Description Rich Story Hour - Part Four

The stage is set, the performers are ready, the amphitheatre has an audience sprinkled on benches and lawn chairs, the sun is shining, the air is soft, Lee Lifeson Art Park is full of the sounds of an Autumn weekend in an urban park, and it’s time for the Description Rich Story Hour. In this episode it’s all about the stories! Tellers Katherine Sanders, Shak Gobert, Rbecca Singh, olivia shortt, and Christine Malec take the limelight, on the appropriately named Limelight Stage, and tell tales of the park, past, present and future. These stories will take you places you never imagined, while never leaving the land on which they are told. Settle in; it’s story time!  

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The Description Rich Story Hour and The Hopewell Garden Audio Story are created by Christine Malec, Rebecca Singh and Katherine Sanders. They are a trio of artists who came together for the purpose of creating audio experiences of the natural world from a Blind-led perspective.

These stories are made possible thanks to the generous support of the Toronto Arts Council and the Toronto Arts Foundation.

Logo Image Description: A square with large yellow text that reads, "Described Toronto" and below it "PODCAST" in all capital letters, within a yellow rectangle. The title is layered on top of a photo of diverse women standing side by side outdoors in a park. One of the women holds a white cane.

Transcript

Christine Malec (00:05)
Welcome to the Described Toronto podcast. I'm Christine Malek. On a perfect day in late September 2025, we gathered in Lee Lifeson Art Park for the Description Rich Story Hour. The Described Toronto Collective, Katie Sanders, Rebecca Singh and myself, had the goal to create an accessible event in a public park that was welcoming to all.

and that celebrated art and creativity. We did this in several ways. We offered ASL interpretation, which was provided by Marsha Adolf. We had sighted guides, Kim, Christina, Linda, Thanzeem, and James on hand. And we had a tactile map created by set designer Lindsay Walker, along with miniature 3D prints of art in the park, generated by Chet Cobert.

What did this all mean for those who attended? For blind and low vision guests, the sighted guides ensured an independent, self-directed and safe experience. The guides were available to guide, but also to assist in checking out the tactile map, the 3D prints and the large artworks themselves. Blind and low vision guests could wander the park at their own discretion, with someone trained in guiding techniques and basic description skills.

The map and 3D prints were wonderful. The map rested on a table not far from the stage. Measuring about one metre by one metre, it used texture and shape to represent the park. Grassy areas were denoted by a carpet-like feel. The paths by something like sandpaper. Trees, ranging from 3 to 10 centimetres in height, were recognisable to the fingers as trees. Shrubs and other flora were distinct,

and texturally inviting. Hills were slightly raised, the amphitheatre was slightly lower. It even had little railings and discernible steps down into it. Very small 3D versions of the art were placed on the map appropriately, and cardinal directions were indicated. Guests could take the route we'd taken into the park, then let our fingers trace the winding helical paths that snake through it.

Around a dozen blind and low-vision folk checked out this gorgeous map, plus many interested sighted guests and some delightful children who got to learn what Braille is. Everything that was set on stage was ASL interpreted for ASL users, and the stories themselves had description-rich language embedded in them so that visual elements of the park were made alive and accessible to blind and low-vision guests, and also

to guests who may simply not have noticed a particular feature of this art park. Then there were the stories themselves. Tellers Catherine Sanders, Jacques Gobert, Rebecca Singh, Olivia Short and myself took the stage to tell stories created from the following prompt. Tell a story that takes place on this land currently occupied by Leigh-Lyfson Art Park in the past, present or future

that includes a meeting or a parting. Around 50 people gathered in the amphitheatre on this beautiful sunny autumn day that felt more like summer. And now, the stories. Tellers were invited to offer their own bio and self-description. We start with the story, Getting Here, by described Toronto collective member Katie Catherine Sanders.

Catherine is a white settler of European descent and a first-generation Canadian whose parents came here from Wisconsin, just the other side of the Great Lakes, in 1969, during the Vietnam War. She now lives in West Scarborough. She's 5 feet 10 inches tall, with shoulder-length brown hair. Catherine has worked in theatre and events for almost 30 years. She's worked at Harbourfront Centre and Young People's Theatre.

toured plays across the country, and now she's a freelance grant writer who sometimes gets grants herself.

Katie Sanders (04:35)
My piece for you today is called Getting Here.

