Farewell to the Rover - Edited

Day 49

We began our trip home a little later than planned since Erin and I were madly trying to cover all the last topics we hadn't discussed. There were children and their financial lessons, raising pigs in the most efficient manner, her miracle home and how God covered it, and a couple more just as invigorating conversations to be had. Traipsing around behind my friend, as diapers were being changed, breakfast cleared up, and as I was guiding my children in their last minute packing, we knocked off some of what we wanted to share.  By the end of the morning, we knew that the rest would have to wait for our next tete d tete.

I was quite excited at the prospect of moving into rabbit ranching with Courage and Isaiah as the handlers, so when came into the house reporting that the bunnies had escaped it was rather disappointing. Time was of the essence if we were to have any to take home. The boys were hustled back outside with all the children to attempt to try to round up a couple more cooperative critters. Try as they might, though, they just couldn’t catch them. Once time had run out, and it was time to leave, I decided it was probably for the best as to add rabbits would likely have complicated my life a little more. In the spring we would see what we could do about the new venture. We had already pork, beef, and a little bit of turkey in our freezer. The rabbit would be a nice addition to our diet when we took it on.

By the time we eventually pulled out, it was nearly noon. My tank was almost dry, and since Erin was heading out for groceries, she offered to lead us to the nearest gas station. The day was bright and actually quite warm, making for a pleasant drive. I rolled my window down half way to enjoy the fresh air, and we were off. 

We were going home a couple passengers heavier. All the seats in the van had their regular occupants, and in the back storage area we had what might be construed as stow-aways. I suppose you can't call them that, though, seeing that they were invited.

Welcome "Stormy and Shadow"

For the last twenty-odd years we have asked the Framer if we could get a cat. For some strange reason I was always under the impression that he was allergic, so I never pushed the point. Not only that, I figured that since he was typically easy-going, I wouldn't insist on something he seemed stuck on.

But a cat…  They have such personality. 

Unfortunately, the Framer's only exposure to cats is through people that don't take proper care of them, so in his mind a cat scratches furniture and messes in the house. Our first home had such destruction, and so I can understand his distaste. The woman that owned the townhouse before us was a hoarder, and when we bought the house it was chock-a-block full of boxes and everything imaginable, including garbage. We didn't smell the cats at the time, or we never would have considered buying the place. My mother was wise enough to suggest we put in a claus stating that the house must be in ‘rentable condition’ when we took possession, and if it were not, then it would be renovated as necessary. I figured there was so much paraphernalia that there wouldn't be room for mess under it all. I was sadly mistaken. When the small home was emptied, we discovered that the drywall in various sections and all the carpets in the house had to be removed, due to the extreme filthy damage imparted by the cats. Colt, our baby of nine months, ended up in hospital at this time, and we still don’t know if it were due to the germs he was exposed to through the mess.

The irony of the Framer’s firm beliefs of what cats are is that they are contrary to the way I was raised. Our friendly felines always had manners. They came when they were called, they never scratched the furniture, they slept in the laundry room, and they were outdoor creatures during the day. And they most certainly were not allowed to sit on the kitchen counters. Four years of age is when I can remember the first cat in our home. My daddy arrived home from work, and walked into the living-room. Opening his briefcase, out peeked a little grey kitten, that would be christened Sky, owing to its colouring. Sweep, Misty, Champagne, Siam, and Smokey followed Sky into our family, but there was never more than one (or perhaps two?) at a time, so I consider that we were a classy cat family, if there is such a thing. I am sure it is the fine British manners my mother imparted to the animals that made it so.

At nighttime, when my mother and father would go to bed, my mum would go to the door and make a quiet sound with her lips that the cats had been conditioned to, and they would come running, knowing the door was open, and it was bedtime. They would come in and be settled into the laundry room for the night. They were the intelligent cats that you might remember from the book "The Incredible Journey". I think people do cats an injustice when they do not treat them as the clever beings that they are!

Seeing the children's absolute besotted delight over the kittens, I knew something had to change.  I wrote to the Framer…

"Might be bringing home a couple wee animals. To get rid of mice in the barn."

"And garage."

"What?" he asked.

"Kittens. Mice catchers," I replied.

"CATS," He spat out the word like a curse.

