Connecting the Dots
Last week I embarked on a vacation with my older brother to visit our sister in the Cariboo region of the province of British Columbia. A normal direct drive would take 5 hours, but our adventures stretched the time by nearly half more.
The highway drive out of the coastal region was slow then fast then slow again — normal, it seems, nowadays as we travel from urban to rural regions of the province.
We gassed up in Hope and then proceeded through the seven tunnels of the Fraser Canyon Highway, also known as the Trans Canada. The Yale, Saddle Rock, Alexandra, Sailor Bar, Ferrabee, Hell’s Gate and China Bar tunnels were cut through solid rock bluffs of the coastal mountain range along side the mighty Fraser River. We know them like the back of our hands since we travelled that route regularly over the ten years we lived in the hamlet of North Bend, located across the Fraser from the village of Boston Bar. This part of the trip is always a journey back in time — our time, and we both just love it.
As we continued on past Boston Bar and towards Lytton, we braced ourselves for what was to come. Lytton had been 90 percent eliminated by a recent fast moving fire, the cause of which is yet to be determined. The long and short of it is that the town was obliterated, completely wiped out and the nearly 1200 residents have been disbursed to welcoming communities near and far away, remaining anxious and worried, sad and forlorn.
The feeling in the air can be described in one word: sad. We drove past acres and acres of ash, blackened trees and power poles, humps of rubble, charred vegetation, burned out cars, vans, and trucks, as well as lost businesses. It was like driving through a moonscape and that was only along the highway stretch. Out of respect for the people of Lytton and especially the Indigenous people who are the original settlers, and because of the potential danger of poisonous gasses and chemicals, non-essential people are blocked from leaving the highway to enter the village and become looky-loos or photographers for personal gain. One encouraging sign as we continued to drive slowly by, was seeing hydro crews working hard and carefully to replace and rewire power poles — a first sign of a collective effort to restore hope in getting the village up to living standards once again.
As we got closer to our intended destination of Sulphurous Lake which is located about 40 minutes south east of the town of 100 Mile House, the smoke in the air around us, in front of us, above us and behind us, was impossible to ignore. Much of the area was under evacuation alert and that was evident by the number of roadblocks on off-shoot roads on the west side of the highway. We persevered and hoped for minimal poor air quality while we enjoyed the family week in a cottage on a fresh water lake — even if it might have had to be a mostly indoor vacation.
As it turned out, it was mostly an outdoor vacation as the skies cleared and we managed to kayak, boat, float on tubes, walk and sit outdoors. We also embarked on a trip to the local dump to dispose of garbage, but also to contribute to the ‘Share Shack’ where people can either contribute or take items or both. It is a great place to find unusual treasures and just fun to look around. From there we went to a knoll where there is the area’s only grocery store, the Country Peddler, a lumber yard, gas station, hairdresser and ice cream nook. Across the way is the library where people can access free WiFi. I spent most of my time there during our morning outing since I had been without WiFi for a few days. Felt great to sit there on the stairway, in the clean air, to read my messages and to respond. It felt like Christmas! The Espresso Fudge ice cream cone was an added bonus.
One of the plans for our time together was to use long held on to recipes, the ones we cut out of newspapers and magazines, with the intention of one day trying them out. They pile up over the years, and most often we never get around to actually trying and assessing them. One such meal was Gnocchi in Red Pepper Sauce, served with corn and thing slices of pork. Another was wild sockeye salmon, with Japanese sticky rice and green bean casserole with French’s crispy fried onions. Both were keepers and much appreciated. Two recipes covered, now about a thousand to go!
Our indoor time was spent playing a neat new game called Sequence, watching a bit of the Olympics and the News, talking, laughing, napping, baking and watching the loons and herons on the lake or the deer in the front yard eating the Saskatoon berries.
The day of departure was cool and cloudy, with a bit of drizzle — perfect conditions for an easy drive home. We had preplanned two intended stops — the town of Ashcroft for gas and specialty coffees, and the hamlet of North Bend which was referenced at the beginning of this story.
Ashcroft is a small town six kilometres off the main highway. Its origins are the same as most towns along this corridor known as the Gold Rush Trail. It has a lot of interesting history and the people we met were proud and friendly. I don’t generally name drop but while in the grocery store I asked the cashier if she knew a Jackie Tegart. The immediate answer was “yes, she lives down the street from me and her office is down the road from the store.” While she spoke, I detected a Dutch accent and being Dutch, we continued to engage. I love that part of small towns.
