Latest news with #Ojibwe
Vancouver Sun
a day ago
- Lifestyle
- Vancouver Sun
This parking lot farm is a hidden bounty of produce in the heart of Vancouver
Alain Guy never set out to be a farmer. But he's become a seeding and harvesting dynamo at Sole Food Street Farms. 'I wasn't a farmer until I came here,' said Guy. 'I never wanted to farm. It wasn't in the cards. But when I got here, I fell in love with the place.' Hidden in plain sight near Olympic Village, Sole Food Street Farms is three acres of plastic bins, orchards, greenhouses and beehives spread atop an asphalt parking lot. Producing around 30,000 pounds of produce annually, the urban farm supplies local restaurants like Burdock & Co., Elisa Steak, and the Medina Café, and also sells its wares at farmers markets, including an on-site market on Wednesdays. One-third of the harvest is donated to partners like the Saige Community Food Bank and A Better Life Foundation. Get top headlines and gossip from the world of celebrity and entertainment. By signing up you consent to receive the above newsletter from Postmedia Network Inc. A welcome email is on its way. If you don't see it, please check your junk folder. The next issue of Sun Spots will soon be in your inbox. Please try again Interested in more newsletters? Browse here. Since planting its first seeds on two-thirds of an acre in a parking lot next to the Astoria Hotel 16 years ago, Sole Food has also cultivated a sense of community, provided meaningful employment and given individuals facing barriers to stability a chance to thrive. Each season, the farm employs about 30 people, many with no prior farming experience. Guy, one of the farm's longest-standing farmers, was part of the inaugural season, four locations ago. 'I was going through a bunch of health issues before I got here,' he recalled on a hot July afternoon at the farm while watching over the Sole Food dog, Makwa ('food' in Ojibwe). 'I was working at the bottle depot, but by the time I was 50, I thought I'd never be able to work again. My previous job with the city didn't work out, so I ended up here. At first, I couldn't do much, but as I got better, I became a supervisor.' Sole Food also provided Guy with an opportunity to bring his son Deion, who has Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), into a supportive work environment. 'This is the only place I found where there's enough love and patience for him to work,' Guy said. 'It's a beautiful place to work, and the flexibility is key. You can work four hours a week, or four days. You can miss a day, or a month, or a year. You're always welcome back.' Potatoes, tomatoes, lettuce and herbs are among the farm's produce. The changing climate means that it's now hot enough to grow watermelon but too dry for spinach. A couple of beehives ensure easy access to pollinators. Much of the produce is grown in black plastic bins arranged closely together in rows. 'Because of the nature of the boxes, it's a very unique space for people to farm in,' processing supervisor Laura Mitchell said. 'There are these narrow pathways, and people have to bend down. Sometimes we have sitting stools. But the bins make it accessible to grow in uncontaminated soil, even on pavement.' Composting is crucial to maintaining the soil. 'Nutrients aren't being spread out in a larger soil space. Instead, they're contained in the boxes. So, there's a lot of work our farmers do with tending the soil, composting and weeding.' Tony Rilkoff, another longtime farmer at Sole Food, is a musician and former set builder in the movie and TV industry. Rilkoff also does on-site carpentry. In his mid-'60s, like Guy, Rilkoff praised the farm for its flexibility and helping him find a new reason to get up in the morning. 'For a time, I simply could not have met the criteria for job/career/employment,' he writes in a text. 'Sole Food provided a platform that confirmed what I was capable of. Now, I'm there because I choose to remain there. I've grown to make the connection between well-being, sustenance, nutrition, the culinary arts and the farmer.'
