All posts by Art Martens

Life Shaping Decisions (#3)

 

(photo schoolboxtreasures.blogspot.com)

It was in an English course in high school that I first read Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road Not Taken.” He wrote, “two roads diverged in the woods, and I – I took the road less travelled by.” When I now mentally review some of the roads Linda and I have travelled on over the years, I realize these words became active behind the scenes in my subconscious, shaping my decisions and choices. I knew I very much wanted my life to have meaning beyond just a job and an income. I was vaguely aware of the danger I might slip mindlessly into a comfortable, complacent existence. At the outset I had little understanding of what I did want. I had no grand vision to guide me.

Now, in my eighth decade, I’m much more conscious of the power decisions wield in our lives, especially when they help us find the courage to avoid safe paths. I’m aware that at times Linda and I somewhat inadvertently opted for the road not taken. And, as Frost says, “this has made all the difference.”

Early in our years together, we made a decision that, when I consider the possible ramifications, still stirs up a sense of unease within me. It placed an indelible stamp on our lives and subsequently set in motion further decisions and actions that have shaped how we think and live to this day.

When we were married in 1965, Linda had a secure position with the Royal Bank (RBC). I was a heavy equipment operator. Independently we both knew that although our income was adequate, our jobs held little excitement or meaning for us. We felt unfulfilled and stymied, trapped in mental quicksand. Only a radical decision would change this.

To this time we had not been risk takers, but we resigned from our jobs and on a Saturday morning in May, loaded our sturdy old Chevy van with camping essentials. Then, with very limited funds and having no sense of what our destination should be, we rather naively set out on the Trans Canada Highway. It wasn’t a prudent decision but reflecting on it now, I realize only by severing ties to our uncomplicated, complacent, pretty safe lives could we extricate ourselves from the mental quicksand.

Our decision to embark on a financially uncertain path soon led to another life altering choice. It came while we were sitting around our campfire on the shore of Sheridan Lake in central B.C. At the time this was open range for grazing cattle and we were quite alone. One evening after a simple dinner of brown rice and peas from a can, we were reading a Madame Marie Curie biography. Deeply moved by her commitment to scientific research, I felt the beginnings of an inner stirring. Uncertain as to how Linda would react I said, “I’ve been thinking I’d like to go to university, but I know we don’t have the money.” Without hesitation, Linda said, “I could work.”

Marie Curie, 1867-1934, was a Polish and naturalized-French physicist and chemist who conducted pioneering research on radioactivity. (wikipedia.org)

I had not seriously considered university to this time because I realized the extensive reading would be a challenge. My vision for close up reading had long been limited. I knew university would require all the creativity and perseverance I could muster. Even so, Madame Curie’s commitment had kindled within me a desire to accomplish something of value.

Knowing I’d need further sources of inspiration and encouragement, I began seeking other individuals who had done what was considered impossible. I became especially impressed by the daring of Andrew Van der Bilj, familiarly known as Brother Andrew, and also as God’s smuggler. Although it was strictly forbidden and carried harsh penalties, Brother Andrew smuggled suitcases of Bibles into the Soviet Union. He asked, “why tiptoe through life only to arrive safely at death?”

Having grown up in Abbotsford, I had only limited knowledge of the world beyond what was then very much a rural community. By registering as a student at Simon Fraser University that fall, I was exposing myself and Linda to an unfamiliar world. In our thinking and actions, we would need to go where we had not been before.

 

Mennonite Centre in Ukraine Provides Assistance To Devastated Villages

For almost a year Linda and I have been receiving updates on the efforts of the Mennonite Centre’s efforts to make life more bearable for Ukrainians seeking to survive in the midst of the devastation of their country. The accounts tell a story that the major media seem not to be interested in or aware of. Because the Centre has been active for many years in Ukraine, providing basic necessities impoverished people cannot afford, it has credibility and intimate relationships of trust. Their objective isn’t to help Ukraine militarily. Rather, it is to provide basics like shelter, food, fire wood to heat homes. medical advice and supplies, encouragement and friendship and much more. By sharing these reports we hope to give readers some understanding of what it means to live in apartments with no windows, doors, sometimes no roofs, and the constant fear of missile strikes, It’s a story of people courageously looking after each other, often in the most dire circumstances.

Below is a recent update written by George Dyck. (We also published a report on Feb, 23, 2023.)

