Home On The Range

Welcome to Home Hardware

We are thrilled to know that Big White is welcome at the Home Hardware department store in Cranbrook, British Columbia. Finding a place to quietly settle in for the night as we free-range across Canada, can be unsettling to those of us who live full time in a mobile home. Our ‘rv’ is our abode. Frank converted this 17-passenger HandiDART bus two years ago, and it’s been our primary domain ever since.

We depart the parking lot and cruise west along Highway 3 to our next stop-over.

Today, we are exploring the town of Creston, British Columbia. 

We pull into the library parking lot and step outside. It’s October 12, and the weather is much warmer here than inside our bus. We don't have central heating, just a small heater and when it's turned on it cloaks us with a blanket of warmth, but the moment you turn it off, the cold clings to you like a thief. 

Millennium Park

Inside the brightly lit building, we ask if there are any large stores that would accommodate our truck and trailer. The librarian explains that there is a graveled parking lot beside the Millennium Park where large transports park regularly. Later that day, we join them.

We get a good sense of this gentle town by strolling its streets, visiting the senior centre, having a meal at a restaurant and speaking to some of the people at the grocery store and on the avenues. At one of the Chinese food eateries, we have a conversation with the owner.

“How long have you lived in Creston?” I say.

“Oh, all my life. But I don’t like,” the man says.

“Why don’t you like it?” Frank says.

“It’s too old. The people are old and no one wants to eat at my restaurant anymore.”

He sets down a large bowl of soup in front of us, two empty bowls, a plate of dumplings and walks away.

Updating an original building

We also have a sense of it being old, by Canadian standards, and pay special attention to the restoration of some of its buildings. The biggest regret we have is that the hub of the town is plowed through by large trucks, leaving behind their ghastly smell of burning diesel, and fast moving cars travelling to and from work in outlying centres sometimes beeping their way through the intersections. With regret, potential visitors find it nearly impossible to pull over on Highway 3. 

The next day, as we wander around the town, we meet two older men sitting at Millennium Park. We approach them and engage in conversation.

Another view of Millennium Park

“Most of the people living in Creston are seniors, these days. That suits us just fine,” the man with the cane says. “We’ve got young families too and like every other town in the world, we’ve got restless trouble-makers.”

“It’s like a retirement community. People move here from as far away as Calgary,” the man in the baseball cap says.

We talk with the gentle souls for another half hour and then set off to explore more of the town.

Along our travels, we consider places to settle down once we are not able to live this ramblers’ lifestyle, and Creston has been added to our list.

View of mountains from street in Creston, BC

Blessed is the spot

Elkford? Should be 'Deerford'

View of mountain Elkford, BC

The two primary commerce in Elkford, British Columbia are coal mining and logging. The bold leaders of the Fording Coal organization in the 1980s decided to abandon underground mining and proceeded with one of the greatest mining endeavours ever undertaken in the world – mining Eagle Mountain from top to bottom. Jobs opened up for the adventurous and housing them sent the wildlife further up the hills.

Mule Deer resting in neighbours yard

The District's population these days is approximately twenty-five hundred humans surrounded by an overabundance of Mule Deer.

The large-eared breed travels in pairs or as a herd stroll through the town and sits casually on lawns and in parks. They saunter from one neighbourhood to another, stopping to munch on grass, flowers and leaves on trees leaving 'from behind' physical evidence in their wake. The locals prefer not to have them around. In the recent past, the common practice was to cull them by assigning the task to the Elkford District sanctioned by the British Columbia government. 

Elk antlers

This technique was halted and the deer are now captured and transported to other areas of the province. ‘Win – win’ as far as the locals and government are concerned. Considering that there are six Mule Deer sitting on the lawn of a nearby property might be an indication that it is time for another harvest.

Property for sale - includes deer

'Deerford' as Frank and I refer to it, is a district municipality in the southeast region of British Columbia in the Rocky Mountain range. It is 32 kilometres north of the junction at Sparwood, on Highway 43.

