My Family, My Relations, My Friends

By Frederick John Turner

Fred was unaware of the poverty he was exposed to while he was growing up. As far as he was concerned, this was normal. His mom, Irene, a single mother, made certain that his two boys, Fred and his older brother Leonard, were well taken care of. After being a captive of a residential school, she came back home to Sturgeon Lake not knowing where she belonged, or where to turn.

Fred holds an Interdisciplinary Studies Diploma from the University of Regina. He was the music director for the Onion Lake Log Church, where Martin Naistus is Pastor, until he was sidelined by kidney complications in August of 2020. Now he spends his time writing from his office at his home in Onion Lake. His life's story, titled, "My Family, My Relations, My Friends," will be his first book published. These days Fred spends most of his time tending to his grandchildren. He has accumulated much knowledge throughout his lifetime, and he is not shy about sharing his experience with his readers.

SOME OF THE STORIES YOU WILL READ IN THIS BOOK:
Hoss calls fire down from heaven in Pikangikum, Ontario.
The night Fred meets Jim Felix on an old country road.
The lessons learned from the old Blackfoot preacher, Hartwell North
Peigan.
The day Kene Jackson from Sonrise Gospel Band comes for a visit.
The bionic preacher, Ross Maracle, invites us to Deseronto for the
R. W. Schambach campmeeting.
Getting blamed for a walkout at Faith Alive Bible College.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Mar 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9780228855996

Frederick John Turner

Fred holds an Interdisciplinary Studies Diploma from the University of Regina. He was the music director for the Onion Lake Log Church, where Martin Naistus is Pastor, until he was sidelined by kidney complications in August of 2020. Now he spends his time writing from his office at his home in Onion Lake. His life's story, titled, "My Family, My Relations, My Friends," will be his first book published. These days Fred spends most of his time tending to his grandchildren. He has accumulated much knowledge throughout his lifetime, and he is not shy about sharing his experience with his readers.

Book preview

My Family, My Relations, My Friends

Frederick John Turner

My Family, My Relations, My Friends

Copyright © 2022 by Frederick John Turner

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-5601-6 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-5600-9 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-5599-6 (eBook)

Dedication

I dedicate this manuscript to my sons Blair (Amanda), Rocky (Serena) and Sammy (Rayel) for posterity. And to my amazing wife Rema, and to my beautiful, awesome, wonderful grandchildren Keith, Laura, Odessa, Misty, Deshawn and, of course, my Little One, Haiden, and to all the rest of my relations. And also, to a very special granddaughter who is actually Jim and Susan’s granddaughter, Israelah Turner.

I realise some of the stories will awaken difficult memories, but there is more here to remember the good times. I may have gotten some events wrong, but I tried my best to put them on paper as how I remember them. All of you have made my life so complete and memorable, and I am forever grateful that you allowed me to be a part of your lives.

And to all the rest who read this book, I really do hope you will enjoy the stories. I have to ask you to forgive me because I tend to share too many memories. Please understand I am doing it for my children and grandchildren.

Love always,

Fred J Turner

I want to thank all the people who have made my story possible, my family, my relations, and all my friends. I especially want to thank my wife Rema for paying for this book to be published. And she never once complained driving me 100 kilometres both ways, to Lloydminster hospital three times a week for dialysis, even through snowstorms. Without her, I would not be here to enjoy my children and grandchildren.

I also want to thank all the nurses at the Lloydminster hospital for their jovial spirits. They make our stay (us patients) at the hospital more tolerable. Furthermore, I want to personally thank them for keeping me alive. I wanted to name all of them, but if I forget to mention even one, I will forever hate myself.

And last, but not least, I want to thank Dr. David Reid from Saskatoon. He is a true professional. When I first found out that my kidneys stopped working, I was in a state of panic. Not only was Dr. Reid a gifted nephrologist, but he knew how to reach into my spirit to settle me down. To all these wonderful people, thank you, thank you, thank you!

