A Real Day at the Beach

Living in a land locked part of the world  and seeing large bodies of water bigger than the bathtub was a cause for awe and wonder for this prairie child of the fifties and sixties. The first of this type of wonderment was Katepwa Lake located in the Qu'Appelle Valley on the northern portion of the Great North American Plains.

Water on most prairie farms was considered a treasured commodity in those years.   Eavestroughs draining into basement cisterns and  precious  water wells were monitored particulary during any hot dry period in the summer and consequently any frivolous water activity such as playing with the garden hose in the sandpile was not even within the realm of this child's imagination.
Keeping that in mind you can understand the thrill and anticipation that one felt when Mom would call out to the yard on a sultry hot July afternoon and ask, " Do you want to go to the lake?"  

While not being aware of time --being a child and all,  I suspect that we were packed up with towels, bathing suits, some sort of lunch of sandwiches, coloured beverage of Kool Aid in a jar, and maybe some cake within a mere, but seemingly as an eternity to a child, matter of twenty minutes. More likely than not Mom had made arrangements with another mom in the neighbourhood to come along or meet at the lake.

 The adventure would begin starting out on familiar gravel country roads and then proceeding to a ten mile black  ribbon of  powdered dust that just begged to be thrown in a swirling cloud by a car driven by a woman with a picnic in a cardboard box and three children neither belted  or 'chaired'  and more than likely climbing from front to back  jostling for the best seat and another one staring down a dreaded grasshopper that had 'flown' through an open window (as no farmer's car had air conditioning in those days).  

Suddenly the car would slow down and the road would become windy and narrow as we descended into the valley.  As the car turned the final curve we would see this huge body of water which stretched seeming endlessly nestled amongest the valkey hills.

 We had arrived!


 The car  would be parked as close to the gate as possible. Everyone got out with something in hand be it towels, sand toys, bathing suits or beach blanket.  Next stop  was the change house and out again as fast as possible hopefully not leaving anything important behind.   Then the mad run with bare feet burning on the sand as we ran towards shore. 

The beach area often was full of people with their own bags of towels, blankets, sun hats, radios, and umbrellas.   Mom would look for a shady spot even if it was only under a  a shrub and all the belongings would be dumped into a  dishelveled pile and off we'd run to the water to cool our sizzling feet.  No  precautionary suntan block was worn but maybe we would get some baby oil rubbed on to avoid sun burns and to envourage tanning.

There  would to be water slides, diving boards,  as well as docks  in the swimming area. Along with squeals and giggles from those already playing in waves and splashes. Actually getting wet took a few minutes. We would delve into the  cool liquid past our ankles gingerly, slowly tippy toeing into the water while examining the stones at the bottom, watching for snails or bugs, testing the temperature, trying to dodge splashes from other swimmers.  That stage lasted 10 minutes-- tops and then suddenly you found yourself  wet, running and jumping off the dock into water that was just deep enough that you could manoeuvre on tippy toes and safe enough that when Mom came to the watr's edge to make sure you weren't out 'too deep' you could truthfully say , "I am touching bottom." and wave with both hands.

Flipping and flopping, splashing and squealing, and racing up and down the slide,  jumping off the dock, messing around on the shore being alligators or lake monsters and burying companions in the sand all  made mayonnaise and tomatoe sandwiches with a   slice  of velveeta cheese taste mighty fine when it was time to have the picnic lunch.

The false rule that one had to wait an hour after eating was strictly enforced in those days so that's when laying on the blanket or looking for snails on shore occurred until the magic  60 minutes had passed.  This time there wouldn't be any hesitation when getting back in the water with  an already damp bathing suit.

The drive home in the dark would be quiet. Grasshopper forgotten, water glurking in one's ears, with sand in hair, between toes and under bathing suits,  wrapped in a beach blanket that still held the sun's afternoon warmth ,  along with that floaty feeling of still being in the water whenever you closed your eyes,  the car smoothly gliding over that soft dirt road towards home and bed  would lull you to sleep in spite of the odd annoying mosquito makes for a great memory  of a day I'd love to relive just one more time.  