Mennonite Centre in Molochansk, Ukraine Update #97 April 6, 2023

This is from Krasnogorivka, one of our Mennonite Centre partners. They are located at the very front line in the east in Donets. The pastor Radislav (in a checked jacket) received chaplains from the Western Ukraine. The key thought in their talks was that we can be different, but we are united (Western and Eastern Ukraine).

Four times the building of the church was hit. Most of the building is destroyed. But people still get together for services. Much needed food is also distributed here.

We have unconfirmed reports from Molochansk … The “occupied building” referred to is the former Mennonite hospital in Muntau right beside Halbstadt now collectively called Molochansk. In past years the Mennonite Centre has done much to help former Muntau hospital take care of patients including the purchase of an ambulance, etc.

Part of the facility was used as a dorm for recovering sick kids. Another part was used as a home for the aged. It is this part of the hospital that the report refers to as housing “peaceful grandparents”.

I have made no attempt to change translation …

The occupiers of the Zaporizhzhia region are literally hiding behind the backs of peaceful grandparents in Molochansk, they have taken up residence in a 3-story hospital building. They [the occupiers] placed their 300s in the basement. So far, the Russian army survivors live in the wards on the 1st and 3rd floors.

And on the 2nd floor there are permanently lonely elderly civilians. According to local information, the soldiers themselves are panicking in anticipation of a counteroffensive by the Ukrainian Armed Forces.

Many are ready to lay down their arms, but the occupiers are scaring “their” panickers. Allegedly, so-called blocking squads have been set up around Molochansk, so everyone who runs will be shot.”

If you wish to donate to help the needy, then please visit our website http://www.mennonitecentre.ca/ and click on the donate tab.

To donate by e-transfer please use the email address gtdyck@gmail.com and please include your postal address in a note accompanying the transfer so I can issue a tax receipt to you. Thank you!!

In Search Of Meaning #2

Annie Proulx at 2018 US
National Book Review (Wikipedia)

In Annie Proulx’s Pulitzer Prize winning book, “The Shipping News”, a minor character makes a statement that has for decades been lodged somewhere in the inner recesses of my mind. Cousin Nolan is in an institution, near the end of his days. Looking back, he experiences deep angst and regret at how little he has accomplished in the years bequeathed to him. “I always knowed I was meant for something big,” he laments, “but I didn’t know how to get started. I never had no luck.”

It was during my four years at SFU that I encountered these words. Young and restless, I was grappling with the issue of how I should invest my life. My understanding concerning this question was somewhat murky but I knew I didn’t want to conclude at the end of my time that I had chosen an inconsequential path, a path that descended into the remorse and despair experienced by the hapless Cousin Nolan. Even then I already knew that for me such an outcome would be a tragic waste of life.

When I turned 81 recently, I decided to mentally walk back along the path I had chosen so many years ago. I wondered what I would discover.

I began with a memory from my high school days. I was in grade 12 when Jake Toews, a pragmatic and respected teacher posed the question, “Why would you not commit suicide?” My response was, “I’m curious about what will happen tomorrow, actually the entire future.” I didn’t want my life to end with a sigh of regret.

During high school I worked with my Dad in summer, operating a large bulldozer, driving a dump truck, blowing stumps from the ground with dynamite, and more. There were times when I had opportunity to reflect, consider and evaluate while working. I began to understand I needed to choose between a variety of strategies and approaches, some of which might be alluring but deceptive. If my life was not to terminate with a sigh and a whimper, I would need to choose wisely.

Cousin Nolan may never have consciously struggled with questions that would determine the direction of his life. Possibly he didn’t heed the counsel of those who wanted him to prosper. He seemed to have drifted, much like the Monarch butterflies I admired as a child on sun drenched summer days. He had waited for life to open doors to achievement and meaning. In the end he seemed to conclude that life had not accepted its responsibility to him. He felt deceived.

L.N. Tolstoy on 23 May 1908. Lithograph print by Sergey Prokudin-Gorsky (Wikipedia)

Leo Tolstoy’s “How Much Land Does a Man Need?” depicts another equally unfruitful way of thinking. Pakhom, a character in this book, is told that for one thousand roubles he can acquire as much land as he is able to walk around in a day. Elated at the prospect of acquiring immense wealth, he starts walking early in the morning, eager to take complete advantage of this unanticipated offer. Striding briskly he sees a lake from which he’d be able to obtain water for cattle and crops. Tempted, he alters his course to encompass this magnificent body of water. Further along he notices a choice plot of land he knows will produce an abundant harvest of flax. Again he cannot resist and skirts around this section of rich soil. Late in the afternoon he realizes his acquisitive thinking has prompted him to be overly grasping.