CBC
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- CBC
Museum of Toronto launches campaign to explore city's lost history
Social Sharing The Museum of Toronto has launched a new campaign that it hopes will help residents explore the city's forgotten history. The T.O. You Don't Know project aims to help people discover "hidden layers of the city," said Rachel Hilton, speaking on CBC Radio's Metro Morning Thursday. Hilton is the director of marketing and operations at the Museum of Toronto. "There are lots of things that make the city much more interesting, renew our interest, connect us as Torontonians, and we thought it would be a great way for people to either explore all these sites or just renew interest in the place that they live," Hilton said. Multiple plaques and posters have been installed at bike share stations and bus shelters around the city to raise awareness about this initiative. Hilton said the posters were strategically placed, as they want the project to focus on "exploring the city on foot or by bike." The museum website says that this project focuses on over 25 historic sites and stories to pay tribute to Toronto's past, such as: Scene of the circus riots where American circus clowns got into a brawl with firefighters at a Toronto brothel. A 13,000-year-old Indigenous road, the stretch of Davenport follows an ancient Ojibwe train over 10,000 years old. Candy bar strike at Christie Pits where kids rallied about a hike in price of candy bars and were labelled "communist pawns." Bathhouse raids under "Operation Soap" which was marked as a turning point for queer activism in Toronto. For the complete list of project sites, visit the Museum of Toronto website. The initiative is thrilling and might astonish people with the information they discover, said Maggie Hutcheson, an assistant professor for museum studies at the University of Toronto. "People tend to get really, really excited about peeling back layers of history in place. It moves people and surprises people," Hutcheson told CBC Toronto Thursday. WATCH | Toronto history celebrated through postcards: How Toronto's history is being celebrated through vintage postcards 3 months ago She said it inspires people when they learn about the history of an intersection they are familiar with or a story of something important in the past that connects to their present experience. The majority of the places in the project are centred around downtown Toronto. Hutcheson says expanding to more neighbourhoods in Toronto and including multilingual approaches to the project might attract more people.
Yahoo
21-07-2025
- Yahoo
This U.S. Lake Is So Clear and Turquoise It's Nicknamed the 'Caribbean of the North'—and You Can Swim, Snorkel, and Scuba in It
With turquoise shallows, hidden coves, and a lively summer sandbar, this lake is a dazzling northern Points Torch Lake in Michigan stuns with its clear turquoise water, deep glacial roots, and iconic summer sandbar scene. Visitors come for boating, snorkeling, fishing, and exploring scenic trails or nearby small towns with great food and local charm. It's considered a hidden Midwest gem thanks to its Caribbean-like beauty and vibrant yet laid-back summer Lake is a place that few outside Michigan have probably heard of, yet its turquoise waters and serene sandbar make it one of the most awe-inspiring and underrated destinations in the Midwest. It's Michigan's longest inland lake and second largest by surface area, with depths reaching an impressive 310 feet. Known as the 'Caribbean of the North,' the 19‑mile-long lake's name comes from the Ojibwe word waaswaaganing, meaning 'place of torches,' a nod to the tradition of using birch torches to attract fish at night. The lake was formed by glaciers during the last Ice Age more than 10,000 years ago. Its striking blue-green hues and clarity—visibility of 20 feet to 30 feet—are due to minimal organic runoff and calcium-rich marl sediment from its glacial origins. Over time, sandbars developed, and at the lake's southern tip lies the iconic Torch Lake Sandbar, a shallow stretch of white sand that turns into a vibrant gathering spot in the summer. Boaters and swimmers flock here for a laid-back, beach-style experience right on the water, with excellent visibility for swimming, snorkeling, or even scuba diving. Fishing enthusiasts will find plenty to love, too, as Torch Lake is home to a wide variety of fish, including lake trout, smallmouth bass, pike, whitefish, and yellow perch. It's also a great place to hop in a boat or kayak and explore the lake's hidden coves and inlets. To explore on foot, there are scenic trails like Glacial Hills and the Grass River Natural Area. The towns around the lake are also worth a visit for their local markets and great spots to grab a bite like Short's Brewing Company in Bellaire or Dockside on Torch River. For overnight stays, several nearby campgrounds welcome RVs, tents, and cabin-goers, while more traditional accommodations include charming inns and bed-and-breakfasts, such as the cozy four-suite Torch Lake Bed & Breakfast. The best time to visit Torch Lake is mid-summer, when water temperatures hover around 70 degrees and the sandbar buzzes with activity. Public access is limited, so arriving early ensures parking and boat launch availability. Read the original article on Travel & Leisure Solve the daily Crossword