Contents

Preface

Chapter 1 - Kweeskuskumick

Chapter 2 - Sturgeon Lake in the Early 1960s

Chapter 3 - Hoeing Beets in Wild Rose Country

Chapter 4 - Moving Closer to Grandma’s

Chapter 5 - The Love of My Grandparents

Chapter 6 - All Saints Indian Residential School

Chapter 7 - Life after Residential School

Chapter 8 - Old Men Shall Dream Dreams

Chapter 9 - Enchowa

Chapter 10 - The Old Bridge

Chapter 11 - Achieving Stability

Chapter 12 - Some People Shine Brighter

Chapter 13 - The Day the World Stood Still

Chapter 14 - Looking for Fred and Rema

Chapter 15 - Christian Disharmony

Chapter 16 - Taking a Walk

Chapter 17 - Ross Maracle, Mohawk Prayer Warrior

Chapter 18 - Endeavouring to be Bold

Chapter 19 - Delicate Inner Parts

Chapter 20 - Dark Days

Chapter 21 - The End of a Fifty-Year Relationship

Chapter 22 - A True Champion

Chapter 23 - I’m Going to Go Get My Dad

Chapter 24 - Stories of My Children and Grandchildren

Chapter 25 - My Daughters-in-Law

Chapter 26 - Death of a Star

Chapter 27 - Heaven

Chapter 28 - The Log Church

Chapter 29 - A Legend in Her Time

Final thoughts

Preface

Have you ever heard the story of the determined First Nations minnow named Little Fish? He, along with billions of other First Nations minnows, swam in a race in search of the elusive, mysterious and beautiful unpollinated egg. They all wanted to be the first to have the honour to procreate. The winning minnow would find the ova, breach the wall of the exterior, plant an eagle staff on the inside as a sign of conquest and fertilize the egg.

Little Fish was strong-willed and determined. He was proud to be one of the chosen ones for this noble task. As the time for the race to commence drew near, the countless First Nations minnows became restless at the starting line. They were excited, jumpy, jittery. A few of them even took off prematurely and were immediately disqualified. There were no second chances. The minnows knew the moment of climax was close at hand and they took their marks.

BAM! Billions of First Nations minnows shot out of a projectile into a swirling compressible canal. The race was on.

The majority of the minnows swam in the wrong direction almost immediately. However, there were more than enough who took off in the right direction, Little Fish was among them. Those who went in the right direction swam as fast as they could. As the race progressed, some minnows ran out of room and were pressed against the wall by the bigger minnows. They could go no farther. Soon, it was only Little Fish and a few others straining for the finish line. They swam as fast as they could, pulling on each other for more leverage.

Then a beautiful, glittering egg gently pulsating like a drum and craving pollination appeared in the distance. Encouraged by what they saw, the little First Nations minnows swam even faster. In the final stretch, the vivacious egg looked like it was getting closer, but it was still quite a ways away. It was as if the egg was growing right before their eyes as they swam. The egg grew larger and larger until it was literally eighty-five thousand times bigger than they were. Many of the remaining minnows stopped dead in their tracks out of fear and intimidation of the sheer size of the egg.

This is where the warriors who are the bravest must continue on! yelled Little Fish. Those of you who are intimidated by the size of the egg should stop right now!

Indeed, it was decision time. Only the strongest braves and warriors with incredible stamina continued on courageously. The minnows who were left behind wept bitter tears as they watched their stronger brethren swim on and disappear in the distance.

The remaining minnows who still had the endurance warily approached the outer wall of the glittering egg. Many of them impulsively planted their eagle staffs prematurely. Others started singing a victory song, while still others started dancing powwow to the beat of the pulsating drum.

But Little Fish knew what to do.

Even though he wanted to sing the victory song and dance to the pulsating drum, he knew the race wasn’t over yet. He pounded on the exterior wall of the beautiful spherical egg with all his might. Little Fish knew he had to work fast because the other minnows had seen what he was doing and immediately started imitating him. The singing and dancing stopped, and suddenly there were many little First Nations minnows trying their darndest to penetrate the wall.

Thanks to his sheer determination and will power, Little Fish penetrated the wall first and quickly wiggled and slithered into the egg. He planted his eagle staff on the inside and inseminated the egg. For being the first to penetrate the wall, all the other First Nations minnows were forever shut out. Little Fish squared his shoulders like a true warrior, put his chest out and looked up, and with all his might, he gave the biggest victory yelp. The victory war cry reverberated through the walls of the interior and out to where all the rest of the First Nations minnows had been shut out. He danced around the eagle staff to the beat of the pulsating drum. All the rest of the little First Nations minnows could only hear the celebration that was going on inside and were sad that they were not allowed to enter. However, according to First Nations tradition, they all decided to join Little Fish in the true spirit of camaraderie and solidarity. They sang the victory song on his behalf.

For his reward, Little Fish was given an honour which was above all honours. He was celebrated for bringing union between man and woman, between the Creator and His creation, and for bringing human life into this world as he began to multiply.

Fred J Turner, 2020

What a story. Many adventures and stories were born because of Little Fish’s sheer determination. Our power to procreate is the most precious gift we as human beings possess, and this story has been repeated through the whole world, through countless lives, and in every race and creed. We all face disappointments and tragedies, and we all deal with them differently. But we all have the same blessing, the blessing to bring our own offspring into this world to carry on our legacy.

