I’m not normally given to vacationing, having had little experience. I’m not sure what activities might appeal. My family never had time for extended holidays, other than a one-month-long camping trip throughout southern B.C. and the northwest corner of the U.S. We spent a few days in New Westminster with friends, taking over their basement, while we washed clothes and restocked our food supplies.
We visited family in Oregon and later we landed at a rural farmhouse outside of Kalispell, Mont. One of the campsites where we stopped had a nighttime visitor. A hungry bear entertained himself with breaking into all the garbage cans in the vicinity. Dad climbed into the truck and roared through the sparsely rented site and scared the visitor away. I have to admit that although I found the experience stressful, on the whole our trip was enjoyable. However, there is no place like home.
When my husband and I moved our own small family to northern Alberta we too didn’t indulge in vacation. No time, no extra funds, but we discovered day outings. We knew the joys of afternoon drives, long walks beside the river, and hikes up the steep hills along the swift flowing Peace River. On one rare occasion we took a short trip to Tofino on the far shore of Vancouver Island. As a couple, without our children. A rare treat.
A few years later we made another jaunt to B.C. with mom-in-law, Jane. We all packed into her motorhome for the journey. I’ve rummaged through my collected memories but can’t retrieve a clear impression of where we went or what we saw. What does remain is the disappointment of realizing too late that we had taken the wrong road out of Radium and ended up heading the long way around, through Golden. When the RV finally staggered into the yard late in the night, weary travellers sprinted for the house. On the last snack stop several of our group ended up with a stomach upset. A less than happy ending.
The extent of our family vacations were largely spent travelling back to Olds, back home. I drove it alone many times, although I wasn’t meant to be a long distance driver. Eight hours with two weary teens isn’t my idea of a good time. As youngsters they were adept at the “are we there yet?” refrain, over and over.
We did listen to music and sing along. A favourite cassette was the Irish Rovers. We wore it out and had to throw it away after we pulled the strands from the machine. The reception through parts of our trip was limited so the radio wasn’t much help.
Both boys suffered from motion sickness after an extended period so switched positions occasionally. We also stopped regularly to stretch.
Now that I am on my own I still don’t have much interest in vacations. Years ago I was asked what my plans were for the week I had booked off. My intention had been to paint my old, blistered fence. When the time arrived we were in the midst of an unending stretch of monsoon rain.
My sisters take time out to drag me on trips with them. I’ve been to Missoula, Fernie and many trips to Radium. That was a frequent choice of Mom and Dad. We walk, soak in the hot pool and play card games. Tell stories, take photos and just hang out. Some downtime in good company restores my weary soul.
Left to my own devices I’ve learned to enjoy my own company. That is not totally true. I read stacks of books and a good story draws me in. A well-written tale takes me right into the world held in my hands. After a few hours I surface with a blink and realize I am still in my own living room, comfortable on my own couch.
I feel I’ve been in the Carolina mountain region with Father Tim and Cynthia or in Three Pines, Que. relaxing with Clare and Myrna and their friends. I can see the bistro, smell the aroma of good coffee and croissants and hear the buzz of idle conversations.
- Hoey is a longtime Gazette columnist
