Yellowquill First Nation

My first four years of nursing, I was on a steep learning curve. I learned a lot about First Nations people and the policies that dictated every day of their life. I also learned a lot about community nursing, which I had not studied in nursing school. I was also drinking pretty heavily during this time, and was pretty unhealthy myself – not physically, but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I was always a curious person, and my curiosity was certainly stimulated during this period.

The reserve was called Nut Lake when I started working out there. They eventually changed their name to Yellowquill some years later. I had a 2-room clinic at Yellowquill, situated between the Band Office and the Nursery/Kindergarten on the reserve. I would have clinic once a month, but mostly, I just sat in the clinic. Once I got the heater started, I would just sit and wait. I would take my lunch, and a book. I would read my book and sometimes sleep. I don’t know why they wouldn’t immunize their children and there were lots of children. My rates of immunization in this community were dismal. I often thought of Kinistin and my work there – my immunization rates there were great! But, there, I was able to go door to door and I had a good CHR. I did not have a CHR most of the time at Yellowquill. There had been a good CHR at Yellowquill, Delvina Kewistep. She had taken a position with Indian Affairs. When I was really frustrated or struggling, I would stop in and visit with Delvina, and she would graciously give of her time to me. I recall one visit, and she was tanning a moose hide. I had never seen that before, and it is very difficult work – stretching the hide out on a frame and then having a smoldering fire going under the frame. She was telling me about using the brains to help to scrape the hide; apparently when the brains are rubbed on the hide, it makes the hide easier to scrape.

I had a few people that I could visit, but some, due to lack of language (my lack of language) and suspicion were not too friendly. Bowser Poochay was the bus driver, and he and his wife Margaret were pretty friendly. They eventually moved to Saskatoon, and I would see them at various events. Nancy Whitehead was an older woman that I would visit. She was a Pow Wow dancer, and I would see her in later years dancing traditional at Pow Wows.

The people would sign a consent for immunization when the children were in Nursery/Kindergarten, so that was a regular stop for me to catch the students up. Why did the people refuse to immunize babies, but were agreeable to pre-school children? I don’t know and I couldn’t find anyone that would explain it to me. We had a practice in immunizing, that if their first series was interrupted, we would start again. The first series was an immunization starting at two months of age and then every two months following for three shots. Some charts of the children would have massive amounts of immunization because they would have started but not continued. Before the end of four years, this practice ended, thankfully. Some of those poor kids were over-immunized!

Near the end of my time at Yellowquill, a woman came to my clinic. She had been drinking, an older lady. She wanted to talk to me, but I couldn’t talk Saulteaux, and she couldn’t talk English. So, we sat together, her talking in her language, and me not understanding one word! It was very frustrating, as I believed that she came to see me for a reason, but I couldn’t figure it out.

When I started in the office, I was told a story about a previous nurse. They used to put a big decal on the door of the government vehicle – Health Canada or Indian Health Services or Medical Service Branch – not sure what the decal was. When she went to a house on the reserve, someone pulled a knife on her and threatened her. They thought that she was a Social Worker, there to apprehend their children. This was often in the back of my mind as I went on home visits. There was no decal on my car, so I don’t think there was any more confusion. I was disappointed, as most days, I was just ignored!

There was a local guy on the reserve, named Jack Tony. He was a paraplegic, I think from a car accident. I used to check on him when I was doing visits. He managed pretty well in his wheelchair; he must have had help at home to care for his needs. There was no home care service in those days – jurisdictional issues – home care was paid for by province and provided to people off-reserve, but the federal government did not have any home care services. Jurisdictional issues were common.

Anyway, I was sitting in my clinic one day, and I could hear a horn honking outside. The horn kept honking, so finally I went outside to have a look. Here was Jack Tony driving a car full of people. I went to chat with him, and I asked him how the heck he was driving. He grinned broadly and showed me that he had a stick – to push the gas and the brake. There were not many cars at Yellowquill and how he ended up with a car is beyond me! Many of the cars were in poor shape, and I’m sure they were stopped by the cops plenty in the area.

My memory fails me right now, so I can’t remember the exact details of what happened and I can’t find a record on the internet. There was a terrible tragedy at Yellowquill during my time there. There was always some tension on the reserve (this is true of every reserve that I worked – depending upon the direction of the road – north vs south or east vs west) between the young men. I’m not sure of the basis for the tension. I forget the exact year, late 1970s, and two cars collided on a curve in the road. Several young men died in the car crash. Rumours were that the two groups were going to rumble, and that they had bats and other weapons in both cars. I used to visit Nancy Whitehead, and one of her boys died in the accident. He was buried across the road, and she could look out the window and see his grave. After that, the reserve was calmer and less tension. What a loss of young men!

I used to do home visits to moms with new babies, elders, and those with chronic illness like diabetes. Very few people would invite me into their house, so a lot of visits were short and done on the doorstep. I heard that some of the Indian Affairs Social Workers were very intrusive, and would barge into their homes, looking into the fridge and cupboards to see what food they had and how they were spending the tiny amount of welfare that they got. So, I think they thought I would be the same way – pushing my way around. I was working hard to build trust, but it was very difficult in this community.