This lends to the story I’m about to share. All my family are here, all my relations are here, and because of procreation, each one unique, each one with their own name. All my friends are here, each one has their own identity, their own distinct personality and their own story. Thanks to Little Fish and the miracle of birth, we can all be a part of this wonderful journey we call life.

We take turns being born and we take turns dying. I look back through the years and wonder, where have all my loved ones gone? Where’s my kokum and mosum, my aunts and uncles? Where are my parents? Then I look around and see my beautiful children and grandchildren whose smiles and laughter replace the memory of the dead.

I was born at the Holy Family Hospital in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, on March 11, 1958. The weather during the month of March was always unpredictable. The snow could be falling gently or there could be a blizzard raging all across Saskatchewan. This particular day, it had been raining and the snow was somewhat beginning to melt. My mom Irene Turner was a twenty-year-old single mother who had her own dreams, but her future looked rather bleak at the time. It had only been a few years since she returned from five years of captivity at a residential school when she became pregnant at the age of sixteen with her first born son. Leonard was born on March 16, 1955. Emotionally scarred and uncertain, my mom wandered through the first years of her young adult life not knowing where she belonged. In spite of the obstacles she faced, she managed to care for the two boys she had brought into this world. She never told me about the abuse she went through at the residential school. Like in many Indian families, sometimes it was best not to ask too many questions.

One thing I am certain of is I am happy to be here. I am grateful for the life our Creator has given me, and I am thankful that my mother showed me nothing but love through these many years. I tend to get philosophical and sentimental at times, and I base my beliefs in the God my mother taught me to believe in when I was growing up.

I remember being in bed in a one-room shanty years ago. Mom would share the story of a man dying on a cross. I can still see the dim lighting which came from the coal oil lamp at the table as she told me the Easter story. After she finished the story, we said the same prayer:

Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me; bless thy little lamb tonight; through the darkness be thou near me; watch me sleep till morning light. Amen!

This is one of the many memories I have of my mom. In spite of all the negativity that surrounded her, she was determined to make a home for me and my brother. I have nothing but fond memories of her resilience, and I am eternally grateful she was my mom here on earth for over fifty-two years.

To realise that I am somebody has given me the reason to carry on with this precious life. I have no worries that most of my relatives and my two siblings and both of my parents are gone. Like I said, they have been replaced by my children and my grandchildren. And I have no doubt that one day I will see all my loved ones again and introduce my children and grandchildren to them. Furthermore, I thank my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ for giving me a chance to be a part of this wonderful thing we call life.

Chapter 1

Kweeskuskumick

Before we go any further, I want to introduce the original Sturgeon Lake Turner. His name was Kweeskuskumick. It is not known about his wife, but he was there at the signing of Treaty 6 at Fort Carlton, Saskatchewan, on August 23, 1876. He was known for his storytelling and his sense of humour. This old man couldn’t speak a lick of English or say a swear word in any foreign tongue, but he had his place within the tribe to get the people motivated and organized.

During hunting trips, he often slept at the place of honour, which was opposite of the doorway inside the tipi. He was always telling stories to his children and grandchildren. To add drama, he used erratic hand gestures. Sometimes sparks from the fire shot out in mini explosions as they zigzagged up through the opening of the tipi, or you could hear the frogs from a nearby creek and coyotes yelping in the distance. This, of course, was exactly what he needed for sound effects as he told his stories. The most popular mythical character he talked about was Wesakichak.

Now, Wesakichak could be the most stupid character in the story, or he could be the smartest. He could be the most vulnerable or he could be a double-crosser. He could be the most helpless or he could have all the answers. He always possessed magical powers, and every story had a specific lesson. Wesakichak was the best eccentric oddity to use as an example if you wanted to teach your children lessons in life, and Kweeskuskumick took advantage of these stories.

Kweeskuskumick was a good family man, and he did not interfere with the business between the chief and council and the white man. As far as he was concerned, the responsibility of talking to the white man fell on those who were more able to communicate effectively, and he made it known that his area of expertise was elsewhere. And he was right. He had no desire to make any deals with people he didn’t know and understand, so he avoided being part of the regimen and left the politicking to the chiefs. The chiefs kept him in the loop, so even though he stepped away from governance, people often came to him for advice or to understand what was going on with the white man. He explained to them in Cree what the federal government was trying to do. He helped many people understand and feel somewhat better because at least they had an idea about what was going on.

