Lost souls, found lives

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This article was published 22/06/2017 (2499 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Six thousand years ago, give or take a generation, someone built a fire on the north bank of the Assiniboine River. They cooked a catfish for dinner. Maybe they told stories and lingered, resting in the breeze along the river’s edge. 

Years turned. Sediment covered the remains of the camp, hiding it from view. Until one day, about 27 years ago, a Winnipeg archeologist returned its residue to light. He marvelled over the find, a buried snapshot of ancient daily life. 

In 2015, Free Press writer Randy Turner wrote about that site, in his sweeping feature about the city’s rivers. And at Villa Rosa, a support residence for pregnant women and new mothers, the story sparked a deep discussion.  

It was the bit about the cooking fire and catfish bones that did it. Today, Villa Rosa art teacher Rhian Brynjolson remembers the discussion it inspired among her students while they gazed at the river in the Wolseley facility’s backyard. 

“We started talking about how women have been raising their babies along this river for more than 6,000 years,” Brynjolson says, chatting in the art room on a rainy morning. “All those generations. That was the connection.” 

To Villa Rosa’s residents, the Assiniboine is familiar. Every day, more than 30 staff members arrive at the facility, and as many as 33 women call it home. (That latter figure is always in flux; some women stay longer than a year, others only a few months.)

From the Wolseley Avenue sidewalk, Villa Rosa’s entrance recedes into the trees. It is not hidden, but it is discreet; it looks like a small house. Most people, executive director Kathy Strachan says, are amazed to learn its true size.

“We started talking about how women have been raising their babies along this river for more than 6,000 years. All those generations. That was the connection.”–Rhian Brynjolson

In reality, Villa Rosa sprawls down to the river. The main residence, built in the mid-1960s, and adjoining post-natal apartments add up to more than 22,000 square feet of space, including bedrooms, classrooms and an airy lounge. 

And in the back, tucked quietly against the river, there is the garden. It’s peaceful there, a place to relax and learn; each spring, residents set up a teepee in the backyard. It was painted by some of the women who had come before. 

Almost three-quarters of Villa Rosa’s residents are First Nations or Métis. If they come to the facility, it’s because they are vulnerable in one or many ways. They may lack shelter or sustenance. Many wrestle with addictions or poverty. 

Now, in this space, they are carrying out an ancient tradition: a community of women living and working and growing together and caring for their children. And that, Brynjolson’s students thought, should be honoured in some way. 

They turned their eyes to a concrete retaining wall that lines the property’s west side; unlike the green and grassy garden that it shelters, the wall was sterile and cold. But Villa Rosa staff would rather the place felt like a home. 

So the students came up with an idea: they would create a series of paintings that told the story of the river and the women who’ve lived on it. A grant from the Manitoba Association for Art Education helped pay for paint and plywood.

The months turned and women came and went. Everyone who contributed to the mural made it their own, in a sense. It brought them together, too; in the cosy art room, they’d trade stories and ideas for their paintings. 

“There were days where it was super fun; we’d have a huge group of girls in here talking and laughing,” says Georgia, 26, who gave birth to her son Tyson last August. “Other days, it was just quiet; we were focused.” 

The mural they created moves through time, concluding on a note of hope for the present. In these paintings, a lone buffalo skull stands in for the trauma of colonization; butterflies represent missing and murdered indigenous women. 

Yet there is hope, too. The silhouette of a woman — one Villa Rosa resident posed as a model — looks behind her, turning to her traditions. The last panel, the one Georgia painted, shows the Canadian Museum for Human Rights. 

It was a group effort. Almost 30 residents took part in a creative process that lasted 18 months. For many of the women who contributed their talents, mural painting was a new endeavour; that, in itself, was an adventure. 

“Rhian just asked me if I wanted to paint,” says Brooke-Lynn Richard, laughing, of her introduction to the project. “I like colouring and stuff, or doodling. So as soon as she mentioned it, I just threw on an apron and started painting.” 

At 33, Richard is the oldest resident, the “alpha mom” of the current group. She arrived just days before her three-month-old daughter Venice was born; as she chats, she snuggles the rosy-cheeked infant on her lap. 

Today, she is radiant. Yet she’d struggled with depression and addiction after her sister was killed in a car accident; her four older children were apprehended by Child and Family Services. She arrived at Villa Rosa ready to heal and grow. 

“This is what we did, and if we can do it, you can do it. Don’t give up, because you’ll get a beautiful piece like those paintings out there.”–Georgia

Her contribution to the mural, an eagle she co-designed with others, represents that hope. At Villa Rosa, she says, she found the support she needed, from staff and other residents. “Everyone here is like one big family,” she adds. 

Georgia’s story is different, and yet much the same: she came to Villa Rosa soon after learning she was pregnant. For years, addiction had drawn her into toxic social situations; now, she is sober and thriving, a joyful new parent. 

“They saved me,” Georgia says, and hugs her son close. “He saved me. These friends here that keep me sane, they saved me. I think about it almost every day, I’ve written poems about this place. It shaped me, and I’m really grateful.”

In just a couple of weeks, Georgia and her son will be leaving; she and her partner are planning to move to British Columbia for a fresh start. Richard is continuing her education, and preparing to build a life with all of her children. 

When they move on, they will have left something precious: a story about something gentle, something ancestral. A story about the work women have done on this land since time immemorial, which thrives now at Villa Rosa. 

“It’s nice because we’re all going to be remembered here, in a sense,” Georgia says.

“This is what we did, and if we can do it, you can do it. Don’t give up, because you’ll get a beautiful piece like those paintings out there.” 

Richard cuddles her infant daughter to her chest. “And one of these,” she says, and laughs. 

melissa.martin@freepress.mb.ca