Those of you who knew Grandma (or anyone else living in the area in 1936) probably heard her talk about the time she was pregnant with my uncle, while my aunt was a toddler, and the huge fire burned from the mountains right to the edge of Calgary going through the ranch. If it’s not a story you’re familiar with, here’s a link to her memories of that day.
As I was sifting through some old photos, I came across photos of the aftermath of the fire!
Wind damage to Nicoll Bros buildings – day of the fire (Fall 1936)Wind damage to Nicoll Bros buildings – day of the fire (Fall 1936)Hay Valley after the fire (Fall 1936)Hay Valley after the fire (Fall 1936)Stack in Hay Valley after the fire (Fall 1936)
Can I say one more time how grateful I am that Grandma took the time to label so many of these photos and to write down so much of her history (her-story)? She’s left enough behind that I’ve been able to begin to write her-story out so that all of the written (and taped) memories she left can be in one place. It was a time that seems so distant now, but also still so close to who we all are. Just people walking each other home.
I was thinking the other day about “happiness” and how I started this blog seeking happiness in a time where I wasn’t seeing or feeling very happy.
Over the last 10 years there have been so many ups and downs in my life journey, moments of happiness, moments of despair, times of fear, feelings of freedom, times where the pain has cut so deeply I wasn’t sure I’d survive, and times where the sun shone brightly in my world.
I think what I was really searching for, what I really have been searching for wasn’t happiness (I mean, to some extent it was), but instead I was searching for love and the feeling of peace that comes with love.
For me, often (usually) love hasn’t brought a lot of peace. I’ve realized over time that is because I was trying to make things/relationships/people/situations that weren’t love into love. And this became confusing for me over my life. You can’t find love where love is not. It’s been hard to realize that many, many times in my life what I have thought was love was not love at all.
I think we all misuse love to some extent as humans. We can try to manipulate people into loving us, or into putting up with things that cause them pain because they love us, or by using each other in an attempt to relieve our own pain of not feeling loved.
I have realized I need to redefine what love is for myself. What does it mean to love? What does it mean to be loved? What does it mean to be a loving presence on the planet?
The best real-life examples I could come up with was how I have felt with my animals. Thank goodness for the connection humans have with animals, thank God for how animals put up with us and teach us love. Once I could take that as a baseline for love I could apply it to my human relationships and see things more clearly. Some relationships I have with people have been called love but weren’t and some were filled with love that went unrecognized. Lots of learning.
As I was thinking about love and trying to define love for myself I realized that of course there’s a place where I could go and find a definition of love that I could use with faith and confidence that it was, in fact, what love is:
1 Corinthians 13:4-7
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
I have realized how important it is for me to follow this definition if I want to be a loving person, but I am realizing that it is equally important that I look at how others are treating me, and how they treat other people.
Yesterday I was standing in our community hall waiting to meet someone and I started reading the poster that hangs on the west end that tells some of the history of how the hall came to be. It’s really something I should know since that building has been part of my life, part of our community, for almost 100 years now. And yet, somehow I’ve never made it all the way through reading it.
I love that old hall. We’ve had parties there, dances, Santa has come and given presents to generations of children, we’ve had Stampede breakfasts, and of course there have been family gatherings. Some of my family gathered there over the weekend to celebrate Thanksgiving and I’m grateful to have been able to attend and catch up with people I rarely get to see.
So, here’s the story of the Hall that hangs up high on the wall that I had never taken the time to read, but finally did so. I’m so glad I did too, it’s like a little love story about our Hall:
Jumping Pound Hall
By Margaret Bateman
The Hall sits on a hill visible from the Trans Canada Highway and was built in the year 1927. It has an excellent hardwood floor, its walls and ceilings are finished in “V” joint. Benches have been built along both sides of the hall with shelves built above the benches. There are electric lights since the year 1947 and in the year 1967 a propane stove and furnace were installed. It is a frame building sitting on sand stone blocks reinforced with cement. It is painted grey with white trim and the roof is covered with red asphalt shingles.