The homes were very poor and crowded. Most had a wood stove. Many did not have a refrigerator. It was a common site to see muskrats skinned and laying in the porch. That grossed me out, a lump with a long hard tail attached! Or a haunch of wild game on the counter. We ate deer or antelope growing up (no moose in our area), but my dad had a shop and the carcass would hang out there. One perk that I was told about, was that if I worked for one year, I would get a beautiful winter coat from the government. So, I was excited to get the coat after my year was up. It was a navy blue with a big hood. It was down-filled, good for extreme cold. I wore it out to the reserve a few times, and then left it at home. Between the wood stoves and heat in the houses and in and out of the car, I had sweat running down my back. And I found that the wood stoves had a lingering smell that I wasn’t fond of, and that my coat smelled like that.

The reserve did try to manage their own affairs, with one of their band members being Band Manager or Administrator. They said that a lot of money went missing and the check book was lost. So, they were back under Indian Affairs management. I used to meet up with the guy from Indian Affairs from time to time. The Band Office was not consistently open, one couldn’t count on it. It was usually staffed by some relatives of the Chief and Council (does that sound bitter? Many people are interrelated on the reserve.) I attended a few Chief and Council meetings during my time there. The guy from Indian Affairs was there to ensure proper procedure was followed. Most of the meeting was in Saulteaux, with minimal translation into English being done. The Indian Affairs rep would bring out BCRs – Band Council Resolutions (the way decisions are made on the reserve under the Indian Act) – and the Chief and Council would sign them, mostly with an X! I was shocked. How were people doing their business when they couldn’t even read and write in English?!!

One day, I was driving around on the reserve and no one was home. I seen a guy from Indian Affairs and I stopped to chat with him. I asked, ‘where is everybody?’. He said, ‘turn off your vehicle and listen’. So, I turned off the vehicle and sat quietly. I could hear drums off in the distance. He said that they were having a Pow wow. Now that I think of it, it was likely a Rain Dance or other ceremony. I was glad for them. For many years, the ceremonies were banned. I always wondered why people didn’t do them anyway – just go off in the bush and do them. The Indian Agents often didn’t even live on the reserve. Later, I talked to the Chief Joe Quewezance, and he bragged that no white people had ever been to their Rain Dance.

The Chief was Robert Kinniwess when I started working. At some point, they had an election, and Joe Quewezance became Chief. Joe told me that he was a descendant of the Chief that signed Treaty Four, Yellowquill. Long ago, most Bands had a custom of hereditary chiefs, and leadership was passed down from father to son or from grandfather to grandson. Instead, Indian Affairs had implemented a system of elections – every two years – to be ‘more democratic’. This caused a lot of problems in many reserves, as it is difficult to achieve any results in two years.

Sadly, there was a lot of drinking at Yellowquill. I would see people sitting outside on a blanket passing around a jug of wine. It didn’t fit, as they were very traditional, speaking their language, living the lifestyle, and practicing their ceremonies. As a common practice, the nurses didn’t go out on check day or family allowance day. This was for our own safety, plus no one would be home. They would all be out shopping or whatever. I did end up at a party once, and an angry woman came out, pointing at me and saying, ‘get the f**k off my land’! Luckily, some guy put his arm around my shoulders, got me back to my car and I left. That was my one and only incident where I was a bit scared.

The band or Indian Affairs had hired a guy to put water/sewer into the houses at Yellowquill. He was Ray Ahenakew from Atahkakoop First Nation. He came into the clinic one day for some first aid. He told me that when he was working with his backhoe behind the houses, that many were full of cans – Lysol and other solvents. So, many in the community were drinking and also drinking solvents. I don’t know about drugs.

I spent a lot of time in the nursery/kindergarten. There was a non-Indigenous teacher and a teacher aide from the reserve. I would go there and do immunizations. I also recall teaching them dental hygiene. I had a big set of teeth and a toothbrush, and I would show them how to brush their teeth. I also had a bunch of toothbrushes and small tubes of toothpaste, so they would practice with these and then take them home. We also had some fluoride paste, so the challenge was to get the paste on, and then get the kids not to swallow. The teachers helped with that.

One day at the school, the teachers were showing me a project that they did. They asked the kids what they wanted to be when they grew up. And they had them draw. They had posted the pictures around the classroom. There was a bus driver, a chief, a farmer, a nurse with a great big needle! The pictures were very limited. These kids didn’t know other professions, as they had never seen them. We talk about role models and positive role models in our communities, but for many years, there were few.

I recall someone telling me that they had had one Grade 12 graduate from Yellowquill and that she worked for Indian Affairs in Wynyard. I was shocked – 800 people and only one graduate from Grade 12? Most of the kids dropped out in Grade 9 or 10. They did have a school at one time at Yellowquill, as I saw the empty building on the side of a hill. I asked what had happened to their school, but I can’t recall the answer any more. Sadly, many First Nations kids don’t fare very well in provincial schools, and often drop out. Thankfully, this has changed in the last few years, and many First Nations have their own schools and their own teachers (although they are still using the provincial curriculum) and the numbers are improving.