NORTH OF 60

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YELLOWKNIFE UNDER THE MIDNIGHT SUN

In the summer of 1974, we headed north to Yellowknife, leaving our country house empty, with good neighbors keeping an eye on it.
FYI, Edmonton is approx 500 Miles north of the US border, and it was another 500 miles straight north to the NWT border close to High Level Alberta. What surprised me, were the barley fields that
were looking good right up to the 60th parallel. There was still land being cleared by homesteaders at that time. What makes Alberta so different from Ontario for instance, is the absence of the rock shield, which gives Alberta more arable land than any other province. The super long days assist with the growth.
Now, just another 500 miles to Yellowknife, and at that time in history, it was gravel. We slept overnight at High Level, and drove north. I recall the clouds of dust far ahead, on the road, indicating an oncoming vehicle. It was a remote road, with no one around to help if you did have trouble.
Finally at he end of a long day and hundreds of miles of wilderness, we came upon a rather modern looking town, with an airport,which is how most folks got into town.

Johnny helped us find an apartment, furnished it almost entirely from his “junk” store. When folks left Yellowknife, they usually called Johnny to come by and buy the contents of their home or apt. so we were up and running quite quickly. By late fall, a fuel tank had been constructed down by the lake.
By later the next year, Gulf Oil (now Petro Canada) was looking for 3 60 Ft high tanks in Hay River, and because they liked the one that was built in Yk. they contracted Alex to build those, starting in 1976.The Federal Business Development Bank president for Western Canada called Alex and said he was coming up to go fishing with him. Alex was not a real fisherman, but he scrambled and he and Bob Whiteway and Dan Byer, who was comptroller at Yellowknife’s largest hotel,rose to the occasion.
Said the banker, while out on the lake,”you have asked for a loan to launch this oil business, but I am telling you, Imperial Oil is going to have you for breakfast, I will give you the money because you will make enough on your tank building to pay us back”
Texaco was agreeable to fill our tank with home heating fuel, so now we were in the home heating business, which turned out to be a heart break, when Esso, just lowered their price to customers, till we were out of business.

The following story is one that Alex really liked about Johnny R.
Johnny, was, I think from Saskatchewan and went into commercial fishing on Great Slave Lake, but in his words ” I didn’t know where those fish were, and I don’t think they knew themselves where they were”. He did not declare bankruptcy, but got a job in the gold mines, deep in the earth, as a blaster. To pay his debtors, he drilled 4 long, long shifts a week, and on the other days he went trapping to look after his family. Because he was such an early settler in YK, he owned several lots in the “old town”; before the government got the idea of taxing property owners.

During the years of trapping and mining, he fell behind in his taxes. By the time we arrived on the scene, it was getting very close to them seizing his land for taxes. With real conviction, he said, “I just didn’t think it was right for them to get my properties.”

One day while on the tundra, he was “drawn” to a certain outcropping of rock in the distance. When he got there he realized it was gold. Alex asked, “how much was there Johnny?” “Maybe the size of the back of a pick up truck”. So Johnny chipped off enough to fill his back pack and tramped back into town. He found an unsuspecting tourist who paid him a discounted amount, enough to settle his bill with the city.He knew if the authorities could trace that gold, it might start a mad rush.
One day Alex was in the mining office negotiating with them for a right of way across their property, to his tank. The man he was dealing with started to excitedly disclose that he had just seen a chunk of gold ore that was so pure, they had never seen anything close to it. He said the person who brought it in, would not disclose the source.. Alex knew and kept his mouth shut.
Later, talking to Johnny, Alex asked, “are you going back for more?”.

“Do you need money?” replied Johnny.    Alex thought it might be kind of a good idea, but Johnny said “you don’t need money, you just need to know how to live.” Alex never forgot that. Not to say he mastered it like Johnny, who was perhaps the most contented and happy person Alex had met. He said he would have no part of a mad rush for Gold, “people kill for gold”. he said. I don’t believe he said he would never go back if he needed money personally. We saw little children come to his door, to get their scrapped knees fussed over by Johnny. Local Native folks came to his door to borrow money to go to  a funeral in a distant community. “Do they pay you back” asked Alex. The answer was “yes, I am the only bank they have”. Alex saw him on a dreadfully cold night heading to the old town with the back of his ugly vehicle loaded with firewood for a widow lady whose boys had been drinking and failed to look after her.

This was a man who had no church affiliation, or dogmas, but he certainly had integrity and love, and he was always always looking after  “the least of these my brethren”.

ARE THE GOOD TIMES ALL GONE?

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FAMILY IN 1973 CORONADO ALBERTA

 

 

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I joined a community choir here in Stouffville, and last night we practised for three hours for the second consecutive night. We are singing a particularly beautiful arrangement of Four Strong Winds by one of our famous Canadian folk singers, Ian Tyson.It was popular when we were moving to Alberta, so it is emotional for me to sing it, especially with the line “think I’ll go out to Alberta, weathers nice there in the fall”. Also, the place the tenor and basses lead with “but the good times are all gone” caught me off guard. Are the good times all gone? As a senior, it can be tempting to think that. For me anyway, I realise my good times of driving across the country with Alex, and the children, are gone!!! We both loved getting into a vehicle, whether it was a welding truck, a new Suburban, or a motor home and later mini vans, and hitting the open prairie roads,or several hundred miles of gravel in the North West Territories, it was always enjoyable to us, and we had the utmost confidence that Daddy was prepared for every eventuality. Ready he was! Last night made me realise, writing will be one way for me to deal with the sense of loss that hit me last night.

