Family photos clutter the small dining room's walls.
Some are black-and-white images of stoic faces, tanned-tinted pictures, their frames packed with big hair and denim. Then there're the more recent shots, filled with rainbows of generations.
Surrounded by them, Alice Guss sits beside the dining room's large window. She smiles as she shares her stories about life in the shadow of the Stawamus Chief.
As a child, Guss grew up next door, in a house on Stawamus Road that has since been torn down. In the winter, Guss and her six siblings tobogganed down the hill, which passes by her dining room window. They'd whiz through the crisp air before hitting a natural jump at the bottom, Guss says, pointing to a spot before a turn in the road.
As years went by, it became Guss's three children who excitedly hit the slope. Today she watches her grandchildren head out on snowy days. The small neighbourhood on the Stawamus Reserve holds a lifetime of memories for Guss and many elders before her. It's been a home of the Squamish Nation for 10,000 years, she says.
The Squamish Nation is comprised of Salish families who lived in Greater Vancouver, Sunshine Coast and around Howe Sound, when the land was untouched by European settlers. In 1923, after contact with the arriving foreigners, 16 families agreed to amalgamate into the Squamish Nation, a move they hoped would aid governance and protect equality.
All shared a common language, Skwxwu7mesh Snichim Squamish language although the dialects vary throughout the coastal villages and families. Squamish locals speak differently than their counterparts in North Vancouver, Guss explains.
Guss didn't start learning the language until the 1990s, around the same time she was given her traditional name, Tfawaysia. Learning Skwxwu7mesh Snichim set Guss on a journey, one that brought her closer to her father, Ernie Harry, and built the foundation she stands on today.
Harry, whose traditional name was Pekultn, was a fun-loving guy. He worked on the log booms tied up in the sea across from Shannon Falls, although he never learned how to swim, Guss says before chuckling and shaking her head.
In his spare time, he carved or spent the day fishing in the Squamish River.
Trout fishing with her father was Guss's favourite activity. They dug up worms along the river banks, before hunting out calm pools edged by rapids the perfect homes for trout.
My dad was a great story teller and he always told jokes, Guss recalls.
Those sun-licked days with rod in hand were how Guss became aware of her heritage. With no First Nations history taught at school, Guss learned through her father's tales.
He always spoke Skwxwu7mesh Snichim. That is when I started to realize that is what I was missing, Guss says.
Harry had fought silently to keep his language. In the late 1930s, Harry was one of approximately 150,000 children to attend the government-funded, church-run residential schools, just as his father had.
With a strict English-only policy at North Vancouver's St. Paul's Residential School, Harry practiced Skwxwu7mesh Snichim in his mind. It was alive in his heart, Guss says.
Determined not to lose their mother tongue, Guss and Harry pieced together a binder. They spent hours compiling Skwxwu7mesh Snichim translations deer = fxway-chen, butterfly = key-le-la, rabbit = so-so-pait. Howe Sound Secondary School teacher Steven Lloyd and Chief Alvie Andrew aided the quest. As the language sank in, so did Guss's culture.
It just clicked with me, Guss says.
Today her way of life, culture and heritage are inseparable. She's taken it upon herself to pass her knowledge to the next generation.
For approximately 20 years, Guss worked in education as a tutorial aide and home-school co-ordinator with the Sea to Sky School District. For 12 years, Guss was an education director for both the Squamish and Tsawwassen First Nations. She helped infuse the Squamish Nation culture into the school systems.
She still teaches students drumming, basket making and singing and shares the stories of the Nation. It's amazing to see today's youth take pride in their roots, Guss says, noting 60 per cent of the Squamish Nation's 4,000 members are 25 years old or younger.
You can see the change, Guss says. They are growing and taking in the teaching of our language and our culture.
On Friday, Nov. 23, Guss is conducting a traditional headband weaving class at the inaugural Squamish Culture and Heritage Festival. The two-day event, organized by the Squamish Historical Society, will take place at Quest University. The festival's aim is to bring generations together to celebrate the community's roots. The festival will consist of historical themed displays, workshops, presentations, films, live music and art displays. For more information visit www.squamishhistory.ca.