The word got around that the federal government and their representatives were coming to Fort Carlton to make a deal with the Plains Cree. William Twat, who was the leader of the band, told Kweeskuskumick about this, so he started mobilizing all the families. He even helped organize a caravan which was to leave for Fort Carlton. Promises given by the government of Canada to the Plains Cree were the hot topic of the day, but there were those who had their doubts.

Kweeskuskumick told all the people not to get too excited. He even told the chiefs to be extra careful because he had heard about other treaties which had been broken. How the news was received from chief to chief varies. Even though the interpreter, Peter Erasmus, was probably the best interpreter one could find at the time, he didn’t include some of the written documentation, such as land cession, in his brief. Why he did not explain that information is not known. That day at Fort Carlton, the most compelling treaty was signed with an X by chiefs from Sandy Lake, White Fish Lake, Mistawasis, James Smith, Beardys, Okamasis, and Sturgeon Lake, along with a few Saulteaux bands. That day all these bands became members of Treaty 6 and the Treaty 6 territory.

Now, Kweeskuskumick is a difficult name to pronounce. So, the best way to remedy that problem is to find out what that name means. Alexander Morris, who was the lieutenant governor of Manitoba and the Northwest Territories, was a little anxious to get the treaties signed. It was a hot day, and he wanted the documentation to go a little faster, so he rushed the single-file line of Indians past him. When Kweeskuskumick stood before Morris, he asked him what his name was.

Kweeskuskumick, he said.

Morris made a face. He tried to pronounce the name several times, but he couldn’t get it right. He did not have time for proper Cree name pronunciations, so he asked what the name meant.

‘The other side of the earth’ or ‘Across a vast meadow,’ said Erasmus.

This did not help much. Morris looked at the long line of Indians who still needed to be documented, then he looked at the old man.

Your name is now Turner, he said dismissively.

So, with a wave of a hand and the stroke of a pen, Kweeskuskumick became the original Sturgeon Lake Turner.

Whenever I think about how my family got the name Turner it really makes me chuckle. I could have been named Frederick John Kweeskuskumick. But because of a lazy Crown representative who didn’t have time to be concerned about no Indian, my whole family got stuck with the name Turner. Don’t get me wrong—Turner is a good name. There are millions of Turners all over the world. But somehow, I feel that Morris stole that name and slapped it on Kweeskuskumick just because he was in too much of a hurry or he was just too lazy. Whatever the reason, the name Turner became our name. But that can be deemed a blessing also. We can say we are related to the seventeenth prime minister of Canada, John Napier Wyndham Turner, which makes all us Turners from Sturgeon Lake a little more distinguished, I suppose.

The Turner family, who were one of the original five families of Sturgeon Lake, have flourished to this day. By the time I came along there were two groups of Turners in Sturgeon Lake. Baptise and Harriet Turner and their family lived on the north side of the river. They had many children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The Turners I belonged to, Elias and Nancy, lived on the southeast side of the river. Elias and Nancy also had many children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The two families have always been close. All us Turners, which are many, owe our existence and our name to Kweeskuskumick, the original Sturgeon Lake Turner.

Chapter 2

Sturgeon Lake in the Early 1960s

Mom and dad had a unique relationship. They met in Sturgeon Lake sometime in 1960, when I was two years old. John Diefenbaker was prime minister of Canada, and William Kingfisher was chief of Sturgeon Lake. The population in Sturgeon Lake was probably only a few hundred people. Cree was the first language, and most of the people were just beginning to speak English. Personally, I have no memory of mom and dad ever being apart. As far as my memory serves, they were always together.

I do remember my mom and I were alone many times in our one-room shanty down by the lake because my dad went off to work. We were always excited when we knew dad was coming home because he would always bring us gifts. They were not lavish gifts. Mom would get a piece of jewelry or a kerchief, and I was satisfied to get a chocolate bar, some candy or an apple. Back then even the gift of an apple was enough to create excitement. We lived at that dingy little shack by the lake until I was about six years old.

Living in a one-room shanty with no running water, inside plumbing or electricity is enough to make anyone cringe. There were a few vehicles around, but mostly the people travelled by horse drawn wagon in the summer or a sleigh in the winter. I saw nothing wrong with the way we lived. In the winter evenings, mom and dad would sit by the coal oil lamp at the old wooden table listening to CKBI on an old transistor radio. I entertained myself playing with old cough mixture bottles and used them for toy cars. This was our nightly entertainment as the firewood crackled in the red hot, air-tight heater in the centre of the room.

My brother Leonard was three years older than me, and he chose to live with my grandparents. For some reason Leonard did not hit it off with our new stepdad the way I did. It wasn’t that