Mattawa having only been incorporated as a town in 1884 had been around long before this time.

Gus, who had been born on the 1st of December, 1879 in Maniwaki Quebec, (Maniwaki -French)was the son of Louise Vanasse and Leon Dupont. (1891 census 095&1/2b family 199)

Maniwaki is a small town of 4,500  which lies where the Désert River flows into the Gatineau, about 130 km from Ottawa. It is the major community in the upper Gatineau Valley and is 150 years old in 2001. The town has a scenic boardwalk along the Désert River. You can visit the Parc du Draveur (Raftsmen Park) and learn about the history of logging and rafting, while visiting the tugboat Pythonga.

The Chateau Logue was built in 1887, on the banks of the Gatineau River, and today houses an interpretive centre, which covers the history of forest fire prevention, from the earliest days to modern-day computer and satellite detection. 

Parc du Draveur (Raftsmen Park) pays tribute to the logging history of Maniwaki and those who worked in this exciting but often dangerous industry. The park contains an impressive steel statue of a log driver.

Paganakomin Mikan Road at the southern exit of Maniwaki
This demonstration area will show the various ways to cut wood particularly to bush logging. On the drive to the Area, you will pass the Kitan Zibi Anishinabeg native reservation.

Life had been very harsh for Gus and his family, for their father had died young (1905) leaving Louise a widow by the age of 28. Alone now, she packed up and moved her small brood to Ontario. Gus was 9 years old at the time.

History has not been able to determine why, but we do know that Gus left his home. He may have been living with a strict Aunt, who had taken him in to help out Louise or he may have left because a new man had come into Louise's life and this did not agree with Gus. We are not exactly sure what event occured which prompted him to leave home but for whatever reason he did leave and it seems he moved in with family members which were aboriginal. This is also where he learnt to speak the native dialects that would serve him well in his later years.
 

Knowledge is power and even though he never had the opportunity to go to school for a formal education, his eduction was taking place every day of his life in the Great School of Life. Perhaps we put too much value in our structured education systems and not enough into the teaching of everyday survival and life.

From the corner of my eye I notice a shadow. I feel no fear. It is a figure of a big man standing well over 6 feet tall. He steps out from the shadows into the dim light of the campfire and looks directly at me for what seems to be like an eternity.

"Do not fear me my child for I come to help you with the telling of our stories. We would not want them to be inscribed (written) incorrectly, would we?" "You amuse me, little one" he says, in a loud and clear voice. "Who would ever have thought my life could make any story worth telling at all." 

"Aren't you going to invite me to sit beside your fire and offer me some tea?" he asks as he comes closer to the fire. I feel my insides tremble, yet I feel so safe near this apparition. "Do you have something a little stonger that will warm ones innards better than this womanly tea of yours?" he asks.

I produced a bottle of gin and offered him a drink. He takes it and sits himself down close to the fire. I can now see his weathered face. His skin is tawny, like he had spent many days working under the hot and unforgiving sun. He has purple scars on his face and his nose seems swollen. His features were like that of a man who had been caught in the tight grip of mother nature as she danced with him in -40 degree temperatures, not allowing him to escape until she had finished her ballet on the frozen ground. Thus, leaving him with marks upon his innocent face where she kissed him with her lips of ice. His hands are large and his finger nails seem like  white linen against the colour of his flesh. He takes a drink of his gin, and stares into the flames of the campfire.

"You speak of my mother", he says. "Oh, if only you could have known her. She so loved children. Life was always so difficult for her. She was raised on an Indian settlement in Quebec, Canada.(A history of life and development on the Ottawa River,from copper kettles to nuclear reactors)

These are pictures of a Cree Settlement in Northern Quebec.Please visit their website for their story which is similar to the settlement spoken of in this story.http://arcticcircle.uconn.edu/CulturalViability/Cree/creeexhibit.html.The cree are part of the Algonquin History.

Back to our story.....

"Family was always nearby as they were important because you depended on them for your survival, not like these times that you live in now where families are not as stongly bond as they once were. You must understand; that to survive you had to work together or you would perish... Always remember little one that it is much more difficult to break a bundle of straws standing together than one straw standing alone..." 

"Opportunities abounded in Mattawa, so the family took what worldly belongings we had and Settled there. There was logging, fur trapping and farming. The river systems were excellent. This small community has such a rich history  which goes bach to the times of  the Algonquin Indians, Samuel de Champlain and JR Booth's logging trade. A ride on the Timber Train is a historical rewarding experience."

Below are photos and links to the  North Bay Nugget’s regional paper  “Community Voices” a column by Past Forward’s own Doug Mackey

This early photograph of Mattawa looking south across the Mattawa River, shows Explorers Point and part of the Hudson’s Bay complex on the left foreground and the separate school and the original St-Anne’s Church on the right. 
 
 

First home of a typical settler in Chisholm Township.

"The town of Mattawa had really begun in 1837 when George Simpson, the governor for the Hudson Bay Company opened a 7 building establishment he called Mattawa House. The men would head north to the shanty towns during the winter to log, then send the log booms down the river as soon as the ice went out in the spring and be back to Mattawa in time to seed and tend the crops and to harvest them before the harsh winter set in and the men again headed north to the logging camps."

"Oh, there was such freedom for a young man back then. I learnt how to build a canoe, fabricate snowshoes and learnt the skills of how to live off the land. But sadly for the family, when I was but 9 years old my papa had passed away. Now I was the man of the family." 

"Mom's brother Joseph, helped out as much as he could but trying to make ends meet and taking  care of us was still a handful for mom. I was eventually sent to live with an aunt. She was a very cruel and harsh women. She could not abide a loud ruffian like myself and I knew I had to leave." 

"I spent the next part of my years living among the First Nations peoples. I was loved, respected and well treated. Soon I met this beautiful young women named 'Melvina'. Oh, what a treasure she was! Nature could not have created a more gentle and wise creature than her."

"Now you get on with it" he said in a strong voice....." tell your readers about my beautiful Melvina"

I glanced up from the flickering flames to were he was seated to find an empty spot. I thought to myself, Had I been dreaming? Then I noticed the empty cup beside the campfire and knew without a doubt it had not been a dream, I had had a visitor.