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Getting There--Childhood Memories

© J. M. Bridgeman

When I was a child, I didn't fully appreciate how rich my life was, and how it provided me with experiences that not everyone had, experiences that have helped me become the adult I am today. I grew up on a farm on the Manitoba parkland. My best friends, the twins, Linda and Leila, lived a quarter of a mile down the road--a mere 20 minute walk, less on our bikes. Our backyard was a section, 640 acres, one square mile of land-- cultivated fields, summer fallow, and pasture. Adventure was there for the making. Ditches and grasslands were dotted with wildflowers. Slough waters buoyed homemade rafts or rickety wooden boats. A sprawling maple for a swing; poplars and elm trees for treehouses. The wild animals were more fearful than dangerous--jumper white-tailed deer, raccoons, coyotes who called at night. Farm animals too were docile and friendly, except on the few days a year when the borrowed bull was in the barnyard. Then we knew enough to keep away. I loved growing up on the farm. I had the best of many worlds, including a family that took "holidays" to a far-away province.

My mother was born and raised in British Columbia and came to the Manitoba farm on her honeymoon. Needless to say, she often felt homesick. So every winter, to begin with, and then every second year, our family drove "home" to the ranch where she grew up. This was so long ago that we drove 1200 miles rather than the 2000-plus kilometres the same trip would be today. We usually travelled during Easter holidays from school, in April, before the summer farm work demanded Dad's daily attention. The five of us--parents, two brothers, and me--would pile into the car. It was a long two-day trip--straight west on #1 across Saskatchewan, southwest at Medicine Hat on to #3 to cross southern Alberta, through the Rocky Mountains. If we missed the ferry at Kootenay Lake, it was an extra day and an extra night in the motel.

Three children under ten in a backseat for three days seems like a major challenge. No fights or tears were allowed. This was so long ago, earphones hadn't yet been invented, not to mention in-car video machines. We had to create our own amusements. I Spy. Name that Car. Most Different License Plates. Where Are We on the Map? Guess the Town (before you read the name on the elevators). Most birds. Most animals. What's That? The boys had their comic books but reading in a car made me carsick so I was forced to attend to the scenes moving past the side windows. This was the beginning of my love for Saskatchewan. I found its rolling flatness fascinating. I always imagined myself riding over the next ridge and sitting there on my beautiful Appaloosa, watching this strange car drive past. I had to imagine it. I was scared totally of horses, and have never learned to ride. Imagination is the great escape. Imagination allows us to be the action heroes we could never dream of becoming in real life.

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