Arrowheads and Mushrooms

Not far from my cottage, just across the road and down a little, is a field that was a campsite and gathering place for the aboriginal peoples who roamed the woods and waters of pre-colonial Nova Scotia.

It made sense to me that this bluff overlooking Bear Falls would be a major destination.

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Open to the river breezes, flies and mosquitoes are not much of a nuisance. Salmon ran in the river from early May until late July or August. There was even a run of big salmon in the dead of winter if the old stories are true. Shad were in the lower river and the silver Kiack, the Mi'kmaq name for Alewives, ran from early spring until the water got too warm.

At Bear Falls, cracks in the bedrock make a natural trap where Kiack, in their thousands, are still dipped today.

As I said, it made sense to me that the first peoples would congregate here in this beautiful land of plenty. They were there I thought for the same reason I was, the fishing.



That was until one afternoon a few weeks ago when a late summer rain drove me indoors to read and shift pots under the wandering leaks in my roof before finally dozing-off in front of the last glowing embers in my fireplace.
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The next morning I awakened to the most amazing sight, the ground for as far as I could see was dotted with a multitude of tiny, perfect mushrooms.

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I suspect a quick Google Search for “psilocybin” might provide some clues as to what really made this a gathering place.