We were escorted on a backroad adventure by Frank's cousin. We viewed Josephine Falls, then took in the

Josephine Falls

town from the top of a high lookout, and witnessed the minimal growth of the industries and its workers from the comfort of a four-wheel drive truck. Most folks have at least one truck and an all-terrain vehicle. At the peak of the valley, our driver commented that the car in front of us must be driven by tourists because it was a Smart car.

"There's nothing smart about a little car like that here in a place like this," he said.

Our three-day October stay in this pristine location ended with a snowfall. Our next destination is Cranbrook, BC. We'll be staying in Big White at Walmart for a few days. Winter camping is not for the faint of heart.

Elkford? Should be 'Deerford'

View of mountain Elkford, BC

The two primary commerce in Elkford, British Columbia are coal mining and logging. The bold leaders of the Fording Coal organization in the 1980s decided to abandon underground mining and proceeded with one of the greatest mining endeavours ever undertaken in the world – mining Eagle Mountain from top to bottom. Jobs opened up for the adventurous and housing them sent the wildlife further up the hills.

Mule Deer resting in neighbours yard

The District's population these days is approximately twenty-five hundred humans surrounded by an overabundance of Mule Deer.

The large-eared breed travels in pairs or as a herd stroll through the town and sits casually on lawns and in parks. They saunter from one neighbourhood to another, stopping to munch on grass, flowers and leaves on trees leaving 'from behind' physical evidence in their wake. The locals prefer not to have them around. In the recent past, the common practice was to cull them by assigning the task to the Elkford District sanctioned by the British Columbia government. 

Mule Deer antlers

This technique was halted and the deer are now captured and transported to other areas of the province. ‘Win – win’ as far as the locals and government are concerned. Considering that there are six Mule Deer sitting on the lawn of a nearby property might be an indication that it is time for another harvest.

Property for sale - includes deer

'Deerford' as Frank and I refer to it, is a district municipality in the southeast region of British Columbia in the Rocky Mountain range. It is 32 kilometres north of the junction at Sparwood, on Highway 43.

We were escorted on a backroad adventure to view Josephine Falls, then to take in the

Josephine Falls

town from the top of a high lookout, and witness the minimal growth of the industries and its workers from the comfort of a four-wheel drive truck. Most folks have at least one truck and an all-terrain vehicle. At the peak of the valley, our driver commented that the car in front of us must be driven by tourists because it was a Smart car.

"There's nothing smart about a little car like that here in a place like this," he said.

Our three-day October stay in this pristine location ended with a snowfall. Our next destination is Cranbrook, BC. We'll be staying in Big White at Walmart for a few days. Winter camping is not for the faint of heart.

Dancing in the Streets of Hanna

Frank shows off his dance skills for the fun of it

By Frank H. Black

August 29, 2016, Hanna, Alberta. The day begins like most of our days this summer. We go to the library and check on new house sitting sites. I either return to our RV, Big White, to play tunes or go for a walk to check out the new town and take some photographs.

This morning has a new twist.

While I’m away from our vehicle, a woman named Ashley backs out from her driveway across from our bus onto the wide street and crashes into our front wheel. The big lugs puncture her back bumper but leave no apparent damage to our vehicle. She and her husband locate Susan in the library and leave their phone number in case there is some damage.

Later, I survey the bus and have it checked by a local body man.

Afterward, I continue with my walk about and am suddenly shocked by the sharp sound of a siren. I turn around and see that I’m being approached by a Royal Canadian Mounted Police vehicle. Constable “Jake” gets out of the car, leaving his partner behind.

“We had a report that a guy in a kilt was dancing in the street,” Jake says.

I look at him and think that he is joking.

“Good thing I didn’t bring my bagpipes, eh?” I say.

When he asks if I know any good tunes I’m filled with confusion. I ask him to clarify.

“Did someone really call about this dancing in the street thing!?” I say.

Jake confirms. “Yes, we got a call describing a guy in a kilt dancing in the street.”

 “Do you have any identification?” Jake says.

I hand him my driver’s license which in turn he hands to his partner who then checks the computer in the police vehicle for its authenticity. Everything is clear.

I’m told by the officer that anything out of the ordinary, for example, like me wearing a kilt, can throw some of the locals off.

“If you had been wearing blue jeans and suspenders, they wouldn’t notice you,” one of the officers says.