I was a thumb sucker. As a kid, I sucked my thumb for a long time. Finally, my parents took me to the dentist, and I came out with what we call rabbit ears, a contraption shaped like two rabbit ears that hung down from the roof of your mouth to stop you from being able to suck your thumb.

The day I got it, I went to school late and got to class just in time for silent reading. At the end of silent reading, the teacher would always ask if anyone wanted to come up and read a page from the book they had just been reading. I always put up my hand. I always wanted to read aloud. But today, I had this thing in my mouth. It made me talk funny. I sounded like Sylvester the cat, Fufferin' Fuckatash.

But that didn't stop me. Before I even knew what I was doing, my hand was in the air. The teacher called on me. I walked up to the front of the class and started reading. And it was at that point that I realized just how weird I sounded. But now I was committed. Now I had to get through that whole page while my classmates gave each other looks. I guess it's a credit to 80s teacher discipline that the whole class didn't just burst out laughing. I got through the reading and sat down.

regretting my impulse to put up my hand. What's the matter with me? Why do I feel compelled to get up in front of other people and speak?

This park is named for Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson from the rock band Rush. This shell bandstand behind me is named after their song, Limelight. And it's also a reference to being in the limelight, meaning to be the focus of public attention. I haven't stepped on a stage in 10 years and seven months. How did I get here? Well, I took the subway from Scarborough.

Here are some notes I took along the way. Line two toward Kipling starts above ground then into the tunnel. I sit facing north so I can see the Don Valley from the viaduct. Someone yelling at Woodbine, hope they didn't get on our car. Turns out it's camp counselors trying to get all the kids off the train. I appreciate a train conductor who knows how to make an announcement and a PA system that works. Communication is so important. Holding at Greenwood.

North York Center Station, Yonge Street, East Side, Empress Walk Cinema, where I went on my third date with the guy I ended up marrying. We saw The Hobbit. We took the long escalator up to the theater, the one directly above the Loblaws fruit and veg section on the first floor. I always thought I would never buy fruit or veggies here because teenagers probably spit on them all the time. Don't go up the escalator today.

I sneak out the back of North York Center, away from Young, through the original wall of North York's first municipal building, built in 1946, the year my dad was born. The frontispiece of the old building has been retained, and there are plaques with information about it on the way to the elevator. Up the ramp and through a large square archway, in a small building with Lee Lifeson Art Park written on it.

and mosaic tiles forming images of Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson. When I step through the archway, I'm at the back of the bowl of an amphitheater, which is kind of impressive to behold considering it's only three tiers. What makes it impressive has a lot to do with the shimmering band shell center stage, which is actually shell-shaped and made of tiny mosaic tiles which reflect light so it shines without electricity. Wouldn't it be nice if more things were like that?

I walk up to the giant shell, which is a lot bigger than it looks at first. If I jump as high as I can, I couldn't touch the top. From one angle, the tall buildings of North York Center peek out from behind this giant shell. I turn and stand at the center of the amphitheater, and suddenly there's an audience watching me. How did I get here? What am I doing? ⁓ right. I'm telling a story about a park.

If I were to step off this stage and walk about 40 meters to my right, I'd find some sculptures. One of them is a giant megaphone, a six-sided tube that's narrow at one end and wide at the other. It's about 10 feet tall at the widest point. This sculpture is called the Horn of Reflection. The outside of it is covered in mirrors reflecting the trees and sky. The inside of it used to be open. You used to be able to sit inside of it and soft music would play.

But now it's closed up. Probably animals were living in it, or people maybe. No music plays anymore. About 30 meters behind me is another sculpture called Hornucopia. It consists of lots of megaphones of different sizes poking out in all directions on a base of interconnected rectangular pipes. The megaphones are white, the pipes are pink and orange. If I crouch down on the ground in front of the biggest megaphones,

I can reach out and feel with my fingers the words embossed on the base of the sculpture. Speak slash listen. The white megaphones are tagged with graffiti. People are obviously taking its message to heart and speaking with their Sharpies. The horn of reflection is closed. The hornacopia is covered in graffiti. Did the artist know this would happen? Does it bother her? Why do people make art?

