KITCHIKEWANA, the GREAT HURON GIANT
OF GEORGIAN BAY's GIANT'S TOMB ISLAND

MOON RIVER             Dave Martin

Walking by the river,
I feel like crying...
To watch her die...

Talking by the river,
I feel I'm lying...
To watch her die...

Moon River was flowing at the birth of the sun.
Stars kissed her rapids on her Georgian Bay run.
She never was purer than the first day she ran.
Like the humming bird's hum in that big empty land.

Oh, the Jack-Pine would whisper, the Birch he would tremble,
When the Red Man, in Council, 'round first fires assembled...
And spoke of a Treaty the Moon River knew:
Man and the River; the insep'rable two.

Moon River was lovely, when I first heard her name,
From Grandad and Uncles who lived on her name.
They fished in her waters...They knew all her moods;
Her blueberry hillside and wildlife for food.

Moon River, I loved her with finest accord...
And hoped that her timber would make up my floors.
Then wrapped in her forest, my last worldly day,
I wish that my casket be dropped in Moon Bay.

Oh, The People who lived there, they treated her kind,
And they never did nothing to make her go blind.
Ah, you don't raise a hand against governments, man...
But I've got a voice to be raised in the land

Yes, I'VE GOT A VOICE to be raised in the land:

The Government Teams came and altered the flow
Of the Moon River Basin; left nowhere to go
For the Fishes who've come here since the birth of the Sun.
And the Moon River's empty by the hand of some son.

Yes, the Moon River's empty by the hand of some son.

Oh, the Jack-pine would whisper, the Birch he would tremble,
When the Red Man, in Council, 'round first fires assembled...
And spoke of a treaty the Moon River knew.....
Man and the River, the insep'rable two.

Man and the River, the insep'rable two.

Walking by the river,
I feel like crying...
To watch her die...

Talking by the river,
I feel I'm lying...
To watch her die...

COPYRIGHT DAVE MARTIN

In Memory of my beloved friend, the late

Bill Williams, of
Moose Point Reserve,
Twelve Mile Bay,
Georgian Bay,
Ontario.

You taught me a lot.You taught me about the Bear, and the gar pike, and so much more. We laughed at the running beaver. You loved the Land, and the Bay.
I remember the racism you endured, the insults, the taunts, the assaults.
I remember the boats trying to swamp us, in the middle of the Bay, simply because of you.
I remember you told me to stay in the boat, while you bravely marched through the gauntlet of a taunting, pushing and slapping gang.

I remember the large crowd of party-goers who, seeing me get into the boat to cast off with you at 3 a.m. into the black oil of Georgian Bay's inside channel, saying "You know how those drunken Indians are." I trusted you. I knew you. We made it through the very tight confines of Coon Gap.

I never heard you speak a word of anger or vengence, nor offer up an offense. Not once.

You were more brave than the gangs. You were stronger in will, and you are stronger in memory.

Thanks to your ways, I have taken on some of that bravery myself.