However, it wasn’t always like this. Before World War I, Arthur Cope, Leonard Hutt and the Bacon Boys planned to build a hall and the site was to be on Section 14 near the Pile of Bones Hill. The logs were hauled out but when the war broke out the idea was abandoned because some of the men did not return. The logs remained for some time and then Stanley Cope decided to make use of them and designed a corral in the shape of a cross and his cattle were able to seek shelter from cold winds in all four sections. About the year 1926, the district decided they needed a hall. Prior to that time nearly all social events such as card parties, masquerades, box socials, and dances had been held in private homes around the district. Some of the hosts for these parties were J.W. Copithorne, Hugh Robinson, Frank Sibbald, L.D.and E.E. Nicholl, Dave Lawson, Dick Copithorne, and John Bateman. The school and the post office were used for social events too. I heard of one event which took place in the Jumping Pound Post Office – a box social to make money for Red Cross during the first war when Grannie Bateman played the mouth organ for dancing.
When plans were completed for the Hall – John Copithorne donated an acre of land to be the site of the Hall. The lumber was obtained from Syd Chester in Cochrane and was hauled by team and wagon by some of the local boys, namely Percy and Harry Copithorne, Clarence Sibbald, Dave Lawson, Norman Edge, and Bill Bateman. The total cost of the Hall lumber was $1,479.35, hardware and furniture $654.75, labour $477.90, making a grand total of $2,612.00. Dan Fenton was chief carpenter and all the men in the district did the volunteer work. Charlie Cooley was responsible for the sandstone blocks and since the ground was frozen he used some dynamite to loosen the earth where the blocks were to be set in. As a result, a fair sized hole and considerable cussing but the job got done.
The hall was heated with a coal and wood heater – a bog one donated by McLynn; Coleman lamp lighted the hall.
About the same time as the hall was built the Ghost Dam was being constructed and the workers prioritized the hall – as did all the local people of the district. The opening night of the Hall was a gala affair – the walls were decorated with bear, wolf, and deer hides loaned by Mr. Frank Sibbald. A huge crowd attended and Mr. Sibbald was floored manager. Over the years the hall has been decorated in different ways, at one time Kleenex flowers were attached to shutters painted green and adorned the windows. These took a long time to make and was a project for the local ladies whenever they met to make flowers. Another time decorations of autumn leaves and foliage and Christmas decorations were obtained courtesy of Hudson Bay Co. Another time gay Chinese lanterns were hung from the ceiling to decorate the hall.
Card parties too were popular and the Xmas concert put on by the school children was looked forward to by all the community. Plays were preformed by people from Springbank and there was a popular minstrel show from Cochrane – Mr Brodie and Sam Allan.
In those days if one chose to have a nip or two the bottle was cached behind a willow bush or down a gopher hole. The police sometimes came out and checked on the dances. A few times there was a fight or two, no one was seriously hurt just their dignity. Lunch was served at midnight – a good one, sandwiches, home made cake and real good coffee made by Archie Maclean. He was a good coffee maker, but was very possessive with the kitchen, he liked it to himself.
Do you remember dancing to the music of some of these names? Does Henry Bolter ring a bell? What about the times we danced when Margy Buckley played the piano, Percy Copithorne the violin and Jack Copithorne on the drums. Other bands came from Calgary such as Vi Hopkins, “Ma” Trainor, “Blind Mac”, Jerry Cooke, Lee Lewis, Mrs. Foster, and more recently Lamberts from Cochrane.
The dances now are more modern living, rock and roll – not so many square dances or even waltzes. Supper is still served and there is often a Barr. The price to attend dances has greatly increased as has the cost of the bands.
Showers and special anniversaries are well attended and looked forward to. Turkey shoots are also popular.
Our hall has been our meeting place, events looked forward to and been a source of enjoyment to all of us who reside in the district.