My last memory blog got us to Alberta. Before the fist year was out, we had purchased a country 20 acres and older house north of Edmonton about a half hour in a place called Coronado. It consisted of the post office that was in the house we bought, and a railway crossing with one grain elevator that was being dismantled just as we were moving in. Jonathan started school and little Shelly stayed home with me, no preschool or kindergarten in those days, in rural Alberta at least, thankfully.(my sentiments anyway) Also, a big event was Janine Marie’s arrival on November 14 of that year 1972.

Alex transformed the trashy property by hiring a Cat and operator who dug a hole in a low lying area of our property and shoved into it old car bodies, manure piles, fallen down fences, huge piles of tin cans. The lawns were smoothed out and grass planted. This all happened in one weekend, when he came home form the oil field. The transformation left our neighbours in shock. The interior was painted, kitchen rearranged, sanded hardwood floor in the living room, made for a pleasant home. The next spring we planted veggies, and what a garden that was. The children loved the poplar wooded areas, and open meadows with wildflowers.

Alex/Sandy was well into the mental planning of his revolutionary method of building on-site storage tanks. He knew that no oil company would feel comfortable in contracting him to build tanks for them so the self use method was the way to go. He researched the fuel market in Yellowknife and found that there was a spread of price from the rail head in Hay River, on the south side of Great Slave Lake, and Yellowknife on the North Shore of the same large body. HE would require a water front property at Yellowknife to allow fuel to be barged in.

He flew to Yellowknife, rented a car, went to see the mayor and expressed interest in acquiring a lake front spot for his endeavour to bring lower home heating and gasoline prices.to Yellowknife.

The mayor, did a southern mayor scene, pounding his desk and delivering the  “over my dead body” speech.   Only, Imperial Oil was sold in the Northwest Territories up till then.
Alex walked out thinking that was a little over the top reaction. He drove past the Con Gold Mines, probably the reason Yellowknife exists, and to the rocky shoreline.A young “hippy girl” (it was the 70’s) was fishing on the rocks and as Alex told the story…
“When looking for a suitable  property to build a fuel depot with deep water access, just ask a young women who is fishing off the rocks if she knows any available spot”

Well, like so many of Alex’s hunches or ideas, it was not a wasted inquiry.
She said “you should talk to Johnny, I think he owns this property”
Johnny is a short and gentle Metis man with soft brown eyes and a French accent, who had already lived in Yellowknife for years. He had acquired land in Yellowknife before the Government of Canada became interested in the Northwest Territories, so the entrepreneurs had been doing their own thing there, fishing, working in the goldmines. Johnny had tried dealing in Esso products before this and was pushed out of business by the mayor’s friend who had the whole town without any competition at all. When he heard Alex’s plan, he thought for a while and then he said ” Yes, he would make his lake front available for the project of bringing competition to the North.”

So, in future blogs you will hear more about the adventures of Johnny, Alex, Imperial Oil, Texaco, Federal Business Development Bank, then building tanks in Inuit communities in the high Arctic.

The “north” was a dream come true for Alex! Although, born in Toronto, he never fell in love with the city, but rather was enchanted with northern Ontario. He had a teacher who read Robert Service poetry to his class. The whole thing of northern lights, prospecting for gold, thousands of miles of wilderness, opportunity to solve problems, drew him like a magnet.

I remember so clearly, we had only been in Alberta for one year and went back to Ontario for a wedding in the family. Alex saw one of his uncles who asked him “when will you be able to afford to come back to Ontario?”
Not very often did I see Alex speechless, and I don’t know if he even answered him.

Alberta Bound

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So the decision was made to leave LaBelle Province . It was August 1971. The back seat of the car had been removed and replaced with plywood and foam. It  was a wonderful place for Jonathan and Michelle to travel. (no pesky car seats) I can still remember the excitement and anticipation I experienced that August 1 morning .  We loaded  the  1965 Dodge, with a 9×9 tent, and gear in preparation for the trip “west.  We hauled a portable welding machine behind. . I know we had no credit card. We understood there was work for  welders but we had no idea how much in demand Sandy would be

. After we stayed the weekend with my dear friend and second cousin Margaret (Grove) and Roger Stutzman on their farm near Tofield, Alex bought a Edmonton Journal and discovered lists of jobs for welders.(those were the days)

We camped in a 2 week free campground, on Highway 14 east of Edmonton. An outhouse, a pump with good water,(amazing for that part of Alberta) good fire pits and picnic tables at every campsite.  All we needed.!

I will never forget the sunny, dry days, the prairie grasses, the Magpies, sunsets and smell of  poplar wood smoke from the fire. And one dark night the coyotes sounding like a wild party of crazy women.  We had to check with our friends what was THAT?

Alex got a job the first day for $12.00 an hour, four times what it was in the East. I would heat a large galvanized pail of water for him to wash with when he got home after his long days of welding on the south side of Edmonton. What simple pleasures they were.

Needless to say we loved it, decided to spend the summer, go back and pack up and become western Canadians.

However,  we wanted to push west to the Pacific, through the mountains  , with a camping trip to British Columbia before we headed back east.