Why do we tell stories? When I first moved to Toronto, I lived at Colleges and Spadina. That wasn't my nearest intersection. I literally lived at the southeast corner of Colleges and Spadina above a printing shop. I could see the 7-Eleven out my bedroom window. Someone was shot my first week there. There were several shootings around the city that night, and that was one of them. I sat inside my apartment my first morning thinking, what have I done?

Why did I come here? I didn't know what to do with myself, so I went for a walk. And that's when everything fell into place. I walked out of my apartment, started walking east, away from Spadina. I passed the Griffins in front of the library and the impressive old buildings on the U of T campus. I walked into one of those buildings and in the basement they were having a used book sale. I found some books that made me feel happy.

and paid almost nothing for them. I remember that day when I'm feeling down. Just keep going. Just walk. Which brings me to my favorite feature of this park, the double helix path. What if, instead of walking through the archway and into the amphitheater, I entered the park a different way and found this winding double helix pathway? Two figure eights, four loops.

weaving back and forth like DNA. The double helix is the name for the structure formed by double-stranded molecules of nucleic acids such as DNA. Weaving back and forth, intertwined, that's what we're made of. I'm walking on a path that is the same shape as my DNA. That's gotta mean something, When they intersect, do I continue the way I was walking? Do I veer off? That seems wrong.

It feels like I should keep walking in the same direction, tracing the figure eight with my body. Keep going. Then circle back around, revisit this spot again, cross over the path I've already walked. But just cross over. Don't go that way. Keep going forward. This pathway changes from one season to another. In the winter, when it's not covered with snow, the whole path is laid bare, and only the hills of dirt in between the loops are visible.

The whole shape of it, it's winding, weaving, double helix shape. In spring, red tulips, grasses and thistles, low to the ground, only a foot or two high, still plenty of room on the path. In summer though, native plants and invasive species take over, battling for supremacy of the double helix path. I fight through the overgrown stalks drooping over my path. Don't annoy the bees.

Don't annoy the wasps, slide through safely. In the fall, goldenrods and tall grasses dominate, although someone has come along and cut back some of the stalks, cleared the path so I can continue taking each step forward.

What's the point of a path like this? Why did they make it like this? If a straight line is the shortest distance between two points, this is the opposite of that. The designer of this park wanted me to walk this way, wanted me to slow down, to make it about the journey, not the destination. They wanted me to weave back and forth, to have to make choices. Maybe they wanted me to walk slowly, like a monk contemplating each step.

Maybe they wanted me to have fun in a park. Imagine that. I think this DNA path is a metaphor for my life. I feel like I can trace a line from that day in school with the rabbit ears to that first walk down College Street in Toronto to this story I'm telling right now. I feel like in the spring of my life, I knew I was walking this path when I put my hand up in class. Speaking in front of people was in my DNA.

using my voice to tell stories. And in the summer of my life, I kept walking. I kept putting up my hands for things in my life, not always sure why I was doing it. And there have been a lot of overgrown weeds in my way, and I've tried to avoid getting stung. I'm pushing autumn now. The path ahead is still sort of unclear, but if I was a gardener, I could cut away all the dead stuff.

let loose all the seeds on the ground, and continue to use my voice to tell stories, even though I still think I sound kind of weird. There are many entryways into this park, but I'm taking this one. There are many ways to walk, but I'm walking this way. I walk down the steps of the amphitheater and into the limelight, and I speak to all of you. If I was a different person, I would tell a different story, but I am who I am.

I can only tell this story. Only I can tell this story. What is it about? It's about how I came to be here, in this park, talking to you. What's this park about? What is this gathering about? What are all these megaphones about? Speaking, I guess. However imperfectly, however weirdly, however bluntly, however tentatively.

Speak.

And now I've spoken enough. Time to hear some other people speak. and by the way, I did stop sucking my thumb in my own time when I was ready last Tuesday. Thank you.

Christine Malec (16:42)
Next, Akakwu's Iskwu Star Woman by Trina Moyan told by Shaq Gobert. This story is written by Trina Moyan. It was told by Trina's son Shaq Gobert. Shaq and Trina are both members of the Frog Lake First Nation in Treaty 6 territory, North Alberta. They are of Plains Cree descent. Their work sits at the intersection of Indigenous oral tradition and emerging technology.