Last night I was actually organized enough to get myself to bed early. I’ve been exhausted and not sleeping well, so figured if I was going to wake up early I’d trick myself by going to bed early.
When we went outside at 8 to grab the last running dog, my daughter gave a little squeal and told me to look up in the sky. The whole sky was dancing and it was absolutely amazing. It was just settling into darkness, so you could still see some actual sky and clouds – but also colours bouncing everywhere.
We ran out of the yard and into the field so we could stand amongst the beauty of the universe and enjoy the light show. God really gave us something to appreciate last night, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one quite like this – and the girl has never seen northern lights that you didn’t have to look through the phone camera to properly see.
It was a real honour to be able to stand outside for an hour or so taking in the beauty and wonder of the moment that nature was providing for us. Stop and be still, listen and hear, see and be seen, love and be loved.
By the way, I went to bed much later than intended and slept like a log. God is Good.
Thoreau has always been one of my favourite writers. I fell in love with Walden when I was 18 or so in a university English class and my life has never been the same again.
Back then, as a teenager living in Alberta, going to Concord, MA where Thoreau lived and wrote seemed like an impossibility. It’s a good thing that through God, the impossible becomes possible – because 20 years later I was walking around Walden Pond after a short drive from the home where I was living. Life is definitely like a box of chocolates – you never know what you’re going to get!
My photo memories showed me that today, 14 years ago on 10/10/10 we did a forced family fun trip to Walden Pond, and through Concord to take a peek at some of the great American writers.
I think of Thoreau often as I am seeking the peace and quiet of my own woods to clear and calm my mind. The insights and wisdom I get when I unplug from the chaos of electronics and life and plug into the sounds and space of nature is about as close to God as I can get (bonus if there’s a horse around).
The writings of the transcendentalists – many of whom lived in the Concord area – are some of my favourite things to read. Especially when I need a bit of inspiration or need to feel closer to God. Emerson is another one of my favourites. His poem “Give All to Love” is the poem that made me like poetry.
But Walden Pond itself was also a spectacular place. There were people who had made rituals of swimming in the lake, walking the path around the pond, and just being quietly in nature. It was really inspirational and peaceful.
So now I walk my woods with my dogs, working at living more deliberately myself, seeing if I can learn what my woods have to teach.
I have to admit, fall was never my favourite season. How could I embrace fall when it lasted for 2 seconds (maybe 2 days) when the leaves turn yellow and then the wind blows them all away. Plus, there’s usually that September snow storm in Alberta that drives us immediately into winter with a kind of fake fall after.
It wasn’t until we moved to the East that I understood why people got so excited about fall. All the beautiful colours, pumpkins, Uggs, fall clothes, it was a lot of fun.
Then we came back here to September snow and 2 seconds of fall.
However, the last two years we have enjoyed spectacular autumn weather and colours. It’s been relatively warm, it’s been beautiful, and I’m loving seeing all of the changes in our landscape.
I’ve discovered one of my dogs is naturally camouflaged to our fall season. She’s kind of like a tiger in the woods. With the teeths and all.
We had our trees trimmed last week, and for the first time in over a year we have a mountain view again.
For the last several days, I have spent a great deal of time standing in the kitchen or on the deck, holding my cup of tea and looking west at Moose Mountain. I had forgotten how much I love doing that.
For as long as I can remember, Moose Mountain was “the” mountain that we talked about in our family, both immediate and extended. It’s fascinating to me how many of the houses in my area have been built making sure the view is of that mountain.
When I look through my photos, it’s by far the most photographed mountain in my gallery (and I’ve got several hundred random mountain pics).
It brings me joy, it grounds me, it brings me peace, it brings me home.
When I was a little girl, sometimes my mom would read me some Old Mother West Wind stories before bedtime. I always loved Thornton W. Burgess’ accounts of the adventures of the creatures of the Green Forest, but Sammy Blue Jay was one of my all time favourites. Perhaps because he was always getting in trouble just for being himself.