Time to up the anti, "Yes, :) The kids are adoring them as you know they do. Think of their favourite activity at the Little House on the Prairie homestead? Kittens and miniature ponies…"

He started to weaken and pointed out that cats cost money, to which I refuted that they eat the mice which annoy him. The little critters want to get in the garage and honestly, the only way to make sure they don't is with a mouse-catching cat, since our mouse-catching dog is not that quick! Besides, whose dog is trained to catch mice, except for ours! 

And he acquiesced: "They stay outside." 

One step at a time. No argument from me! 

Later, once was home, I came to the realization that the older boys who had already moved out would never know that there was a 'right' way to have a cat. They might end up with an animal in their homes and simply by lack of exposure fall into the trap of a messy cat home. So I was truly doing my children a service in how to be responsible cat-owners. I was pretty sure the Framer would get on board...

~~~~~~~~~~~

In 2012, I took five of the children to Calgary to pick up our Great Pyrenees puppy, Blizzard. It was our French au pair, Lisa’s, first time in Canada, and we wanted to show her a little of the Western side of our beautiful country, so we made an excursion of it taking her in a large loop, seeing Jasper, Edmonton and Calgary, before arriving back home. That was the last time I was through the Rockies, and having now experienced the American version, complete with Yellowstone National Park, my eyes were wide open with real appreciation for what we have on our side of the border. I can truly say that we have the better end of the deal! The scenery in Jasper and the Canadian Rockies is out of this world gorgeous. If I were a traveler and I had to cross the continent, I would surely pass through the Canadian Rockies. Not only is it stunning, but the passage over the mountains was a piece of cake compared to the American Rockies. There was only one short area where I traveled uphill for about ten kilometres and that was at the tail end of the drive. When I crawled up through the high mountain passes of Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming the elevations were as high as ten thousand feet, and I could only shudder at the thought of how treacherous traveling in winter would be!

The Glorious Scenery in the Provinces of Alberta and British Columbia

Dare I Call it Grafitti?

When once inside the park gates of Jasper National Park, I saw cars ahead of me pulled to the side of the freeway, I knew there must be animals strolling near the road. Grabbing my camera, I slowed to a crawl behind the vehicle in front of me, and then pulled to the side to get a few choice shots. These animals show no fear of man nor vehicle, no matter the size.

There was even a time when a caribou crossed the road. The guy in front of me had stopped at a cross angle in the road, and a police officer was behind me. I maneuvered to the side, forgetting any road rules to get my shot. There was no way I was missing this chance. I guess people stopping is a pretty common occurrence, since the officer simply pulled up beside the other driver and admonished him to pull off in a safer manner.

The waters of the creeks, rivers and lakes that meandered alongside us were pristine. The colours beyond description. If only I could capture the essence of what I see. I find calendars decorated with landscapes flat and boring, and puzzles with scenery do nothing for me. So what is it then about being out in all that countryside that feels so different? Perhaps that is because one just can't recreate the grandeur of the wilderness in all its unspoiled beauty. Paper pictures just don't show us what the eye beholds as we physically experience it. People like me probably aren't the safest drivers as we twist and turn our necks in wonder at what we are seeing. 

We were so busy admiring the wildlife that we missed a turn. Isaiah told me that it said one thing, I thought it said another. All I know is that if I had taken a right, I would have ended up in Jasper town, and been able to refill my gas tank. Instead, I took a left, got a great view of a caribou, and then ended up stressing out about fuel. Courage, my 'Mapper', as he calls himself, read the road atlas to see where the next closest towns were, and it was not looking too promising. I knew the traffic was not too light, so if we did run short of gas, there was hope on the road.

That morning I hadn't been sure if I wanted to make the drive in one day or two, since I knew we would be leaving later, and so I had Courage send a text to his dad telling him that if I felt too tired, then we would be stopping the caravan and parking for the night. I was not pushing myself on this last day of our adventure! Add now this the concern about gas, and the chances of me spending a night somewhere was creeping up the ladder of possibilities.

Slipping the van into neutral as I coasted down a few smaller hills, I began doing what I could to try to conserve a little of my fuel. I knew that staying under 100 kilometres an hour would also help, so I also did that. The miles crept by with no sign of any town or even a relief outpost. Anything for this weary traveler to stop at. I began getting more and more nervous, and I was envisioning us on the side of the road calling for my faithful old BCAA again!

There was likely an audible sigh of relief as I rounded a bend and found myself facing a little store and gas station. It was near Mount Robson, and I should have realized there would be fuel there, since tourists are driving through all the time. Pulling in, all tumbled out for a bathroom break, while I refilled the tank and bought postcards and just one more magnet for my fridge collection. I began collecting them in Washington, DC, after seeing an odd assortment on a fridge at Chef Mike's house. I had wanted to gather stickers for my back bumper, but not a one did I see. Not a one, until I arrived back in British Columbia, and then I found a pretty one. A little late! In the meantime, I now had a handful of unique magnets for my refrigerator. I will have to apply to the helpfulness of friends who live where I have passed through, and see if they can find me something that represents their towns, and have them send them my way, so my magnetic journey can be completed!

