In the beautiful replica of, or rebuilt, village of Ste. Marie Among the Hurons, near Midland, there is a Longhouse.

Constance Scrafield- Danby The village, which was rebuilt based on information in letters and documents written between 1639 and 1648, stands on the original site of the 1600’s establishment. In many places, the original foundations have been found and used; everywhere has the workmanship and construction followed those of the times which they represent.

I was there recently – it is a favourite day trip of mine and I was pleased to have the excuse to go with a friend, Tabea, who is visiting from Switzerland.

At one point in our visit, Tabea was watching a demonstration of Indian games and I wandered into the Longhouse.

So called because it is literally a long house, it was the dwelling place for as many people as needed to live in it, depending on whether there was more than one in a village. From 20 to 60 people lived together in the Longhouse, with particular need for it in the winter months, of course. Family groups each occupied small spaces within the Longhouse, while otherwise, the cooking and chores were done communally.

As I sat on a bench, it was easy to imagine the scene of 400 years ago. People used to living in close quarters in defence of the bitter winter; a community used to dividing the labour of living amongst themselves, probably with very little question about who would do what; certainly, with no complaints about given chores. It would be obvious – so much work by so many people, some stronger, some better skilled at specific tasks, some weaker or elderly. To each his own, according to his abilities.

In those moments, the place came alive for me, a place with no privacy except for the natural regard of each for the other, born again of necessity. This was a dwelling that was built as big as was deemed necessary, not from lack of space nor of materials but was the size it was as a matter of decision.

Breathing in the images that were so clear in that time sitting on the bench, I wondered about the Europeans who came with all their “answers”, with their religion and philosophy of exclusiveness, of each person wanting his/her own space; they brought their diseases and their determination to impose their religion on people whose wisdom in their own land, their own wilderness, far surpassed the ignorance of the people who had come to change them.

The Wendat or Hurons, as they came to be called, understood their connection with nature; they blended with their world, they did not live in confrontation with it.

They constructed their living spaces in harmony with nature, not in a desire to defeat the natural world around them. They took from their environment what they needed, not more, building spaces they needed, that were sufficient for their needs, without imposing outsized structures on the land. land. They hunted and fished for what they needed, without waste and excess.

Into this harmony, came the Europeans who brought a theoretical message of peace (Christianity) in one hand and division and harm in the other. For the Jesuits did not care how they divided and caused dissension within the people they had come to influence; they only cared about conversion.

They did their best to take the people away from the traditional ways that understood and blended with their environment, that were deeply spiritual and wise. Into this, the Jesuits, who were, relatively speaking, the “good guys” amongst the Europeans, brought folly and pain.

Within a mere 10 years, the Jesuits fled the region, their mission at Ste. Marie failed, but throughout North America, there were other, even more disruptive adventurers who corrupted those native citizens they could and crushed those they could not.

In the stillness of the Longhouse, I clung to the old ways. Just for that small time, I listened to history’s voice, listened to the murmuring of many people in a small space, felt them moving about in it, used to it, comfortable with it, having designed it on purpose as what was best and most efficient.

And, once again, I worried about us, about our obsessive greed and seeming need to expand our living space beyond reason. I wondered, again, about why we feel we have to destroy the world around us in order to live happily in it. I worried about our poor planet being destroyed by our unceasing campaign to do so.

Meanwhile, there are still lunatics out there denying the strong scientific evidence of our detrimental influence on our beloved (and, by the way, only) home, deniers and fools who are still being given press time and public attention.

In many ways, those moments in the Longhouse were blissful with the fullness of the pictures that came to me, calling to me to write, to remind us all of what has been.

There was pain in the experience, though, as the knowledge of what is today was washed with the clarity of what was.