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EAST PRAIRIE METIS SETTLEMENT: Carol Johnston counted her blessings as she stands on a barren site where her home was destroyed by a fast-moving wildfire that forced her to flee her community in northern Alberta two months ago.
Her family escaped unharmed, though her beloved cat, Missy, was unable to get out before a “fireball” fell on the house in early May.
But the bush peonies her late mother inherited survived, and a black May Day tree planted in memory of her old partner has sent new shoots — hopeful signs as she prepares to start over in the settlement of East Prairie Metis, about 240 miles (385 kilometers) northwest of Edmonton.
“I can’t leave,” said Johnston, 72, who shared the home with her son and daughter-in-law. “Why would I want to leave such fond memories?”
The worst wildfire season in Canadian history is winding down Indigenous communities from Nova Scotia to British Columbia, engulfing them in thick smoke, destroying homes and forests and threatening important cultural activities such as hunting, fishing and gathering of native plants.
Thousands of fires have burned more than 42,000 square miles (110,000 square kilometers) across the country so far. On Tuesday, nearly 900 fires were burning — most of them out of control — according to the Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Center. website.
Fires are not uncommon on Aboriginal lands, but they are now occurring in such a widespread area that many people are suffering at the same time – some for the first time – raising fears about a hotter and drier future. , especially in societies where traditions run deep.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” said Raymond Soberno, chief of the East Prairie Metis settlement, where he said more than 85 percent of the 129-square-mile (334-square-kilometer) settlement burned on the first day. Wildfires have been there for more than 60 years. 14 homes and 60 other structures were destroyed by the intense and rapid fire, which led to the evacuation of nearly 300 people and devastated forest lands.
“In the blink of an eye, we lost so much… It was devastating. I can’t stress that enough,” said Soberno, who said he had not seen any elk or moose, two important food sources, since the fire.
“We don’t just hop in the car and go IGA,” for groceries, Supernault said. “We go to the bush.”
In Canada, 5 percent of the population identifies as Indigenous – First Nation, Metis, or Inuit – with an even smaller percentage living in predominantly Indigenous communities. However, more than 42 percent of the bushfire evacuations have been from communities where more than half are indigenous, says Amy Cardinal Christianson, Indigenous fire specialist at Parks Canada.
As of last week, nearly 23,000 people from 75 Aboriginal settlements had to evacuate this year, according to Aboriginal Services Canada. The agency said more than 3,600 people had been evacuated from 15 First Nations reserves in five provinces as of Thursday.
It’s not uncommon for Indigenous communities to evict time and time again, Christianson said.
A recent analysis of the Canadian Wildland Fire Evacuation Database found that 16 communities were evacuated five or more times from 1980 to 2021 — all but two of which were First Nations reserves, said Christianson, who was involved in the analysis by the Canadian Forest Service.
The fires are now “so serious and fast-moving” that evacuations are increasingly necessary, Christianson, a Metis, said, a challenge in some remote communities where there may be only one road or no roads at all.
Ken McMullen, president of the Canadian Association of Fire Chiefs and the fire chief in Red Deer, Alberta — a province where about 7,600 square miles (19,800 square kilometers) have already burned, compared to more than 695 square miles (1,800 square kilometers) in total. From 2022 – He said that some places that burned again this year have not fully recovered from previous fires.
“It’s going to take a long time,” McMullen said, calling it the worst fire season in Canadian history. “These are life-altering events.”
The effects will be felt for generations, Christianson said, because the intense heat scorches the soil and makes it difficult for trees and other plants to regenerate.
She said Indigenous communities are increasingly at risk because they are often left out of decisions about forest management and fire response, and often cannot hire emergency managers. Furthermore, when fires affect urban centers at the same time, fire suppression spreads to larger communities.
Indigenous communities “really want to be leaders in managing fires on their lands,” Christianson said, including a return to preventive burning that the government has long suppressed.
The Algonquins at Lake Barriere in northern Quebec were evacuated in June because of too much smoke Forest fires Chief Casey Ratt, who had not seen a forest fire before this year, said it came 9 miles (15 kilometers) from and roughly surrounded by the reserve where about 350 to 400 people live, often miles apart.
“Last year my wife and I were talking about how many fires there are in Alberta, and then boom! There’s been a lot in Quebec this year,” Ratt said. “I was like, ‘Oh my God, now we’re dealing with wildfires like they’re out west.'”
But Rat wasn’t a complete surprise either, because summer heat is more intense and ice forms later in winter and melts faster in spring. This reduces their ability to fish on ice and forage for moose and beaver, which often requires crossing a lake to an island.
“Something is going on,” said Ratt, who believes climate change is largely to blame. “I think that will be the benchmark going forward.”
Soberno, of the East Prairie Metis settlement, said the biggest concern is whether cultural traditions passed down from generations of elders will survive into the future.
