Stavely Wants You

Stand on guard for thee

On Friday, May 27, 2016, Frank and I sauntered down the main street of a famous Alberta town. Stavely is located north of Claresholm on Highway 2 and has settled into its 1950s era.

Famous Fact: Mr. Truman Capote chose this prime location for his movie ‘In Cold Blood’.

Stavely’s 500 or so residents want you to move to the community. You might want to consider its many conveniences, including its ‘Banana Belt’ feel.

Stavely Hotel

The folks in the hotel told us that the town was named for Alexander Stavely Hill, Managing Director of the Oxley Ranching Company which was formed in  1882. The interior of this establishment seems only slightly modified from its foundation.

The town office also operates as the local bank. The teller acts like a local guide and the more in-depth questions get the attention of the young man in the adjoining office. Together, they are very knowledgeable and enthusiastic about their town.

Stavely Town Office

At the top of Main Street stands a large sentinel. The working grain elevator seems to be positioned guard over the territory.

Western theme throughout the town

Many of the buildings are original and great care is taken to renovate them while others are false fronts. It presents an eclectic blend of western and 50s era.

Stavely is a rodeo town. It plays host to a number of events starting with its first indoor rodeo held in 1929. This 3-day annual professional event is held in May. 

Thors Roofing Company facade

You inhale the scent of cattle, horse and leather the moment you step onto the street. 

Frank enjoys the park gazebo

The dust is swept into your lungs and clings to your face. The sounds of mooing cows and neighing steeds can be heard among the chatter of the ground hogs and excited chirping of the local birds. 

Andy's Saddlery

Ah, Stavely. Small town - big ideas.

Ten Things to Experience in Blackie

Mural downtown Blackie

Blackie, Alberta, a great place to rest and enjoy at least ten things among others, is located forty minutes or forty-one kilometres south-east of Okotoks.

We park Big White in the downtown area and walk around this unobtrusive town.

We introduce ourselves and speak with a woman on Railroad Avenue who is washing her 100-year-old home and her modern car with a power hose.

“Mostly what the locals do here is restore cars”, she says. 

Frank in front of Fargo truck

We assign her general impression of Blackie as number 1 and her heritage home as 2.

3. We take pleasure peeking through the windows of a number of abandoned buildings. Each one has a unique aspect to it. The largest building is the lumber yard, another has two distinct doors and is made of stucco and brick.

Abandoned lumber yard building 

4. Our strole includes sitting for a short time on a dedicated bench in the Blackie Hill Playground. We are reminded of the extraordinary fun you can have as carefree children. Here, they romp up and down a mound, sticks in hand, shouting with glee.

 

Dedicated bench

Blackie Hill Park

Blackie Campground

5. Our search for a safe, quiet place to rest overnight takes us to Blackie's Lion’s Club campground. The area is clean and well-cared for. The $10.00 overnight payment is rewarding.

6, 7. Along our way, we stop to contemplate graffiti-covered rail cars set to a background of towering grain elevators.

Rail cars and grain towers

8. The telephone hanging on the wall of one of the buildings catches our attention and we share a conversation about how fast our world is progressing.

9. We finish our self-directed tour around this good-feeling settlement with a refreshing beverage at the local restaurant ‘Home Food Inn’.

Local eatery

10. Welcome to Blackie.

Blackie welcome sign

Blessed Is The Spot

Out In The Wild

Rules

I glance over at a dog taking a dump on the grass while the owner makes no effort to retrieve the pet waste. 

"Some folks think they're out in the wild when it comes to cleaning up after their pets," Frank says.

I nod my head in agreement.

This morning, we are at the Buckley Bay Road Rest Area, a hidden gem between Highway 19 and Highway 19A. It is well maintained and has plenty of rules governing it. For example, we stayed the full night in Big White across from the sign which stated the 6-hour restriction. In the precious morning hours of Sunday, November 8, we boiled some coffee and took a saunter over the gravel path to the viewpoint. 

Our point of view is that we full-time RVers are a clean lot, in general. Although, there were a few bits of trash strewn around, the lookout benches were tag-free.

Sweet flowers curbside

Along the path, we stopped to admire a few flowers curbside still in bloom, hanging on to the last bit of the fall season. Nearby, a magnificent large-leaved tree showed off small fruit which hung precariously, nearly ready to release their grip and fall to the ground.

Fruit-bearing tree

Among the precious flora and fauna, stood a man-made metal lamppost covered in man-made graffiti, and a rock just outside the outhouses was altered with a silhouette of a person.