As an actor and performer, Trina shares traditional Indigenous stories and Shaq merges those stories with 3D modeling, augmented reality and spatial computing to tell them in new ways. Together, they ensure that Indigenous worldviews, culture and histories are future-proofed by adapting them to new modern tools. In addition to this creative tech, they work in public and Indigenous engagement,

ensuring that major projects across Takeronto embed Indigenous voices, community priorities, and cultural needs at their core. Shaq is 5'9", First Nations Cree on his maternal side and French-Irish on his paternal side. His skin colour is a medium beige. He has light brownish sandy hair that is slightly longer in the middle. He has medium brown eyes and really straight teeth.

5 years of braces later they were so bad before. He has dimples when he smiles and a 5 o'clock shadow. He has a medium build and is about 185 pounds. And he is slightly duck footed.

Shak Gobert (18:23)
Today, I'm going to be telling a version of one of our Nehiwak Cree creation stories, Achakos Esquio, which means star woman. And this one's very special because it is one of our creation stories. But of course, if any of you are familiar with indigenous oral tradition, the story can sometimes morph and change. And that's totally OK. Because it's actually the lesson, the ethics, the worldview embedded in it that's the important part.

So you might actually hear this story again in your future, and it might have twists and turns and differences, but that's totally OK, because it's about what it's trying to teach you. And I think that's what's beautiful about our oral traditions, is it's so malleable, ⁓ and living and breathing and always changing in ways. So you'll notice that there's a bit of a twist on this one too that might relate to where we are today, but I will save that for the actual story. So let's do it. ⁓

Yes, Achakos Esquio, told by Shack Ober. I'm Shack. And my Cree name is Pasquamustus Capesewena, which means the buffalo that blows on the ground. Written by myself and Trina Moyan. And this is one of our variations. So I'm a pacer, by the way, so I have to walk. One day, Starwoman is walking beyond the universe. And she comes upon a hole.

that she almost falls into because she didn't see it there. that was close, she says. What is this hole doing here? Hmm. And she decides to stick her head inside of that hole. ⁓ She sees the most beautiful, colorful jewel.

And she feels the power of its spinning energy upon her face as the whooshing gust of air it creates sends the sweetest smell of new soil and stone into her nose. And its electric power pulls upon the insides of her being, and a desperate desire to be with the jewel is created deep within her. She says to herself, I must go down with that jewel.

And I know it must be Grandmother Spider who's placed that there. And so she closes her eyes to listen carefully to see if she can hear the sound of Grandmother Spider's magical spinning legs. Sure enough, she hears.

And Star Woman opens her eyes, and there she sees glorious grandmother spider spinning the universe with her silvery thread as she gently places celestial beings in the universe. And as she places them, Star Woman feels the splashing of her silvery magical threads upon her face. And as Star Woman wipes her face, she says,

grandmother, your work is so beautiful and I see the colorful jewel you have placed just down there and I feel its power calling to me. grandmother, its whooshing sound is music to my ears and its pull upon my body and it's creating a deep desire to go down and be with it. Can you please help me go down to visit with it?

Hmm, grandmother thinks to herself, this could be an opportunity to get some help with my work here in the universe. And she says, yes, Star Woman, I will help you. But there are three conditions you must agree to. One, when you visit, you must agree to share all of your gifts with the jewel.

your powerful abilities to hear and listen and touch and to feel. You must share all of what you carry within you. Two, there will be a time when I pull you back to your place here in the universe. And when I do that, you must agree to leave easily and ensure that what you leave behind does not mourn for you. And three, you must leave behind the star blanket.

that you wear upon your back. Yes, the most precious gift that I have made just for you." Star Woman immediately agrees. She says, yes, yes, yes, grandmother, I can do all three of those things. And so, grandmother Spider attaches the silvery thread to Star Woman's mind, and she gently releases her down to that jewel. And there,

Starwoman falls in love with the jewel and shares all of her gifts with it. She shares her waters of life, her songs, her prayers, ceremonies, her music, and her touch. And her love runs so deeply within her heart that she gives birth to the plant beings, the water beings, winged creatures, four-legged and the two-legged too. And she teaches those two-legged to listen to the other beings and to create music.

for all the other beings and to always hear first with their hearts and their touch and to celebrate life with love, laughter and music. And one day, grandmother spider pulls on that silvery thread attached to star woman's mind, calling her back to her place in the universe.