When I became a parent and we were living out East, I bought a set of the Old Mother West Wind books for my family and the tradition continued. This time, when we read about Sammy Blue Jay, we could see him right outside the window. I loved many things about living in the East, and by far one of them was the birds – the Blue Jays and the Cardinals being my favourite.
This last year, we suddenly have a yard full of Blue Jays, all of them named Sammy. I have never seen so many here, and don’t remember them being part of my youth on the ranch at all, and I am loving it! They sit in the beautiful tree that is my direct view out of the kitchen window and eat the seeds I put out. I have spent many hours watching and enjoying these birds.
I remember many people disliking the Jays, saying they were loud and obnoxious, but I never felt that way. I did, however, feel that way about our local Magpies, and I remember being shocked when someone I knew saw one for the first time and went on about what beautiful birds they are. I thought to myself (maybe said out loud) “how could anyone like Magpies? They’re so loud and obnoxious”.
Yesterday I was sitting outside and I heard the weirdest sound. After much investigating I discovered it was one of the Sammys singing the song of his people (the song of his birds?) and it was pretty horrible. For a moment I could start to see how they could possibly also be obnoxious. But then, I heard a Magpie go by screeching away and I was reminded that no, in fact, the Magpies are their own special creatures.
Whatever the case, whatever the sounds, I am loving the birds that come to my feeder. They now come up to the windowsill and do a hard stare inside to let me know when their food supply has been depleted. The resident squirrel, not so much. He prefers to throw objects at me from the safety of his tree perch to let me know that his tummy needs to be filled.
Even with the occasional screeeeeech, I find the sounds of nature so soothing. It’s good to remember we all are here sharing life on the planet, we are all part of the same experience, equal in importance and value.
A couple of weeks ago I had the most amazing experience. I was outside in the yard with the girl, standing close to the house in the yard with our big old dog when suddenly I heard the girl whisper with intensity “mom, mom, mom, look up”, and when I did I was astounded. Soaring maybe 10 feet over my head was a golden eagle. I have never been that close to one “in the wild”, and certainly never thought one would come down into the yard like that, but man it was cool and scary and inspiring and beautiful.
Since then, spring has officially arrived on the ranch. I’ve seen both golden and bald eagles everywhere, there are gophers poking around, the calves are being born, and of course – it’s snowing (and snowing, and snowing, and still snowing) which means much needed moisture on the ground.
I am so grateful to be able to live with nature at my doorstep (and sometimes trying to get inside the house – sometime I’ll tell my “bears on the roof stories”), it brings me peace and provides harmony to my soul. There is beauty and love in the universe waiting to be witnessed and embraced.
These photos were all taken with my iphone – how about that for some lucky eagle sightings!?!
Silent Night has always been one of my favourite songs. Partly because I love how we sing it at the candlelight service on Christmas Eve, but mostly because of Mrs. Taylor who used to look after me when I was a baby. I remember her singing both Silent Night and Jesus Loves Me over and over when I was a little one. I remember her giving me a sugar cube when I got bucked off my first horse when I was around 3 (it was a toy horse on springs that ran off on me and bucked me onto the cement floor of our unfinished basement). Mom used to complain that all Mrs Taylor would do was come over and hold the baby, leaving her to do everything else. But I always loved that lady who loved holding the baby (me).
Sinéad O’Connor has long been someone I’ve admired. Her voice is angelic, I remember as a teenager the first time I heard her sing I had body shivers. I don’t want to talk too much about her here (although I have so much to say about her), but I do want to say this. She was right. About everything. People thought she was crazy, but she stood in her truth.
I came across Sinéad’s version of Silent Night the other day and I can’t listen to it enough. Her voice, that song, it combines into something that brings me closer to God. How have I never heard her version before? Sleep in Heavenly Peace Sinéad.
