Sometimes you open the back door and …SHAZAM! ... See MoreSee Less
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My wife got some good pictures last night here in Wilton while she was out checking on the sap we are boiling down for 🍁 syrup. Nice surprise for sure.
Wow! That's awesome!
So happy for my good friend and fellow writer Frederick McDonald on his Spur Award nomination in the Best Poetry category from the Western Writers of America, Inc. The nominated poem "The Last Request" is my personal favourite in his book Dreams and Journeys from Harbour Publishing.Fred McDonald Nominated for International Award
Fort McKay First Nation Chief and Council congratulate Fred McDonald on his international award nomination for a poem from his recently published book.
Fred was recognized by the Spur Literary Awards from the Western Writers of America (WWA). Considered to be North America’s premier celebration of literature about the West, Fred was a finalist with his poem The Last Request, a tale of a journey a daughter undertakes with her dad’s ashes, on horseback, into the mountains and the past.
“It’s an honour to be recognized by the Western Writers of America,” said Fred. “The post-reconstructionist work the WWA have done in recent years has made it possible for Indigenous writers like myself to compete as equals instead of merely being seen as caricatures of the old Western narrative.”
Well-known for his work as a painter, Fred Junior (so-called to distinguish himself from his dear, departed Dad, Fred Senior) has broadened his horizons into literary matters with the publication of his first collection of poetry. Dreams and Journeys is a look through Fred’s eyes at his world, both now and in the past.
Fred was born and raised locally and grew up in the bush and on the land beside the Athabasca River. His parents taught him the traditional ways of hunting and trapping and, though he has travelled the world over, Fred’s heart will always bring him home, to Fort McKay, his family, and his community. This grounding is reflected in his art. His paintings tell stories filled with the imagery of his people, and now his poetry is an extension of that same storytelling. The poems are richly imagined yet warm-hearted; easy to read, eager to be read again.
Fred’s poetry is of its own time and place in the community. His memories of playing golf on MacDonald Island that once belonged to his great-grandfather become an examination of what is gone forever. A story about John Wayne is also a portrait of a way of life, growing up in a sharing community, making do with little. Elsewhere there is anger in the platitudes of perfidious colonizers and fear in the reminiscences of the Horse River Fire, while memories of a family canoe evoke the traditions of the past alongside the sound of the passing, rushing water.
Fred is a world-renowned, award-winning artist, painter, photographer, and now an internationally recognized poet. He is also a former business leader in the Fort McKay community, past CEO of the Fort McKay Group of Companies. He served as the President of the Northern Alberta Aboriginal Business Association and was awarded the Regional Aboriginal Recognition Award. Yet if pressed to describe himself he would say he is a man of his people, his Nation, and, most of all, his family.
Nothing says this better than his opening words to his collection. “I dedicate this book to my daughters, Raven, Genny, and Grace, and to my grandchildren, Sebastian, Jewel, Johnny, and Zoe. Your unconditional love inspires.”
Well done, Fred! ... See MoreSee Less
A fittingly thoughtful final review. ... See MoreSee Less
Steven Heighton’s Posthumous Book Is a Reckoning with Death | The WalrusInstructions for the Drowning offers a glimpse of the closure the author may have hoped for
Overheard at the cinema
HIM: No, seriously, I don’t get time travel.
HER: You will. ... See MoreSee Less
I heard this dialogue next Friday.
There oughta be a YIKES emoji.
Overheard at the cinema:
HIM: “I’m worried about your obsession with time travel movies.”
HER: “Didn’t we already have this conversation?” ... See MoreSee Less