And as Grandmother pulls Star Woman back, Star Woman just so happens to be visiting a special place in North York. What are the odds? A small green space where the Two-Legged have gathered to learn from Star Woman's teaching. It's to create music, love, laughter, sound. And she says to those Two-Legged, I have to go now. Grandmother Spider is pulling me back to my place amongst the stars. But I love you.

Continue to listen, laugh, love, and share your gifts with one another. And do not mourn for me. Celebrate and give thanks for this life. And as she begins to be pulled back into the sky, Star Woman pulls the star blanket from her back and calls out, wear my blanket so you remember where you come from. You are from the stars. You are beautiful. You are star beings. Always listen with love. You are achakos.

And the beings gathered there at that special spot called Lee Lifeson Park gave thanks to those gifts that Star Woman has left for them. And they celebrate the powerful gifts of listening, of touch, of laughing. And they create songs and sing and laugh and remember where they came from. For we are all star beings. Kine nasko mitinan. Ai hai in many things.

Christine Malec (25:53)
Next, The Circle by described Toronto collective member Rebecca Singh. Rebecca Singh is a black woman of mixed German background and East Indian heritage. She has just passed the shoulder brown twists and is 5'10 and wearing a dirndl, which is a German traditional dress. It's black with a white lace top and an intricate ribbed bodice and light brown lace apron with matching shoes and white socks.

Rebecca has been audio describing live performance, film, television and visual art since 2011. She's also a performer and studied dance and circus arts in Montreal before moving to Toronto. She recently appeared in Toilet Paper for the Apocalypse – Women at Plays 7. And she voices audio descriptions for exhibitions at the Art Gallery of Ontario.

She is the founder and owner of Superior Description Services and a contributor to the Rutledge Handbook of Audio Description. Originally from Alberta, she called Montreal home for over a decade and now is based in Toronto.

Rebecca Singh (27:05)
So the land we are on here has had many ages. It was once the land of three family homes. Maybe like there's two homes that are not far behind me, past the band shell. There's some chain link fence. You can actually look into the backyards of the folks who have their homes there. There were three other homes that were on this land before it became a park.

And the homes that were here were owned by men who were considered, who were written about in history and inscribed as city builders. Before that, was an era, there was an era of apple orchards. Apples were grown on this land and in this area. And this was known as prime apple tree planting territory. And before history knew it as that,

It was also full of many other foods and many other people to collect those foods. And some of those foods are still here and some of those materials that people would collect are still here as you might find if you go down the winding path. ⁓ Long before that, this was home to mega fauna. We had giant deer and other antlered beings that made this spot their home. And now...

It's a quiet place in the middle of a busy city. It's got high rises on the sides, some small city streets on the other sides. And I decided to think about what this land here might look like in the future. So the story I'm going to tell you today, it's about a gathering, and it's called The Circle. One day, many years from now,

Although she didn't know it, it was the last day that Anna would be coming to meet her friends in this park. So she was a bit old and she had spent her long life in service to her community, helping with whatever needed doing. She had taught.

She collected food for the needy, she volunteered for community cleanups, and she paid close attention to the politics in her local government, speaking up whenever she could to ask for changes that would make her community better. Now, one of things that always bothered her was that in her long life,

she found she rarely came across examples of people like herself whenever important people were celebrated in her city. Anna wanted disabled folks like herself to get their flowers. Now...

She knew she was nearing the end of her long life, and she was on a mission to make this dream come true. So she started a letter writing campaign to her city councillors, whose aides tended to write back with sympathetic sounding letters, thanking her for her input, but making no promises. Well, on this day,

Anna was not alone in her actions. She had called upon her six or seven friends to meet her. They were going to make change. And they gathered right here on this ground where I am standing in front of the limelight clamshell where they could position themselves inside of its echo. Ladies, she said, it is enough.

I have called you to this spot today, in this art park designed by honored artists to embrace our creativity and get something done. A murmur went around her friend group. Mmm, yes, Ana, yep, yep, yep. And some nodded and they all smiled. We have waited a long time and been patient. Mmm, yes, Ana, yep, yep, yep, yep, yep, yep.

I am getting old, as you know, and I am done waiting. Mmm, yes, Anna, yup, yup, yup, yup. I asked one of you to create something for me. You know who you are. Are you ready? I am. The voice came for the audio describer in the group. They had prepared something for the occasion. It's time, said Anna.

