Lost in Espanola. Day 3.

On a day where the clouds cry over my city and it’s streets, I crave writing pen and paper tales. It’s raining on a Wednesday. I’m back to my regularly scheduled program. And somewhere between voice over work and the gym and script writing and dance rehearsal, I’m happily going to close the tale from this past weekends escape north.

Running into fellow friends who made the trip, there is a repetitive text from their tongues about coming back refreshed and absorbing just as much from the three days as they hope were left on the communities we visited.

It was simple. Just like this picture I took of the infamous net at Whitefish River First Nation where the story began.

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I was asked what the one moment from the entire experience that stood out to me was. It was one of the final moments of the trip.

Think of a busy city street in the heart of a downtown core, patterning people along it’s bricks almost in fast forward. Think of the thousands of assorted people that share the same footprint of pavement within the same delicate hours of the day. Think of pausing on a corner within the swirl, waiting for the light to change, where the only thing touching you is the wind. It’s the little things.

Now think of that person that passes you as you cross the street that makes you look twice. I’ve always felt that some people radiate a warmth that you can completely feel as they walk by. You tell them your secrets and trust them with your state of mind and don’t realize that you’ve flooded them with your inner script until you walk away.

Chief Shining Turtle is a person like this. After an interview which he filled with the most wholesome words of appreciation, the camera turned off, and I stood with him in the newly renovated dressing room, beside the rink holding the infamous hockey net.

He told me he lived right behind the rink and that one of his favourite sounds while he stirs at home is hearing the puck hit the boards. To him this meant that there’s a place for those kids to be and that their minds in the moment are wrapped around their dreams.

He told me he likes being on the rink late at night when everyone is sleeping, under the unbelievable stars up there and just soaking it in.

I said, it’s the little things, eh? He said, you’re exactly right. They all add up.

And my favourite moment of the trip was just a little thing that I can’t really purge properly into letter formations just yet as to why. It was just a moment. But they all add up. -k

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When you are older you will understand how precious little things, seemingly of no value in themselves, can be loved and prized above all price when they convey the love and thoughtfulness of a good heart. – Edwin Booth

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