Held by the Train

I had been told many times that I was going to school in the Fall. I had no real idea what it all entailed. We didn't have pre-school or beginner pre - K or nursery learn at will school. We just had Kindergarten. There were 2 schools in Waseca, well school is a little overkill. Were they a school? Yes, technically they were. Were they school buildings? Not entirely. The 2 classroom brick building is where Kindergarten, Grade 1, Grade 2, Grade 3, and Grade 4 went to. Talk about a split class !! School was about 2 km away from home. There was no such a thing as a bus for town kids. We walked or rode our bikes. To get to the school, one had to cross the infamous railroad tracks. Those were my nemesis. Canadian National Railway ran tracks through the town and it was a busy set of tracks. The beat up old path crossed the tracks in the center of town and if there was a train crossing, you just waited and waited. What did young kids do when the train stopped for a length of time? We either climbed over the top of the car connections or we scooted underneath the rail car. Both of these actions of course were highly dangerous and punishable by amputation. I had nightmares at night about trains. It was the punishment of doing crazy things around them I guess. In my nightmare the train chases me through town. It did not even need tracks, it just came after me - light bright and horn blowing. We used to count the number of railway cars that each train pulled. My record was 188 cars. A train of 6 engines pulling half of Canada from one end to another, and we as small children got to witness the whole thing. However, to a kid who wanted to go home after school - it was annoying having the train inch along the tracks taking up precious time when there were things to do and places to explore. My hatred towards trains started then I believe and it has continued through to this day. I had started to talk about school but the train has once again derailed my thoughts and created a rolling roadblock to my memories !!

My First of Many Moves

I was 5 years old, and it was time to move on. It would the first of many moves in my life. It is interesting to talk to people who say they were born and raised in one area. You usually can tell too, because they do not have the experiences and the adventures that those of of us who have moved around have obtained. Not saying that they are a little close minded, and somewhat unaware of life, I am just saying they do not fully understand what you can experience as you move through life. Even in the early 60's, it was starting to show that a small farm such as ours was not going to sustain a family. Because we were strictly into grain farming and had no animals, meant that we were fairly limited on what income was coming in. In addition to that, it was apparent that my Dad was extremely allergic to the very thing that he was working with and that was grain. It did not matter if it was wheat, oats, or barley - it caused him to scratch and itch something fierce and you could see that those days of wheat farming were coming to a close. I am sure included with all of this was the fact that my sister Denise had also come on to the scene, and I was to start Kindergarten in the Fall of that year.

So the answer was to move. The decision was made to move into the closest town, where my Grandparents had a house. We purchased a house on the north end of the town, a town with an Indian name called Waseca. It was a Cree name for "hill of the swan". I have no idea what the Indians were smoking at that time of naming, but there was neither a hill or a swan around. Never was from my days there. But who said names have to make sense. So there it was, a new place to live in a village of 100 people ( the town boomed, 47 years later there are 144 residents !! ) with a name of Waseca, Saskatchewan. A red headed boy in Indian country !! Waseca was 15 km east of Maidstone where I was born and the farm was about 12 km northwest of Waseca. As I said earlier, the house was at the north end of the village. On that same street, my Grandparents lived on the south end. It was very convenient to walk or ride a bike down that road. To a young boy it seemed like a long way but in the whole spectrum of things it was probably less then 1 km. Still close enough to taste the incredible goodness of my Grandmother's cooking which I will never forget !! Moving can be a pain, but moving also opens up new horizons for those that are anxious for something different and new. This was one of those times, although barely old enough to remember all details, young enough to embrace all the good things that I knew would surely come to pass.