Let's not wait anymore. Mmm, yes, Ana, yep, yep, yep, yep, yep, yep, went the whole group. And they began a tradition which they would repeat monthly and which would carry on for generations and inspire countless people. The describer cleared their throat.

With these words, I form the base of a podium, knee high, bronze, and square. Our six or seven body minds encircle it holding hands. We bow our heads to the sculpture, which is draped with cloth. We reach ahead and run our fingers along the folds of its fabric. Fringes are trickling through our fingers.

and dancing in the wind. With these words, I raise up a person, steel-shielded undercloth. She is the height of three refrigerators, all stacked up.

One of us pulls a cord that begins to slide the draping from her, her feet in round-toed low-heeled shoes, the small round tip of a white cane. With our sounds, we make her body. The drape slides off her, revealing her soft and fluffy physique, clad in a comfortable A-line dress.

She is ready. Her left fingers rest on top of her side pocket. Her right arm is bent and holds the top of her white cane. She holds it like a staff near her shoulder, which are sloped and slightly bent forward. With our breath, we bathe her head in sunshine. Here she is, her face tilted forward.

listening with a slight smile, hearing, taking it all in, always participating, if not always noticed. On the base of this podium lies history, a few deep, deep footprints, her feet standing in the path that was made by others. Hmm, yes dear, thank you, Anna said.

and she was a bit choked up at this point.

After talking about the statue and its subject for some time, Anna and her crew went back to the comfort of their homes. Not long after this, Anna got some good news. A message came through her six or seven friends. Someone at the city heard about her story, and someone else at the city felt the same way. And yet someone else was looking to make change.

And then a final someone took a decision. Years later, a series of statues were unveiled. It was everything Anna and her friends would have hoped for. People traveled to see and feel them. They wheeled and scooted and found spoons and brought their guides and support animals to check out all of these statues of these leaders.

that looked and felt and sounded like them. Now by this point, was so ancient, she was almost like a statue herself. Her six or seven friends made their way to her home and they surrounded her. We are here, they said. You are, she said. Yes, Anna, yep, yep, yep, yep.

And she smiled and passed on. The end.

Christine Malec (36:10)
And now, the Book of Unkindness by Olivia Short. According to Olivia, they are a chaotic weirdo, noisemaker, sound designer, wannabe fashion icon, video artist, and composer. Short is an Anishinaabe off-reserve member of Nipissing First Nation and of Irish descent through their mother. Described by Music Works Magazine as

a glittering rising star in the exploratory music firmament, was named by the CBC as one of six composers you need to know in 2024. Short has been presented at the Whitney Biennial, New York City, the Holland Festival, Amsterdam, and the Smithsonian's National Museum of the American Indian, Washington, D.C. She is currently artist-in-residence at the University of Toronto,

Mississauga campus at the Indigenous Creation Studio. Olivia Short is a tallish person around 5 feet 8 and a half inches with brown hair, brown eyes and a light complexion, who will be appearing as their alter ego, Nina Bougie. Nina, like Olivia, uses they-them pronouns and is a two-spirit trickster who often wears maximalist makeup and costumes while playing saxophone and improvising.

olivia shortt (37:36)
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Christine Malec (49:14)
And last, the Song Garden by Christine Malik. That's me. I'm a member of Toronto's blind community who works to help arts and science organizations make their content more accessible to people who are blind or low vision. I offer music and education groups for blind adults through the CNIB Foundation, and I'm co-host of the Talk Description to Me, Luminosity, and Described Toronto Collective podcasts.

I work with audio describers as a consultant for live productions and science-based image descriptions. I'm passionate about sharing music in public spaces and can sometimes be heard singing my heart out in the Toronto subway system. I'm a middle-aged white woman with long silver blonde hair, blue eyes and a fair complexion. I'm 5 feet 5 inches tall and I'm wearing a black lacy short sleeve dress with some white patterning.

By their very nature, live events are a huge collection of moving parts, and sometimes the parts don't all move in the right ways. Therefore, in the last story, mine, there was a bit of a tech issue which means that the audio is slightly fragmented, which really isn't a bad thing in terms of theme, as one of the themes of my story is a fragmented future.

Christine Malec (50:36)
My story looks ahead several hundred years into a fragmented future when the concept of an urban park may not still be a concept. But I thought ahead to what parts of the land we're on right now might still persist. My story is called The Song Garden.