Mount Robson

I wish I could have taken  picture of the coolest trucker I ever saw. A man after any woman's heart. Every girl wants a man’s man with a tender heart. Think what a typical trucker makes you see in your mind's eye. A trucker does not make me picture tender. I see tough guy, jean jacket, perhaps a little overweight from all that sitting, ball cap. This was not that man. I was driving out of Mount Robson, and stopping at the stop sign to adjust my belt, I glanced to my right. A semi-truck was backing up parallel to our van. Once it stopped moving, I pulled out of the side road, and began to pass him by. 

It was then that the door opened, catching Courage’s eyes, and out climbed the guy. Now he had all of our attention. This clean-cut, well-dressed truck driver stepped down onto the ground, bent over and gently placed his fluffy little Pomeranian on the concrete. As he strode away from his truck, with the dog on a lead walking ahead of him, I could only say, “That’s the kind of a man a woman likes. A tough guy with a tender heart.”  How many men do you know that drive truck for a living, and sitting in the cab with them is the kind of dog you are more apt to see in a motorhome window, than in a semi!

Traveling on, we passed a number of villages, and when we arrived in a little town in the Rockies, and I stopped to get gas, Israel saw a Canadian flag. He burst out with surprise, "Canada flag!" Giggling, in unison, the other kids pronounced, "We're in Canada!" I guess when you are on the constant move from Canada to America to Canada to American to Canada - it can get rather confusing when you are just a kid!  

It was a first for me when I saw the sign warning of the upcoming danger of wildlife on the road. You will often see signs with bison, mountain sheep, caribou, and coyotes announcing that the section we are about to cross has a history of that particular species of animal, but I have never before seen a sign for "Duck Crossing" with a duck and her ducklings painted on it. For the next five hundred metres we would have our eyes wide open. I did say the Canadian Rockies were special! 

The rest of the day was eventless, and I found it passing quickly by. I knew we'd make it home that night, and deciding that we should celebrate by having one last meal on the road, we decided upon A & W - a family favourite. At home we rarely eat out, as it is expensive with a family our size, and no matter how delicious it is, it is hard to justify $10 for a burger, fries and drink - for one!

We kept our eyes peeled as we entered Clearwater, hoping we'd see an A & W, and sure enough we did. Out front there was a sign proclaiming a great deal. 

“Two teenburgers $7. You shall eat like kings tonight.” No kids burgers for the minions.

According to my GPS, I was supposed to take a right at the intersection, but the problem was there was no intersection. There was a round-about. Now, if you can try to see this - I was driving towards the intersection and my GPS said to go straight through and then take a right. I headed into the round-about, took the round-about, and then came out the other side. But where was A&W? It was off to the right and there was no entry road. The road that the GPS was referring to was earlier in the round-about. 

Heading north, I was determined that I would not end up back on the highway, because once my mind sees a Coke and a Teenburger there is no turning me back. I would 4x4 over curbs if necessary to get that dinner. Thankfully, it wasn't necessary. Up ahead I found a place to turn around, and I tried again. Heading south, I arrived back at the round-about. This time I was determined to do it right. Into the round-about I went. And around, and I could see the A&W ahead of me, so I continued around that round-about, and then *%$#*@ POOP! I missed it!! I was almost out the other side again. "GO AROUND AGAIN!" Bellowed the kids. They were not losing the chance of one last grease-laden, mouth-watering meal. So swinging madly to the left, with a wild glance in my rear view mirror, I took another swipe at the round-about, and around, and around, and THEN I saw it - the EXIT. And OUT I shot! "I did it!" I hollered. And we all bust out laughing. I am sure I looked as like a nut-case driving around and around and around that round-about. But who cares! I was going to have that burger and Coke! 

Burgers, fries, drinks in hand, back into the van we went. I would love to have dallied a little at the restaurant, but darkness was falling once again, and I really wanted to be past the rough part of the trip before it was pitch black out. The truckers were back on the road again, and I hoped to get up and off the hill without encountering any of them. I had heard horror stories of semis sandwiching vehicles and ruthlessly pushing past cars, and being warned, I had taken extra care for the last two months. 

We had an encounter such as this some years ago. I had the children with me and we were heading home after a late afternoon shopping in a city near our hometown. For some reason, a trucker decided he was out to get us. My son, who is now 21, can likely remember this night because of how terrifying it was for us all. The truck was ahead of us and when I would pass him on a passing lane, he would quickly speed up, turn on his high beams and come right up behind me. The semi would then pass me, get in front of my van, and then jam on his brakes and turn his back white lights on. At one point, we honestly thought we would be shoved off the edge of the cliff as we took the mountain roads leading down into the valley below. This ride of terror went on for at least twenty minutes, and unfortunately, I had no chance to get his plate number or company name, as it took all I had to stay away from him and keep my family safe.

I am glad to say that though the trucks were big and fast and scary when I was out there trying to stay afloat in a sea of them, we did not run into drivers like my children and I were intimidated by. If anything, I will say that the situations I remember the best are the warm fuzzies I got from my ‘big brothers’ as I like to call them. The guys that pulled over to let me in on busy freeways, or flashed their blinkers to thank me when I let them pass my Little Caravan That Could as it trundled slowly down the road, or parked beside me in the truck stops making me feel protected, or the drivers that showed me respect as a hauler of a small rig - but a rig, all the same. 