The Mansion

It was called a house, it seemed like the right word I suppose - not sure it was a home but it was certainly a building that stood out in the middle of the prairie. I don't remember very many trees around it. There was trees but not around the house itself. It layed itself bare to the elements and was there ever elements !! Anyone who has lived on the prairies knows that when it gets cold - it gets brutal cold. Extreme northern winds whipping up large snowbanks against a building that was not made for Saskatchewan winters. Of course there was no furnace, and a thermostat on the wall. There was no gas fireplace that one could turn on the gas and push the button and presto - instant heat. There was no gas or electric stove that one could cook on. No microwave and of course no dishwasher. The kitchen was small, cupboards with shelves and no doors, and a old cook stove that only operated on wood. The cook stove was kind of a relic and a dangerous one at that. You pulled off the plates on top and fed it wood. This ran the top plates, the oven and a boiler on the side that held water. Of course the wood was not delivered !! It had to be cut from the trees, and we had what one would call the woodpile. Large chunks of wood were cut into lengths from a tractor that had a pulley attached to a stationery saw. An axe was then used to cut the lengths of wood into measurable and manageable pieces that had to be hauled into the house to keep the old cook stove going. That old stove had to be running all the time in the winter to prevent us from freezing to death. I remember laying in bed in a bedroom that was the farthest from the kitchen. Layers upon layers of blankets had to be used just to create enough warmth to keep alive. Sounds like exaggeration - it was not.

The house had 2 bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room. That was it. I am not sure how big but I doubt that it would be much larger then 700 sq. ft.

On the living room wall it had a large crank phone. It was like a small cabinet attached to the wall. We had what was called a party line. At least 4 - 6 neighbors were on one line. It was quite a party line !! Apparently every party line has the neighbor who not only specializes in gossip but spends all her waking hours talking on the phone. If someone was talking on the line - you could not use the phone. You had to wait until the long winded gossiper finally hung up and then you could have to quickly get on line and make a call before someone else did. If you were listening to their conversation, you called it rubbering in. I loved to rubber in. I listened to all the nonsense. Why not? There was no radio and no television, and listening to the people down the road was about as entertaining as it gets.

We have no idea how good we have it now. Everything at the push of a button, and entertainment to boot. Longing for the good old days is just a saying, I doubt too many would want to go back living that dream.

The Palatial Main Studio

We all know that every house has a bathroom. Or a washroom. Or as they say down across the line, a restroom. I could never figure out why you want to rest in there but I digress. In any case our house had nothing of the sort. Non, naida, and zero. I never knew any different, I mean there were diapers for the first year or so and then came a very comfortable potty chair. The misery started after the graduation from the potty chair. I mean I was a big boy now and I could use the adults bathroom. Right ! It was a disgusting building, maybe 7 feet high by 4 feet wide and 4 feet long. It was actually a large coffin that stood up on its end and sat over top of a very deep hole. The comforts though were unlimited. A very plush board shelf with a one size fits hole. You always hoped that it was sanded to a little nicer finish. Not a great place to get a sliver. I was fortunate that we were civilized enough to upgrade from Sears and Eaton's catalogues of my forefathers to actual toilet tissue. Well not exactly tissue, more like paper. I wondered about that hole, I really had visions of falling through that sucker. Then I wondered about the bigger people and how they managed to - well you get the point. Then I wondered how many years it would be before that big hole was filled up. Such incredible thoughts for a young boy. They actually put a hook lock on the door, just in case someone really wanted to go and check out the outdoor spa. One of the laughable things in it was the little window that they cut up top to help recirculate the air that became rather heavy. Real funny people these pioneers were !! The weather made all the difference. In the summer it was hot and sticky, not to mention a stench that arose from many dead intestinal revivals that lined the pit so to speak. It was a magnet to all kinds of earthly insects, from flies, to bees, to hornets and even the odd wasp. It was not a place you hung out in, it was a place that you feared. A bowel movement to a kid in those days was like going for your first needle. Total fear. In the winter, well that was really something. Not sure ones posterior was made to sit on a ice lined hole. It was so cold - even it didn't want to come out. The worst one was the calling in the dark. I tried everything to make sure I never took a trip out there in the dark. Talk abut a horror movie. On nights like that, I could not wait for light. I prayed for the sun to come up so I could get out to that stench box. It was times like those that insects took a back seat to the issue at hand.