Hired Men

I recently reread W. O. Mitchell's  'Jake and the Kid' which is a collection of short stories telling of the adventures of a prairie boy and the family's hired man on the Saskatchewan prairie during the 1940s and '50s.   For anyone who grew up in that era and geographic location it is a trip down memory lane bringing to mind the simplicity of life as well as the difficulties that prairie drylanders had to face,  having to rely on one's ingenuity, neighbours' aid, and just plain luck to thrive and survive. 
 
Our family also often had hired men during the seeding season and sometimes right through to harvest.  I am not certain how they came to be 'hired men'.  Perhaps they had placed an ad in the Western Producer or it was by word of mouth that Dad was able to get in contact with someone who would be willing and mostly eager to work on a mixed farm for low wages and room and board.
 
We had a wide range of  men coming and staying with us. They would be lodged either in the little house trailer in the yard , or in the basement bedroom , and sometimes even in the upstairs 'spare' room.  Some had  their wives and children  with them, which proved exciting for us kids to have another family live right in the yard.  Other men had strange and 'secret like' backgrounds.  Some seemed to have come from other small communities and others came from far away.  A few Hungarian refugees came over to the prairies to become hired men after the government trouble overseas during the mid 1950's.  Another fellow came from Switzerland.  He was traveling Canada to research which type of farm he was going to buy.  And yet another brought with him more than was expected; a gun and a bottle.  The last I heard was that he was serving 10 years for manslaughter.  There were no mandatory Criminal Record Checks in those days.  
 
I generally have happy memories of these temporary 'family members' that came in and out of our family home.  They often came along to social gatherings at the school or to visits with neighbours for an evening of playing cards.  Sometimes they would be left behind to assure that the evening's chores were done.  I vividly remember after a hot day at the lake  returning to the yard and seeing Jack standing under the  yellow porch light with  a white milk frothed pail in hand on his way to the cream separator.   When I think of it he probably had enjoyed his Sunday time alone in the quiet of the prairie away from prying family eyes with  the only work expectation being to milk the cow on time.

Sometimes these hired men not only worked on the farm but acted as makeshift babysitters.   I specifically remember tagging along with the Swiss hired man as he walked the fields stucking sheaves.  I was five at the time and  when a hail storm blew up  he put me into a stucke so I wouldn't get hit by the falling pieces of ice.   He stuck his head into the stucke too...him and the longest greenest fattest worm I have ever seen as well.

    I also sometimes had to make supper for the hired man if mom was called away to the city or couldn't be back in time.  Putting my 12 year old imagination to work it would be invariably  greasy fried eggs and brown beans on the menu , maybe accompanied by a can of ready cooked spaghetti and a bowl of ice cream for dessert.  What went through those poor men's minds when they found out they were at the mercy of a 12 year old cook and a frying pan after a long hot dusty day of  pulling a cultivator with a tractor without a cab is something one does  not probably want to imagine.  
 

Sharing a house with complete strangers was not always a great experience.  One fellow used to make such a mess in the washroom, mysteriously shredding bits of toilet paper all over the floor.  Some didn't take as much personal care in their hygiene but to be fair water from the cistern was a precious commodity  and baths were rare treats.  Usually their presence in the house was a quiet one.  Someone extra in the living room.  Someone else coming and going in the yard.  Sometimes they would get a visit from relatives, maybe even a long distance phone call once in a while.

There was one fellow, a never married bachelor of an age older than my parents, who slept in the basement  and  returned to the farm regularly for about three or four years.   He would pull into the yard, with the only  running Studebaker I have ever seen, in May and disappear to Town somewhere for the winter.   This lean and graying fellow would quietly come into the living room in the evening to watch television.  For some reason it became my habit to make coffee for him (instant) and bring it into the living room on a tray with cream and sugar.  After a few times of this little ritual between us, this  rarely speaking fellow on occasion would wait in the kitchen after supper and help dry the dishes when it was my turn to wash up.    This is the same fellow that caused a bit of a giggle when my sister and I spied him perusing the Eaton's catalogue which in itself  would not ordinarily be cause for a giggle  except that he was looking at the Lady Bra/Panty/Nylon/Girdle section of the catalogue.   We ran to Mom and told her.  I can't remember her comment but it is my distinct impression that the Eaton's catalogue was kept in the back cupboard after that.