Concerned at seeing the sun sinking toward the horizon and fearing he will lose all he has gained, Pakhom begins to run. This brings him to where he had set out in the morning, just in time. Unfortunately for him, his unrestrained, foolish reaching for more has taxed his body unmercifully. Exhausted, he collapses to the ground at the finish line and dies. He is buried there in a grave a mere six feet long. That, Tolstoy suggests, is all the land a man needs when he dies.

Pondering on the life trajectories of Cousin Nolan and Pakhom, I’m beginning to evaluate my own values and decisions over my many years. For Linda and me there have been challenges, adventures, opportunities, and certainly missteps. How have we dealt with our very generous allotment of time? Who and what has influenced us? Have we constructively participated in our community? What has been our response to people experiencing distress and heartache? In coming posts I propose to look back, in the hope of gaining understanding for the future.

Learning To Live Significantly (Introduction)

In his 2005 commencement address to graduates at Stanford University, Steve Jobs said, “for 33 years I’ve looked in the mirror every day and asked myself ‘if today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?’”

In less than a week I’ll be marking 81 years on Planet Earth and somewhat like the renowned co-founder of Apple, I have begun asking myself a question. My question is “am I walking on a worthy path?” To this question I add, “am I making a positive difference in the lives of others, of my community? Would I select the same path again?”

I’m very aware there have been missteps I regret but cannot change. I also know I’ve been extraordinarily blessed with mentors who pointed me in a good direction. One such individual was Anna Braun, a resident at Menno Hospital when my father was there.

Anna was a short, slightly plump little lady, then in her eighties. Born in Ukraine of Mennonite parents, she had experienced Stalin’s starvation policies. Some in her village had died of hunger. Others had been sent to the Gulag, the USSR’s notorious prison system. Most of these had not been heard from again. Knowing they could expect only persecution, starvation and death, Anna and her mother fled with the German Wehrmacht when it was routed by the Soviet Red Army.

Known for their experience and skill in agriculture, many Mennonites were permitted entry into Canada. Anna and her mother were among them. They settled in Abbotsford, where they worked on a raspberry farm.

Anna was confined to a wheelchair when I met her. She had suffered a broken back and other injuries when she climbed into a cherry tree. The branch she was perched on broke.

Day after day she now sat in her wheelchair in the large common area of Menno Hospital. Often I crouched at her side and she spoke to me in her mother tongue, a Low German dialect. My forebears had emigrated from the same area in 1874 and Low German was my language until I began attending school. I still retained enough of the language to understand much of what she said. I was impressed that although she could do almost nothing for herself, she smiled often and refused to slip into a spirit of discontent. Her face and voice exuded joy. Although she knew the sands of time in her personal hour glass were flowing swiftly to the end, she continued to diligently plant positive, life changing seeds in those who entered her limited sphere of influence. After our brief chats, I invariably felt uplifted.

Having attained the eighth decade myself, I’m very aware that my own strength is ebbing. My vision has deteriorated to where I frequently need Linda’s help dealing with computer challenges. Others who are my age are also grappling with health and other issues. Parkinson’s recently took down a valued friend. Another friend has totally lost his eyesight. Dementia has stolen the understanding of several friends.

Like Steve Jobs who passed away October 5, 2011, I’m becoming increasingly aware that I must not fritter away my days. If I want to accomplish something important, I must do it today. Like Anna I want to invest my time not in accumulating wealth, but in enriching the lives of others. Even now, when I think of her I’m reminded of the African proverb which says, “you plant a tree so your grandchildren can sit in the shade.”

Although Anna was totally dependent on others, she left an indelible imprint on my life. One day after a visit with her, she grasped my hand firmly as I was about to leave. Drawing me close, she prayed for me in her mother tongue. I walked away deeply impacted, wondering what had prompted the prayer. Did she have a premonition that this would be our final visit?

When I returned two days later, Anna wasn’t at her usual station in the common area. I found her in her room, in a coma. A young granddaughter was sitting at her bedside. Anna was at the end of her sojourn on earth. We wouldn’t talk again, but her joy and wisdom had inspired me to think not only of how I can enrich my own life, but also the lives of others.