Travelling through the Rockies, was quite a thrill. I recall trying to get Jonathan and Shelly to look out the window to see the scenery, but their books and toys took their attention.  We enjoyed visiting Herb and Verna Reesor, who had not been in Vancouver long. After the Vancouver trip we kept the rented tent trailer and went and camped by the Athabasca River, while Alex worked a few weeks, welding at the large Fox Creek plant. I remember one morning we awoke to a light skiff of snow over the river rocks where we made camp. So by Thanksgiving we were back in Eastern Canada and with  moving on our mind.

Now, the plan was to get a welding truck, so he could be a contract welder in Alberta. So with the children and I back in the Quebec house, he put together a basic truck with a Lincoln welding machine on the back. Several young men , including Real (Bob) DeRapp went with him heeding the “go West young man” suggestion.

When they arrived in Edmonton, they found acquaintances, Dan and Jan Byer, who had just recently married and were living in an apartment on the North Side of Edmonton.

Now it was of utmost importance to secure a job after sticking his neck out. One evening, he felt he should remove himself and the young men that traveled with him, out of Dan and Jan’s apartment. They went to a movie, something we just didn’t much of at that time.

In the theater, the folks in front of him, were discussing a fatal explosion at a gas plant north of town, where a welder lost his life.

“Excuse me, where did you say this happened?” queried Alex.

They told him and I am sure you know what he did, he called that gas plant the next morning and found out they were indeed looking for a welder.

“Get down to the government testing place and get your Alberta B Pressure ticket and head up here and Oh Yes, DO NOT BRING ANY HAND TOOLS” were the instructions he received. The lack of hand tools had been a concern for Alex, arriving at a job with only a welding machine? But now he had the instruction to not bring any. He called the testing place and they said,

“come right away, because we only test on Mondays, and if you don’t make it today you will need to wait another week.” He made it there in time and found out because he had a Ontario Provincial license he was allowed to take the Alberta Test, which would allow him to earn a lot more money. He passed it, but it cost him his last $10. I don’t remember being without cash  back in Quebec, but now he didn’t  have enough gas to get to this gas plant several hours away. This was in the day we didn’t have credit cards, or e-transfers.Do most folks start out on a trip with no money and not enough gas? NO! But Alex wasn’t most people!! He drove out of town and there was a hitchhiker, whom he stopped to pick up.

Alex had more times than I can tell you, picked up hitch hikers, but never had an offer like this.
“If you take me to Whitecourt, which I know is farther for you, I will buy you a tank of gas”, said this special hitchhiker.

Alex agreed to this, and arrived at his destination with the needle sinking toward empty.
He checked in and they said , “have you eaten, just go into the dinning room and they will throw some steaks on the grill for you.”. He had not eaten that day.

“First, go and load up your truck with supplies” they said, which he happily did. Although he had proved by this time, to be an exceptionally skilled fabricator and welder, he had never been able to buy his own tools, so this was nearly unbelievable to be able to pick up grinders and every kind of hand tool needed to weld pipe etc.
Alberta was looking very good. Camp life left lots to be desired, even though the food was exceptional.
By Christmas he flew back from Edmonton to Montreal, Air Canada for $99. That was the first air trip he had ever taken, and it did seem a little a luxury.
Now, next thing to conquer, was how to get us all moved out to Edmonton?
No problem he said “I’ll just build a horse trailer, to pull behind our very powerful 1965 Dodge.” Which he did over the holiday, with Harold’s help, finding parts and pieces in various junkyards. Never was he happier than when something had to be designed and built from nothing. His mother told me, she cannot remember a day since a young boy that he didn’t have a building project on the go in their basement. He remembers when he was making a “stage coach” at a very young age, and dragged his project down to a local shop that had a welder who fashioned a piece for him. He recalled at that time, thinking” if I could weld, I could make anything”!!

We arrived safely in Edmonton in January 1972, a very dubious time of year to travel across Canada, which gave us cause for gratitude. Sure enough, after the furniture was unpacked we advertised the horse trailer for sale. It paid for our move.

Thus began our life in the “West”

Our son Jonathan, has told this story to men on his construction sites how his Dad got into contract oilfield welding,  and one fellow responded with, “Jon, that is a blankety blank MIRACLE.” It is one of Jon and Tim’s favorite stories  about their Dad.

It was an exhilarating way to live, but we had youth on our side. I did not have a set idea of how I wished to live, so I was a willing participant.

I still look for the synchronicity and miracles, in my life.

Timing is so important, but it requires being free of fear and anxiety.

ALEXANDER JOHNSTONE MORRISON III (also known as Sandy)

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One year ago today, Alex took the step into Eternity.

We knew he was failing, I could tell he had hardly moved during the night. The evening before, Tim had arrived from Edmonton, and Michelle was also here from Vernon B.C. Jonathan and Janine, who live in the area came and we all stood in our bedroom around his hospital bed and spoke to him. Our grandaughter, Sophie Alexander, had hand written letters to all of us,brought by Michelle. One was addressed to her Grandpa and it made us all cry, as it was read a loud, that she, so young at ten, was able to express her grief, and sorrow at not knowing him better.
Janine, started singing The Lord is My Shepherd, and instantaneously, Michelle, joined in harmony as they did so many years ago, in Victoria, as teenagers.
I am so thankful for that time together.
Timmy, whom we hadn’t seen since we left Edmonton nearly two years earlier, spent most of his time that day by his side, spraying his mouth, which was dry, and talking to him. He is certain his Dad was hearing him.