I am sure that most times at the end of the harvest season Dad never heard of these transient workers again.  They sort of disappeared from my history and ultimately ended up making a life somewhere else perhaps in the next community,  perhaps they got work in the city, or perhaps they started their own businesses and had hired men of their own.

Other fellows became long time friends.  We would hear from them through Christmas cards and surprise visits.  One fellow more than once brought a bag of candy to the house at Christmas time.   The Swiss fellow brought his parents to visit so his mother could see a prairie sunset.   Another came to my mother's funeral after a 40 year absence.

The hired man was an integral part of the success of our farm  and many others as farm acreage grew with too much work for one man to cope with along with  machinery not big enough to do all that needed to be done so it could be done on time and in time for the right time.    These fellows worked long hours, for little pay with no benefits.  They rarely had a day off unless it rained. They slept where they were told and ate what was put on the table. They heard little praise for work well done and could risk losing their job if they decided to cultivate instead of harrow, drove the grain truck too fast or got the tractor stuck in a slough.   Sometimes they got paid regularly and sometimes they would have to wait until the quota opened.
One morning the neighbourhood was all astir as three of the newly arrived hired men on different farms had all disappeared at the same time. Some piggy banks from one of the farm family's had been broken into, and some tools had disappeared.  It seemed these fellows had had enough of Prairie Farm life and had taken off for greener pastures elsewhere. 


I do know that I benefitted from the having these men pass through my childhood.  I learned about geography and heard foreign languages well before many of my classmates.  I was even introduced to some foreign food recipes that were shared with my mom...try soured whole milk with sugar on it sometime...a Swiss delicacy.   I saw the value and respect given to anyone with a good work ethic and the consequences for those who did not.   I realized  also that not everyone had their own house and family. 

 Being a hired man in Saskatchewan  in the 50s and 60s was often the only choice a young man with limited education had when it came to employment but their contribution to the culture  and success of the community was every bit important as any politician, storekeeper, or school teacher of the day.

Some names I remember:  Chris, Don, Louis and family, Jerry, Delmar, Leo, Ed, Jack, Jimmy, Harry, Jim, and Hans. 

 
 
 













 

SNOW REASON!

SNOW REASON


Flakes of snow are drifting down
Upon the earth that once was brown.

Slowly falling  soft and thick
Some are slow and some are quick.

Some fly upwards and then fall down
Some fly sideways upon the ground.

A coat of white from a painter's brush
Could not cover like Nature's touch.

Piling high  in icy swirls
Making sculptures of shining swirls.

White as white but not clearly so
As sun's shadows grey the snow

Would it be so bad to know
That rainbow colours could be snow?

Red in ditches. Orange on walks
Indigo  on every block.

Trees all covered in Yellow's shine
Violet rivers would look Devine!

Rocks of Orange and snowdrifts Blue
Snow banks could be of every hue.

Snow ploughs blowing rainbows 'round
Covering winter's frozen ground.

If only snowflakes were coloured bright
The sky of snowfalls would bring delight!






Like the feathers

A BAD GUEST

We were surprised by a  late evening guest in the yard last night. 
We hadn't seen it arrive mainly due to its  imperceptible cloak of grey. 
 
It arrived in an ominous and heavy silence bit by bit, inch by inch.
 Before we knew it it was here, in the yard, at the threshold, looking through the windows, tracking in the door.

 Like the true bad guest it  dominated the rest of the evening's conversation. 
 We asked each other ' When will it go?' 
 'How come no one told us it was on its way?'
'If we had only known , we would have been somewhere where it couldn't come."

And like the true bad guest ,  it will stay longer than desired, make a bunch of extra work, and leave a big mess when it goes.