But I will say the very best truck that we saw was a great big red one. There is a name that will always hold an exceedingly special spot in every heart in our family. It is a name that is never too far away from the lips of the children or I. When not being spoken, it is certainly in one of our minds. It is of a little boy that lived with us for three short months. A little guy that took a piece of my heart when he left. He is always with us, even though he lives somewhere else. One day, while traveling, we saw a small boy of a darker skin tone, in a yard, and one of the kids said, “Look! He looks like Samuel.” And I had to remind them that Samuel was a year taller now, and there was a hush as they took in what I had said. Yes, he would be taller now. He would be five. “But,” they all agreed, “He still looks like Samuel.” And yes, I agreed with them, he did.

When we saw that big red truck it was like God looked down and smiled at us. “Here’s a very special truck for you all. He will always be your boy. I know you do not forget, and neither do I.” 

My Boy Samuel Who Loved Trucks

Tummies full, four of the children slipped away into sleep, while Courage, my main guy, stayed awake the rest of the way home, keeping me company and texting his dad. Cellphones, IPODs, or gizmos of any sort don't enter our home, until the teens are at least sixteen, but needing to write messages while driving has forced me to teach that boy. I’ll chalk it up to typing practice! 

I figured it might be a good time to warn the Framer of our newest family members, just to be sure he had taken me seriously when I told him about them before. Courage messaged his dad.

“We’ll be bringing Shadow and Stormy (AKA Itchy and Sneezy) home with us. But they are very, very cute.” 

The Framer responded, “See you at the Finish Line.” 

“Just think, tomorrow you will have a milking holiday!” 

“Gee thanks!!” I don’t think he could get enough smiles on that little screen to show his joy at being relieved of his favourite job. I am pretty sure he has a better appreciation for the work his children do to put milk, and all the luxuries it brings with it, on the table. No matter what I offer, they will not give up the cow. The cow appears to be a fixture for my children, and I am thankful that they love to take care of her! This time away has given them a chance to see if they truly want the responsibility of keeping a cow and possibly other cattle when we return, or if they want to give her up for the simple life. The decision is unanimous: they all want the ranch work, they all want the animals. And it’s not just for the better food. They love spending time outside caring for the cows, chickens, dogs, rabbits - pretty much anything I let them have. Obviously, when we moved up from the coast sixteen years ago, that was not the time to farm. It was to be now, as these are the children that were cut out for the lifestyle.

I was thankful the journey was almost over. I was looking forward to getting home and starting life over. The time away had been refreshing, but also very, very hard. It had given me a new perspective, and while some things had changed in ways I hadn't expected, and not always for the better, others had surprised me with the beauty of new beginnings. I was looking forward to changes that would be made, and had hopes for what God had in store for our family. 

As I edged my way carefully up the long windy stretch of hill nearing our hometown, the brightness of the full moon caught my attention, and I felt compelled to stop to take yet one more picture. It seemed a perfect way to end my story. I had begun my journey on one early August morning with a gorgeous sun hanging low in the sky, and now here I was nearly home with the night illuminated by the magnificence of a hunter's moon welcoming us back. The beauty and clarity of it seemed somehow symbolic. It seemed to represent the fullness I felt in my heart. 

Town was approaching, and I slowed the van to the appropriate speed. It wouldn’t do me any good to get a ticket at this late date. If such a thing were to occur, though, I had a plan. By now, I had become so accustomed to dealing with law enforcement officers, that I figured I would just do as my wise friend, Renee, suggested, and offer to buy the guy a coffee. Oh, and as Courage figured - a donut. Specifically, a Tim Horton’s donut, since that’s where all our cops hang out! We’d sit down, and I’d tell him of my adventures starting with nearly being arrested for - what could I call it? Camping in a take out lane? Or maybe the time I got lost in Chicago and one of his American bros saved the day. What about the officer that suggested I hot wire a car when my van blew the transmission. Not really what was said, but I think that version is more interesting. I figured any of those stories might get me out of a ticket. Or he might just throw me in the looney bin! Whatever the case, my story would finish with a bang and not a fizzle!

As we finally drove into our darkened small town, we all craned our necks to see what had changed in the time we had been away, and we weren’t disappointed. Exclamations of surprise rang out from the children as they saw how the new police station - just a minor shell when we left - had nearly been completed, or how the Ford dealership had finished its expansion, and when we got to the other side of town and we hit road construction we were reminded of the many, many miles of trucks, rollers, dump-trucks, and workers that we had seen as we traveled the biways and highways of this vast continent, and Isaiah shared his happiness and what it meant to him, “I love it when they put down ashphalt. It’s so much easier to longboard on!”  Ummhmmm, and you figure your mother would let you longboard down the hi way. Dream on, my boy, dream on. 

We were sweetly reminded of Mackinaw, Michigan, when we saw one lone old-fashioned bicycle chained to a street light in the deserted downtown main street. 

