berry bushes growing in their yards, but here they're called chuckley pear. I also discovered that there is an abundance of wild berries growing all over Newfoundland, and any preconceptions I had of the "Rock" being a barren, berryless wasteland went out the window.

Juniper berries growing around Keels. Photo: Kristin Catherwood

There are berries everywhere here. Much of the landscape around Keels is covered with juniper and its bluish berry (I was told that some of these bushes, which grow close to the ground, may be as old as a century). Then there are blueberries, which I had never seen growing in the wild before. There are also partridge berries, a local favourite. While picking them the other day with Claire and Erin, I came across another berry, which Claire said was called crow berry. Cranberries grow here, too, though I haven't seen any yet. Then there are bake apples, which I didn't realise were actually a berry at first until Erin filled me in on the supposed entymology of the name. Apparently, French settlers called the berry "baie qu'appelle", meaning basically  "whatchamacallit berry." Over time the name became anglicised and distorted.

Partridge berries, known as lingonberries in other locales, are
a Newfoundland favourite. Photo: Kristin Catherwood

The importance of berries to Newfoundland culture is something you just can't really know about until you come here and witness it firsthand. Historically, berries were very important in the diets of fishing families who mostly ate fish, meat, and root vegetables like potatoes. Berries would have provided essential nutrients. Thus, berry-picking was an important past-time, probably carried out mostly by young women. And this leads me into the next part of my post: fairies.

I'm currently reading Strange Terrain: The Fairy World in Newfoundland by Barbara Rieti, which resulted from her PhD thesis in Folklore at MUN. Many of the stories in her book centre around strange experiences in the woods when out picking berries or doing other important tasks like cutting wood or hay, or tending gardens. This was another part of Newfoundland culture of which I had no knowledge before arriving here: the pervasiveness of folk belief in fairies and other elements of the supernatural, though this belief is apparently mostly a thing of the past.

A thicket of an unidentified berry, possibly marsh berries,
overlooking Keels harbour. Photo: Kristin Catherwood

The other day, I walked alone out to the old slate quarry (see Claire's past post about it) to meet Claire and Erin to pick partridge berries. The walk took me through some "strange terrain", an area that I had not yet explored. In the quiet of the wooded path, I kept thinking about the fairy book, and almost expected to see tiny figures perched among the berries in the bushes on either side of the path. We came to Keels to learn about the fishery, and we certainly are, but the great thing about being immersed in the community about which we're learning is that we get a deeper experience of the overall culture. I haven't yet spoken to any locals about fairy belief, but in Rieti's book there is one excerpt that notes that in decades past, residents of Keels left woolen socks and mittens out on All Souls Night for the fairies, so clearly there was some belief here in fairies historically.

Any map of Newfoundland will show clearly that most of the settlement in the province was along the coast because of, you guessed it, the fishery. But Newfoundlanders' lives were influenced just as much by the woods and bogs at their backs as they were by the sea in front of them. Fairy stories (not to be confused with fairy tales) are often indicative of the awe, and sometimes fear, the woods inspired in those who dwelt near them. You just never knew when an afternoon of berry-picking might get you "into the fairies."

An expedition to pick berries could take one into "strange terrain." Who knows
what could be around the bend. Photo: Kristin Catherwood

Work and Play



"La bonne cuisine est la

base du véritable bonheur."

(Photo: Claire McDougall)



We’ve all been working hard the last week and a half, learning about photography and audio recording, metadata and interviewing techniques.  As yesterday’s posts made clear, our current focus is on measuring and documenting buildings.  Learning new things is thought-provoking, exciting and, at times, exhausting.  Developing new skills in a group context always presents its own challenges, but I have found the experience here in Keels incredibly rewarding.  We’re going through growing pains together, quite literally; we really did have to stretch for some of those measurements.  There is nothing quite so satisfying as working towards, and accomplishing, a common goal.  When achieving that goal involves exercising both brain and body, though, it can make for a long day.



