PICNIC MEMORIES AT ORION

Past memories rest comfortably somewhere in our minds and souls ready to pop up when a familiar name or event comes up or even just at random when a familiar food item is served. The end of the school year, close to Canada Day
called for that one community picnic of the year. With spring seeding and school over the end of June, everyone looked forward to a day of respite before haying season. The empty jars were brought up from the basement and made ready for canning. One year I counted 400 jars of peas. The gardens must be hand watered from the rain barrels when the rains refused to come. The grain harvest would start late in August and on into September. The faithful chokecherry, the one local wild fruit was made into jam and lined the basement shelves along with the peas and beans.

Now we're going to look in on this once a year Community Picnic. We knew who would likely be bringing a favorite item not usually found on our own table. Prominent in my memory is the first time I ever tasted that jiggling jello treat. The picnic was always held at the McIntosh Trees, located about a mile from our one-room country school where one teacher taught all eight grades. The McIntosh family had planted a large grove of poplar trees as a windbreak to ward off the chilly fall and winter breezes. Located at the edge of the desert area called the Sand Hills, only the wild chokecherry could survive in that soil and the family moved elsewhere. But they left a lovely legacy for the rest of us - this beautiful grove of trees that the family had hand watered until they reached a wellspring deep within the sand. It is an analogy for us spiritually, reaching inward to tune into our soul's desires.

Each family brought food prepared from items grown in their gardens, Beans and potato salads topped with eggs sliced lengthwise. Our gardens provided rhubarb and raspberries if the summer rains arrived in time. Egg salad and jam sandwiches were good but no peanut butter was available at that time. Whenever I now make jello it takes me back to our small community near Orion, Alberta. Mothers brought cakes and cookies to have with our jello. The only fast food available came from the kitchens of the mothers and the fast feet of her daughters, speeding around helping her make preparations. Among those at the picnic was Dr. Samuel Bartlett. He came from a long line of medical doctors and for unknown reasons left Boston and filed for a half section in our area beside the Ketchum Creek. He dug an underground home and carried water for his large garden from the creek that flowed from Cyprus Hills at the spring run-off. The only evidence of his home was the round metal chimney protruding above the snowbanks that provided heat for cooking, and warmth in winter. No air conditioning was required in the summer. Of course electrical hook-ups were not available anyway. Nice to have a medical doctor near in case someone broke a leg during the picnic races held for various age groups and at the last a game of softball. Why he left Boston was not known and his secret went with him when he passed away in his eighties. He was an expert at setting broken bones and when the city doctors later offered him a position at their clinic he declined. He charged no fees but if someone would come mostly in their horse drawn wagons or buggies he always went with them to deliver a baby or whatever was needed. He left tall stacks of medical journals that arrived in the mail each month. I suspect his father may have given him this subscription each year, perhaps hoping he could come home and join his own practice. Evening chores brought us home for farm chores as we locked up picnic memories in our treasure boxes and looked forward to our next community gathering at Christmas.