Carrie Allison, Caretaker of the Chapels

 

For many years a diminutive white chapel perched like a beacon of hope on a bluff overlooking Highway 3, just east of Hedley. When a month had a fifth Sunday, a priest arrived to conduct mass for a handful of parishioners, most of whom came from the two local reservations. In spite of the evils of church run residential schools, for me the chapel seemed a symbol of purity, exuding an aura of authenticity and a refreshing lack of ostentation. For some band members though, it likely stirred bitter memories of prejudice and abuse. On June 26, 2021, shortly after unmarked graves of children were discovered at a former Kamloops residential school, an arsonist put a match to this iconic structure.

Some time after the fire Linda and I attended a Wake for a band member and we were greeted warmly by Carrie Allison, a revered member of the local band. She told us there is still an earlier chapel, situated at a lower level on the same property. “Come and have a look,” she invited. “I’ll give you a tour.”

The “jail” in the foreground hasn’t been used in a long while. photo by Gerry Wilkin

Several weeks later Carrie showed us the unpainted original chapel and also the small log structure that once served as the band jail. After the tour she sat with Linda and me in our Sun Room and talked about her life and the two chapels. “The first one was built in about 1890,” she said. “The white one was built in 1910. The people worked tirelessly, bringing building supplies with horse and wagon. It was very hard work. The elders who built them are gone now. I still do the cleaning and arrange for maintenance. I want to show respect for their efforts and sacrifices.”

The interior of the original chapel is much more ornate than the exterior. Pews. altar and other items were donated by the St. Ann’s Parish in Penticton.
photo by Gerry Wilkin

Listening to Carrie, we wondered how she was able to rise above prejudice and difficult circumstances to become an inspirational role model to many in our community. Certainly her early years could have fostered a resentful, rebellious spirit.

I was born in Merritt almost 92 years ago,” she said. “My birth father was white, a bad man. I didn’t get to know him.”

Like many indigenous children, Carrie didn’t get a great start in life. Her education began in a reservation school but at age 8 she was sent to a residential school in Kamloops. “Some of the nuns were nice,” she recalled, “but not all. One was especially mean to young children. We were in class half a day and worked half a day. We planted and weeded the crops. My mother had taught me to sew and I mended the boys’ pants, socks and shirts. If we didn’t make our beds perfectly, they were ripped apart and we had to start over. At meal times we saw the priests and nuns eating nutritious meals, including meat. Our meals were skimpy, with no meat. At Easter they gave us each a boiled egg with our meal. I was always hungry.”

She was 10 and had been in the residential school three years when her older sister refused to go back. “I decided not to go back either, so I ran away,” Carrie said. “I walked 8 miles to my grandparents home. My grandfather told me if I wasn’t going to school, I’d have to work. They couldn’t afford to feed me. I worked in orchards, did gardening and housework. Later I also worked in a restaurant.”

In 1949 at age 18 she married Edward (Slim) Allison, who later became band chief. At age 40 she returned to school and achieved a grade 10 standing. She decided to become a hair dresser and set up a salon in her home. When she was 60, Carrie applied for a social insurance card. “My mother couldn’t read or write,” she recalled. “She told me I was born on March 6, but when the card arrived, it said March 27.”

Carrie isn’t one of the bitter ones. Following her mother’s example, she still helps elderly and poor people in need. “When people ask how I can stay with the Catholic church after the abuse and humiliation of the residential school system, I tell them it wasn’t God who did that to me. People did it.”

Still vibrant, resolute and active in the local band, she will celebrate her 92nd birthday in March. Her good will, wisdom and resilience continue to be an example and inspiration to the band and the Hedley community.

Carrie Allison at the entrance to the Chuchuwayha Oblate Mission Church. photo by Gerry Wilkin.

 

Mennonite Centre – On The Ground In Ukraine

When Vladimir Putin’s forces invaded Ukraine, mainstream media were keenly interested. With the war grinding on month after month, this interest has flagged. Now they largely report  missile strikes on major cities, especially Kyiv.  At times we also hear about an infusion of cash or donation of heavy tanks. They give only scant, occasional attention to the devastation of individual lives, families and communities.

Rarely do they provide an understanding of the misery caused when mothers and children flee, leaving fathers and husbands who are defending Ukraine. We are told little about the scarcity of wood for heat, warm clothes, dwindling  food supplies, or the fear endured by those hiding in dank, unheated basements or  apartment buildings with blown out windows, doors, or even walls.

