What a strange Easter that was!
Smiley: "What sits at the bottom of the sea and twitches?
A nervous wreck!"
On with my story ....
*****
I healed in Steinbach.
Working in construction gave us reasonably good money so there was relief on that front. It was also an opportunity for me to get fit again. Back then we went bare back, I wore nothing but cut off jean shorts, a construction apron and steel-towed boots! I had a beautiful tan. Plus I was having fun being introduced into a new but familiar culture trying to learn the names of tools in low germen - a comical language to begin with.
I was on pause, but Wilma was restless. We had devoted the last three years to my dream and now that I was taking a break she wondered if we could start on her dream. She had always wanted to be missionary writer - venture into Africa, live in a grass hut, share her faith and write the story.
She inadvertently came across an advertisement for a position with the “Christian Businessmen Association” of Winnipeg as missionaries to run a not-for-profit store for the aboriginal community in Pauingassi MB, a “fly in” community one hour’s flight from Pine Falls, Manitoba. This had missionary adventure written all over it - for her.
I would be managing a Trading Post. How hard could that be? I'd had experience at a gas station, hotel, and spa! No problem. And I too perhaps could explore my art.
We didn’t do a lot of praying, nor a lot of discernment! This move was more like a "Hail Mary," an experiment to see if this adventure would allow us to explore - writer, artist, missionary, wilderness, business all together?
I applied, and after an intense interview with the board, they flew us into this remote community on a little plane with water skies! We were beside ourselves with excitement.
The house was a bit primitive, a pot belly stove in the middle of our tiny house, and a portable pail in our washroom – reminded me of our home on the farm.
As the only store for mile around we were many things for the community, including being their only post office. One of the most important aspects of this was that the government cheques which would come in on a monthly basis. It was literally like a payday.
As a store we also offered our customers a credit account. Unfortunately the former storekeeper had given up trying to control the credit limits and this was of great concern to the board. I was to start to bring in controls which was a very unpopular move. As you can imagine there were growing tensions as I tried to address these financial issues.
One Sunday afternoon, needing to get away from it all, we decided to go on a joy ride on our snowmobile.
The day was beautiful. The sun was shining brightly on the powdery snow as we headed for Fishing Lake Lodge - abandoned during the winter. It was about a six mile journey.
The winter had been an unusual one. We had been warned about slush hidden in the snow which cannot be seen. This happens when the weight of the snow forces water to seep up through the cracks in the ice and just sit there in the snow as slush! Insulated by the snow the water is prevented from freezing. So no alarms at the sight of water, the ice was thick enough to travel on, but try to avoid the slush!
In the beginning of the afternoon, our powerful machine just skimmed over the snow, and we wondered why everyone had been warning us. But as we passed through a strait between the mainland and the island where the stronger currents kept the ice even thinner, I happened to turn around and see the watery/slushy trail we were leaving behind us! I gunned the motor, and we sailed blissfully into the fishing camp.
The camp was truly a winter paradise. We had the time of our life roaming through the drifts, exploring the forlorn site, and enjoying our freedom.
As the shadows lengthened, we decided to go home. We swooped down a bank of snow onto the lake again and headed for the wide white spaces. I was careful to cut a new path, but we weren't even near the strait before the snowmobile bogged down in the slush that had accumulated during the day.
We had never encountered slush before; to our horror, slush is to a snowmobile what mud is to a car. We couldn't move. We both got off to push. I gunned the motor and steered the machine onto a fresh patch of solid snow, got on and we were off again.
But eventually there were no dry patches. We repeated the process again and again. I'd tip the skidoo on it's side, knock out ice from its tracks, we'd get on, sail for about ten feet and then get mired down again. We were getting wet, very wet. Remember the temperature was around -20 degrees.
To top it off, Wilma wasn't really properly dressed for this weather. My snowmobile suit had arrived, but hers hadn't. She had put on layers and layers of clothes as protection against the cold, but they offered no protection from the wet slush. I didn't need a degree in outdoor education to know that, with the sun setting and the already low temperatures plunging, she was in danger.
The shadows were getting longer, and I scanned the shore lined with the dark trees and remembered that the community had also warned us of another danger. Apparently there was a wolf in the area— a big wolf who could walk in the unusually deep snow without his belly even touching the snow. He was also a hungry wolf - some dogs had disappeared. The children were being kept inside.
We were wet, cold, soaked and bone-tired. At the edge of an Island I tried building a fire but the snow was too deep to gather branches! We were warmer walking.
Finally, we arrived at the well-used skidoo trail from Pauingassi to Little Grand, now we could walk on a hard surface. Standing on the hard ice, Wilma was now eye level and we realized her city boots had gathered ice. I sat Wilma down and chopped about 4 inches of ice off the soles boots! I was worried.
As we approached the community, we saw skidoo light coming our way! A search party had been organized! Too late.
When we finally stumbled into our warm tiny cabin, we were like two frozen icicles. We snuggled up to our stove as close as we dared and unthawed ourselves! It took awhile for us to even unzip ourselves. Wilma was in agony - almost lost her little toes that day. So much for wanting to be a missionary.
The next morning when they rescued the snowmobile, they found big wolf prints following ours.
Smiley: "What sits at the bottom of the sea and twitches?
