The following interview is with Dr. Margaret Johnson, also fondly called Dr. Granny, from Eskasoni (Eskissoqnik) First Nation, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. It is conducted by Trudy Sable on July 11, 1994 as they were traveling back from Prince Edward Island where they had gone to research Margaret’s family history. The interview is rich with descriptions of Margaret’s life growing up as one of 12 children in Potlotek, or Chapel Island First Nation in the early 20^th century prior to Centralization. It includes stories of her family’s livelihood selling baskets, fishing, and farming, as well as descriptions of Chapel Island Mission, the Grand Council’s meetings, dances and songs, and a Kluskap story about the creation of sweetgrass along the Bay of Fundy.

The archiving of this interview is possible through the sponsorship of the Mi’kmaw Native Friendship Centre in Halifax, Nova Scotia with funding through the Department of Canadian Heritage Aboriginal Language Initiatives Program. 

TS: En route to Port Hood, Nova Scotia, on July 11th, 1994, we came from PEI, looking for her mother’s ancestry. Here’s Margaret.

MJ: Hi there, honey. You know, there’s so many of us. We were 12 in the family. My mother was born in Rocky Point and she was given to the Indians when she was an infant. She was 15 or 16 when she married my father. We had an 18 by 20 house, with an upstairs on it. One floor, stove in the middle, and we were making baskets, and my father and mother used to go out and sell them, trade them for something like flour and pork, beans and stuff like that. And we lived fairly good. My father was a fisherman. He got a lot of fish in summertime. He got herring, cod, and then in fall he’ll be gettin’ oysters. He used to sell them, send them to Yarmouth. At that time the oysters, one of those great big puncheons they called them, great big balls, holds about 8 bags of oysters, and he was only getting $4.00 for that big puncheion, they used to call it. 

And then.. .We had a lot to eat, but we never had much money. We get clothes from the people. My father used to go around and sometimes he’d trade old clothes for a basket, same as my mother. We used to trade baskets for old clothes, or stuff like that then, because we were… how many girls we were? I forget now. Esther, Sarah, Margaret, I’m Margaret, then Mary, then Caroline, Brigitte, and Annie Tina—seven girls. And, one gets a dress too small and they hand it to the next one. Same as the socks. My mother used to buy those yard socks way, way back about 70 years ago, you can buy them by the yards. And the oldest ones would wear them, and they’re washed every now and then, every week they’re washed. My mother used to, when they would get small, she used to cut the toes again, toes and heel and sew them together. And sometimes we got gumboots from Indian Affairs. We didn’t get no relief like today. I don’t know what we would do if we got the relief. But my father was working hard, and my father used to buy … whatever he sells, like if he sells fish, oysters or cod, he’d buy flour, lots of flour and baking powder. And then they used to make this dough. We never used very much of baking powder, my mother used to use soda. And she makes the yeast in a bean crock. Did you ever see this? And you put one block of yeast and you put warm water, then you mix it like a pancake dough, and you leave it and it gets up, like…it rises and then you make a bread, like bannock. And we don’t use baking powder, just that and soda, a little bit of soda, when you mix it together. Then you set it up on the oven and let it rise for 5-10 minutes, and then cook it. It was delicious. I don’t think I’ll ever taste another one like that, Trudy. Anyway, my mother she can save, she’s good to save on groceries and stuff like that.

We had beans once a week with buns, and she always makes gingerbread like Saturday. Gingerbread and pies, apple pies. We never was poor. I don’t remember if we were ever hungry anyway. But we never had much money and much of everything. Sometimes your dress is gone in front, mother would cut something else that would sew the front, different colour front skirt, you know? She always saved things like that.

Then she used to make the… cut and sew coats and make blocks and then we set down and we make our own quilts. And, we used to make a lot of baskets. We used to go sell them. After a while they get a little bit better. Then they stopped making baskets, people stopped making baskets all over Nova Scotia, I think. Then they start again, I don’t know how many years after. The ones they know how to make baskets, they were teaching the others, uh. And I was teaching for probably from the 70s until … I’m still teaching. 

TS: Why did they stop?

