It was time to revisit one of our favourite spots. As three sisters we often plan day trips and an occasional holiday. We have strong rural roots and like to examine the past.
I know of people who had the same roots and regard their beginnings with disdain. Others try to recreate their childhood and escape into memories. I prefer to consider the past but living in the present is more practical.
We usually trek to Heritage Park yearly but circumstances don’t always allow for that. One year Carol and I took two of her granddaughters; Judy couldn’t make it. Some years ago Judy and I met my granddaughter and her mother there; Carol was absent.
Years ago we began our visits, planning the event to include Mom. For many years she was very able to enjoy the long walks required, do the stairs, wooden sidewalks and lineups. All that she needed from us was a bench or chair to rest “her bones,” with an ice cream or coffee.
The park has an era-specific small town and also a colonial settlement. We enjoy browsing through the replica Hudson’s Bay fort, hear about the barter system. How many beaver pelts would we need to buy a Hudson’s Bay woolen blanket, axe handle or the crude tools on offer?
We peered into the NWMP building, with the jail cell attached. The barracks had a massive fireplace and several cell-like sleeping quarters. I could imagine the aching cold endured during the long winters. There wasn’t any insulation and the caulking didn’t look too secure.
One of the colonial houses intrigued me; in some ways it reminded me of home. In fact, the volunteer who was making lunch for her “farmhands” was having difficulties with her wood-burning stove. It smoked too much. Carol offered Mom’s assistance. She was able to demonstrate how to adjust the damper for better air flow.
Some of the buildings have volunteers who are skilled at the tasks demonstrated. Many of the houses in the small townsite have bread baking, cookies cooling on racks, roast beef dinner ready, aromatic and inviting.
We have watched soap making and weaving, sat in a small classroom while the teacher explained about the history of the school. Many of the buildings are moved intact. Others are replicas, while some are taken apart then reassembled onsite.
That was the case with the Prince House, a lovely three-storey family home. I tell my sisters that is my house. It has a beautiful staircase, with a balustrade and newel post polished to a gleaming finish. Stained glass windows top the staircase and the front door.
During one of our visits, a volunteer was acting as the lady of the house. She was in the drawing room, playing the large antique piano. She stopped to tell us the piece of music, the composer and some of the history. Suddenly she began to cry. Once she composed herself she sang the words, which clearly spoke to her: lost love and hardship if I remember correctly.
This year our trip coincided with the visit of a granddaughter for both of my sisters. One was mid-teen; a little bored with Nana’s chosen activities. The other was about eight or so, enthused to be included, excited by everything.
We rode the train, with its original steam locomotive, one of the few still in operation in Canada. We toured several houses, purchased a sweet treat from the bakery and had a delicious lunch at the Wainwright Hotel.
Kiara was intrigued with the guest rooms at the hotel; the elaborate dressers, simple bed frames and rather odd clothing. She had lots of questions. We were amused at another house to see both girls’ enthusiasm with the children’s rooms, the tea sets and simple toys, child-sized closets and small doors.
We chose to spend time at the rides. Kiara enjoyed being “big sister” to her unknown young cousin, riding the ferris wheel, Tilt-a-Whirl and the carousel. The S.S. Moyie paddlewheeler was unfortunately in dry dock, a first in all the years I’ve been there.
The boat is a replica of a much larger paddlewheeler built to work the Kootenay Lakes in British Columbia. The 20-minute ride on the Glenmore Reservoir is a world away from the noise and bustle of the city.
When I enter the houses of the past, I think about the lives lived there. Most on display are fairly elaborate, not like the early dwellings of our ancestors. The settlers had to erect a liveable building pretty quickly; not comfortable, just liveable.
Many of these houses have a lovely front room for visitors. Where the family actually lived is stark. The bedroom held a simple iron bedstead with homemade quilts and grey woolen blankets. Several held trunks for storage. Few had closets, most only a few pegs for clothing.
I love the excursion, the imagery, the shared reminiscing. Would I want to live there, with the extra work required to provide warmth, safety and sustenance? Not a chance.
- Joyce Hoey is a longtime Gazette columnist
