In the remote Oji-Cree community of Garden Hill First Nation, where charred spruce still line the access road and the smell of smoke lingers in the damp earth, a new crisis is unfolding: a winter food crisis. After a devastating wildfire in July forced the entire population of 2,800 to evacuate for six weeks, the community returned to find food caches spoiled, freezers empty, and hunting grounds altered just as temperatures began to plunge below -20°C.
According to Manitoba Keewatinowi Okimakanak (MKO), the regional First Nations advocacy group, over 70% of households in Garden Hill rely on country food moose, fish, and berries for more than half their annual nutrition. But this year, disrupted migration patterns and burned-out traplines have left families dependent on costly, flown-in groceries, where a 4-litre jug of milk costs $18 and fresh produce often arrives wilted or frozen.
Elders say they’ve never seen a fire this severe in their lifetimes. “The moose went south and haven’t come back,” said 78-year-old Joseph Fiddler, sitting by a wood stove in his repaired home. “The berries didn’t grow. The fish are harder to find.” His granddaughter, Mariah, now drives 90 kilometers twice a month to Winnipeg for supplies a trip made harder by icy roads and a vehicle still damaged from the evacuation rush.
Harper, who runs the local food security program, has been coordinating emergency shipments of flour, lard, and canned goods through a partnership with Food Banks Canada and Indigenous Services. But storage is limited, and the community’s only ice road critical for affordable winter resupply won’t be stable until January, if at all. In the meantime, a youth initiative has begun drying and smoking donated caribou meat, reviving traditional preservation methods to stretch scarce resources.
Despite the hardship, community kitchens remain open nightly, serving bannock and stew to anyone who walks in. Neighbors check on elders. Children help stack firewood. “This is how we’ve always survived,” Harper said, her breath visible in the unheated community hall. “Not by waiting but by giving.”
As snow blankets the scorched forest and the days grow shorter, Garden Hill faces a winter unlike any other. But in the quiet rhythm of shared meals and mended nets, there’s a resilience that no fire or frost can erase. Survival here isn’t just about food; it’s about refusing to let go of each other.
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