By five that afternoon, while Tim and I and Michelle were standing by him everything was calm and peaceful. All at once, a little sigh left his mouth, never had I heard in my life with him, anything like it. It sounded like a little child, as if peace and satisfaction had come. Then his eyes, which had been closed for a few days, opened wide. His breathing just gradually slowed to a stop, as I held him.

I count it such a privilege to have had him at home, in our cozy apartment, when he breathed his last. A week earlier, when he became fevered, the nurse wondered if I wanted to return him to hospital and I said no, what chance would I have to be with him at time of passing, if I allowed then to take him away?

As anyone else, who has lost a spouse of 48 years, there is still some amazement that it all actually happened, that his physical life drained away. Even as a young man, he had a keen revelation of life without the restrictions of the physical body and objected whenever someone spoke of a deceased person as if they were in the past.

So Alex, we know you live and your life has forever helped shaped ours.

When I think of all the ones you know who have gone before you, are you having a grand reunion? Your parents, two sisters, Nancy and Joy? dear Grandpa Crawford? my brothers Cecil and Elmer? Pauline? my brothers-in law Abner and Norman? dear friend Dave Reesor, your good lawyer friend from Edmonton Denis Horne? Emmerson Mc Dowell, Paul Martin?Mike Rodgers? to just mention some?
I suspect some of the pressing questions and conundrums that you pondered have all been dissolved in the glory of “eye hath not seen or ear heard neither has it entered into the heart of man what God has prepared for them that love Him”

You often marched to a “different drummer” than the rest of us, and it appears you lived more life than many in your 69 years. We are relieved that your struggle is over, especially the last years of ill health, that you handled with such grace, may I add!! Although, others talk about the trial for me of those years, I say, yes, it was an opportunity to grow in grace, but also, the time together had a sweetness, that will remain with me always.

 

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Alexander Johnstone Morrison 1943-2013

Alexander Johnstone Morrison 1943-2013

OUR QUEBEC EXPERIENCE

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mascouche

In the  late winter of 1970, we got a phone call from Harold in Quebec. There was a farm house to rent for $75. a month across the street from Harold and Pauline and their family. We were ready to pick up and move to Quebec?   We did it .  I have always valued the experience, it gave us a perspective that those that haven’t lived there never get.
The FLQ crisis was in full swing, with daily bank robberies reported, to further their agenda. English speaking Canadians were leaving Quebec daily, and the luxury house prices in English areas, dropped drastically.
Alex charged into the community with some coaching from Harold who had studied French. He sold some grain bins, which he fabricated with an extremely limited amount of tools. He did so well with the French he knew, locals would soon lose him, because they thought he was French.
As fall approached, Alex bought hardwood, by the truckload, cut it into short cords, and peddled it into Montreal for the very wealthy who enjoyed multiple fire places. Also, some of his customers were the very, very poor. He came home one fall evening telling of one delivery in an upstairs apartment, that was ice cold. A mother and several children were huddle in bed, awaiting the wood, (landlords in Montreal were not responsible for heating.)

On October 5, 1970 James Cross, a British diplomat, was kidnapped. Five days later, Pierre Laporte, Minister of Labor in the Boruassa government was also kidnapped from his yard while playing ball with his son. It was discussed on the media everyday, that the FLQ was possibly holding him in a farm north of Montreal, which of course is where we were living.
During these tense days, in the middle of a dark autumn night, I awoke to stomping footsteps along our long wooden porch. I was very nervous about Alex answering the door. There was our friend Tom Laidler, in his hugeness, knowing very well that his arrival from Toronto at that time of night would be a scary thing for us.

Oct 15, 3,000 students at the University rallied to support the FLQ. At this time Bourassa requested emergency powers, to allow them to apprehend and keep in custody. This resulted in the War Measures Act being put into place, by Pierre Trudeau, announced later that day. I still remember, the probably by now famous statement of Pierre.
Question from interviewer, “Do you think you will win another election?”

He answered with a shrug.”just watch me”.

I wish more politician would be ready to lose elections for the decisions they make. Someone said, politicians make decisions that will ensure votes, a statesman makes decisions that have the good of the country in mind. There is no one politician that will always make the right decision.
The Canadian troops were all over the downtown, with special attention given to the residences of dignitaries.
On October 17, the FLQ announced they had executed LaPorte. His body was found stuffed in the trunk of Paul Roses car, after having been strangled.
Now, the police, with sweeping powers were busy, arresting and imprisoning.I recall the Conservatives, at that time, were quite upset about the  possibility of violating rights and freedoms.
It came to our attention that there were a number of US army deserters and draft dodgers hiding out in the downtown. If discovered, they would have been taken to the US border and handed over to the military police.
My brother Harold and Alex went downtown and found five young men, who were rather traumatized. One of these was Tom Pitkin, who later married Nancy Morrison, Alex’s sister.
Several of them stayed in our house, one was from Panama. He had been in the US working, trying to better his family, and was drafted. Another, named Danny(not at all sure that was his name) and Tom stayed with us.
One evening, I asked Alex to take me to the laundry in Maschouche. Jonathan, just turning 3, stayed with cousins up the road, and we took Michelle (Shelly then) along, either standing between us in the front seat, or on my lap, cute and blond as could be. Danny, in a trench coat, rode along. When I was putting my laundry into the machines, Danny was darting in and out, using a pay phone. Sandy with a very small beard at that time and a black leather jacket was waiting in the car, with Shelly. All at once the police pulled up and directed us to follow them. The pictures in the papers of Paul Rose the suspect in this murder, had a beard and was wearing a black leather coat. I think Alex was laughing but I knew with the War Measures Act in place they could lock him up and figure out later what to do with him. Our American friend might have been his accomplice. He just looked guilty somehow. They took them in for questioning, while Shelly and I waited in the car. Luckily, Alex still had an Ontario driver’s license and his French was not up to par, so they let him go. I am not sure how our draft dodger made it out of there.
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Eventually, we took our rag tag band of dodgers and deserters to Ontario and dropped them with Emmerson Mc Dowell and family and the community there that was more sympathetic to those who did not participate in or support the Vietnam war or war in general.