MJ: The government didn’t want to pay. Manpower training course was the only way that they got money. But the government didn’t pay for anything. So, the counselors or whoever starts the course, got to go to these Manpower training courses. And we usually got that course from the Manpower. They pay the instructor and they pay the ladies that they work. 

TS: Margaret, can you say something about your mother being Scottish and your great grandparents, the Pecks?

MJ: Well, my grandmother Peck, she adopted, she took on my mother when she was an infant. And she was born in Rocky Point, and she looked after her until she married my father. And we didn’t know, we couldn’t find out when she was born, what date or what month, but they said she was 15 when she married my father, and she had the first baby when she was 16. So, my oldest brother would be 91 now. 

TS: And she was a MacDonald, we think? Maybe? Isaac Snake told you that?

MJ: Well, I met this old man and he asked me who’s my mother, and I said, “Janey Peck”. “Oh”, he said, “I know Janey Peck, but that’s not her name. She was baptized as Elizabeth Anne and she’s a MacDonald”.  MacDonald girl gave that to Susan, Susan Peck. And the old man, Ben Peck?

TS: You have it written down?

MJ: Anyway, I tried to locate my mother’s birth certificate since the last 25 years, and I couldn’t find it. And when she was, when she got old age pension, she got a hard time because they couldn’t find her birth certificate. So, they got to use the marriage certificate, the day that she married my father. She doesn’t even know if she was 16 or 15 when she was married. So that’s the story. And now I been trying to locate her. But I don’t know if I’m going to succeed or not. 

TS: What were the names that John Joe (Sark, ed.) found for you, at the archives? Susan Peck, and Isabelle was your sister…?

MJ: Isabelle was their daughter and her husband was (Mike Ben?)

TS: And, they were from?

MJ:  They were from Mabou, and that’s where we’re heading right now, to see maybe she was baptized in Mabou. So that was Charles Peck, not Ben, but Charles Peck was 45; we found this in the Archives. We just came from PEI today. And yesterday we were to Archives and we found Charles Peck, Maryanne Peck, and their daughter Isabelle. But my mother always called her sister, that Isabelle. My mother’s not in that list. I figured my mother was born in 1878, 87, 88 and 89, between these lines, between that time. I think that’s when she was born. She was 16 when she was married, that would be 1888, uh? And if she was 15, it would be 87 or 89? 

TS: 16 when she had your first brother, yeah it would be ‘87. 1887 would be her birth year.

MJ: Yeah. So we think her birth year was 1887. And now we’re going to Fort Hood. That’s where Charles Peck and Maryanne and Isabelle, they used to live there. And uh, we’re gonna go to see the parish priest.  There’s no archives there, uh? We’re going to see what we can find, anyway.

TS: But the Pecks came over on a sloop, did you say?  

MJ: Yeah, they used to have those boats, with two big sails, and one small one in front. They call them schooners, I think.  In Mi’kmaw we call it sapu’lk. And they used to go, way back in 1880s, they used to go to Prince Edward Island* to work, and the farmers, with the farmers, to cut the seed, plant the potatoes. At that time they didn’t have no machines to drop the potatoes on the ground, they got to use their hands. So, they worked there until harvest time again in October, September and October. Then they’d be going back across from Souris (Surrey?) to Port Hood, and they said that was only 30 miles. You think it’s 30 miles?

[*NOTE: Margaret pronounces Prince Edward Island as ‘Prince Edood Isan’.  According to Mi’kmaw linguist, Bernie Francis, “To a mostly Mi’kmaw speaker, PEI would be pronounced ‘Prince Edood Islan’, with these 3 words said in rapid succession. It makes sense that a non-Mi’kmaw speaker would hear the middle name as almost like ‘stood.’ Even people with the name Edward would be called ‘Edood’ when the normally Mi’kmaw speaker is speaking English instead of using ‘Etue’l’ which is how our people say, Edward when speaking Mi’kmaw. The etymology of ‘Etue’l’ is from the French, Edouard with the silent “d.”]

TS: We’ll check.

MJ: We’ll check. And what else, what else now?

TS Your mother grew up in Port Hood? 

MJ: I don’t know. I don’t think they moved back to Wycogomah (We’koqma’q). Isabelle was their sister, foster sister. That Isabelle was a nice-looking woman. That’s Rita Joe’s grandmother.  You know the poet Rita Joe, Trudy?