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Travel + Leisure
21-07-2025
- Travel + Leisure
This U.S. Lake Is So Clear and Turquoise It's Nicknamed the 'Caribbean of the North'—and You Can Swim, Snorkel, and Scuba in It
Torch Lake is a place that few outside Michigan have probably heard of, yet its turquoise waters and serene sandbar make it one of the most awe-inspiring and underrated destinations in the Midwest. It's Michigan's longest inland lake and second largest by surface area, with depths reaching an impressive 310 feet. Known as the 'Caribbean of the North,' the 19‑mile-long lake's name comes from the Ojibwe word waaswaaganing , meaning 'place of torches,' a nod to the tradition of using birch torches to attract fish at night. The lake was formed by glaciers during the last Ice Age more than 10,000 years ago. Its striking blue-green hues and clarity—visibility of 20 feet to 30 feet—are due to minimal organic runoff and calcium-rich marl sediment from its glacial origins. Over time, sandbars developed, and at the lake's southern tip lies the iconic Torch Lake Sandbar, a shallow stretch of white sand that turns into a vibrant gathering spot in the summer. Boaters and swimmers flock here for a laid-back, beach-style experience right on the water, with excellent visibility for swimming, snorkeling, or even scuba diving. Fishing enthusiasts will find plenty to love, too, as Torch Lake is home to a wide variety of fish, including lake trout, smallmouth bass, pike, whitefish, and yellow perch. It's also a great place to hop in a boat or kayak and explore the lake's hidden coves and inlets. To explore on foot, there are scenic trails like Glacial Hills and the Grass River Natural Area. The towns around the lake are also worth a visit for their local markets and great spots to grab a bite like Short's Brewing Company in Bellaire or Dockside on Torch River. For overnight stays, several nearby campgrounds welcome RVs, tents, and cabin-goers, while more traditional accommodations include charming inns and bed-and-breakfasts, such as the cozy four-suite Torch Lake Bed & Breakfast. The best time to visit Torch Lake is mid-summer, when water temperatures hover around 70 degrees and the sandbar buzzes with activity. Public access is limited, so arriving early ensures parking and boat launch availability.
Los Angeles Times
15-07-2025
- General
- Los Angeles Times
Bald eagle's new status as the official U.S. bird brings pride and hope to many Native Americans
PRAIRIE ISLAND INDIAN COMMUNITY, Minn. — Some Native Americans traditionally bestow bald eagle feathers at ceremonies to mark achievements, such as graduations, and as a form of reverence for the bird they hold sacred as a messenger to the Creator. This year, many are doing so with elevated pride and hope. The bald eagle is now the official bird of the United States, nearly 250 years after it was first used as a symbol of the newly founded nation that's deeply polarized politically today. 'The eagle is finally getting the respect it deserves. Maybe when the nation looks at the eagle that way, maybe there will be less division,' said Jim Thunder Hawk. He's the Dakota culture and language manager for the Prairie Island Indian Community, a small Mdewakanton Sioux band on the banks of the Mississippi River in Minnesota. This wide, unruffled stretch of water framed by wooded bluffs is prime bald eagle territory. The size of Minnesota's population of the majestic, white-head-and-tail birds that are exclusive to North America is second only to that of Alaska. The legislation that made the eagle official came from members of Minnesota's Congressional delegation. The federal act recognizes the eagles' centrality in most Indigenous peoples' 'spiritual lives and sacred belief systems,' and a replica of it is on display at the National Eagle Center in Wabasha, Minnesota, 40 miles downriver from the Prairie Island community, which partners with the center in eagle care. 'If you grew up in the United States, eagles were a part of your everyday life,' said Tiffany Ploehn, who as the center's avian care director supervises its four resident bald eagles. 