When I first saw the guest house, I was uncertain. But when I spotted the Infitrion with his distinctive blue armband, I relaxed. His presence meant that I was assured the best food, water, and shelter available and the neutrality Of the road in exchange for whatever I had to give, which usually meant a few hard days worth

He was working on an herb garden in front of a large stone building. But when he saw me, he rose and led me inside to the large building that had a big open room for sleeping spots. The first thing I saw was a woman with her back to us arranging some things on a shelf. The first thing I noticed about her was her braid. Her Hair was of a lustrous reddish-brown ...

and her braid was thick and fell down to her waist. She turned, and before I even introduced myself, I said, your hair is beautiful, it must look amazing when it's down. She frowned in a way that I couldn't understand, introduced herself briefly as Faral, and turned back to arranging her things on the shelf. I took my large pack off my back,

dropped it onto the bed with a gusty sigh. I'm a chatty person, and so I made conversation for a while. I introduced myself as Rana, and I told her what I had heard about the sound garden. Finally, I said, are you here for the dark moon ritual? Yes, she said, but I'm also here to commission an Honor song.

I lowered my eyes. Honor songs were for the dead, I knew. People came from long distances to commission the musicians at the song garden to make a song to honor the beloved dead. To fill the awkward silence, she said, are you here for the ritual too? Well, yes, I said airily. I'll participate since I'm here. But really, I've come to petition to be a sound garden musician.

⁓ she said, looking surprised. You must be very good. I've heard they don't take people very often. Maybe you'll sing me your song. Well, I said, they'll want me for sure. I've been singing songs know, rowing songs, boat songs. I tapped the tattoo of a paddle and wave on my upper arm. She had been eyeing my tattoo, maybe because of the inflamed skin around it from the recently added third wave.

I've been composing boat songs since before I got my clan tattoo. They'll want me for sure. But my song isn't really finished yet, so once I'm accepted, I'll sing it for you. Are you a musician too? SHE shook her head. Not really. My mother taught me the songs, the theory, the notes, but I didn't really... She was the musician. I don't really care that much about it. But she would always scavenge for small instruments when we traveled.

She always had a harmonica or some other small instrument with her, and she could make anything SOUND nice. It was easy to guess who the honor song was for.

In the days that followed, we worked side by side on the PEDAL generator and in the vertical gardens. The vertical gardens made me very anxious. There were massive amounts of foliage trained down the sides of the old crumbling buildings.

It looked like it was going to come down at any moment, roots breaking through balconies, heavy leaves and Foliage and branches growing down the sides, and the harvesters dangling on ropes made me shiver. I didn't like moving around inside the building either. The dank concrete stairs were unnerving, but for all seemed Unphased And I began to see life on land might make you a bit more versatile.

I was likewise outpaced on the pedal generator. I'm a rower, not built for that. But Faral had lots of breath, and she would talk. I learned that she was nearly a knowledge keeper, though young for it. She explained that when she and her mother traveled, they would also Scavenge for books to trade. If they were books of information, Faral's mother would make her memorize them. Faral could quote passages

on subjects like electricity, botany, history, and geography. I was Especially interested in the geography because of my boat family. In exchange, I told her stories of my boat family, things and places, people we had taken on our travels through the waterways as couriers.

The year was getting on, there weren't a lot of people at the song garden. Each Morning and evening, we were summoned to the bowl for morning and evening song. An old, thinning man would approach the horn of reflection, a long, cone-shaped horizontal object with the narrow at one end and wide at the other. He would drone into it, which would summon us to the bowl

for the morning and evening songs. Sometimes there, Farol would hear songs that he had only ever seen written down. I was shocked that she wasn't more moved by these experiences. For me, music was endemic, a part of everyday life. But she explained that for her, it just wasn't like that.

Petitions and auditions would be heard on the day before the night of the dark moon ritual. As the day drew closer, I was getting more nervous to find my air of confidence. I would slip off into the trees to rehearse my song. But without the accompaniment of the rhythm of rowing, I suddenly felt lost. And without the accompaniment of the voices I was accustomed to, my voice alone sounded weak and feeble

On the night before the petitions were to be heard, we went to evening song together, but we didn't speak much. In the morning, we parted ways. Petitions would be heard separately, and neither of us really wanted company. After my audition, I returned to the sleeping quarters to find Feral lying on her bed, her face to the wall, clearly communicating a wish to be left alone.