What comes to mind, is that one person's opinion or observation, statistically, represents one hundred others’. Hmmm. Red-neck town comes to mind.

I explain our lifestyle to the officers; point to our rig which hauls our Ural motorbike. Jake shows an interest in seeing the Russian Ural and I’m happy to oblige. Together, the three of us talk for a short while about bikes. I’m left with the impression that the RCMP are on top of things.

Before leaving, they express their pleasure in meeting me. They say I’m unlike some of the characters they usually deal with.

My suggestion is that if you wear a kilt don’t go the Hanna, Alberta. They may confuse walking with dancing. LOL.

Frank as he usually looks

Five Days at Walmart

Day One ~ Nesting

Walmart Flyer

The drive north on 6^th Avenue toward the downtown district of Prince Albert, Saskatchewan is quiet until Frank motors over the crest above the train tracks and says in an excited voice, “Honey, we’re home!” He is referring to Walmart Supercentre.

We laugh at our recognising one of the safest overnight sites to set our RV. A cluster of five other motorhomes is nestled in the south-east corner of the property. Unlike many of the department store parking lots across the prairie provinces, this one does not display any warning signs.

Bold Big White

Sometimes, even if there is a no-overnight-parking warning we’ve broken the rule taking after the friendly advice of other travellers and the store manager. One good example is our bold act of pulling up alongside the posting in St. Albert, Alberta. There were seven other vehicles parked in the immediate area. We felt safe and a bit righteous. We approached a couple who were relaxing in their van and asked about our staying overnight.

“Stay as long as you like,” the man said. “We are doing drywall work here and have been staying in the lot for almost two weeks.”

He swept his arms wide and said that all these vehicles had been there for a while. We remained huddled with the other trekkers for three nights.

Here in Prince Albert, we settle in amongst the established RVs. Frank ritually attaches a string of bells to the trailer we haul with our motorbike tucked under a custom-made tarpaulin. A little later, we step out of the bus and engage in a conversation with a local woman.

“We’ve noticed a significant number of security people in Walmart and a City Police officer driving an ATV on the property,” Frank says. “Why is that?”

“We’ve got security all over the place because we’re a crime hub,” she says. “There is a big meth problem here and other drugs too, and alcohol. Where are you from?” she says.

Frank engages the young woman in a lengthy rendition of our current lifestyle as nomads, travelling through British Columbia, Alberta, and Saskatchewan, visiting small towns, meeting up with friends and relatives, seeking isolated Baha’is and house and pet sitting.

“What an awesome thing to do!”

“Oh. Anyone can do it. There’s always a way,” Frank says.

I ask about the library and she points west in the direction of the Midtown district.

“Cross 6^th Avenue, walk down 13^th Street, turn right on 1^st Avenue and it’s right there,” she says.

We settle in for the night to the sound of squawking scavenger birds, the squeal of tires on pavement, loud voices, and new explorers seeking a resting spot. By zero three hundred hours, the Walmart parking lot is quiet.

Seagull with Chip Bag

Day Two ~ Library Visit

Cooked Porridge

Frank’s breakfast over the last fifteen years never changes. He cooks porridge, sprinkles it with a generous topping of brown sugar, and floats it with coconut milk. In the meantime, he toasts two slices of bread and slathers them with organic peanut butter and jam. We sip coffee together. I usually eat a banana and wait later to have a slice of toast.

“Today is library day,” I say.

Frank nods. He knows our habit of visiting the Bibliotheque to access the Internet, our resource for finding house and pet sitting engagements.

The trek to the J.M. Cluelenaere library offers us a full display of the lifestyle suited for this quarter of the city. The entire five blocks are lined with distinct structures including a haunted house. Most of the homes are covered in stucco, several are dilapidated and abandoned and one of the structures is under construction. Most of the hedges are overgrown hiding a variety of fences, themselves leaning over or held up by ropes attached to the porch or a tree. We listen to barking dogs, crying children and shouting adult voices. The gauntlet includes ducking under trees and walking single file on a small portion of pavement between the encroachment of grass from the boulevard and the homeowner’s property. Trash litters our narrow path.