A huge snow storm hit that winter, the biggest I have ever seen. I just read this winter it was a record snow fall. Never have the Western Canadians seen such snow plows and blowers or snow for that matter. Our house was literally just feet from the narrow paved street and the plows threw snow on our porch.. Harold and Pauline and their children trudged down the road to spend the evening with us, because we had an oil space heater and they were out of heat. That was a memorable evening and I will never forget the sharing and sense of community we had with them

. We will never forget the grace and good humour of  my sister in law Pauline, who sadly passed away maybe only 10 years later, when we were in Alberta. She spoke perfect French and taught me some phrases that would help me be a little more sociable with all the neighbours and their friends. In 1970 there wasn’t a language problem in Mascouche, it was simply French. Not an English news paper, magazine or greeting card in sight. I would go to the supermarket and pick up my items and hope I could get out without having to ask any questions. Sandy’s mom Marjorie was astounded that there wasn’t even an English greeting card in the local stores.  It was a shock to her British paradigm
One of the lovely things, was having a local bakery deliver a warm French loaf for 23 cents, daily from the local bakery.

Our house was a classic Quebec farm house, with windows that were plentiful and generous, with the French windows that you opened and pulled toward you. They were screened and I just remember how much fresh air they allowed to circulate through the house. Our bedroom had a lovely large window that allowed the cool night air, perfumed with fresh cut hay to flow over us. I don’t know why only the French know how to make those windows. The interior walls were all wooden tongue and groove, had spacious rooms, and a tiny water closet in the corner of the living room. Also, there was a small room off the main living room where Sandy set up a large drafting board, where he drew all manner of machinery.
Alex/Sandy continued with his wood business. It was difficult to make enough to get ahead, and he became restless. One day, he had unloaded wood into a very grand home where he had been cautioned by the owner to be careful of the Porsche. So after many many trips from the truck into his garage, being so careful, he banged his hand on a door jam, which was nothing he would usually have complained about , but when the gentleman paid him $6.00 instead of the $16. he had promised, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.. He took advantage of Alex’s improper pronunciation in French.
January 1, 1971 we hatched a plan. The first time we got $300. beyond our expenses, we were going to go “out west”. I remember thinking it was a grand idea  .NEXT :  ALBERTA BOUND.

MIRACLE IN THE ONTARIO BUSH

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It was early winter in 1967.  We were residing in our old rented farm house nestled in the countryside, between Bancroft and the famous AlgonquinPark. The rambling frame house was owned by Fraser Lake Camp, and for one thousand dollars of renovations , we were given 3 years rent.  Sandy rented a sander and he refinished  the beautiful birds eye maple floor in the living room and the avocado green drapes, I had made for our Toronto apartment from bed sheets, looked really good on the large windows.  My sister in law Stella, also pregnant, helped me wallpaper the downstairs bedroom in a yellow floral. How she managed that, with five children at home, amazes me today.

The rolling hills are covered in forests and small farms had been   settled along the Little Mississippi River for a long time. It is a beautiful area of Ontario.  When we arrived there from Toronto, all fresh faced and eager, the locals were keeping an eye on us.  There was a group of older men  that sat on the porch of Caldwell’s General Store and watched that “young city fella” tear by in his VW bug, wondering what could be so urgent.   I was totally amazed when some of the local ladies had a baby shower for me because I was expecting our first baby. I recall undershirts, diapers and rattles, small gifts by today’s standards, but the goodwill was huge.  In the local newspaper, the description of the event included the statement, “Kathryn and her young husband……”.  I remember wondering if it was obvious that I had robbed the cradle, as Sandy is a year younger than me..  I will never forget the enthusiasm Sandy had for life cutting and carry wood, for our wood stoves and the first winter he hauled water and put it in big barrels on the porch.

I recall after I would wrap Jonathan into a snug package for the night, Sandy would hold him carefully over the wood heater, to get him toasty warm, knowing the rooms would get quite cool by morning.

Sandy purchased a small bulldozer to skid timber in the wood lots and during the winter he let it be known he would also clear snow for others. Cash was short, because sometimes it was hard to get the cut wood hauled, so when someone asked him to plough their roads he was delighted.

