Oliver, Jim and I were charmed this weekend at Schultz's camp out near Endiang. For over 30 years Ken and Eleanor and their family have invited one and all to enjoy the country and company, camping out in the shelter of their farm the third weekend in July. I became friends with their daughter Kris in grade 6, the same age as Oliver is now.
Friday evening, on the way down to Endiang, we stopped in Stettler for supper - smorg at the Club Cafe. All the tables were full like when I was a girl and every week we ate there when Mom and Dad came to town. Sitting at a booth, so hungry by lunch and fervent about ordering a plain hamburger and chocolate milk to drink. The waiting seemed endless. Waitresses put the cups and plates away on the wooden shelf behind the grey counter with the metal trim, wrote up orders on scratch pads that I dreamed of holding, rang in orders and split the paper on a nail by the till. Sometimes the burger came with relish. I learned to qualify every order by explaining that a plain hamburger meant no relish or ketchup (although if mustard and pickle came, that was okay).
About grade three I was old enough to get a spot on the bus for July swimming lessons. Twice a week on public swim days, I brought lunch money and after lessons in the morning, walked downtown to the Club. Then, I sat at the high red stools at the counter. I ordered hamburger deluxe. By the time I made it back to the pool the unruly line up was out to the street in the hot sun and floating poplar fuzz and they opened at 1:00 PM sharp. Through the turnstile, in the slap and echo of the change room, I donned my suit, put my nickel in the small square lockers, grabbed a shower and took up position in the corner of the pool, crammed beyond the brim with screaming kids. Two hours of alternating bopping in one place with hugging the side, living in terror of being taken down in a dunk mob, and trusting not the lifeguard to save me.
But this blog is supposed to be set in the present, enough drifting down memory lane. After our meal we were back on the highway heading out of town, and had to detour around a stalled Prairie Steam Train. I thought of Grandpa in this new country, making his living on the section, on the track of the train that brought him out here. It's hard to stay in the now.
We made it to the camp out before dark, set up the tent and enjoyed the campfire. On Saturday we celebrated O.M.H.S's 12th birthday, set up Sunday's Frisbee-golf tournament, had potluck supper, sat out a wicked thunderstorm in Kris's trailer, sang around the campfire and were awed by the Fireworks at midnight.
On Sunday morning after pancakes and deep fried breakfast sausage, we each let go a helium balloon. The colours billowed southeasterly for a brief prayer, bright against the cloudy sky, before lingering away. This weekend gets my vote for our best adventure yet.
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