Rural Routes, Blog Version

For one last time, we drove out to the farm house we had built in 1981 and lived in until three months ago.
I climbed over a snow bank to read the hydro meter, remembering times when getting to that pole felt like scaling Mount Everest. I jest, of course, but there were years when it was a higher climb than you might imagine.
We wandered through the empty rooms, looking for and in several cases finding some little thing that had been left behind. A single beer glass in the kitchen cupboards. A fly swatter. A Kleenex box. A pin that said, “Thank a Farmer”.
We used twist ties to close the garbage bags that remained after a thorough house cleaning and took them out to the truck.
I looked out each and every window, memorizing the view.
We left a set of keys on the kitchen counter and the door locked behind us as we left.
TRAILER BLUES
Several days earlier, we had gone to the house to load the last remaining furniture. We loaded the two pieces in our cargo trailer, returned to the city, and unloaded them at their new home.
The plan was to return the trailer to the country in the morning where it would be stored at my brother’s farm. Last fall, we had sometimes parked it on a side street, but the street is a snow route so not available at this time of year. Instead, we parked it in a Safeway parking lot near our new home.
In the morning, it was gone.
We thought at first it might have been towed, but our investigations revealed that no trailer had been towed from that lot the previous night. Nor at any time in recent memory, in fact.
We reported it stolen, and so far have heard nothing. An appointment with Autopac awaits us.
Welcome to the big bad city, some people said. In fact, the rural area where we once lived has its fair share of thefts and home invasions. We were aware of the risks.
All we wanted was overnight parking for one night, but one night was all it took.
The good news is that there was very little inside the trailer: a blanket, a couple of tarps. It could have been worse.
SMALL TOWN TRAFFIC
Driving down the main street of a Manitoba town last week, I was immediately behind an elderly man on a motorized scooter. He drove straight down the middle of the street, no doubt to avoid the snow and ice on either side. There was no room to pass, but I was in no hurry.
I led a mini convoy of vehicles inching along behind him. If he knew we were there, he paid no attention.
When I arrived at my destination, I talked about my slow crawl down Main Street. Everyone knew who the man was.
“It’s a small town,” one person laughed.
We all agreed that the man would be wise to have a flag on his scooter to make it more visible.
FEBRUARY
My work emails always feature a ‘quote of the month’. This past month, the quote was:
“There is always in February some one day, at least, when one smells the yet distant, but surely coming, summer.” (attributed to Gertrude Jekyll).

It was a case of wishful thinking, I suppose. With only three days remaining, the month has shown no hint of spring, let alone summer.

There is no “always” about it, unfortunately.
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