When the working day is jam-packed, I always like to take a little time, to allow myself to unwind.  Over the course of this field school, I have found that time and space in the kitchen.  Erin (roommate extraordinaire) and I have been cooking up a storm…

Fried Cod Tongues

              



                 

                Fish Chowder



 

Fish Cakes

(Photos: Claire McDougall)



 

…and there seems to be a theme developing…

It’s not all cod all the time, though.  Tonight we’re going to enjoy a barbequed meal at Rosie Welcher’s place.  We’re unlikely to have fish in addition to our sausages and chops (and there’s a part of me that worries I might go into withdrawal without it).  We are, however, guaranteed good company and the same overwhelming hospitality that has been extended to us since our arrival.

Taking the Measure of Keels

When I was a kid, I dreamt of houses with secret passages and curvy, elegant stairways. I was obsessed with an imaginary, mysterious, rock wall, several storey home, encircled by humongous, leafy trees and a black wrought iron fence. The more Canadian Gothic it was (if I may coin the term) the better it suited my fancy. Now, in the "grown-up" world of the Keels Field School, my dream is much simpler. Now I dream of walls covered in gyproc so I don't have to measure each and every exposed stud.

As I'm sure you've gathered already, I spent the day of Thursday, September 20, 2012 measuring buildings with an eternity of exposed studs. An "eternity" might be an exaggeration, but not a big one. We work in teams of three, and each person in the group is responsible for measuring one outbuilding (not to be confused with outhouse, thank goodness). My team spent the morning measuring a storage shed, called a store in Keels; the afternoon was spent measuring a fish store--similar to a store, but used to store all things fishing-related. As two people called out the measurements, the third person drew the floor plan to scale on jumbo graph paper. 

Noah Morritt and Claire McDougall take the measurements of the studs in Phonse Ducey's fish store.

Photo: Jerry Pocius

Don't mistake me when I say "two people called out the measurements." This was not a simple task, and it warrants more than six measly words. Those two people became, for the space of several hours, ingenious acrobats and contortionists, pulling on every bodily resource available to them. Those two people are modern day heroes. Seriously. 

  

Noah Morritt, Alicia Farnham and Claire McDougall
taking the measurements of a 5' x 6' bathroom.

Photo: Jerry Pocius

The same can be said of that thrid person, drawing the floor plan, minus the acrobatics. This task involved miniscule markings the likes of which someone with 40/40 vision would have trouble with; it involved the most strategic labelling one can imagine. And all in a generally cramped, crouched over, body-stiffening-by-the-second position, to be held for upwards of half an hour at a time. Or more. No joke. 

Carefully drawing my floor plan.

Photo: Jerry Pocius

I paid to learn how to do this. This afternoon, as I made the calls on my own outbuilding, which detail to include in the floor plan, and which to leave out, I had to remind myself why I was bothering with such a tedious, mind-twisting/numbing task. A few times I almost forgot. 

When I backed up, took a look at the whole picture, I'd remember the pleasure I used to take in discovering a floor plan that existed in my imagination. As it gradually took form in perfect ruler-straight lines on my paper, I would imagine myself living in this home, enjoying all the various intrigues required of a house with secret passageways. And I would remember how much I loved, as a child and as a young adult, to explore every nook and cranny of the historic homes preserved in Kings Landing, a historical settlement in my home province of New Brunswick. If I didn't draw that floor plan correctly, to scale, with the details, how would any child ever be able to examine with fascination the intricacies of a fish store in Newfoundland, when, decades down the road, there is nothing left of an original fish store in the province except what has been rebuilt in a provincial historical settlement or something similar? I want that sense of awe and delight to carry on past my own lifetime. And as disconnected as those two points in time might seem (my floor plan of 2012, and a restoration effort of c. 2092), that's what kept me drawing those tiny 1" x 3" studs on my 1' = 3/4" plan. And believe me, I needed the inspiration!



Finally Finished!
(Alicia Farnham, Noah Morritt, Claire McDougall)

Photo: Jerry Pocius



Living in Heritage

We are currently measuring and drawing plans for houses and outbuildings in Keels. Before setting out, Jerry talked a bit about the study of vernacular architecture. He described architecture as “fossilized thoughts”. I remember earlier this summer, walking around Montreal and thinking about all of the houses and apartment buildings in my neighbourhood. I was living in a working class neighbourhood, that I suppose was built up in the 1950s. There is a particular style of apartment building that is commonly nestled in amongst the brick duplexes, usually three story brick buildings that contain about six or seven apartments, all with matching balconies jutting out the fronts. Many of them have faded gold painted lettering over the entrance ways with grand building names like “Chateau Brebeuf” or “El Presidente”. Today the buildings are dirty and faded, but I imagine their beginnings as shiny and full of promise. Another style common in that neighbourhood was a one story brick house that was designed to have another story added above as the family established themselves and grew. I thought of these buildings as embodiments of hope, once fresh and new, ripe with possibility.