That suited me. I had only come to change into my work clothes. Some time on the pedal Generator would be a welcome distraction. It would have been disrespectful not to go to evening song in the bowl, so we did, but we didn't speak to one another. When we returned to the Sleeping quarters to wait for the dark and the dark moon ritual, Faral rummaged in her pack and came out with a carved wooden hairbrush. She held it out. I don't feel like talking.

she said, but my mother used to brush and braid my hair for me. So would you do IT for me? She sat down on my bed and I sat down behind her. It took a long time and there was a considerable pile of twigs and leaves and dirt on the ground when we'd finished, but her braid was straight and neat. I think we both felt better.

Anyone who expected or wished to experience the dark moon ritual gathered at the sound mirror at full dark. The sound mirror was a collection of horns, small versions of the horn of reflection, varying sizes, varying heights, and separated. We were each led by cloaked musicians to one or other end of a horn.

and told very quietly, speak or listen. There was a time for each, and halfway through, we were led to a different place to experience both. The sound mirror is a place where people go to send wishes, thoughts, hopes, fears out into the universe, and also a place to go to listen, to hear.

what is to be HEARD The dark moon ritual is very personal and it was many years before Feral and I discussed what we had experienced.

In the morning, again, it would have been disrespectful to ignore the call to morning song, so we went, but we were still avoiding each other's eyes. The morning song after the dark moon ritual was a time when honor songs that had been commissioned that month would be sung. The singer stood in front of the clam-shaped band shell on the little wooden stage where a few

worn tiles still reflected the light of the sunrise. It was easy to tell which honor song was for all mothers. It spoke of a woman who traveled, a woman who gathered and spread wisdom so that she had the REPUTATION of a peace-bringer, a woman who did what must be done, and a woman who never stayed in one place for very long. When the mourning song was over and everyone else had dispersed,

to their tasks or rope. For all and I sat on together. Finally I said, your mother's honor song is beautiful. There was a silence and then she told me, I didn't come here just for that. I brought a lot of sheet music with me that I found. I thought I could trade it in exchange for a place here as a music transcriber. But they already have most of what I brought and

They were glad to take my duplicates, but the place can only support so many people, so I won't be staying. I was confused. But you don't care about music, really. Why? Not like I do. Why would you want to stay? She looked away. It was OK to travel with my mother, but the road is a hard place for someone alone. I guess I'll go back south again, and maybe one of the places we stayed before will have need of a knowledge keeper, and I can stay there.

After another uncomfortable silence, I said, I know the tune OF your mother's honor song, but if you spoke the words for me a few times, I could sing it for you. She had complimented me in a way that seems sincere on singing voice. So once I had learned the words, I sang her mother's honor song for her with kindness.

After I was finished singing, she said, are you heading back to your boat family? Yes, I said. I didn't tell anyone why I came. It was a secret. I've been planning for two years to come here. I expected to be accepted, but they said my song was SIMPLISTIC and my voice was just mediocre. They gave me some dried fruit and even some cheese, but they didn't want to keep me. I had planned it for so long. I was so sure it was going to happen.

I was ready to change my path. I tapped my paddle and wave tattoo again to make a new life. But that's not going to happen. Well, at least you didn't tell anyone, she said. When you go back to your boat family, you'll be able to hold your head up. She didn't add, at least you have people to go back to. But I heard it anyway. Spontaneously, I said, if you came back with us, our knowledge keeper is very old and she doesn't have an apprentice.

She could learn as much from you as you could from her. You'd have to develop some upper body strength pretty quickly to be accepted, but I think you could stay with us. And so, not knowing for sure whether the Song Garden had completed the transformation that it was said to bring for people who came here, we left. The paths that had brought us here together became one road.

Christine Malec (1:03:59)
We so gratefully acknowledge funding support from the Toronto Arts Council and the Toronto Arts Foundation. If you live in Toronto and pay taxes, that's you, so thanks! Subscribe to this podcast feed to hear some great previous episodes about the founding of this park, interviews with the storytellers, and the history of the art in the park. You can also check out our episodes from last season where we tell the story of the Hopewell Community Garden

in Walter Saunders Memorial Park. Thanks for listening.