Author: Serena Datta | BHSc Student at Queen’s | TNO Community Ambassador
Long before it was called the Don River, the waterway winding through Toronto’s east end was known by the Anishinaabe as Waasayishkodenayosh or Wonscotonach—variously translated as “the burning bright point” or “the river from the black burnt ground.”
A traditional birchbark longhouse. | Photo Credit: Tish Farrell
Fishing by Firelight
Wonscotonach has been a gathering place since time immemorial. Archaeological finds near Riverdale Park East trace human settlement in the area back over 7,000 years. The clay-rich banks supported longhouse villages, particularly among the Wendat, who began cultivating corn and developing permanent settlements by the 1300s.
Women made pottery from the river’s surface clay, while fire-lit torch fishing illuminated the waters on summer nights. The name Wonscotonach likely emerged from this very practice, as flames reflected on the current while fish were speared in the shallows.
In 1700, the Mississaugas of the Credit moved into the region, following the retreat of the Haudenosaunee south of Lake Ontario. To them, the river and its surrounding wetlands provided fish, wild rice, medicines, and meeting grounds.
But colonial disruption came swiftly.
Colonization, Industrialization and Environmental Impact
In 1787, the British Crown drafted the Toronto Purchase—a deeply contested land agreement that resulted in the Mississaugas surrendering most of the territory that would become Toronto.
The Mississaugas believed the agreement to be a rental, not a relinquishment of their land rights. After more than two centuries, the claim was finally settled in 2010, awarding the Mississaugas of the Credit First Nation $145 million, though it could never account for the full depth of what was taken.
The industrialization of the valley accelerated in the 1800s.
The Todmorden Mills, Don Valley Brick Works, and Canadian Pacific Railway laid claim to the land and river, transforming Wonscotonach into an engine for Toronto’s expansion.
Marshes were drained, banks were bricked, and storm sewers replaced sacred springs.
With urbanization came pollution, stormwater runoff, and sewage overflows pressures that continue today. Yet the river endures. Even after colonization and urbanization, the land continues to teach.
Living with the Land
In Anishinaabemowin, nature is considered kin. Plants are called Nokmis (grandmother) and rocks Mishomis (grandfather). This way of seeing the land—as living and relational—transforms how we understand the spaces around us.
In the Don valley, cedar trees line the ravines—one of the four sacred medicines in many Indigenous cultures, symbolizing protection. Stinging nettle grows in the underbrush, offering healing. Maple trees, once tapped by Indigenous peoples and later settlers, provide nourishment. White pines are revered by the Haudenosaunee as the Tree of Peace.
Reviving the Valley
Community groups, Indigenous knowledge keepers, and environmental organizations are working to restore the Don’s ecological and cultural integrity. Projects like the Don River Valley Park are reimagining the valley as a site of reconciliation and regeneration. Indigenous-led land stewardship is informing conversations about how we relate to this land as treaty people.
What’s in a Name?
Wonscotonach is not just an old name but rather a living one. It holds stories, practices, and relationships that remain relevant today. Though polluted and paved over in places, the river still runs.
Its name carries the brightness of a fire never fully extinguished.