My brother had been to Ashcroft before and remembered a blacksmith-type shop where specialized screwdrivers are made at the back of a storefront located in a building that once housed Chinese merchants. The block was known as Chinatown. He had planned to buy one of the screwdrivers and regretted not having done so. This was his chance! When he brought the screwdriver back to the car and showed me why it was special, I said “I need something like that so I can get rid of the odds and sods of screwdrivers in my toolkit. I gave him the $$ and asked him to go back to buy me one. I could have gone myself but he really enjoyed his talk with the lady store owner and her husband, and going again was no sweat off his back. He took a while so I eventually did get out of the car and walked across the road to see what the delay was all about. I ended up talking with the woman and let her share her pride of her craft with me. I love that part of small towns too. The screwdriver is engraved with the words: Made in Ashcroft.
Tasks completed, we got back on the road to our next stop: North Bend, our former home town where we lived our childhood years from 1958-1968. Our particular interest was to see the Museum which occupies two of our former classrooms in the elementary school.
I drove into the village slowly as we took in the lay of the land, the appearance of streets, houses and gardens, and then parked in front of the School. We walked down the hill we called Carlson Hill, named after the grocer of the grocery store that is no more, and headed to the CPR tracks to remember how it all once looked. None of the buildings remain, the lovely green grass is no longer, the weeds have invaded and all we have left is our memories. Those memories remain very clear.
We walked back to the car just at the time that the museum curator arrived to let us in. We introduced ourselves and let him know why we were there. He greeted us happily and was pleased that we had come to see the work that he and the many volunteers had done to preserve the community’s history.
As we entered, I took a deep breath, looked up the long stairwell, and tried to prepare for what was to come — my grades 1-6 classroom years flashing through my mind. The rooms were still there, the layout was the same, but the contents were unexpectedly mind-boggling. My grades 1-3 classroom is now a very well stocked history haven with artifacts, ledgers, binders and other materials reflecting the history of both North Bend and Boston Bar. It was a gold mine of incredible stories and flashbacks for both my brother and me.
The former grade 5-6 classroom contains the overflow of the other room with many more framed photos and local memorabilia, as well as a lounge room filled with a large collection of cds, dvds, vcr tapes, and all the electronics needed to enjoy entertainment while seated on comfortable chairs and sofas. It is like a community gathering place. Another area, where I sat through Grade 4, is reserved for only Christmas decorations and stock for the Thrift Store that occupies the downstairs area where we once enjoyed indoor recess or lunch times on cold or miserable school days.
As we were about to leave the 2nd floor, I asked my brother if he wanted to walk down the long hallway that led to the Principal’s office where we both endured capital punishment for being disobedient. His memory of that experience was not as profound as mine; but, I seem to have added the same skip to my step going down that hallway as I did not once but twice when I was marched down there to receive the dreaded deed.
We stood in the now empty room and Hans pointed out where the desk used to be and I imagined myself standing with the principal on the other side of the desk, hearing him suggest I not keep my hand so stiff as he smacked the leather strap across my palm a few times. I did not comply with his suggestion, and endured the added sting without a whimper or a cry. My biggest fear was he was going to let my parents know what had occurred. Turns out, my parents were never informed. This, of course, triggers my thought of what occurred in Residential Schools — the parents were never informed!
That strap, by the way, is hanging on the wall beside the teacher’s desk — it appears as a donation from my favourite Grade 1-3 teacher Ms Unruh who became Mrs. Wilson. She now goes by the last name of Henshall and lives in Campbell River. Interestingly the strap is referred to as a tune-up tool!
Upon leaving the school, Hans and I were happy to see that every part of it is being used to bring community together, with stories and material things that keep the town’s history intact, plus a Gathering Place and a Thrift Shop, giving the less than 200 inhabitants a place to gather, relax, shop and socialize.
The school remains a focal point of this hamlet we once called home and it sure felt like a good dose of “flashback home” being there for those 90 minutes.
So, all in all, this summer vacation was all about connections — with my brother, my sister, my brother in law, rural life and my formative years. Looking back and sharing memories always makes me smile and helps me better understand how I got to where I am, feeling proud and satisfied, informed and gifted, with plethora experiences building character and determination to live a progressive life, but always remembering how all the dots are connected.
Antoinetta DeWit
August 2021