Whitecrow Village Camp, July 2002

The sun is up, warming the trees around Whitecrow Village Camp near Burns Lake. People are beginning to stir in the cabins and tents, making that morning trip to the showers with towels and soap and children.

In Kee Warner's home above the cabin area, coffee is bubbling on the stove. Marilyn Dalton, a volunteer like myself, has been up early and started the water for coffee and hot cereal. Bev Zorn, one of the camp leaders, who made bread the night before as she does each night, arrives from her cabin to pull the breakfast together. Marilyn and Bev talk in hushed tones as they work. The children begin to get up. One by one, they stumble into the room off the kitchen, rubbing sleepy eyes and hugging Kee as they talk about how they slept. With some assistance from a teenage helper, all seven children are dressed and washed, and ready for breakfast. But breakfast is not served for another half hour. So, one by one, the children find their own space to read and wait. One child looks at the pictures in a book almost too big for her to hold; one boy is looking at a foldout brochure for interlocking blocks. One child crouches beside the window to read, and seems unaware that anyone else is in the room. What I notice most is the quiet. The questions are asked quietly; the answers are given quietly.

Meals take place in a hall down the hill from the main house. The small hall has a furnace and running water, and also acts as a craft/activity room. For the meal, two long tables are lined up, with a round table placed at each end. In the stacking chairs surrounding the tables, girls and boys of various ages sit waiting for their meal. On this day there are 17 children at the table. The adults have started to serve the food. The 'cooker', as Bev was called by one of the kids, has produced another food masterpiece, as she does each meal time. Some children chat quietly while they are being served. Sometimes a child forgets she is eating, and an adult voice says, 'hand on bowl' and the child turns her body to the food as she reaches for the bowl and begins to eat again. Another child stands up with his spoon and starts to leave the table without eating, and an adult says, 'bum on chair' and he sits down again and begins to eat. Older kids help the younger ones. The adults sits outside the table space, and begin to eat their meal as well. A child asks, as she has asked before, "What is the recipe for this? I must have this recipe". I notice how quiet and calm the hall is throughout the meal.

When I first arrived at Whitecrow Village Camp, the second thing I noticed about Kee Warner was how quiet and calm her voice is. The first thing I had noticed was how small she is. The third thing I noticed about Kee Warner was how big her presence is. Kee is always nearby, watching the children, no matter what is needed: a hug, a direction, a listening ear. I could tell which children were Kee's. It was as if Kee and her children spoke in FAS shorthand; the reaction from Kee is consistent and immediate each time, and with each child. From years of working together, Kee and her children don't need to talk more than once to complete an interaction. While she watched the camp children, and guided their behavior, I watched Kee and the children and learned, and asked questions, and learned more.

Before Whitecrow Village, reading and workshops had taught me the importance of concepts like using concrete language. At Whitecrow I saw this theory at work, and I came to realize how abstract my speech often is; that my ideas of explaining, using logical consequences, and contracting with children are ineffective in working with children with FAS. As well, I learned at Whitecrow that all the skills learned can be used in a quiet, loving way; that conflict can often be avoided by choosing a method which adapts to the FAS.

Throughout the week I was continually amazed at how effective methods of working with children with FAS could be. Time and again, a simple, concrete instruction produced positive results. For instance, when the child was given a positive "hand on bowl" instruction she did what she was told, and as a result, refocused on eating and completed this task. Other simple concrete instructions, like "walking feet"; "inside voice"; "feet on floor" demonstrated that this method of simple concrete communication does work. The children new to these techniques responded quickly to them. I learned intervention concepts: try differently rather than harder; allow the individual to be part of the process; adapt the environment to the child. While I had heard of these concepts at other workshops, it was at Whitecrow Village Camp that I saw them put into action. For example, a special daily event was Circle Time, when we gathered around the campfire each evening to talk about the day. A talking stick was passed around four times, giving each person four chances to talk. We took turns talking, allowing each person the quiet they needed to reflect and talk. Adults and children alike practiced talking about their feelings and practiced and experienced the abstract concept of respect.

I had been told that children with FAS are specially loveable, and, prior to Whitecrow, I dismissed that idea, because children in general are loveable. However, the love I felt for these children truly was a deeper feeling because the children had FAS. The honesty and directness of these children; their strengths amid the challenges; their distinctive beauty, won me over. These same qualities defined the experience of each child with their peers. I watched these children accept and care for each other as they played and learned and ate together. For some of them, this was the first time they had been in such a totally accepting environment. The growth in the children new to this acceptance was awesome to watch, as they put away the outer clothing which hid their faces and bodies, and progressed from avoiding everyone to playing with the other children and joining Circle Time with a bare face and big smile.

I feel like I now "get it", to a point. What I get is that, like many people, my way of thinking has been flawed. I need to relearn the way I think of and respond to children with FAS. What I get is that I don't know what I thought I knew, and have a lot more to learn. The experience of spending a week living with children with FAS and with the adults who care for these children has provided me with learning which was not available any other way. I continue to need workshops to add to my theoretical knowledge, but this hands-on experience has been pivotal in my understanding of how to work with people with FAS.

Just as this was an important experience for me, I could see the same was true for the others: the other community members who work with people with FAS; the biological parents with children with FAS; the foster and adoptive parents who live with children with FAS; the children themselves. The Whitecrow Village Camp was an incredible growing experience for everyone involved, and I feel blessed to have had the opportunity to attend.