Showing posts with label winnipeg. Show all posts
Showing posts with label winnipeg. Show all posts

Zoos, Butterflies and Books

I visited the Assiniboine Park Zoo here in Winnipeg last week. The coordinator at the Immigrant Centre where I volunteer had given us passes and I was curious . . . I’d not been there for quite a while. 

Our local zoo used to be quite affordable, but now it’s a rather expensive outing for a family. Of course, my kids are way past an age where going to the zoo would be considered fun, but I’m not sure who this renovated zoo actually caters to. Rich, entitled tourists? Definitely not young families with limited disposable income and definitely not the animals trapped inside.

We have to maneuver our conversation around the roar of ascending and descending planes . . . the zoo is under the airport flight path. How do the animals, with their sensitive hearing, manage? I think of the special events during the winter when even long winter nights get lit up for our entertainment. What a barrage of sensory pollution we force upon them. 

The polar bears provide us with entertainment in their pool of water. Orphans rescued from Churchill, they seem to have the largest area to roam. Seals dance underwater to unheard rhythms, while the grey wolf towers above us on his artificial rock ledge. Does he miss his pack?

Camels meditatively munch grass, while antelope and buffalo flip their fly-swatter tails back and forth. . . politely ignoring us. People point and gawk, lick cones and sip from water bottles. 

Most beautiful is the Amur tiger (also known as the Siberian tiger).  Pacing, pacing, back and forth. I’m reminded of the book by John Vaillant, set in eastern Russia: The Tiger: A True Story of Vengence and Survival and I can’t help but feel sorry for this magnificent creature.

My mood improves immensely in the butterfly cage. Glorious colours. Wings and blossoms. Fluttering. Constant motion. I connect the butterflies with art and with life. So many stages to the butterfly. The egg, the caterpillar, the pupa or chrysalis, and finally the letting go and flying away. 

So it is with writing a book. You have the idea. You let that idea grow, gorging it with words and more words . . . let it grow big and fat. Then you let it sit. This is the pupa or chrysalis stage. Okay, maybe the comparison falls apart here. 

Every writer knows that there’s more whittling and shaping required before that butterfly emerges ready to take off. We don’t have quite the magic or privacy of the butterfly whose big changes happen hidden from view. But in the end our idea gets wings and takes off into the world’s big garden to live its short and fragile life . . . hopefully laying eggs along the way. 


No Endogamy

Reading an interesting book right now . . . a book that’s right up my alley, discussing post-Second World War immigrants, religion, ethnic Germans . . . in short, discussing my very own family. Not only that, but Imagined Homes, Soviet German Immigrants in Two Cities, was published here by my alma mater, the University of Manitoba Press, back in 2007, by a University of Winnipeg scholar. Why didn’t I hear about this book sooner?  

In spite of its academic writing style, the book has been un-put-downable for me. The immigrant issues around broken families, work, religion, culture and assimilation in the dominating culture resonate with me and my own search for identity. My current WIP is set between war-torn Europe and 1950s Winnipeg. It explores the chasm caused by the trauma of war, homelessness and immigration. 

As a child, I frequented the neighbourhoods, churches, ethnic grocery stores and bakeries that new Germans built in this city and I appreciate how Hans Werner has laid out the facts and figures in his book.  He interviews people that my parents would have encountered in their lives. I recognize the names!

The third section, Reproducing the Community, was particularly compelling. Here, Werner discusses the re-building of normalcy. My dad’s own first family, dissolved because of long-term separation and death, meant he wasted no time establishing one here in Canada. My parents arrived in Winnipeg in 1953 and I was born the following year.  My dad was a reichs-deutscher (from Germany), my mom was a Flüchtling (refugee from the east). They’d both been through the Soviet prison camps and embraced the affordable houses and job opportunities that Winnipeg of the 1950s offered. 

Endogamy. I had to look that word up.  It’s the practice of marrying within one’s faith or culture. Werner writes: “Winnipeg’s immigrants had expanded their social contacts during the war and, because of the scarcity of male partners, endogamy broke down while they were still in Europe.” (page 153). Neither my mom or her two sisters married within their faith. Lack of endogamy defined our extended family.