The dozer was unloaded and now he was crawling along the snow packed road and   having got too close to the shoulder slipped into the ditch and the whole machine fell on its side.  Alex jumped to safety, but his heart sank.   With some help, he managed to get the cat back on the road, but now night was falling. He started it and put it in gear and as it went forward, the local man with him tapped his shoulder to draw Alex’s attention to the   trail of red transmission fluid on the white snow. The cat came to a halt.

There were no cell phones in that day, so when he left in the morning, I could only hope   all went well and he would come home with a check or some success.

I remember that evening, sitting at the kitchen table, with the wood stove casting a pleasant heat, and even though our bouncing baby boy was smiling broadly, we were anxious.

We had left the city, Alex having quit his welding job, to come up to the countryside he loved, and also we were involved in the staffing of the Fraser Lake Camp. I am sure more mature folk thought we were foolish to leave the security of our jobs.  To ask for help from relatives and friends did not seem like an option, , and a  credit card, what was that?  A transmission repair was so beyond our budget it was worrisome, to say the least.

Early the next day, he went back to the scene of the “disaster”. .    What happened next defies explanation, in my skeptical mind. 

 Because he was alone in that winter wonderland, he started the engine, and he does not know why he slowly put it in gear, He knew without a shadow of a doubt that all the fluid had drained out on the bush road, as witnessed by the neighbor that was riding on the dozer with him.  But it engaged and moved forward!!!

He drove to the jobsite and completed the snow plowing he intended to do the day before.  That dozer continued to keep us in rent and groceries for the rest of the winter.  We got some strange looks when he enthusiastically shared this remarkable happening.

Several years later, that same little machine had an engine problem and Sandy took it into my brother’s shop.   Knowing Cecil, it is pretty safe for me to say, he had been skeptical of Sandy’s account from a few years earlier.,

Now, apparently, it is most common, when an engine is out, for the mechanic to drag his hand through the bottom of the transmission housing, to check if there might be microscopic filings indicating wear of the transmission.

Sandy was looking at Cecil’s face when his hand came out of the transmission holding broken housing pieces, chunks of gears and as he laid them on the bench, he said to another credible mechanic, Sandy’s brother in law, “look at this, why  is  it  still working?”!! It was too much to comprehend.   </p How did that transmission get repaired in the middle of the night on that dark bush road? Or was it at the instant that Sandy put it into gear, a rather brash and seemingly silly thing to do?

If the transmission fluid had been analyzed what brand would it be??

Why would the mess be left?   It appeared to be verification to those two mechanics, that Alex’s previous story about the transmission being destroyed was true.

To some Christians it was just another miracle, but for me, the replacing of smashed steel, and a fresh batch of transmission fluid, seems above and beyond..   We received it as a gift from God who gave more than we asked for.

Forty seven years later, I still marvel at this incident, but of course I was in for more amazing events in our life together.

STAY TUNED!!

CAPE CANAVERAL MOMENT APRIL 1970

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Hi friends, lets go back  a “few” years. Some of Alex/Sandy’s brothers and sisters have very little knowledge of this time of their brother’s life. Please, let me explain why Sandy and Alex are interchangeable. I met a friend here in Ontario, and when I spoke of Alex he wondered who I was talking about. When we arrived in Alberta he started introducing himself as Alex, which is what he was during his school years. I found it hard to change, as I know it was difficult for his family and old friends. So for many of these earlier stories I may call him Sandy. In recent years he was most agreeable to be called Sandy.
I promised Lynn I would share about our time living in Quebec. Maybe that will be next.

In early April 1970, Sandy and I, Jonathan and Michelle, headed out to Florida. Neither of us had been there, and off we went pulling a tent trailer we borrowed.

When we got to Georgia, Sandy decided we should go and visit, Uncle Walter Crawford and family.  Uncle Walter, Aunt Martha and their two sons, Paul and Murray, left Toronto when Paul and Sandy were about 10 years old, and they had not seen each other since.  Uncle Walter was an artist, and accepted a position with the Assemblies of God church in Georgia, as a illustrator for their denominations publications.

There are a lot of details I do not remember, (it is 43 years ago, at the time of writing.) But some I do recall, clearly..   Paul and Sandy had many similarities, and they seemed so pleased to see each other.  Paul and his brother had done a tour of duty in Vietnam and although at dinner, dear Aunt Martha, tried to praise her sons for serving their country, Paul with loud and in no uncertain tones, refuted it, in a broad Georgian accent spoke of blowing families in tiny boats out of the water, and he declared in no uncertain terms “if they asked me to go again, I would say just take me out against the wall and shoot me now”.  He had a son about the age of Jonathan, and he said he would move back to Canada, if his son was in danger of being drafted.

Also, racial topics came up.  Again, Aunt Martha spoke of their dear black help that came to the house, and Paul mercilessly made a point of letting us know, “Yeah Ma, but how come she always comes in the back door?”

Paul purported,” I think the races should all intermarry and everyone would soon be a real nice milk chocolate color.”   Later we all went down to the ice cream parlor for dessert.  When Paul was alone with Sandy, who was starting a tiny little beard, he said if I grew a beard like yours, I would be out of the church and out of a job within the week. We never saw them again, although we thought we would.  Our move to Alberta didn’t help that plan.

In the middle of that night, Uncle Walter knocked on our bedroom door, and told us that the Appollo 13 space ship was in huge trouble and we should pray, which I believe Uncle Walter did.