J.M. Cluelenaere Library

We are greeted at the library entrance by a security guard. She asks to check our backpack and we comply.

“We’ve been to many libraries across the prairies this summer and this is the first time we’ve experienced on-site security in the library,” I say. “Can you tell me why this one has security?”

“We’re in a really bad area of town and we want the library patrons to feel safe,” she says. “There are druggies and prostitutes all along these streets.”

I thank her and walk to where Frank is setting up our laptop.

Our mutual practice of staying out of each other’s way, on this glorious travel adventure, is to satisfy ourselves with our individual hobbies. Together, we search for house and pet sitting jobs on the Internet, explore the town and take photographs; Frank plays his violin in the bus if it is raining or outdoors in the good weather, and I use the library facilities to write stories.

Frank Chats with Local in Small Town

Day Three ~ Meeting Some of the Locals

Frank prepares breakfast

There is a knock on our door.

“Allah’u’abha,” a stranger says.

“Allah’u’abha,” we chorus back. Frank lifts himself from his lawn chair, sets his morning coffee on the counter and reaches to open the front door of the bus.

“Come in. Do you want a coffee?”

“If you’re having one. Yes,” the thin man says. He extends his hand for a shake. “I’m Stuart. I got your phone message and found you here in the parking lot.”

Our new friend invites us to his home to celebrate the Feast of Kamal on August 1^st. We exchange stories for an hour and watch as he rides away on his bicycle.

Tim Hortons coffee

Part of our daily routine is to walk over to Timmy’s coffee shop and check further on possible house and pet sits. We overhear a conversation telling why this outlet has blue lights in its bathrooms - to prevent drug users from seeing their veins. “It’s so they can’t shoot up,” the young woman at the nearby table says.

Later, a vagrant approaches us standing outside Big White and explains that she is very tired and asks if we would allow her to rest in our camper. We politely decline her request. She must have a short memory because she asks us again that evening.

We learn from several other locals loading their vehicles with groceries that Prince Alberta is known as ‘Prison City’. 

It is surrounded by three corrections facilities; Saskatchewan Federal Penitentiary and Riverbend Institution, Pinegrove Correctional Centre, and Prince Albert Correctional Centre. We understand the need for added security in many of the local stores, parks, museums and the library.

We prepare our Murphy Bed for the night. The prominent noise-makers this evening are the Saturday night party crowd. They contribute yelling and screeching tires to the sound of emergency vehicle sirens. The notorious squawk of the predator birds has not let up.

Susan nestled in Murphy Bed

Day Four ~ Trek to the Casino

A cool breeze sails through the screened windows of the bus. We sip casually on our morning coffee.

“Do you want to hike up to the Casino today?” Frank says.

“Oh, I heard it’s far from here,” I say.

“I was told it isn’t that far, and I know how much you like to walk. So, let’s pack water and head out,” he says.

We begin our trek travelling south on 6^th Avenue, over the crest of the hill covering the railway tracks. My legs are aching by the time I reach East Hill and there we ask for directions.

“Oh, you’ve got a ways to go yet,” the young man says. “Go straight down this road ‘til you get to 1^st Street and turn left. It’s another three blocks up the road.”

I sip on my water and step forward. Frank and I march for several blocks not speaking.

“Hey, let’s stop here to check if we’re on the right path,” Frank says.

I hope we are. I’m tired and sweating. Our direction is confirmed by the store butcher and we carry on bravely. As we turn the corner at 1^st Street we see a long line of ten-foot high metal fencing topped with barbed wire. The Prince Albert Provincial Correctional Centre.

“Gee, imagine investing in a house next door to this place,” Frank says.

I nod in amazement at the prospect.

Northern Lights Casino

We step over the threshold of the air-conditioned gambling house and search for the toilets. Afterward, we approach the front desk worker and ask about our bringing our RV to their parking lot for an overnight stay. They agree to it and ask if we are registered with them. We answer no. An announcement interrupts our conversation with the most spectacular declaration I’d heard in a long time.

“The shuttle bus will be leaving in fifteen minutes,” the speaker says.

