Finding Home Theme Analysis

I wandered up and down the six-block stretch of East Hastings, the heart of skid row, the gathering place of the unwanted. It didn’t take long to figure out I wouldn’t find work there. I jumped a Stanley Park bus, not sure where it would take me, and I watched the character of the neighbourhoods change from skid row, to the business core, to department stores, upscale apartment enclaves, and, finally, Burrard Inlet and the rich greenery of the park. Stepping off the bus at the park entrance, I felt as though I had been holding my breath all this time and finally, in the sanctuary of the park, I could let go and breathe easy.

Within a couple of weeks Mariah and Clara slipped into a comfortable routine. Mariah cooked and was thankful that Clara kept the woodbox full. Sometimes, on clear days, Mariah would take Clara out on her trapline […]. Whenever they found [a rabbit] in a snare, Mariah would reach into the pouch tied around her waist, put down tobacco with soft Cree words, and then knock it over the head, efficiently and even lovingly. She taught Clara the unique way of skinning a rabbit, much like taking off a sweater […]. Clara would get dizzy sometimes as she watched Mariah dress the rabbits, thinking back to Indian School and how Sister Mary would’ve knocked her on the head if she saw a return to such savagery. It pleased Clara, thinking of that evil woman and how she would see her Christian mission had failed, seeing Clara in the hands of this pagan.

[O]ver the next few weeks [Kenny] happily settled into a home life he’d only ever dreamed of. It seemed easier this time. It was just a matter of days when he was home last before those restless urges were on him. It was not a lack of love, but something inside of him that drove him, something he could never explain to Lucy, much less to himself. A pressure that only eased up if he was on the move. But this time, things were going well. The foreman put him on the books after only a week, telling him what a hard worker he was. He was always on time and never showed up drunk.

Kendra seemed to grow every day […].

They spent Kenny’s days off at the beach or the neighbourhood park […]. So it was a surprise to him when fall came and that old restless urge returned.

He knelt and started planting the tiger lily bulbs in front of the headstone, remembering a time, when he was very little, when she would tell him the old stories about Tiger Lily and Weesageechak, and the living stories of her parents and theirs. He knew she would love having a bright-orange spray rising, year after year. The flowers reminded him of her sturdy beauty. He rose and shook the dark earth from his work gloves, picked up his tools, gave his handiwork one last look and headed for his truck.