The next day we continued our trip to Florida.   On April 17, we were in the vicinity of Cape Canaveral and Alex had a yen to go there.  I wanted to do laundry, so he left the three of us in a coin laundry . Can you believe he got himself into the Space center, right in the middle of those now famous and dreadful moments, when contact was lost with the three men aboard the lunar lander as it broke through the atmosphere? There was real uncertainty as to whether they could withstand the heat.

When contact was lost with the astronauts the entire place was in silence as all the men, behind their monitors bowed their heads, the tension so overwhelming.  When the voice of the astronaut broke through all the static, the huge building exploded into a mighty roar of triumph.

One of America’s blessed moments and Sandy was thrilled to have been there.

TAVIRA PORTUGAL AND LINDA

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OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAThe final train we took into Tavira was not a beauty, but covered in graffiti inside and out.  It lurched  and swayed from side to side . You can just see Alex’s eyebrows raised in question?  It was a far cry from the spiffy trains in Switzerland, that travelled at great speed around curves, with  hardly a sense of movement inside.  He was so impressed.! The landscape in Portugal was dry, dry, dry. I am sure there must have been areas that were producing food, but not that part. It was good to see Linda on the platform after our “out of the way trip up to  northern Spain”.

We walked to the beach, we enjoyed her little apartment , and talked lots, on all sorts of subjects.  We had spent time with Linda and her family in Victoria BC. a few years earlier.  Now, her three children were living in Finland as students and she wanted to be on the same side of the Atlantic as they.

We enjoyed meeting Alex and Karen, her friends.  Alex was originally from Portugal and met Karen in Virginia, and now they were relocating in Portugal.  On Sunday, Alex (not Sandy) took us out into the surrounding countryside and we ate at an outdoor eatery  under a lush grapevine. Large clusters of grapes hung over our table.  We feasted on a pheasant stew. Linda, Karen and I put our taste buds to the test to try to determine what the wonderful flavor was comprised of.  We were quite sure there was wine, garlic, bay leaf.  The bread was so chewy, olives and cheese were there also and red wine. Tourist  Alex  did not resist those luscious  grapes. Image

We felt refreshed after a few days with Linda,  and while there, Linda went on line and found a inexpensive flight from Madrid to Berlin, so we booked that. She set us on a much better way to get back to Spain, by putting us on a bus to Seville,  Here we boarded  a train that was catering to commuters .I have never seen such a concentration of impeccably   dressed business men,  and I must say as we slipped into our first class seats, it was obvious  they wondered where we came from.  We were now speeding through landscape that might have been California with lots of orange groves. ( Now I know where Seville oranges come from)   Dinner was served, a delicious meal of beef in wine sauce, with spinach and potato souffle, rolls, butter, cream cheese, chocolate cake and coffee and of course wine. Very good. Much better than air plane meals.   We missed our flight to Berlin  and made a reservation at the Best Western. We walked a bit that night,but the streets were  so crowded.  We did go into one department store, that made our high end stores in Canada look  a little shabby. In the underground train, Alex was standing holding onto to  a pole, gripping his luggage with this other hand. A pick pocketer took the moment to grab his wallet out of his shorts.   All through  Switzerland and Germany had worn his money belt around his waist, but had obviously relaxed. Gratefully,  we managed to get in touch with the credit card company he was carrying and sure enough someone had tried to get $3,500. worth of jewellery on it. Thankfully,It had not been honoured and of course it was canceled immediately.  Fortunately, I was carrying both passports and another credit card, so we proceeded on our way.

We did arrive in Berlin by air.  There was   a taxi ride to the next train station . Apparently, we were on the Autobahn, where there was no speed limit in Germany, however, as   we were clipping along, all at once our driver exclaimed  “Nay Nay Nay” looking into her rear view mirror.   We had crossed into Netherlands which did have a speed limit.  After taking a short boat ride on  an Amsterdam canal we   made our way back to the Scheifele airport where our flight to Canada was scheduled.

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THE LONG WAY TO PORTUGAL

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OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAthis trip to Europe was in the planning stage, one of the  certain destinations we planned, was to visit my niece Linda, who was living in Tavira, Portugal.   So, as we left our wondrous Vernazza, we travelled north along the Mediterranean passing Genoa following the coastline toward Barcelona Spain.  This route, I would love to do again, not knowing how spectacular the south of France was.

We boarded the train, leaving wondrous Vernazza, travelling north passing Genoa, continuing along the Mediterranean coast, toward Barcelona. As the sun set and the sea was pink we passed Monaco.  Again, I marvelled at the beautiful pines and palms that reminded me of pineapples. We got off the train in Nice, had a buffet dinner that was the closest to Canadian food we had eaten,(Alex was missing the burgers and fries etc.)

Now night was falling and instead of looking for overnight accommodation, we chose to purchase a sleeping compartment to continue on to Spain.  Looking back,  it might have been better to stay and see more of that prime part of the world, but we crawled up into our bunks and slept away the night.  Morning found us in Barcelona.  Now, to get to Tavira, Portugal.  It was probably a “mistake” to ask for a train to Lisbon. Just an example of how the mind works, knowing it’s Portugal’s largest city.  We ended up travelling way north into Spain, “off course”, it would be fair to say.The Spanish train was full, but not with tourists. We had been spoiled in Germany and Switzerland with our own compartment, but not here.

