This morning, I began my Christmas shopping. In this respect, I’m like our American cousins to the south, in that I buy presents. Traditionally, Canadians make their own gifts, which are usually sewn from furs or skins. Hats, mittens, mukluks, wallets, purses, umbrellas, interesting underwear — all are hand-made for each person on our Christmas list.
In Canada, everyone is involved in the fur industry, and we enjoy the limelight it attracts. Why, every year we get hundreds of tourists hoping to take part in Vancouver’s famous seal hunt. They come in droves from all over the world to encounter nature in its majesty. When you return with a sledful of baby seal pelts after a long day out on the ice, it’s a glorious feeling — especially if you clubbed them yourself!
Now, I’m not very handy with the leatherwork, so I threw on my snowshoes and hiked from my parents’ igloo south to the ice floes of the mighty Fraser River. At the trading post by the river’s edge, a clever shopper can haggle for all of the skins, furs, and handicrafts they need for the season at a very reasonable price.
Caveat emptor, Canadians often say. In fact, I believe that’s even engraved on the side of those used subs that we bought from the Royal Navy. That motto particularly applies to shopping for seal furs, because some unscrupulous vendors will substitute any shiny, fur-bearing animal in its place. For example, last year my parents gave me a sweater that turned out to be knitted with possum fur! Oh, the embarassment that caused. Fortunately, the sweater is quite warm and I can now play dead when the need arises.
I wandered between the aisles and kiosks of the market, breathing the heavy scent of fried blubber and tanning seal skins. Even before noon, the market was thronging with furriers, shoppers, foodsellers, and tourists in North Face parkas taking photos of absolutely everything. At one point, a tourist asked for directions to the nearest corner store. A silence fell and confused looks were passed around. In Canada, you see, there are no “corner stores” — in fact, there are no corners at all in our villages, because our igloos are round. A dozen or so helpful villagers directed him to the nearest depanneur while apologizing profusely.
By afternoon, I had an armload of baby seal products and a few blubber snacks to hold me until dinner. Christmas is only seven days away. So much to do, and so little time! I wonder how Doug is making out with that emu?