For almost a year, Linda & I have received reports  from the Friends of the Mennonite Centre. Some years ago this small Canadian organization established The Mennonite Centre in Ukraine with the goal of providing essential necessities of life to impoverished Ukrainians. With the onset of the war, the needs have increased. Because the Mennonite Centre has Ukrainian people doing the day to day work, they have an intimate understanding of what people need. They have also developed relationships with local groups, providing them with financial and other assistance.

Below is a recent update written by George Dyck to help readers understand the plight of those directly impacted by the war.

Mennonite Centre in Molochansk, Ukraine

Update #90 February 9, 2023

Our partners from Uman Help Center go to the South, to the deoccupied villages of Kherson oblast on a regular basis. The last visit was to two villages Chervona Zorya and Tavriyske. These villages are almost destroyed. Still, most of the people are not planning to leave. They hope to restore their homes and continue to live in the area. Pastor Dmytro and his team are connected with the leadership of the community and coordinate their activities with them. Thus, they try to be as effective as possible. They know what the need is and bring the most necessary things. It’s a very wise approach and works very well.

This time besides flashlights and blankets they brought pots and kettles. It’s February. Spring is coming. And my guess seeds will be of great demand very soon. People in many villages live without electricity for seven months. So, flashlights and candles are in big demand.

Warm blankets, pillows are also very needed, because many villages are partially destroyed. It means that some people lost their houses with most of their belongings. After the de-occupation the head of the community got a generator from the government. This is the only place in the village where people can charge their cell phones and other equipment. We talked with the pastor Dmitriy from Uman, who delivered all those items to people.

We wanted to understand the atmosphere in the village, how people are going though all these hardships. The pastor said that people are different, and their attitudes are different, as everywhere in the world I guess, but people are very grateful and positive and they are strongly determined to rebuild their village. Life goes on.

If you wish to donate then please visit our website http://www.mennonitecentre.ca/ and click on the donate tab. To donate by e-transfer please use the email address gtdyck@gmail.com and please include your postal address in a note accompanying the transfer so I can issue a tax receipt to you. Thank you!! Your support is appreciated!

 

 

Hedley Fundraiser for Terry Wells

photo by Terrence Wells

When Terry Wells woke early last Wednesday, he realized immediately his life was in danger. He had gone back to bed after loading his wood stove. Apparently it over heated and a thick cloud of smoke was hanging in the air, scarcely two feet above his head. His camper home had caught fire and he knew the place would quickly be engulfed in flames. “I crawled to the door,” he said later. “The smoke was so thick, I was sure if I took another breath I would die.” Scantily clad, he emerged into the cold winter air. On bare feet in the snow that still covered the ground, he watched his home explode into flames. Virtually everything he owned was quickly enveloped in fire and black smoke.

My shed caught fire,” he said. “I had ammunition and propane tanks in there. They exploded and the force blew me across the yard. I was in shock. I couldn’t think.”

Fortunately his son Terrence lives on the same property and he quickly came to look for him. Seeing Terry’s dog still tethered to the shed, he released it, thereby saving it from certain death. Due to the intense heat, he wasn’t able to save the dog house.

Hedley Fire Chief Bill Rube arrived, but the fire was outside the department’s jurisdiction. He was there to ensure no one was in danger. The police also showed up, apparently at least in part to determine whether this was a case of arson. When a bullet exploded in the still burning shed, the officer decided he had all the information he needed.

photo by Dian McKusick

Later that day Terry visited our neighours Tap and Dian. Knowing Tap is skilled in working with wood, he asked him to build a new dog house. Dian offered to cook the meat that had survived in his freezer. Others in the community also wanted to help. The Upper Similkameen Indian Band immediately provided funds so Terry could buy new clothes. The Hedley Hall and the Hedley Community Centre joined forces to put on a fund raiser. Sixty five tickets were sold and many of us enjoyed a delicious spaghetti and meat balls dinner. The Hedley church has committed to a cash donation. Individuals have also promised to contribute, including some who live here only part time.

Watching this drama unfold, I’m again impressed by the way the people of our community often choose to stand by individuals in the midst of trauma and adversity. We seem to understand that to live here, somewhat removed from the rest of society, we cannot think only of our own needs. One day we may also hope our neighbours will stand by us.

photo by Terrence Wells

 

 

The Ambulance Ride

I considered myself fortunate to be in the care of Paramedic Tim Roberts of Keremeos.

