Acadian sport coupe 1969. - source Bring a Trailer.
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Acadian sport coupe 1969. - source Bring a Trailer.

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K-Pop Demon Hunters, but (early 1700's) Canada 🇨🇦
I wanted to hop on this trend a while ago, but coming from Canada and its history of colonization made it ~incredibly complicated~
So I treated it like a research project to learn more about the peoples who were here long before my settler ancestors arrived in Canada ~350 years ago. I tried to incorporate said research into this illustration.
I found the perfect frame for my one Saint-John’s Wort harvest of the year! It’s a great way to have protection year-round thanks to the summer solstice’s and the saint’s energies!
My capote coat and sash in the background ⚜️🪡💙
Let’s play every Acadian and Creole‘s favorite game: who’s your mama and what’s your last name, the game in which we determine if we are related or not
Do not get me started on this.
Le grand dérangement was about 1755. In the 1930s and 40s children were beaten by teachers for speaking French, even though it was all they knew. All four of my grandparents, my great-grandparents also, had stories of this happening to them personally. Our language is nearly dead because of this.
I could go on... but knowing all this (and we do, it's mandatory curriculum) how the HELL can you justify supporting this?? It is beyond infuriating.

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There is real magic in ancestral food. Not the pretty kind, not the aesthetic kind, but the deep, bone-level craft that wakes up something older than language.
Rappie pie is one of those dishes for the Acadians of Nova Scotia. It is not fast. It is not simple. It is a spell disguised as a recipe. You grate potatoes until your hands ache. You squeeze out the liquid. You build broth from chicken or rabbit or whatever your family once lived on. You layer and fold and pour and bake until the whole house smells like history warming itself.
That is witchcraft.
Doing the same work your ancestors did.
Repeating motions they once repeated.
Calling back memory through food.
When you cook something like rappie pie, you are holding the same ingredients they held, feeling the same textures they felt, feeding yourself with the same survival they relied on. You become the link in a chain that refuses to break.
It is grounding. It is honoring. It is spellwork that doesn’t need herbs or incense because the magic is the labor, the heat, and the remembering.
If you want to practice witchcraft through cooking, start with a dish like this. Something messy. Something time-consuming. Something your people made when they needed comfort or warmth or strength.
Food like that does not just fill the stomach.
It feeds the spirit, and it binds you to where you came from.