We pulled into Burgos, which is far north in Spain.  I found out later that Burgos is one of  the towns on the El Camino  de Santiago, a well know  800 kilometres pilgrimage that people  have walked for centuries and still  do to this day..  I read  Shirley Maclaine’s book of her trek, when she was well into her 60’s.  I also saw the movie The Way starring Martin Sheen, which I enjoyed. http://www.theway-themovie.com/camino.php

Now, back to Burgos, late evening, the sun was gone,  a beautiful cool breeze and agreeable temperatures were a tremendous relief for me (my son Jon once said that I would love to live in a wind tunnel!). We checked our rolling backpacks, but pulled out our jeans and runners, and headed out into the dark streets. Not knowing anything about the town we landed in, it was truly a night adventure.   Hauntingly beautiful  music  surrounded us, as we walked a tree lined avenue. We couldn’t tell weather it was a live choir or recorded  but it created  mystery and anticipation.   Little did we know this town was famous for the cathedral  Our Lady Burgos from the 13th century.  We found it, but it was too late in the evening to see inside. Instead, near the cathedral  we found a little eating place and Alex ordered suckling roast pig.  Our train left at 2:30 am, so we joined others who were eating, Europeans eat late into the night, but our schedule was conducive to this odd practice.    Eventually, we boarded the train, and once again climbed into bunks with clean sheets and slept soundly.  Next stop was Lisbon.

Was that long round about trip a mistake?  One could say that it was, it certainly wasn’t the most direct or scenic route, but I am willing to say those few hours in Burgos Spain were good, it was memorable, not even knowing where we were, but we were together and we experienced that music in the cool air. Another moment to remember and enjoy.

Alex often said  “even my mistakes turn out right”. Another way to say “all things work together for good” or  “its all good” if we have the faith to believe it.

VERNAZZA ITALY A HIGHLIGHT

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On September 14, 2005, the brothers of the Syrian Christian Monastery, who found us in the train station and hosted us in their monastery for the night,  now brought us to the train station to continue our journey to Italy. . We had narrowed it down to the Cinque Terre,  but with no  specific village in mind.  We stayed on the train in Milan and went on to Genoa.    As we approached Genoa, the scenery became more exotic.. The very beautiful palms, not the tall ones of Florida , but bushy, and my favourite was the umbrella pines which  bear pine nuts. The pastel coloured homes with wrought iron trim, grape vines and the lush flowers were a visual pleasure.  At Genoa we met an enthusiastic American girl  who  asked us if we spoke English, and we were happy to do that.  She was heading to Vernazza, one of the  villages we were hoping to see.  Take note, this was the reason we went to Vernazza,  because a lovely Filipino gal said she was meeting her friends from Ireland there.  As the train whizzed along the Mediterranean, with the steep mountainside streets of lush foliage, pink stucco and tile roofs, we would suddenly be left in total darkness as we entered into a black tunnel. Then to come out into the brilliant light with the gorgeous scenery, it was like a print onto your brain and eyes which will always stay with the fortunate viewer.

Finally, one of the black moments ended on the platform of Vernazza. Off we got into quite a small station. Until quite recently, this part of Italy had not seen tourists. It was considered a very remote Northern part of Italy, a medieval fishing village. We left the platform, each pulling a wheeled backpack and what we saw, was like being awakened to something, nearly unbelievable.   One side of the track was the Mediterranean,  and the other direction was a cobblestone street that led up into the town, built on the side of the mountain, apparently, 1000 years ago. No tour buses here. In fact our train trip bypassed all the tour buses and car traffic.  Every building was old, and how they arranged them all in levels and interconnecting alleys is just remarkable.  Much higher up were vineyards above the town.  We did not see any car traffic, just a tiny  truck to pick up garbage.

In my  excitement, I had to wonder if we could possibly, without booking ahead, be able to spend the night. We just kept climbing and came onto the  Pension Sorriso, and sure enough they had a room for us. Hallelujah!   The room was small but exceedingly clean and the bed linens were of the finest quality. The window afforded a view of roofs and higher ground.

We spent the evening down by the water and sampled some lasagna   and pizza, I cannot remember it being better than what  we  can get here, in Canada, but the atmosphere was spectacular. As the sun set, and the lights lit up the ancient buildings and the breezes blew cool, I felt transported. I say I because I am not at all certain that Alex was affected the same way. I believe though, he was pleased that I was pleased. It was so gratifying to see the effort made by our European cousins to keep up traditions that add beauty and a quality of life.

Breakfast the next morning was  memorable, warm pastries from the little bakery, down the street, fresh fruit, every kind of cheese and of course  butter. Exquisite  coffee with a tiny pitcher of foamy milk with the teeniest tiniest purple flower floating on top, served with the greatest care. By way of contrast, when we used to travel from Edmonton to Yellowknife in the 1970’s and if you have had the dubious privilege of having coffee in High Level Alberta, ( or lots of other towns in the general vicinity) you will know how special that breakfast was. We both enjoyed the contrast. But, believe me, the excitement of the frontier of Northern Alberta and Northwest Territories, suited Alex to a tee in those days of boundless energy, ambition and undaunted faith. There would not have been a place for him in Italy, not even Ontario.
It was here, that I saw the lady proprietor of our establishment, dump scalding hot water over her doorstep, early before breakfast.

Again, I was thrilled at how our  “slipshod” planning , ended in something I will remember to my dying day.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA