When we were newly married, I followed my husband as he returned to his Bible college in Central Alberta. He was enrolled as a third year student. I served as childcare giver for one of the teachers.
We had spent the summer in the Greater Vancouver area. He was a security guard and I tried my best to learn the role of a medical receptionist. I was not a city girl, but we had found many parks and walking trails to feed my need for a more rural existence.
The move to the tiny college campus west of Winfield was a welcome balm for my spirit after the city congestion and crowds. We stopped at the hardware store just to say “Hi.” The return of the students was apparently a highly anticipated event for the village.
The site was quite heavily treed with a scattering of small houses nestled around the church building. Rob had a genuine affection for the folks he had met there. He was returning to family, friends and mentors.
The classroom was the church basement on weekdays, taking over from the Sunday school department. The dining hall resided in the basement of the women’s dormitory, also a small facility but ideally suited. That building housed the laundry, one washer, one dryer and two bathrooms, one with a tub.
I was delighted to trudge across the snow-covered yard twice weekly, clad in my big boots and coat, muffled up to the ears, with my towel and shampoo under my arm. The house we were assigned had no plumbing. We considered ourselves fortunate to have privacy; another couple was sharing space in the men’s dorm.
Come spring Rob graduated and we moved off campus. We had a short stay in Blackfalds where we brought home our first child, wrapped tightly against the chill of an unusually cold September, not unlike this year.
Before he was more than a few months old we moved again, this time to the beautiful town of Ponoka. It was mid-sized with lots of amenities, large trees lush and green. We moved into the church basement, like the pastor before us. They had used a church pew for furniture; we had the luxury of a large, shabby sofa. The bright kitchen held a chrome table with an Arborite top and three sturdy chairs. It also was fitted with a three-burner gas stove. The pilot light had to be lit for each use, not a safe practice by today’s standards.
We had to purchase our own fridge and had also bought an old deep-freeze from our previous landlord. It sat just inside the main door, sharing space with the coats and boots. It was too massive to be moved any farther. That deep-freeze was on its last adventure. The motor ran almost continuously, emitting noises to rival earth-moving equipment. It was especially raucous during prayer.
Our bed and crib just fit in the classrooms in the basement. I washed my hair in the kitchen sink as well as the baby. I learned to bake bread in that oven; I practised my skills of needlepoint and crochet in the light from the kitchen window.
Our child learned to crawl, then to walk in the basement home we shared. Rob built a free-standing bookcase as a divider. It also served to help a toddler hoist himself up and at it. We gradually moved the books to the uppermost shelves, leaving the lower ones for toys.
We moved from Ponoka to Calgary for work; for a brief time we landed in my sister’s basement suite, being grateful that her tenants had just gone and she had room for us.
Perhaps repeatedly being a basement dweller was a good experience for me. In order to see I had to look up. I discovered a delight for a spot of colour in my surroundings, not too much, just a hint: a bright coloured cushion on my sofa. Maybe a picture with a red door, or sighting a blue bicycle propped against an old wooden fence. A child in yellow rubber boots splashing in a spring puddle.
I also had ample opportunity to practise patience and humility as we looked for a home to call our own. I learned to find joy in the daily things. In that brief time in Judy’s home we unpacked a few of our own things, gradually expanding to fill our additional space. We hung a couple of pictures, picked flowers to grace the table. We relaxed in our surroundings, close family and friends at hand.
- Hoey is a longtime Gazette columnist