The Ambulance Ride

If Hedley had a newspaper, my photo and name would almost certainly have been on the front page last Thursday. It wasn’t that I had done something remarkable, but when an ambulance arrives in town people take note. Because Hedley is a small community, we know most people here and immediately wonder who the ambulance has come for. On Thursday I was that someone.

This little “adventure” began when I awoke and instructed my body to exit the bed. I had things to accomplish and it was time to get moving, but my body seemed to not comprehend. When there was no response I was puzzled and troubled. What was causing this sluggishness? Had I suffered a stroke while sleeping?

My dread of strokes had settled upon me during the six years my dad was in a long term care facility in Abbotsford. Every time I visited him I saw lonely, incapacitated individuals, some of whom had been confined by a stroke to a wheelchair or bed. I was appalled at their state of helplessness and since then I’ve committed to doing whatever possible to avoid such a calamitous outcome. For years each morning Linda and I have begun our day with 45 minutes of stretches and exercises. In the late afternoon we walk around the perimeter of Hedley one or more times. In the evening I do a brief workout with light weights. I limit my coffee intake to one cup per day, drink little alcohol and have never smoked.

Lying in my bed that morning, I felt betrayed by my body. If this was what I feared, our idyllic lives in Hedley would never be the same.

These thoughts had free rein while I struggled toward the edge of the bed. With considerable effort I managed to place my feet on the floor, then by holding on to furniture wobbled toward a chair. When I tried to sit down I barely avoided crashing to the floor.

Call 911,” I whispered to Linda. “Something has happened. I may have had a minor stroke.”

About half an hour later an ambulance arrived and I was heartened to see that one of the paramedics was our friend Tim Roberts. He helped me to our front door where another paramedic waited with a stretcher. Bereft of strength, I slumped into the stretcher and they carried me to the ambulance. Tim immediately affixed wires connecting me to a monitor. “This is to provide preliminary information for the hospital,” he explained. He asked a series of questions including “what day of the month is it today?” I guessed wrong. He also instructed me to smile. I would again be asked similar questions by nurses at the hospital.

If you don’t find anything negative,” I said, “are you going to let me out of here?” Without pausing, Tim said, “no, we’re going to the hospital.” It wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

Lying on the narrow cot with Tim at my side conducting tests, all I could do was think about the implications of this unwelcome development. I recalled my desire on my 80th birthday to finish strong. Linda and I have always sought to make a positive contribution to our community and I had hoped we’d be able to continue. And now this.

At the hospital there were more tests. Several nurses checked on me during the day and each asked what day of the month it was.(I was tempted to ask if the hospital didn’t have a calendar). They also instructed me to smile.

In the meantime, several neighbours offered to drive Linda to the hospital. Someone had my name added to the local church’s prayer list. A friend in Pt. Alberni called. Other calls indicated that people were concerned and wanted to stand by us.

At the end of a long day they did a CT Scan and then a doctor informed me the tests did not indicate a stroke. My body was beginning to function with less distress and Linda showed up to take me home. We agreed the episode was likely due to an unfamiliar sleep medication.

The experience certainly rattled me but was it a wasted day? Hardly. For me it was a reminder that life can be devastated in a moment. Life is too precious to be frittered away by complacency. I need to attend to important matters before my time runs out.

This incident occurred January 12, 2023, due to a computer glitch I was unable to post it until now.

Our Christmas In Hedley, 2022

I helped Linda with icing the Christmas cookies.

Due to covid, Linda and I did not celebrate Christmas with family in Abbotsford the past two years. This year we were determined to make up for lost time, but once again it was not to be. Police warnings and reports of accidents on ice laden roads convinced us to hunker down here and once again enjoy a more subdued Christmas. There were several highlights and adventures that gave us memories we will long treasure.

One highlight came from our 21 year old granddaughter Alexa. She said to her mother (our daughter Vivian), “without grandma and grandpa here last year, Christmas didn’t seem the same. If they don’t feel safe driving here, I’m going there to pick them up and I will also return them.” We weren’t willing to endanger her and it didn’t happen, but knowing she was willing lifted our spirits.

One adventure we didn’t anticipate began to unfold when the phone rang a few days before Christmas. The call was from our friend Brian who has been in prison approximately twenty years. He is currently in the Idaho Maximum Security Penitentiary. We were connected with Brian by our friend Arnet Hales about six years ago. Arnet has passed since then but we have corresponded with Brian by mail and an occasional phone call.

