It was no wonder humans came to settle in this bountiful land thousands of years ago. The sea and the land provided everything that a civilization needed to flourish; and flourish it did. The weather in the winter months may not have been the most pleasant, but it was only for four months, give or take, and time seemed to pass by quickly for the Poposaht citizens with all their celebrations that never seemed to cease. They were a happy and content people, and Phillip Jones was a happy, content person.
November came and went, as did December, January, and February. In early December Phillip began to notice a little bump in Clear Brook’s midsection. One day when they were sitting around the fire in the longhouse weaving baskets, he questioned her about it. She smiled, put down her weaving, and rubbed her tummy with both hands.
“Yes, a little one is on its way, Phillip Jones,” Clear Brook said, beaming. Sometime in the late summer, you and Kwak-uck-ca-lak will be fathers. Are you excited?”
Phillip slid over to be closer to Clear Brook so he could give her a hug. He communicated in her native language and said, “I couldn’t be happier. I can’t imagine how Kwak-uck-ca-lak must be feeling. How long have you known you were going to be a mother?”
“Not even one full moon ago,” Clear Brook explained. “And yes, Kwak-uck-ca-lak is very excited. It doesn’t matter if it’s a girl or boy to him, he will be a good father.”
“The best,” Phillip assured her and briefly wondered why he hadn’t been told about Clear Brook’s pregnancy before now but decided not to question it.
“And you will be a good father too, Phillip Jones,” the mother-to-be replied honestly.
There was something in the sincerity of her voice which made Phillip want to shed a tear. They loved each other, and the loved they shared was the same, only different, than the love they had for Morning Sun. Phillip had found a family in the Poposaht community and soon he was going to be part of a family which would number four. It warmed his heart.
“Thank you for saying that, Clear Brook. I will be a loving father to your child. I promise,” Phillip responded.
“Our child,” she wanted to clarify. “Your child, Kwak-uck-ca-lak’s child, my child, and the village’s child. It is who we are, Phillip Jones. When a child is born, it is born into the Poposaht family and you are Poposaht family, now and forever.”
The Poposaht people were more accepting of others than the community from which Phillip had come from when he was growing up. There were no death penalties with the natives of this land for being the person you were born to be. The Poposaht expected you, wanted you, to be that person who you were born to be. No judging, you only needed a love for life and an appreciation for the citizens of your village. Everyone had to do their part, and everyone did. Whether it was carving out a canoe, gathering food in the forest, or shellfish from the tide pools, hunting for food, fishing for food, whaling, assembling dwellings which provided shelter and warmth, or raising a child, everyone participated.
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