From The Pemmican Eaters. Published by ECW in 2015.
Louis planted his beaded moccasin on the survey chain
cutting across André Nault’s river lot
pitched there by men
slung with transits, levels, and measuring sticks
men looking to the horizon
calculating the free land for homesteaders
“You go no further,” commanded Louis
blocking their line of sight
their ledger of lines
angles, meridians, and parallels
corrections for curvature
iron stakes at the corners
of perfect square miles
although over fifty million acres
was surveyed
made ready
ready-made
for occupation
there were no quarter sections
for “the miserable halfbreeds,”
“the pemmican-eaters”
but any man over eighteen
with a vacant quarter in the NWT
homesteaded
did the survey record in its calculations
witness whose lives were fragmented by these precise
coordinates?
could their instruments
determine the number of years
Nault had lived and cleared brush
harvested firewood on the same land he was now barred from?
did the surveyor’s coordinates record the number of letters, the number of signed petitions
did it detect the colourless voices of the Settlers’ Rights Association joining in Louis’ protest
did their instruments detect their words plain as bread “we have not been consulted in any way as a people entering into the Dominion”
where did this penchant for measuring and marking derive?
this desire to count and delineate this land
account for it
rename and grip it
like shovels, axes, and saws
lug like trunks,
steer like plows
pile like lumber
where did this taste for counting begin
its long rooted self
calculating angles and slopes
long conjuring “empty” land into property
the long root of capitalism
boring mineral veins
drilling wells
forcing steam down bored holes
extracting dark thick fluids
stabbing the land-belly
sucking every seam
and filling the gaping holes with
with the toxic unseen
I am told when I survey from the top of a hill
I take into account the entire land
upon which I stand;
I count this place
what conjuring does the mind do
measuring a hill,
the angle of its slope,
is it easier to climb?
is it in the imagined embrace of mother?
minds hover
oversee her
capture, hold
I take into account this entire land
land, upon which I stand
I count this place
I count this space my own
when two lines cross, the saleable land is multiplied by two
the survey lines that scored this land were
so it could be ripped along its edges, cliffs, and deeper memories
