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treasures worth Saving BY BETHANY LEE
Unearthing local history The Unearth Uncover Historical Plaque Project began as an act of protest. In the summer and fall of 2021, signs appeared in Toronto and Peel, commemorating significant people, places and events in Black Canadian history. The signs looked a lot like the ones you’ve seen installed in hamlets and towns by the Ontario Heritage Trust, but these signs are not filled with the usual white-based history. How did these signs, topped by a strong, raised Black-power fist, come to be? A passionate group of teachers and students has been bringing light to these local but lesser-known histories that aren’t taught in schools. Visit the Peel Art Gallery, Museum and Archives virtual tour, or grab the addresses and take a daytrip and tour them one by one this spring. pama.peelregion.ca
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ILLUS TR ATION BY SHEL AGH ARMS TRONG
I
was recently on a road trip with some of my best girlfriends, in a big pearlized-red rented van we named Cherry. It had been a while, but Covid restrictions had lifted enough that we could get out and have some fun. We were cruising down the highway and playing “get to know you” via text messages with a fellow one of our group was considering dating.
“Okay, girls, what do we want to know about him?” she asked, prompting us for some good questions to pepper him with. He was good-natured about it and said he was ready to respond as best he could. We leaned in and discussed our questions. Mine was a classic, a good one to warm him up, I thought. “If your house was on fire, what treasured possessions would you grab as you ran out the door?” The little texting caterpillar crawled away for a long time as he composed an answer to send to our friend’s small screen. We waited. Bing! – his answer came in. He would take his photo albums. They contained photos of his kids, photos from high school, good times over the years with his best pals. He sent a photo of himself: a lovely pic showing his full head of hair and sweet, slightly shy smile. He shared some of his other favourites, describing them in a way that revealed he was also an excellent writer. We nodded in appreciation. Our friend’s pretty nails flicked and scrolled as she texted back and forth with him. I looked out the window and pondered my own answer to the question I’d asked. I had a vision of my arms overflowing with treasures as I ran from the imaginary house that was
on imaginary fire. I thought, I’ll sweep the jewelry displayed on my dresser into a bag (note to self: place a bag nearby). If I wasn’t able to grab the silver bracelets my aunt had given me in time, I wondered, would they melt into a messy mass? What about the ring my mom had given me when it no longer fit her? I’d stopped wearing it during the pandemic for fear it would come off during all that slippery handwashing and sanitizing. At first, jewelry seemed like the logical thing to save, but would it really be what I wanted most if I had just my two arms to carry goods from the impending disaster? I closed my eyes and mentally surveyed my house. I could see very clearly two small paintings, signed simply, “Carol.” As they came into focus, I imagined flames licking the edges of their brittle black frames – and my heart hurt. Carol is my mom, and these are her paintings. I inherited them when her mom, my Nan, died and my Papa moved to long-term care. She’d painted them in high school – still lifes of pretty, fresh veggies. Simple black lines confidently drawn in India ink, then washed with watercolour. They’re vibrant but simple enough to suit a kitchen wall and they have since blended into