A nervous wreck!"
On with my story ....
*****
I healed in Steinbach.
Working in construction gave us reasonably good money so there was relief on that front. It was also an opportunity for me to get fit again. Back then we went bare back, I wore nothing but cut off jean shorts, a construction apron and steel-towed boots! I had a beautiful tan. Plus I was having fun being introduced into a new but familiar culture trying to learn the names of tools in low germen - a comical language to begin with.
I was on pause, but Wilma was restless. We had devoted the last three years to my dream and now that I was taking a break she wondered if we could start on her dream. She had always wanted to be missionary writer - venture into Africa, live in a grass hut, share her faith and write the story.
She inadvertently came across an advertisement for a position with the “Christian Businessmen Association” of Winnipeg as missionaries to run a not-for-profit store for the aboriginal community in Pauingassi MB, a “fly in” community one hour’s flight from Pine Falls, Manitoba. This had missionary adventure written all over it - for her.
I would be managing a Trading Post. How hard could that be? I'd had experience at a gas station, hotel, and spa! No problem. And I too perhaps could explore my art.
We didn’t do a lot of praying, nor a lot of discernment! This move was more like a "Hail Mary," an experiment to see if this adventure would allow us to explore - writer, artist, missionary, wilderness, business all together?
I applied, and after an intense interview with the board, they flew us into this remote community on a little plane with water skies! We were beside ourselves with excitement.
The house was a bit primitive, a pot belly stove in the middle of our tiny house, and a portable pail in our washroom – reminded me of our home on the farm.
As the only store for mile around we were many things for the community, including being their only post office. One of the most important aspects of this was that the government cheques which would come in on a monthly basis. It was literally like a payday.
As a store we also offered our customers a credit account. Unfortunately the former storekeeper had given up trying to control the credit limits and this was of great concern to the board. I was to start to bring in controls which was a very unpopular move. As you can imagine there were growing tensions as I tried to address these financial issues.
One Sunday afternoon, needing to get away from it all, we decided to go on a joy ride on our snowmobile.
The day was beautiful. The sun was shining brightly on the powdery snow as we headed for Fishing Lake Lodge - abandoned during the winter. It was about a six mile journey.
The winter had been an unusual one. We had been warned about slush hidden in the snow which cannot be seen. This happens when the weight of the snow forces water to seep up through the cracks in the ice and just sit there in the snow as slush! Insulated by the snow the water is prevented from freezing. So no alarms at the sight of water, the ice was thick enough to travel on, but try to avoid the slush!
In the beginning of the afternoon, our powerful machine just skimmed over the snow, and we wondered why everyone had been warning us. But as we passed through a strait between the mainland and the island where the stronger currents kept the ice even thinner, I happened to turn around and see the watery/slushy trail we were leaving behind us! I gunned the motor, and we sailed blissfully into the fishing camp.
The camp was truly a winter paradise. We had the time of our life roaming through the drifts, exploring the forlorn site, and enjoying our freedom.
As the shadows lengthened, we decided to go home. We swooped down a bank of snow onto the lake again and headed for the wide white spaces. I was careful to cut a new path, but we weren't even near the strait before the snowmobile bogged down in the slush that had accumulated during the day.
We had never encountered slush before; to our horror, slush is to a snowmobile what mud is to a car. We couldn't move. We both got off to push. I gunned the motor and steered the machine onto a fresh patch of solid snow, got on and we were off again.
But eventually there were no dry patches. We repeated the process again and again. I'd tip the skidoo on it's side, knock out ice from its tracks, we'd get on, sail for about ten feet and then get mired down again. We were getting wet, very wet. Remember the temperature was around -20 degrees.
To top it off, Wilma wasn't really properly dressed for this weather. My snowmobile suit had arrived, but hers hadn't. She had put on layers and layers of clothes as protection against the cold, but they offered no protection from the wet slush. I didn't need a degree in outdoor education to know that, with the sun setting and the already low temperatures plunging, she was in danger.
The shadows were getting longer, and I scanned the shore lined with the dark trees and remembered that the community had also warned us of another danger. Apparently there was a wolf in the area— a big wolf who could walk in the unusually deep snow without his belly even touching the snow. He was also a hungry wolf - some dogs had disappeared. The children were being kept inside.
We were wet, cold, soaked and bone-tired. At the edge of an Island I tried building a fire but the snow was too deep to gather branches! We were warmer walking.
Finally, we arrived at the well-used skidoo trail from Pauingassi to Little Grand, now we could walk on a hard surface. Standing on the hard ice, Wilma was now eye level and we realized her city boots had gathered ice. I sat Wilma down and chopped about 4 inches of ice off the soles boots! I was worried.
As we approached the community, we saw skidoo light coming our way! A search party had been organized! Too late.
When we finally stumbled into our warm tiny cabin, we were like two frozen icicles. We snuggled up to our stove as close as we dared and unthawed ourselves! It took awhile for us to even unzip ourselves. Wilma was in agony - almost lost her little toes that day. So much for wanting to be a missionary.
The next morning when they rescued the snowmobile, they found big wolf prints following ours.
There are nights when the wolves are silent
and only the moon howls.
George Carlin
and only the moon howls.
George Carlin
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