Mystery message

Mystery silhouette

Susan on the Viewpoint path

Our sight from the point was filled with a panoramic layout of the Buckley Bay Ferry facility to Denman Island, the Strait of Georgia, and Denman Island.  Wafting over the aroma of our brewed coffee held securely in capped containers, were the fragrances of wet leaves, decaying short and long grasses, invasive plants, and tree bark. As we stood among the magnificence, we absorbed the sounds of cars motoring up Buckley Bay Road, the brash broadcast telling of the ferry about to depart and a few voices wafting up the hillside in our direction but too low to make out what they are saying.

View of Buckley Bay Ferry Terminal

Our destination today is the library in Courtenay, located a memorable twenty-minute drive north of Buckley Bay. With earplugs in place, we sit among the chatters and absorb whatever we are reading, writing or exploring on the Internet. We highly recommend that you get a library card throughout your travels. The facilities are a clean and safe environment with well-maintained washrooms and kind folks at the front desk.

Tip No. 2: Don’t lug stuff you’re not going to use.

Day One - 13 To Go!

Big White at Robert's Lake Rest Area

It started today. November 1^st, 2015, is the first day of our adventure on the road until we lock into our next house sitting gig, fourteen days from now. I’m writing under a glaring lamp filled with tiny LED bulbs fastened directly above our large crib board which also serves as our eating centre, a laptop computer station and a wonderful flat space when we need to set something down.

“This is it!” Frank says. “Our new lifestyle begins today.”

We clink our coffee cups to commemorate the day.

Moving out of the apartment

Many moons ago, we formulated the idea to change our life’s program based on our purchase of a passenger bus, complete with a wheelchair lift in the back. Our twenty-three-foot motorhome is now our only home. We live in it full time. What a pleasure!

Stuff in storage

This morning includes firing up the propane heater, flipping up and securing the murphy bed, percolating coffee, and fixing a dry cereal, toast and fruit breakfast.

We’re in the honeymoon stage of our undertaking. Our daily morning ritual, so far, still consists of a hug and a kiss and gentle pleasantries. Watching the morning news on our large television screen is no longer an option; it and most of our stuff has either been sent to the auction, sold directly or passed along to family and friends.  And, now, at this isolated location on Highway 19A, north of Campbell River, we are listening to CBC on our crank radio.

Picnic table at Robert's Lake Rest Area

Workman keeps the rest spot clean

Outdoor luxuries

After breakfast, I push open the bus door and step into the wonderful world of nature. I inhale the rainforest fragrances of wet grass, punchy mushrooms, magnetic moss, steadfast evergreens and the pungent odor wafting from the nearby outhouses. My feeling of solitude is interrupted by the blast of a large logging truck rumbling past, and Frank’s nudge on my elbow as he hands me a second mug of dark roast coffee.

“Life on the road, Honey, until we can’t do it anymore. What a great idea this was,” he says. 

“Yes, it’s great,” I say.

Frank returns to Big White with our drained cups while I roam about taking photographs of our pleasant surroundings. Up the road from here, we drop in to visit a friend in Woss, and then mosey on to Port Hardy to visit family. We happily claim the freedom.

Tip No. 1: Get organized by charting how your time on the road should look and feel.

Archeological Find At Orchard Meadow

Archeological Find

On Monday, January 11, 2015, we drove 34.7 kilometres west on Highway 28 and turned north on Strathcona Dam Road. Our destination was Orchard Meadow, a campground with 13 sites in need of a camp host couple.

Our direct route, Greenstone Creek Forest Service Road, was covered in ice and snow so Frank gripped Big White’s steering wheel and plowed forward. I became frightened when the bus shifted to the right where the only destination was to plummet down a steep embankment. Frank eased her back onto the path and we carried on bravely. Our travel time was forty-five minutes.

The truck’s diesel engine roars so loud it blocks our attempts to have full sentence conversations. “I hope we don’t come across a logging truck,” Frank shouted.

“Yah,” I hollered back.

Orchard Meadow Marker

Just as we arrived at Orchard Meadow we heard the distinct thunder of a logging truck come from behind. The driver bellowed his horn to warn us. Frank plowed Big White into a snow bank covering a roadside pull out. The monster truck roared past throwing up gravel, ice and mud. Frank turned off the ignition and we stepped into the deep snow. We were drawn to the lake ahead and made our way to its edge.

“Have a look at this,” Frank said.