'Everyone has some sort of connection.' A bald eagle, its wings and talons spread wide, has graced the Great Seal of the United States since 1782, and appears on passport covers, the $1 bill, military insignia, and myriad different images in pop culture. But a prolific collector of eagle memorabilia based in Wabasha realized recently that, while the United States had an official animal (the bison) and flower (the rose), the eagle was getting no formal credit. Several Minnesota legislators sponsored a bill to remedy that and then-President Joe Biden's signature made it official in December. With their massive wingspan and stern curved beak, bald eagles are widely used as symbols of strength and power. In reality, they spend 95% of their day perched high in trees, though when they hunt they can spot a rabbit 3 miles away, Ploehn said. For many Native Americans, the soaring eagle represents far more; it delivers their prayers to the Creator and even intercedes on their behalf. 'My grandma told me that we honor eagles because they saved the Ojibwe people when the Creator wanted to turn on them. The eagle, he can fly high, so he went to speak with the Creator to make things right,' said Sadie Erickson, who is Ojibwe and Mdewakanton Sioux. Erickson and a dozen other high school graduates received a bald eagle feather at an early July celebration by the riverbank at Prairie Island. Thunder Hawk said a prayer in the Dakota language urging the high school graduates and graduates receiving higher education degrees to 'always remember who you are and where you come from.' Then they lined up and a relative tied a feather — traditionally on the left side, the heart's side — as tribal members sang and drummed to celebrate them. 'It just feels like I went through a new step of life,' said Jayvionna Buck. Growing up on Prairie Island, she recalled her mother excitedly pointing out every eagle. 'She would genuinely just yell at me, 'Eagle!' But it's just a special occurrence for us to see,' Buck said. 'We love seeing it, and normally when we do, we just offer tobacco to show our respects.' Some Native Americans honor the eagle by taking it as their ceremonial name. Derek Walking Eagle, whose Lakota name is 'Eagle Thunder,' celebrated the graduates wearing a woven medallion representing the bird. To him, eagles are like relatives that connect him to his future and afterlife. 'Being able to carry on to the spirit world … that's who guides you. It's the eagle,' Walking Eagle said. That deep respect attaches to the feathers, too. 'It's the highest respect you can bestow on a person, from your family and from your people, from your tribe,' Thunder Hawk said. 'We teach the person receiving the feather that they have to honor and respect the eagle. And we tell them why.' In many Native cultures, killing an eagle is 'blasphemous,' he said. It is also a federal offense. Historically, Sioux warriors would lure an eagle with rabbit or other food, pluck a few feathers and release it, said Thunder Hawk, who grew up in South Dakota. Today, there's a nationwide program that legally distributes eagle feathers and parts exclusively to tribal members, though it's very backlogged. U.S. wildlife and tribal officials worry that killings and illegal trafficking of eagles for their feathers is on the rise, especially in the West. In Minnesota, eagles are most often harmed by road accidents and eating poison – results of shrinking wildlife habitat that brings them in closer contact with humans, said Lori Arent, interim director of the University of Minnesota's Raptor Center. The center treats about 200 injured bald eagles each year. Of those they can save, most are eventually released back into the wild. Permanently disabled birds that lose an eye or whose wings are too badly fractured to fly are cared for there or at other educational institutions like the Wabasha eagle center. The official designation could help more Americans understand how their behaviors inadvertently harm eagles, Arent said. Littering by a highway, for instance, attracts rodents that lure eagles, which then can be struck by vehicles. Fishing or hunting with tackles and ammunition containing lead exposes the eagles eating those fish or deer remains to fatal metal poisoning. Humans have lost the ability to coexist in harmony with the natural world, Thunder Hawk said, voicing a concern shared by Indigenous people from the Chilean Andes to the U.S.-Mexico borderlands. He hopes more people might now approach the eagle with the same reverence he was taught. It's what leads him to offer sage or dried red willow bark every time he spots one as a 'thank you for allowing me to see you and for you to hear my prayers and my thoughts.' Erickson, the new graduate, shares that optimism. 'I feel like that kind of shows that we're strong and united as a country,' she said by the Mississippi, her new feather nestled in her hair. Dell'Orto writes for the Associated Press.