~~~~~~~~

Turning and driving slowly over the cattle guard onto our country lane, I felt rather nostalgic. Here we were again. Cattle and horses challenging my driving, gates and deep rutted dirt roads stretching out before me. 

Welcome Back to the Ruts

The dogs stood sentinel at the far end of the gravel road, tails wagging in welcome as I rode the familiar roller-coaster of a driveway. It had been two long months, but they hadn’t forgotten us, nor we them. Cooper leaned intently forward when he saw his beloved Blessed waiting for him. 

As we neared the house, the children burst into squeals of laughter. Pointing into the darkness, Courage showed me what they had spied. There barely illuminated by the approaching van lights, was the Framer turned Farmer, jumping wildly up and down proclaiming his joy at his family’s safe return. 

He's Just Happy He Doesn't Have to Milk Anymore! ;)

It felt like a full circle had been driven, and I guess that is kind of what we did. We left, we drove, we returned. A circle. But what a circle it had been! A new day was before us. Courage and Isaiah were keen to get home, mend fences, and step out into the world of ranching and auctions, and I was encouraged by the possibilities and wide open horizons I felt were before all of us. With God anything is possible, but first you need to take the first step. And that we were about to do.

And Blessed is Delighted to See Her Boy

Farewell to the Rover - Irish Rovers

“The old ways are changing, you cannot deny

The day of the traveller is over

There is nowhere to go and there is nowhere to buy

So farewell to the life of the rover

Farewell to the tent and the old caravan

To the tinker, the gipsy, the travelling (wo)man

Farewell to the life of the rover”