TS: Yeah

MJ: Oh yeah, everybody knows her. That was her grandmother, and she was my great aunt, because that was my mother’s sister. No, that would be my aunt, uh? 

We been making baskets, and way back they used to make a lot of potato baskets. They used to take them to PEI and sell them. At that time, I think they were only 75 cents, in 1880s. Well, they were getting better after a while. Now I think they’re $25.00, uh, potato baskets. The farmers don’t buy them now; they couldn’t even afford them, I don’t think. They don’t buy them. What else?

TS: Well, you grew up on Chapel Island, right?

MJ: Yeah, my father and my mother. Well, they lived in Chapel Island and they had a little house 18 by 20, did I say that before? Anyway, my mother told us that one time after she got married, maybe she was around about 20, she said she got a letter from Prince Edward Island*. Her uncle or somebody sent it to her, ‘cause I suppose they were always tracking her down wherever she was. And they know who she married to, and they ask her to come to PEI; they were going to share some property. But my mother said that her “sister-in-law’s making fun of me”, and she said, “I got mad and I threw the damn old letter in the stove, ‘cause they said, we’re gonna tell your husband.” That was their brother. “We’ll tell Michael when he comes in, that you got a letter from a boyfriend”. And she said, “After I threw it in the stove, my sister-in-law said she already read it. That wasn’t her boyfriend, that was her uncle or somebody, a relation, that sent her that letter and you made her put it in the stove. Now she won’t be able to locate her uncle, and they were going to share her some property.” So, she doesn’t know anything about that, after that. She never got a letter after. 

That’s the story. It’s a long story. I don’t know if I tell all of it, but some people might know. But maybe they’re all dead now, maybe I’m the only one living. Next month, I’ll be 79. 

TS: When did your mother die?

MJ: Oh, my mother died when she was about 75.

TS: What year, do you remember?

MJ: Gee, now, I don’t know. 30 years ago, about 30 years ago, I don’t know. How old is Tom, my son?

TS: I don’t know.

MJ: Anyway, he wasn’t born, and I think Tom is 34, 35… Maybe 35 years ago, and my father died a couple years after that.

TS: Would you talk a little bit about life on Chapel Island growing up?

MJ: What?

TS: What was it like every day…what did people do for entertainment …and work?

MJ: Oh, the people don’t live in Chapel Island year in and year out. They only celebrate Saint Anne’s, and from 26th of July until they have their Saint Anne out, after they brought it back in the church, then there used to be an awful lot of people there coming in the boats, and they’re coming in cars and trucks, and they’d celebrate maybe a week.

[MJ and TS are driving past a church] There’s a church. Is this a Catholic church? Where are we going?

TS: Well, this is River St. Denys, Saint Andrew. This isn’t the right town.

MJ: Oh. PEI is there. [Returning to our conversation] It’s getting bigger and bigger and there’s so many people, 5,000. Last year there were about 10,000 people. That they came all over, from States, Quebec, Nova Scotia, Cape Breton Island. And a lot of white people, they brought their cameras and take pictures of the Indians (laughing). 

TS: When you were young, was it mostly just Mi’kmaq?

MJ: When I was young we didn’t see no pictures, we didn’t even have a radio. And the only time we see people is mission time, Saint Anne’s. And we had a good time, great time, everybody’s happy and everybody’s having a great time. And the Indians used to dance, dance around, like in a powwow today, uh. They danced, and they had square dance and Indian dance, powwow dance or whatever you call it. Different kind of dances.

TS: Do you remember which dance you danced, Indian dances they did?

MJ: Yeah, like I’ko. [Margaret then sings I’ko] And then Jukwa’luk kwe’ji’juow  [Margaret then sings Jukwa’luk kwe’ji’juow  ending with Ta ho!  

TS: What dance did they do to I’ko?

MJ:  They have… they just, march like. They put one foot here, another foot here, and they had their hands in the back. 

TS: Men and Women?

MJ: No, just men. There was no women. No women dancing until after. When they dance they say Jukwa’luk kwe’ji’juow and Ko’jua. And the women dance. But that I’ko, nobody danced but men. Now everybody dance when they hear that I’ko, uh?

TS: Was it all the men that danced?