“Our land is changing… and our traditional way of life is now on hold,” Soberno said. “You can’t put a price on traditional culture and loss.”
Her family escaped unharmed, though her beloved cat, Missy, was unable to get out before a “fireball” fell on the house in early May.
But the bush peonies her late mother inherited survived, and a black May Day tree planted in memory of her old partner has sent new shoots — hopeful signs as she prepares to start over in the settlement of East Prairie Metis, about 240 miles (385 kilometers) northwest of Edmonton.
“I can’t leave,” said Johnston, 72, who shared the home with her son and daughter-in-law. “Why would I want to leave such fond memories?”
The worst wildfire season in Canadian history is winding down Indigenous communities from Nova Scotia to British Columbia, engulfing them in thick smoke, destroying homes and forests and threatening important cultural activities such as hunting, fishing and gathering of native plants.
Thousands of fires have burned more than 42,000 square miles (110,000 square kilometers) across the country so far. On Tuesday, nearly 900 fires were burning — most of them out of control — according to the Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Center. website.
Fires are not uncommon on Aboriginal lands, but they are now occurring in such a widespread area that many people are suffering at the same time – some for the first time – raising fears about a hotter and drier future. , especially in societies where traditions run deep.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” said Raymond Soberno, chief of the East Prairie Metis settlement, where he said more than 85 percent of the 129-square-mile (334-square-kilometer) settlement burned on the first day. Wildfires have been there for more than 60 years. 14 homes and 60 other structures were destroyed by the intense and rapid fire, which led to the evacuation of nearly 300 people and devastated forest lands.
“In the blink of an eye, we lost so much… It was devastating. I can’t stress that enough,” said Soberno, who said he had not seen any elk or moose, two important food sources, since the fire.
“We don’t just hop in the car and go IGA,” for groceries, Supernault said. “We go to the bush.”
In Canada, 5 percent of the population identifies as Indigenous – First Nation, Metis, or Inuit – with an even smaller percentage living in predominantly Indigenous communities. However, more than 42 percent of the bushfire evacuations have been from communities where more than half are indigenous, says Amy Cardinal Christianson, Indigenous fire specialist at Parks Canada.
As of last week, nearly 23,000 people from 75 Aboriginal settlements had to evacuate this year, according to Aboriginal Services Canada. The agency said more than 3,600 people had been evacuated from 15 First Nations reserves in five provinces as of Thursday.
It’s not uncommon for Indigenous communities to evict time and time again, Christianson said.
A recent analysis of the Canadian Wildland Fire Evacuation Database found that 16 communities were evacuated five or more times from 1980 to 2021 — all but two of which were First Nations reserves, said Christianson, who was involved in the analysis by the Canadian Forest Service.
The fires are now “so serious and fast-moving” that evacuations are increasingly necessary, Christianson, a Metis, said, a challenge in some remote communities where there may be only one road or no roads at all.
Ken McMullen, president of the Canadian Association of Fire Chiefs and the fire chief in Red Deer, Alberta — a province where about 7,600 square miles (19,800 square kilometers) have already burned, compared to more than 695 square miles (1,800 square kilometers) in total. From 2022 – He said that some places that burned again this year have not fully recovered from previous fires.
“It’s going to take a long time,” McMullen said, calling it the worst fire season in Canadian history. “These are life-altering events.”
The effects will be felt for generations, Christianson said, because the intense heat scorches the soil and makes it difficult for trees and other plants to regenerate.
She said Indigenous communities are increasingly at risk because they are often left out of decisions about forest management and fire response, and often cannot hire emergency managers. Furthermore, when fires affect urban centers at the same time, fire suppression spreads to larger communities.
Indigenous communities “really want to be leaders in managing fires on their lands,” Christianson said, including a return to preventive burning that the government has long suppressed.
The Algonquins at Lake Barriere in northern Quebec were evacuated in June because of too much smoke Forest fires Chief Casey Ratt, who had not seen a forest fire before this year, said it came 9 miles (15 kilometers) from and roughly surrounded by the reserve where about 350 to 400 people live, often miles apart.
“Last year my wife and I were talking about how many fires there are in Alberta, and then boom! There’s been a lot in Quebec this year,” Ratt said. “I was like, ‘Oh my God, now we’re dealing with wildfires like they’re out west.'”
But Rat wasn’t a complete surprise either, because summer heat is more intense and ice forms later in winter and melts faster in spring. This reduces their ability to fish on ice and forage for moose and beaver, which often requires crossing a lake to an island.
“Something is going on,” said Ratt, who believes climate change is largely to blame. “I think that will be the benchmark going forward.”
Soberno, of the East Prairie Metis settlement, said the biggest concern is whether cultural traditions passed down from generations of elders will survive into the future.
“Our land is changing… and our traditional way of life is now on hold,” Soberno said. “You can’t put a price on traditional culture and loss.”
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