Looking Through My Old Photos

This story was originally published in Lii Mimwayr Di Faamii (Family Memories), a compilation of stories from members of Gabriel Dumont Local 11, a Métis Local in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada. The work began as oral stories, recorded over Zoom during the pandemic. The stories were then transcribed and edited into a Special Edition of Folklore Magazine, published in December 2021.

Lii Mimwayr Di Faamii.

Click below to watch the original video of Faye Maurice sharing this story:

Looking through my old photos helps me remember stories that bring a smile to my face and sometimes a few tears. Stories, both written and spoken, have a powerful impact. Stories give us knowledge and lessons to enrich our lives. Stories connect us and remind us of where we came from.  These photos are my stories.

Someone who has always impacted my life for the better is my father, Clarence Trotchie. His life taught me that nothing is insurmountable.

He died at 63. I miss him all the time. When you’re younger, and you have a parent pass away, you think they were old. He wasn’t old. In hindsight and being 66 now, I realize 63 was far too young. Despite the rocky patches in his life, he had many accomplishments and was loved and admired by many.

Clarence Trotchie.

When he enlisted in the army at 16 years of age, his mother went and brought him home. Determined to serve his country, he jumped on an eastbound train to re-enlist.

He spent four years overseas in a tank as a Lance Corporal.  His tales of war were usually light and humorous but occasionally, especially when he drank, he would give glimpses of the horrors and fear he experienced.  I was also informed by my cousin that his $1 a day was sent home to his mother.

My father loved hockey.  He played hockey in Holland after the war and then played for a living in Canada.  He played hard and was darn good at it, but his drinking prevented a career in the NHL perhaps. He met my mother playing hockey in 1954.

Clarence Trotchie, Faye Maurice’s father, playing hockey ca. 1950s.

For the first 16 years of my life, my father played hard, drank hard and worked hard.  Yes, it was hard on my mother and my family but there were some good times.

For most people, going to the landfill is an arduous chore. For my father, that was his definition of going to a garage sale. He loved nothing more than jumping in his truck and driving to all landfills in a fifty-mile radius to see all the treasures he could get from them. He’d pick up anything he could make a few bucks on, including scrap metal, gadgets, and gizmos. That was his happy place. I didn’t find picking through what most consider trash very much fun, but I remember that look in his eyes.  He would also pat his pocket and say, "pocket money my girl."

Another way of spending time with my father I found exhilarating was going out into the bush for Christmas trees. He sold Christmas trees for many years and took pride in his selections. I also looked forward to a good feed of boiled rabbit when we got home. 

My siblings and I experienced the backbreaking job of rock picking with my dad and uncles.  Funny how they pitched it as a week-long family holiday, but I’m grateful for the memory.

When I was young, I didn’t know about alcoholism.  Only later did I realize that most of my aunts and uncles were alcoholics.

My father was no exception.  When I was 16, around 1969, my father quit drinking with help from my Auntie Irene, a recovering alcoholic.  The rest slowly followed.

They became community-oriented, always striving to help others and we all became stronger and closer as a Michif community.

In sobriety, my father’s good qualities became more pronounced. He was a real go-getter. He liked to live every moment to the fullest because he knew life was short. He loved socializing, especially AA and cultural gatherings.  He loved horse racing, cards, and parades.  But mostly he enjoyed spending time with family and friends.

He wanted good things for his family, friends, and community. Under his leadership, the Métis/Michif people came together. These were good times filled with laughter. It was a happy community.

He taught me that without family and friends, you have nothing.  You need that sense of connection through the good times and the tough times. He understood the struggles and strife of people and he was generous and kind to them.  He reflected all the great qualities and values of my culture, as did many others who are all gone now.

I could write a book about the people that imprinted on my life, they shouldn’t be forgotten. 

Faye Maurice.

Taanishi, FAYE MAURICE (nee Trotchie) dishinihkaashoon.  I am a proud descendant of La Prayrii Rond Michif (Round Prairie Michif) and have lived in Saskatoon for most of 67 years.  I am the oldest of six and have one daughter and two amazing granddaughters. I belong to a Michif/Métis community (namely Gabriel Dumont Local 11) of strong leaders and teachers who value the preservation of Michif language, cultural traditions, stories, worldview, history, and values, alongside songs and dance.  Teaching young people and the development of resources keeps me fulfilled and busy.

Acknowledgements

The Saskatchewan History & Folklore Society is tremendously grateful to the members of Gabriel Dumont Local 11 for sharing their stories in Lii Mimwayr Di Faamii (Family Memories). Particular thanks go to Cheryl Troupe, Wilfred Burton, Susan Shacter, and Donna Heimbecker for editing the stories. Thanks also to Marcel Petit of m.pet productions for editing the videos.

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