Caroline Parke is a freelance writer from northern Alberta who wanted to share a memory or two with Lac La Biche POST readers. We offer her this space for some reflection. Enjoy the read.
We moved to the acreage when I was ten. Myself and my three siblings had been gifted the choice of a family vote; a hobby farm, or the Yukon. What an adventure! I don’ t even remember what I had voted, but I do recall how excited I was looking forward, and never back.
It wasn’ t the first time we had moved, you see. This was likely about the fourth move since I began elementary school.
I remember the front lawn was huge, with a gradual decline down to a layer of bush to separate us from the Old Mission road. That lawn holds so many memories for me now. During my Dad’ s 40th birthday all the visitors we had congregated on that lawn. From the front lawn, you could see the clothes line, where mother hung load after load, always so accomplished saving the 75 cents she supposed it would have cost to run the dryer. We had a large garden, a couple of pigs in the summer, 4H steers, bunny rabbits, and even sheep at one point. Then there were the dogs.
We were told they were Border Collie crosses, but their intelligence was ace, and it was later researched that we landed ourselves two Karelian Bear dogs! Prince was golden and playful; my older sister and brother had picked him from the litter. Patches was my pick. He was black and white, and smarter than the other. They were brothers, and our dearest friends out on that little hobby farm.
We had rain barrels, 50 gallon drums, to collect rain from the roof, scattered around the property. There were 2 under the rain spouts of the house on the south and west sides, and a couple for the garage too and I think more near some out buildings. I guess one day there hadn’ t been much rain fall, and my younger brother (I’ m 5 years his senior) had a plan he pitched to me. Soon we were taking turns rolling down the long gradual decline of our lawn, round and round we went. As a child with no fear, all we could do was brace ourselves, elbows and knees up against the barrels and hold on screaming.
Oh the joys of youth!
I recall looking out of the barrel and seeing grass, sky, and my dogs face, tongue hanging out. Life in the city was the last thought in my head, I assure you! I guess we all have those memorable moments of childhood.
Hopefully the happy memories outweigh the sad ones. Siblings can be such a blessing, giving us playmates, and friends who understand us on a level no one else can. To this day, I can tell if my younger brother is fibbing. He just can’ t pull the wool over my eyes in the least.
We stayed on that little hobby farm outside Lac La Biche for four years, the longest I ever lived anywhere in my childhood. I like to think that little place changed the trajectory of my entire life.
I sometimes feel awkward when people ask where I’ m from, because it’ s a long answer. When I can’ t quite remember where I lived and for which years I lived there, I’ m so thankful for my siblings, who can answer my questions, and for my mother, who can tell me all the design issues and pastimes we shared in each and every house. It’ s sure nice to have an adult perspective on those innocent years that we often remember so inaccurately. (Call your Mom or Dad today, and say “hi”!)
