Coyote Summer

Living on the prairies demands maturity, crops grow on blood and toil, not wishes. No matter how much we may love this land, it does not love us back. It is indifferent to our needs our hopes, desires and yes, our dreams.

Chapter 1– Blood and Toil

Our lives changed that day those men in uniform came to take father away. That was eight months ago, when I was but a child, I’ve aged since then.

They are the reason we now gather here, in silence.

Gazing upon the endless prairie, the dark soil damp from the newly melted snow, I hold back the tears of a child, and swallow feelings of despair. A man doesn’t cry, apparently I was now a man.

I sprinkle soil from our land onto the casket before it lowers and read the verse he always loved…. I turn the pages of my mind back to when it changed

As Ukrainian immigrants, we endured discrimination and prejudice daily. That is why we kept to ourselves. My parents moved to Canada in 1901. My brother was an infant when they settled in Saskatchewan, I was born two years later. While many family members moved to Manitoba, father read about the bison that roamed the prairie grasslands and he desperately wanted to see one.

I am now fourteen and to this day we have not seen a bison. We have seen lots of cows.

The night before those men came, we were out celebrating the fall harvest of 1916 with our neighbors, and did not arrive home until the false dawn glowed in the night sky. Laughter filled our tiny home as we prepared breakfast, until a knock on the door silenced our joy.

Outside were two military officers and the local policeman. Several soldiers stood in line waiting for orders they knew were wrong. While two trucks hidden in the shadows, had human silhouettes packed in the back.

My fathers english was coming along but wasn’t great, “Ya, dobry ranok...ahh good mooornig.”

With out permission they entered our tiny home.

One of the officers, a tall slender man with a pencil thin mustache and rather large nose spoke. “Are you Mr. Basbrab ..Baasrba.?”

It took a lot to frighten my father, yet his voice was shaky when he answered. “Basaraba.”

“Yes, well that is a mouthful isn’t it?” Snickered the second officer. Also, a tall man but his fine suit fit like his manners, poorly. His buttons strained as tightly as the tension in the room.

Father spoke to the policeman. “Patrick, what for are you here?”

Clearly uncomfortable Patrick pulled out a paper. “Sorry John, I tried to…”

Before he can explain, the fat man snatched the papers and read. “Citizens of states legally at war with Canada who reside in Canada during war time. Under the authority of the WMA, will be considered enemy alien and therefore for the safety of our country will be interned at work camps.”

We remained silent.

Turning to Patrick, the fat one stated. “I do not believe they understand a word or are unable to process what this means. ”

We knew exactly what it meant. The same thing happened to momma’s uncle in Brandon. Father was under arrest for being Ukrainian.

Momma jumped between the man and poppa. ”We do nothing wrong. We citizens, we work...”

The tall man cut in. “Madam, Ukraine is under Russia who is an ally of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, therefore an enemy of the British Empire.”

My father understood enough, he pushed past momma and stared at both men, who stumbled back. “Not Russian.” He spit out.

“Regardless, John Baserbuba you are henceforth placed under the protection of the British Empire and will be interned until the end of the war or till further notice.”

My older brother Bohdan spoke up. “I’ll join.”

Not a sound was made, my brother clarified his statement. “If father is allowed to stay on our farm I will join the army.”

“How old are you boy?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sorry, that is too young…”

“Eighteen, I am eighteen.”

After that, my memory is not clear, momma and poppa stood in silent shock. My little sister Sophie wept because she didn’t understand, none of us did. Bohdan gathered his few belongings, joined the other soldiers outside and was gone.

The two officers remained.

We were shocked when we heard the tall one state. “Now Mr. Basbra… John, pack your things and we shall be on our way.”

Patrick stepped in. “Wait, his son joined the military so his father could stay.”

“Yes, quite brave indeed, unfortunately our orders are clear, he will be taken to a camp, today.”

Once my parents understood what was happening, tempers flared. I ran outside chasing after Bohdan, yelling for him to come back. Screaming, they lied.

When I returned to the house father was being led to the back of a truck filled with men whom I recognized. Heads down, some stared at me. No one said a word.

I tried to pull father away. He gently held my hands, knelt in front of me. Saying. “Taras, you are man of home.” With his hand on my head, he whispered. “Ya tebe lyublyu.” Without another word he joined the others and was gone.

Tears filled my eyes as they drove away. ‘I love you too, poppa.’

It all happened so quickly; our porridge was still warm. For a long time, I wondered how he could leave without a fight. I found out later, they threatened to take me as well.

Life went on, I would wake before mornings light stretched it’s tendrils across the barren fields. Up before my mother, before my sister would wipe the sleep from her eyes.

After months, I still found myself staring at the coffee pot while starting the fire, wondering if momma prepared it the night before, out of habit, or if she was telling me. ‘Taras, you’re the man of the house, this is for you.’ Until father returns, I will try.

Bohdan let me take a sip of his coffee once. It tasted like drinking from a puddle of water on a hot day. I told him it was delicious, he laughed when I declined a second sip.

Once the fire settled to a steady heat, I slid the pot onto the top plate and went out to begin my chores. Outside the full moon still hovered over the barren land, its radiant light bathed me in a sacred glow. I inhaled the scent of fresh earth, there is nothing in this world you can compare it with. Everyday smells like a new beginning, however you never knew what that beginning was going to be.

My thoughts drifted to Bohdan, who was probably laying in some muddy trench off in distant lands, fighting 'the great war'. Something none of us understood. For a moment I felt him beside me and smiled. Then it hit me, he wasn’t aware they took father.

We received snippet of news about the war, but only three letters from Bohdan. Most of his words blocked out in black ink so we really had no idea what he was writing about. In my life, I’ve only heard my mother cry three times, one for each letter. She never even cried when father....

Maybe she had, but not that I heard. She is strong, but then again prairie women have few options. Many who weren't, went crazy.

In town there was talk of the German’s using a type of poison called mustard gas, and of these new airplanes dropping bombs on the soldiers. I can't imagine what Bohdan must thinking when he sees those buzzing over head, death all around and now from the skies.

I wrapped my coat close to me and strolled to the barn. Something was different that morning, a feeling, a sense of apprehension. It was the manic clucking within twilight’s shadow that alerted me, the strewn feathers in the dirt, confirmed my fears.

Coyote.

I gathered the nervous hens and placed them back in their roost. My eyes locked onto the three empty perches. I felt an anger build, my body twitched uncontrollably. With only one thought in mind, I grabbed my old mans rifle and ran into the field. I knew where the coyotes hung out, I found their den last summer, but didn’t want to tell my father, he would have killed them for the one-dollar bounty. I didn’t want them to come to harm. There was a beauty to them.

Because of my in-action our family lost income and I was responsible for that and knew what needed to be done. In truth, I think I was reacting to a bigger loss.

I didn’t have my brothers height or strength, but I was a marksmen. The rifle had always felt natural in my hands, an extension of myself. I didn’t necessarily like to kill, but I was good at it when called upon.

Days first light crept over the horizon, giving life to the morning mist that clung to the ground. Weaving itself like a pellucid snake through the barren fields. I imagine that is what mustard gas must appear like to the soldiers, cowering in their trenches.

The approach of dawn brought a collective chorus of chirps and whistles that echoed all around me. The unmistakable songs of the robin invited others to join, followed by the sorrowful cry of a loon in the distant. Father told me some bird cries were forms of intimidation as well as mating calls to attract a suitable partner. I jokingly asked if that was how he got Momma.

Approaching the copse of trees where I spotted the coyotes I fell on my belly and crawled to the ridge. I remembered watching them, tumbling over one another. Wondering why it was only the two of them, coyotes usually travel in small packs.

The warmth of the sun began to radiate across the land, it felt good. I lay there unmoving, my eyes focused for any movement. My body was shaking, and it wasn’t from the damp chill. I was about to rise and go home when movement inside the bush grabbed my attention. A coyote came creeping out, welcoming the morning, and shaking off sleep. The sun began to crest over the distant hill, silhouetting the coyote against the horizon.

Beautiful.

I don’t remember squeezing the trigger, I didn’t hear the bullet leave the barrel. I only saw her jump high in the air, run three steps then collapse. Dust rose and blew away into the wind like the soul leaving the body.

I lay there for a while waiting for the other one to emerge. After no sign, I strolled down the hill. I approached the silent beast, and saw it was the female, a light breeze blew and ruffled her fur, giving the illusion that she would rise and disappear amongst the tall grass, blending with nature. But the mews of her pups brought reality to life, she wasn't coming back.

I turned toward the sound emanating from within the shrubs, crawling into the bush I saw the den opening, a hole dug under a fallen tree. A tiny nose popped out, then another, followed by one more.

Three pups, now orphaned, alone with no chance of survival. I was the cause of that. Stumbling on tiny legs, they wandered past me like I was a ghost and found their way to her. The mewing got louder as they nuzzled her neck, and gently pawed at her face, eventually they laid down beside her.

The only kind thing I could do was to put them out of their misery. They didn’t put up a fight as I placed them inside a burlap sack. I slung them over my shoulder and trudged to the creek which meandered through our land.

The water flowed lazily through our fields, bright sparkles capturing the light of a new day, danced along with the current. I listened to the soft gurgle drift across the plain. This giver of life was about to do the opposite.

Placing smooth rocks inside the bag, confused dark eyes looked up at me, one licked my fingers. I stroked his soft fur before sealing the opening.

Marching into the slow-moving stream, I twisted my hand in the burlap and lowered the bag into the water. Frantic cries broke the silence of morning as the cubs thrashed inside. Cold waters seeped through the cloth causing frantic movements as tiny paws scratched at the sides. The water churned while the three little ones tried desperately to find a way out of something they were forced into. Their last thoughts would be of their mother lying unresponsive to their pleas.

My legs were becoming numb from the chilly waters.

Unable to watch, I raised my eyes to the heavens and thought of my father. His voice floated upon the morning mist as clear as if he were standing beside me. 'Son, what will you do to earn the love of this land?'

Stepping out of the creek, I made my way back home, hoping every morning wouldn’t be like this. In the distance I saw my mother standing in the garden with the coffee pot in her hand, I had forgotten to remove it. She was pouring the burnt liquid onto the soil.

I should of felt bad, knowing we could not afford to waste food. Instead, I chuckled at the mewing and wriggling within the burlap sack, wondering how momma was going to feel when she realized I brought home three more mouths to feed.

I was about to call out when a large black Cadillac pulled into our yard. The same two officers stepped out and approached momma. I watched in silence as they stood and talked. I found myself flat on the ground with fathers rifle in my hands, sighting in on the fat one, it was far but... Suddenly, momma swayed ever so slightly, the coffee pot slipped from her fingers.

I raced towards them, by the time I reached momma they had already driven away. I'll never forget the image as she stood there watching the vehicle fade into the horizon, hidden in a cloud of dust.

The next morning, I hitched the horses to the wagon, we rode to the train station to bring his body home.

So, now I stand, glancing at the people gathered here today, many counting on me. My brother Bohdan should have been here, it should have been him reading the verse. It should have been him with this burden, not me. But life doesn’t always go the way we think it should.

He wasn’t even aware he no longer had a father.

I sprinkle soil from our land onto the casket before it lowers and read the verse he always loved. In that moment I turned from a boy to a man, it was that simple, it was that cruel.

As the seasons change and years go by our bodies will eventually nourish this very land that took so much from us. Yet, there is a silent beauty that lays before us, giving us hope that what we do today will somehow mean something tomorrow.

As the sun drops beneath the distant horizon, so does my soul. In the morning when it rises, so too shall I.

God how I love and hate this land.

Thank you,

Jason Basaraba

NOTE: The Ukrainian Canadian internment was part of the confinement of "enemy aliens" in Canada, during and for two years after the end of the First World War. It lasted from 1914 to 1920, under the terms of the War Measures Act. More than 8,500 men along with some women and children were interned.

The Canadian government frequently employed internees on massive labour projects, including the development of Banff National Park and numerous mining and logging operations. Internees had much of their wealth confiscated, although most were paid $0.25 a day, far less than that offered to labouregr's of the time period. Interned Canadians were also disenfranchised during the course of the war. Many were not allowed to return home after the war until the project they were forced to labor on was complete.