MJ: huh?

TS: All the men danced, I’ko?

MJ: A long time, only men. But not all, the whole reserve. Only a few, that they liked to dance, they danced.

TS: But, what about when you were talking about the Grand Council…dancing? The Grand Council?

MJ: That Grand Council would be in the great big wigwam and then they come out and they  dancing. And then one that goes up and then he comes back, then he sits down. And then another one, until they all come out. I don’t know how many there were, but they were only men. 

TS: That was I’ko, right?

MJ: Yeah. When they come out from that big wigwam, (kji’wikuom) they called it, they’d come out dancing and singing I’ko, until they’re finished. They sit down, and put their legs crosswise. And then after, when they’re all finished dancing, then some men from inside the wikuom they brought the food. Whatever they cook, and who cooked, I didn’t know. So that’s the story. That’s a long story. 

This was way, way back, a long time ago. When Kluskap was hunting, he used to live in Bay of Fundy, and he had his cabin, his camp. He was all alone for a long time. So, one day when he came home, he seen this women sitting in his cabin. He said, “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”. She said, “I was sent here.” “Who sent you?” “Somebody sent me here to keep you company.” So, ok. They stayed together so many years, and then one day she was staying home and she didn’t go with her man. They used to go out every day to look after the traps and set them and bring the fur, or whatever they can get. So, one day she said, “I’m not going. I’m going to stay home”. So when he came home, she was sittin’ there crying and crying. “What’s the matter?”. She said, “Well, somebody came to me and wants me to go back but  he wants me …You got to kill me”. “Oh gosh”, he said, “I won’t be able to kill you”, but she said, “I won’t be happy if you don’t kill me. And you’ve been…You won’t miss me. Every time you go outside you’ll smell that aroma around the shore; if you stand at the door, you’ll smell that aroma. That’s the sweetgrass. Chop off my hair, cut them all up and spread them all over the shore.” And her hair was up to her bum. She had long, long hair, beautiful hair. Now he said, “I couldn’t kill you, I couldn’t do that to you.”  “But you got to.” she said. “My time is up and this is what you must do for me. And after you do this, chop all my bones and put them all along the shore, and my hair, so the next day you’ll see my hair on the beach. That would be the sweetgrass that be growing so high like my hair, and you can smell that from your cabin.”  So she was crying, and she wanted him to kill her. So at last he said, “Ok, I’ll kill you but I don’t want to do it. I love you so much, and I think the world of you and I don’t want to kill you”. She said, “You’ve got to do it. That’s the orders I get from somebody, maybe from (inaudible: God?) or…, and my time is up”. So that’s what he did, chopped her all up. Then he put all the bones along the shore, and her hair. The next morning when he got up, when he opened the door, he sees long hay that grows along the shore, and you could smell that aroma. That was the sweetgrass. And then he went around the shore, cryin’, moanin’, crying and crying every day, until he forget all about her after a while. Then he moved away further up. But those sweetgrass still grow there, in the Bay of Fundy along the shore. (incoherent) And that’s the story. Story ends. 

TS: Where did you learn that story?

MJ: I don’t know where I learnt. You know, I got these dreams sometimes. Like that John Joe yesterday, day before…, I never was to his house, but I ask him if his house was green and if he sells…, if it was the first one near that Johnson River, and he said, “Yes”. So he said, “How did you know?”  God only knows, I don’t know, but I can tell the colour of his house, where he had his house next to the river. That’s Johnson’s River, uh. You heard me. 

TS: Oh, I thought you’d been there before.

MJ: I never was in there before. That was that (inaudible) I never was in there before. How did I know? I just said, yesterday you remember I said, “How did I know?” Cause I never was to his house before. Sometimes I dream, and my dreams will come true. Sometimes I say something, just for fun, and it will come out just the same as I said it. So, what do you think of me? Do you think I’m some kind of a…I don’t know, I don’t understand. 

[TS and MJ are driving past a liquor store]

MJ: There’s a liquor store over here. Liquor store, we just passed by the liquor store in Mabou. Too bad we don’t drink; we would buy it, uh?

TS: We’re entering Port Hood

MJ: Now that’s the story, Trudy. 

TS: Ok, we’ve got to look out for the church. 

End of Tape