He drew my attention to a fire pit set below the water line.

“It reminds me of an archeological site,” I said.

Historical Wharf

Mist Over the Lake

Other artifacts included a dilapidated wharf, a makeshift boat launch, remnants of recent activities by winter explorers including a beach fire crater, several broken bottles of alcohol and one shoe. We also took in the dramatic mist that floated over the water across the way.

Once back inside our warm bus, we had a picnic and talked about the prospect versus unlikelihood of hosting Orchard Meadow as a summer job.

Our excursion home took two intense hours and was 129 kilometres long. We headed east and got caught up in the labyrinth of logging roads. We got lost. There is no phone service in the back woods and we chastised ourselves for not knowing which roads to take home and not telling anyone our destination that day. Critically, we had made the decision not to return the way we had come.

Sample of Road Conditions

With patience and determination Frank plowed the bus through deep snow, over downed trees, under fallen trees, through deep water-filled puddles and black ice. We eventually found Highway 19A. This familiar road took us home peacefully.

2015 The Year of Endurance

Washboard Rumble Roads

Frank the Driver

On Wednesday, September 17, 2014, Frank and I set off on Big White. My husband refers to her as a ‘poor man’s motor home’ but I consider our 23-foot bus quite luxurious. The first part of our two-day excursion began with a 29.4 kilometre trek from Campbell River over washboard logging roads to Morton Lake Provincial Park. It’s a quiet location this time of year but is still lively with birds and small animals.

We befriended a sweet squirrel and called her ‘Scamper’. She loved our rice cakes and made several attempts to board the bus seeking other treats. 

Scamper

View from our Campsite

The view from our chairs afforded us a panoramic vision of the lake, a couple fishing from their canoe, and a forest of evergreen trees. That evening, we shared stories of the great outdoors in front of a roaring fire. It was pitch black when we put our heads down on our comfortable bed.

Toast for Breakfast

The next morning, after breakfast by the fire, we rumbled 17.5 kilometres down a narrow path to another campground.

Brewster Lake

 Brewster Lake Provincial Park is a hidden treasure which permeates a delightful sense of serenity. The lake is clear and laps up to a well-maintained beach. We took a casual stroll around the area and met some friendly folk.

This Way to Loveland Bay

Our final 15.5 kilometre jaunt along a gravel road delivered us to Loveland Bay Provincial Park. We spread our picnic lunch on a hollow log and enjoyed fruit and granola bars at the beach. Of the thirty-one sites available six were occupied. Like the two campgrounds we’d visited earlier, this one also was well-maintained and offered the true meaning of basic camping. Larger travel homes tend to have a generator, but today none made their presence known. What a delight.

Vancouver Island boasts 52 Provincial Park campgrounds. Where else in the world would you want to be?

http://www.vancouverisland.com/things-to-do-and-see/parks-and-trails/

Bluegrass For Beginners

Frank plays at Bluegrass Festival

 Frank drove Big White onto the grounds of the Coombs Bluegrass Festival. It was the town’s 36^th annual event and our first. He parked our motor home between a vehicle of the same length and a fifth-wheel unit. I put down a small piece of carpet at the front door of our temporary living quarters and setup two lawn chairs in the shade. We were stationed at Tall Pines.

We had volunteered to sell tickets. We strolled down a narrow path in search of the jamboree organizers. A woman named Karen told us to show up at the beer gardens at 5 p.m. for our first four-hour shift. Satisfied with her instructions, we hiked down the side of the highway leading to Coombs Market; a local shop famous for having goats living on the top of the building.

Across from the mercantile, stood a few people associated with the local church. They were serving lemonade, iced tea and water. Frank was feeling faint from having woken up so early and the scorching rays of the sun that day. We sipped on several free servings of cool liquids and headed back to our campsite.

That evening, and for the next three days, my body and mind absorbed the plunk, plunk sound of banjos, the plink, plink of mandolins, the boom, boom of the base fiddle and the nasal tones of various songstresses and songsters. One afternoon, there was a call for anyone who played an instrument to participate in the ‘Biggest Bluegrass Band Extravaganza’. Frank stepped on stage with his bones and joined others in several renditions of familiar bluegrass songs, including ♫ ‘Roll In My Sweet Baby’s Arms’ ♫.

Our volunteer service was greatly rewarded with new friendships, rekindling of familiar love and a new understanding of music.

Coombs Has It All

Volunteers at Bluegrass Festival

Friends Enjoy Music

Frank Features His Bones