Frank and I look at each other. I believe he’s thinking what I’m thinking. That’s our ride to Big White. The driver lets us off right beside our home. We nestle in for the night and fall asleep to the sound of the carnival underway just behind Walmart Supercentre.

Aftermath of rain storm

Day Five ~ Bon Voyage

Nine-pointed Star

This day begins with our checking house and pet-sit status at Tim Hortons, stocking up on a few groceries we would need on the road, and concludes by attending a Feast of Perfection at Stuart’s home.

The gathering consists of reciting prayers and readings from 

books authored by Baha'ullah and Abdu’l-Baha. It is satisfying being surrounded by like-minded friends who enjoy a laugh, prayers, and love.

The following morning, after checking the map, Frank starts the engine and we glide out of the Walmart parking lot onto Highway 3 West. We are excited about our next destination – a house and pet sit in Lloydminster, Alberta. We take secondary roads less so that we may enjoy the sights and sounds of small towns along the way.

On the road again

The Smashed Pickle Jar

Pickle Jar

The cupboard door is open so I jump in. 

My new keeper raises her voice at me, waves her hand and says, “Shoo, shoo”. I scramble around on the shelf and my back foot knocks over a pickle jar. It lands on the floor behind me as I leap for safety. The smell is atrocious.

I listen from the bottom of the stairs as the man talks to the woman. Their sounds turn to laughter.

“We’ll record the broken pickle jar and add it to the list,” the lady says.

“Gee, we’ve already started a list?” the man says.

I appreciate their honesty. Earlier, the woman was emptying the dishwasher and she dropped a glass mug. It’s handle broke off. She picked up a pen and wrote something on a piece of paper on top of the microwave. I watched the whole  episode from the low shelf beside the oven. She and I have something in common it seems.

I hear her footfalls and tuck myself into the basket near the washing machine. I’m comforted by the scent of my former master. I rub myself over the soft surface. I miss her.

I watch inconspicuously as the lady hauls the floor washing pail up the stairs. Later, I saunter over the clean floor were the pickles used to lay and make my way to my scratch tower by the window. I’ll look outside for a while.

Yoda

I had an accident and that’s why I only have one eye.

My male owner set up a ladder against a wall in the basement. It looked fantastic so I leapt onto it from the staircase handrail. It all happened so fast. The ladder started falling back and I clung on too long I guess. I couldn’t scramble away and it hit me on the head.

I don’t remember what happened after that except that when I arrived home that night and looked at my reflection in the window, I only had one good eye. It’s still as blue as the Alberta sky and I’m thinking about wearing an eye patch.

Oh! I hear the rattle of my favourite treat bag. Talk to you later.

Big Valley - Big Hopes

Big Valley grain elevator & Red River cart

“There’s a small house just across the street and down a bit,” the woman says. “It just went on the market.”

Frank and I look at each other and we seem to lock into the same idea. Hmmm. Let’s go have a look.

We are excited about the prospect of purchasing a place in this animated town of Big Valley. It offers a wealth of volunteer and possibly employment opportunities. At this posting time, there is a call for part-time bus drivers, a part-time town Administrative Assistant, and various opportunities to entertain the visitors who arrive by train each weekend during the summer months.

We learn a great deal of the history of the town from the Mayor, the librarian, and the shopkeepers at the local café.

Red River cart

“The grain elevator is not painted an official Alberta Historical Society colour but it is one of the last preserved examples of a traditional wooden grain elevator. We’re satisfied with its colour,” the Mayor says. “Also, to answer your question about the Red River cart, it’s not authentic. We do use it in our Metis Days parade, though.”

“The building we’re in was purposely built in this rustic theme to bolster the history of the town and more specifically to show off the Jimmy Jock story,” the shopkeeper says. We learn that it was once a Chinese café.

Jimmy Jock boardwalk beside brick bank building

This morning, Frank hikes up the hill to St. Edmund’s Church. It’s fully restored, operational and under the care of the Big Valley Historial Society – another volunteer opportunity.

Blue church on the hill

This afternoon, together on the street, we are greeted by ‘Eddy’, a local fellow who offers us a tour of the Big Valley Railway Depot. The artifacts and displays are intriguing. The visitors are greeted by the locals and given a tour of the town and a meal. Yes, another opportunity to volunteer dressed in period costume.