My parents raised me with a divided sense of self . . . with a foot in two worlds. My father, the Lutheran, from Germany 'proper' and my mom, the Baptist, a daughter of Soviet kulaks. My dad was determined to forget the past, but my mother held onto her Baptist identity like a passport necessary for freedom. The German Baptist churches, guided by William Sturhahn’s missionary zeal and in cooperation with the CCCRR  sponsored many refugees and arranged my parents’ boat trip and early employment as farm labourers. 

I was subsequently raised in a German Baptist church surrounded by other German Baptist refugees displaced mostly from Poland, Soviet Union, and east Germany (including dissolved East Prussia). The ethnic German Baptists of my childhood church stuck together and my Lutheran dad was like a duck out of water in such a close-knit community. Even as a child I felt the cold shoulders and those of us with ‘non-believer or unbaptized’ fathers soon found support in each other on the sidelines.

No more endogamy in my family and it’s left me a bit of an outcast. Werner writes, “They (ethnic German immigrants) lived in two worlds, both distinct from each other, the one religious and the other secular, without experiencing a significant degree of dislocation.” (page 174) With the divide obvious in my own family, between a more secular Lutheran and a more pious Baptist approach to integrating in the new world, I disagree. There was significant confusion about my identity. Yet, in retrospect, sitting on the fence has given me a great view, as has reading Hans Werner’s book. 

Of course, the book tells much more than just the Winnipeg immigrant experience. The author compares Winnipeg’s experience to the German city of Bielefeld’s acceptance of ethnic Germans. I can’t comment much on that, except to say, I’m grateful my parents ended up here in Canada. While growing up as a German Baptist in Winnipeg always made me feel like a bit of an outsider, Hans Werner’s book has helped me understand why. 


My Town of Winnipeg is ...

Winnipeg is ... (this is for Barrie!)

1. the capital of Manitoba which has the made-in-America slogan (a little of controversy there)
which is "Spirited Energy." Yes. We used to be Friendly Manitoba but that got boring. I mean
being friendly is good but ... I guess having spirited energy is better.
2. windy and cold and full of mosquitoes and sometimes the murder capital of Canada.
3. a city of contrasts. Big donut. Empty, corroding in the centre and full of suburbs where families live and work and play.
4. close to a lot of beautiful lakes and many people have cottages (but lots of people don't)
5. at the junction of the Red and Assiniboine Rivers
6. struggling to become a better place
7. alive and real and a great place to be a writer!

Weather

The last weekend of January - finally. It's been a long one this year. As a mail carrier who spends four hours a day out walking - I feel intimately connected with the weather. Usually, I love it - even the cold. A day of minus 30 (that's celsius here in Canada) when the sun is shining and there's no wind, is totally as beautiful as a plus 30 day in July. Seriously. I'm not kidding.

Why has January felt so long this year? Could very well be my state of mind after finding my book postponed to 2009. I'll get over it.

Years ago when I first became a letter carrier I had to hide this truth from my mom for four years. Why? Because when I'd hinted about my plans she'd begged me not to. For her the winters of Winnipeg are like the winters of Siberia. She didn't want her only daughter to experience the cold like she had. Eventually I told her - and I still have to remind her on the weekends when I visit - that cold doesn't feel so cold when you have warm clothes to wear, proper boots for your feet and a satisfied stomach. (Central heating and a block heater for the car helps, too.)

Isn't all of life more manageable when you have the proper gear to face it?

The Class of 2k8 is getting much positive attention. The first two books have been launched - Liz Gallagher's The Opposite of Invisible and Lisa Schroeder's I Heart You, You Haunt Me.
They're getting excellent reviews and I'm sure looking forward to reading them. Dreams have come true for these debut novelists and I wish them both much continued success.

Weather forecast: Balmy high of minus six today - blizzard warning for Tuesday! Let me get my gear ready and then ... bring it on!

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