I think of the houses in Keels somewhat differently. Many of them go back to the beginning of the 20^th century, but you'd never say it to look at them from outside. Clad in vinyl siding and mounted with satellite dishes, they live firmly in the present. And yet, when you examine them from the inside, you can see the traces of their former lives. They have sheltered families which expand and contract through generations, and are subdivided or opened up accordingly. Roofs are raised, bedrooms are joined, and extensions built. They contain many layers of fossilized thoughts. 

 A couple of the houses in Keels are designated heritage homes, adorned with a plaque to prove it. They are a reflection of a past aesthetic, one that recalls the “good old days” when everything was homey and “authentic”. As far as I know, these houses are owned exclusively by “summer people”, that is, the ones who don't require that their homes function in the same practical way that the permanent residents of the town prefer. They are full of antiques and old things, while the houses I've been in that are inhabited by year-round Keels residents are a mish mash of tastes, much more modern and clearly reflective of the lives that have most recently been lived within the walls. Photos of grandchildren, plaques with religious and sentimental phrases, and the occasional lewd joke.

William Wheeler House (Photo: Heritage Foundation of Newfoundland)

There is a sentimentality about Newfoundland, about the loss of a traditional way of life and a forced entry to the modern world. It is reflected in songs like “Saltwater Joys” by Buddy Wasisname and the Other Fellers. I don't believe it's a sentimentality that prevails over the lives of the people here. Sure, we all get nostalgic and misty eyed from time to time, but I think people here are inextricably linked to the past, to their family heritage, and they are unlikely to forget that. But they are mostly engaged with the business of the present, and with the constant desire to shape the world around them to suit their needs, just as their ancestors did. 

John Ducey's house, built 1901. (Photo: Erin Whitney)

Riding Around Keels

Road sign in Keels (Photograph: Noah Morritt)

How do people in Keels get around? How do they access other communities and get supplies? In Keels, like in many other communities, the automobile and all of its various forms provides the essential mode of transportation. A quick trip in the car can get you to Selby Mesh’s shop for supplies or to Bonavista for a more extensive shopping trip. Local roads weave through the community and help people move from one side of the community to the other. Most importantly, the road from Keels through Duntara to King’s Cove provides an essential link to other communities on the Bonavista Peninsula. The vital importance of this single roadway out of Keels became especially apparent if the aftermath of Hurricane Igor in 2010, which washed out the this roadway, severing access to supplies and services.



ATV Trail to Barbows Pond, Keels
(Photograph: Noah Morritt)

While many people in Keels own a vehicle, many others also own boats, snowmobiles and ATVs. The paved asphalt roads of Keels are undoubtedly one of the first things you notice, but after walking around you realize that a series of ATV paths also link these roads to the outermost areas of the village. These paths are almost completely inaccessible to cars and trucks, and are used on a regular basis to access gardens, ponds, berry patches, cabins, and lumber. In the past these resources would have to be brought back by foot or sled, and it was often easier to haul lumber in the winter months when the fisheries had shut down for the season and snow made it easier to pull the sleds. Today, however, the ATV has imprinted itself on the local landscape in ways that are similar, but yet distinctly different from cars and trucks. The people of Keels have an important relationship with the outlaying forests, which provides lumber for their wood stoves and berries for jams and baking, space for hunting moose and snaring rabbits, as well as swimming and fishing. It is also not uncommon to also see people driving around town on their ATVs, visiting friends or getting supplies from Selby’s shop.



Road sign in Keels
(Photograph: Noah Morritt)

This transportation system that the people of Keels have created that makes sense for the way they live and the resources that they need to access. While cars and trucks are vital for access to communities outside of Keels, they are also limited to roads and paths not blocked by enormous rocks and steep, uneven hills. The ATV is therefore as much a part of Keels life as is the automobile or boat, and it is very unlikely that you will got for too long without seeing one zooming along.