I value washrooms today. They are truly one of man's greatest inventions. Even though all public washrooms have to be treated with a hands off approach, such as flushing the toilet with your foot and opening doors with your sleeve, they are still one of the earth's greatest things and I will be forever grateful.

The New Life

I am not sure when I started to actually remember things, some people say you remember at the age of 3 or 4 or even 5. For arguments sake, lets say I was an early learner ( I am blowing my own horn ) and I started with a few thoughts from when I was about 3. Our farm was mostly a grain farm that was a homestead bought, by my Grandfather originally. Between him and , my Dad and my Grandma and my Aunt, they made it into a fairly workable piece of ground. We had a half section of land ( 320 acres ) that at one time was just trees. Through back breaking hard work and sweat, it was gradually turned into rich black soil, that as I have been told, produced incredible wheat crops. My early days on the farm were like retirement. Some days I went with my Dad and rode on the tractor, around and around the field as we ploughed or cultivated the soil. I would like to say it was exciting and a magnificent experience and I suppose at first it was quite incredible, however after awhile, sitting on the fender of an old Massey Harris 44 tractor was starting to get boring for a young toddler. I know for a fact it was pretty mundane and boring for my Dad, because he would fall asleep at the wheel and we found ourselves several timeat the edge of the trees, tangling up the equipment in brush, or ploughing a very crooked line across a half mile of dirt. I think it was then that I heard my first cuss words and I have began practicing ever since. I knew right then, I would never be a farmer !!

I know I had some toys when I was on the farm. They couldn't of been too much. Maybe some old wooden ones perhaps, not entirely sure but I figured I could plow my own fields in the dirt. I wandered out of the house and went down by the garden, where I found the most incredible pile of black dirt a kid could of ever laid eyes on. It was a mountain in my eyes, ready for all of my toys. I plunked myself down right in the middle and proceeded to have the most entertaining afternoon of my very short life. It wasn't long after I settled into my new playing field when I started to feel pain. Pain everywhere !! I could not understand what was going on. Something wasn't right but I knew I had to get up to go and find someone to help me with the problem. I was banished to the tub in the middle of the kitchen floor and cold water was used to wash all of the hundreds of red ants that were biting the heck out of me. Right then I knew I would never be a naturalist either, or an outdoor explorer. My options for life were already decreasing and I was not even 5 yet !!

Where Am I?

I am not sure why, but I was born in the middle of nowhere. Oh sure, there was a hospital but in those days it wasn't exactly a science centre. A little white building besides the railroad tracks. It looked like a school but it only had mad white nurses running around with large hypodermic needles, anxious to stick somebody. The Doctor delivered everybody and anybody and I wouldn't doubt that he delivered the odd calf if the veterinarian got caught up at the bar. He had the bedside manners of a wounded beast and was not scared to bare the odd fang or two. But who was to argue? He was the main guy and there wasn't another hospital for at lest 40 miles. He was the main man. There was no choice, no alternative like today where you can shop for a Doctor like a pair of pants. Apparently I came out kicking and screaming but then who wouldn't when you were about to find out that they were taking you to a seemingly deserted farm in the abyss.

Oh it was indeed the abyss. They called it a farm. I still have no idea what they were farming. I don't remember anything that lived on that farm. Just dirt and more dirt. Maybe the odd bird in the trees or an anthill. An old house, actually it was more like a converted grain bin that had been renovated and of course I use that word loosely !! It was a place that everybody wanted to go to, no power, no self contained heat, no bathroom and certainly no running water. The wind whistled through the cracks and there wasn't such a thing as a telephone. It felt good to be born into paradise. I felt special. It was going to be a great beginning to my life, a character building experience that one could only be part of in the prairies of Western Canada. I would grow up to be tough and independent and know how much backbone it took to look for the outhouse in a snowstorm. They brought me home around Sept 21, 1957. My life began and through these musings I will relate my experiences and culture as I know it.