Days of summer past

Kleanza Creek, not far from Terrace, British Columbia.

I was born in Terrace, lived there for a few years, left, then the family moved back where I would have spent Kindergarten - I never went, there were no spots available - and attended Grades One through part of Grade Four, when we then moved to another town.

Before I attended school my father worked in road construction camps. There were a lot of construction projects being built in those days. We would be either moving every few months or he would be gone for months at a time. When I was nearing school age my mother put her foot down and said there was going to be less moving and if that meant my father had to change careers, then he would have to get a different job. Dad became a heavy duty mechanic, they bought one house, sold it, moved to better one, and the nomadic lifestyle came to a halt for a few years.

My father only had a Grade Nine education and was somehow awarded Grade Ten. To get ahead he did not go back to school, he took shifts no one else wanted and put in for transfers to places that no one else did. One of those transfers he put in for was accepted and became the reason we moved to a totally different place when I was in Grade Four.

Dad worked a lot of night shifts and graveyard shifts. When the summer months hit and the weather was hot he would get off shift and meet us at Kleanza Creek if the schedule permitted. My parents had a four door Datsun sedan that was green on the outside and the interior was yellow. In those days the Japanese had an odd idea of what they thought suited the North American market when it came to colour schemes. It had a manual transmission and my mother learned to drive and got her license with that car. My parents nicknamed it "The Pickle". Mom would pack a cooler full of food, load up The Pickle, and drive out there and we would hang out here with dad joining us later in the day. Mom made fantastic potato salad which I loved and to me is a summer food. I am sure some days that I lived on it and little else during the summer months.

I stopped here last Saturday. It was kind of early in the morning and I had this particular spot to myself. You cannot go home again and I am not one to be nostalgic as times, places, people are not the same. I stopped here because I have not been here in many many years. I walked into the creek to feel this spot and experience it. There is something about walking into a creek and feeling the rocks and dirt with your feet, it is a summer thing. I took the opportunity to enjoy this place at this time. It is still a beautiful spot and it is good to know this place is still the same.