Big Valley Railway Station

We are met later by a realestate agent from Stettler, who shows us the small house. We are interested in it and offer a bid. We haven’t heard from the lady since.

Big Valley is a community filled with enthusiasm and hope. Travel north on Highway 56 from Drumheller or south from Camrose, and enjoy the ambiance.

Three Hills - Three Rescues

Three Hills Golden Jubilee plaque

Frank draws his pocket knife and starts scratching at the Golden Jubilee memorial across from the provincial building in the town of Three Hills.

“What’s the matter?” I say.

“Someone’s stuffed mud into the recessed lettering. I’m digging it out,” he replies.

We stand back and admire the beautiful, clean marble plaque.

“If I was bold enough, I’d clear the bushes hiding it,” he adds.

We click a few pictures and carry on with our exploration of the area.

The community members are rescuing their history by displaying elaborate murals on the sides of some of the buildings. Their history includes coal mining and over one dozen churches, while currently they manage themselves with agriculture and oil and gas production.  Two churches remain in operation.

Coal mining mural

Agriculture mural

We find ourselves trapesing down back alleys. They also display the goings on in small towns and elsewhere. Your back yard tells a lot about you; what you tend to collect, what you are holding back on getting rid of, and your hobbies.

Three Hills back alley

Another rescue lay ahead.

The Armitage’s namesake, at one time, fastened to the back of a metal bench, now lays tattered and hanging by a metal clasp. Frank walks to Big White and returns with his tool kit. In short order, he fastens the unique plaque back in place.

The Armstrong's sign

Frank honours the sign

We see ourselves as part of the community, no matter our destination. Hamlets, villages, towns, cities, counties and countries. We feel it is our responsibility to take care of the surroundings.

“Many people are good at talking about what they are doing, but in fact do little. Others do a lot but don’t talk about it; they are the ones who make a community live.” ~ Jean Vanier, Community and Growth

Trochu's Outreach is Attractive

Trochu Senior Centre

The Senior Drop-in Centre catches our attention as we pull into the community of Trochu, Alberta.

We stop the bus along Poplar Avenue and walk over. The posting on their bulletin board tells of a pancake breakfast the next morning to commemorate Seniors’ Week. Frank and I smile at the notice and then at each other. It would be exciting to have someone else cook a meal for us.

We stroll around the town seeking out interesting attractions. We come across a wonderful selection of murals depicting the progressive community, in the past and now. Monsieur Armand Trochu sitting proud on his steed is painted on the side of a building. A depiction of the General Store in 1907 also attracts attention. To our great pleasure, we would meet the mural artist, Eldon Walls, the next morning at breakfast.

Monsieur Armand Trochu

General Store 1907

After a full-filling feast of flapjacks, sausages, coffee, and brilliant conversations with the local seniors and their friends, we are directed to The Arboretum and Gardens. The variety of trees, flowering bushes and fragrant plants calm us to nearly a melting point. What better than to ramble through a living museum of horticultural wonder. The crunch of the red shale does not interfere with the constant whistle and shrill of birds.

Trochu Arboretum & Gardens

Susan admiring the trees and gardens

Our walk that evening takes us to the swimming pool and afterward to the Peking Café. Wen and her husband Michael share their story of coming to Canada and settling in Trochu to open up their own restaurant.

“Eighteen years we’ve been here,” Wen says. “We are happy in this town and we now have another Chinese lady living just behind our place. We are friends.”

This morning, we discover that our solar panels are not operating properly. What incredible luck that Wade is the owner and operator of a newly opened store called Conscious Choice – solar panel specialist. This kind man offers to help install a new unit if Frank drives to Red Deer to pick it up. Our 10-year warranty on the flexible model is being used in only two years of operation. After the delivery, Frank and Wade climb to the top of the bus, remove the inoperable panel and glue down the new one. What a wonderful piece of charm already set up for us by the attractive folks of this entrepreneurial town.

proverb ~ Beauty cannot be judged objectively, for what one person finds beautiful or admirable may not appeal to another.