When the call came, a recorded message from the prison operator offered a confusing selection of numbers to press before we were permitted to talk. “Press 5 if you want to accept the call,” she said. I followed her instruction and the line went dead. I had blocked all future calls from him. The operator wasn’t on the line so I couldn’t tell her it had not been my intention. Linda and I are pretty much his only contacts outside the prison. For two days I attempted to talk with someone at the prison to explain my predicament. No one answered my calls. I finally left a message on the “Captain’s” voice mail, virtually pleading with him to undo my mistake. Not knowing if he was already off for Christmas, Linda and I waited, and prayed for divine intervention. Two days later Brian called. The Captain had explained to him what I had done. He also undid my bungle and we could talk.

In the meantime, Linda was baking approximately 15 dozen Christmas cookies for friends and for individuals with few connections here. She has done this for several years and sometimes in the days prior to Christmas we receive not so subtle hints that cookies would again be welcome. This happened in the post office one day. Ron came in and his first words were “Is Linda baking cookies this year?” Another man accepted the plate of cookies and said, “Linda’s cookies are the best I’ve ever eaten.” As in past years, some of the recipients have few connections in Hedley. The cookies are our way of saying “you aren’t forgotten. We value you.”

Snow on the ground and the mountains surrounding us, plus below zero temperatures have heightened our sense of Christmas. Also, friends and family have reached out with cards, phone calls, and baking. One evening our friend Pixie showed up at our door bearing a jumbo platter with enough food for two meals. Our neighbor Di treated us with tourtiere (a French Canadian meat pie). A call from Ivan McLelland, Penticton V’s hockey great, was a nice surprise. There were other thoughtful gestures which gave this Christmas a special significance for us.

Two Hedley organizations hosted Christmas dinners, which we chose to miss because of covid concerns. Christmas Eve we attended a Carol Sing at the little church here. At the end of the service the lights were extinguished and we held lit candles while singing Silent Night. Then we gathered in the fellowship room for coffee and treats. On New Years Day we were invited to a delicious turkey dinner with friends in the home of Ruth Woodin.

It was a simple but enjoyable Christmas, uncluttered by commercial blandishments. This enabled us to focus more clearly on what for us is the reason for this time of celebration, the birth of Jesus.

 

TJ Bratt, A Mover And Shaker In Hedley

Terri-Jo Bratt outside the Hedley Country Market

In the game of life, TJ (Terri-Jo) Bratt is not a bystander. Born in Edmonton and raised in St. Albert, she later migrated to Osoyoos. In 1991 she attended the Hedley Blast, a high calibre country and western music festival. Sitting at the round table in our sun room she said, “I quickly fell in love with Hedley, When I noticed that the small confectionery in the heart of the community was for sale, I saw potential.”

The single story structure that piqued her interest had limited space, but it was the only local source for staples like eggs, milk, bread and potatoes.

My offer was accepted and the paperwork was signed,” she said. “Then there was an unanticipated wrinkle. The day I signed the papers I was told the building directly across the street had also been sold and the buyer planned to operate a corner type of grocery store. This building was considerably larger and would undoubtedly be a significant threat to my little venture.” Astonished and deeply chagrined at this unwelcome development, she was momentarily shaken. “I asked myself, what was I thinking?”

Fortunately TJ and her siblings had been shown an example of fortitude and resilience by their parents. “Mom was very active in the community,” TJ said. “She took us along to her curling club, softball games, and to whatever she had planned. Even with five children, she always forged ahead. Dad owned a lumberyard and he many times told us we could accomplish anything we set our minds to.”

TJ was an apt observer and gladly absorbed the lessons of her parents’ example. From them she learned to think clearly and resolutely in trying circumstances, traits that have enabled her to survive ups and downs in her personal life and also her business ventures.

An action person, she began developing her potential early. In grade 4 she won a public speaking award. She also tap danced, highland danced, did babysitting and became a high school cheerleader. In her later teens, she did her work experience at Scotia Bank. Upon graduating, she was given the Chamber of Commerce award based on the question, “Who would be a good representative for your community?” The bank management recognized her giftings and offered her full time employment. At age 19, she was appointed to the position of branch Loans Manager.

In her early twenties a terrifying incident tested her fortitude and quick wittedness. While driving her friend’s car late one evening, the vehicle suddenly became airborne and plunged into the rushing North Saskatchewan River. Fighting fear and panic, she managed to manually roll down the driver side window, extricate herself, and swim to the shore. Because the car had hurtled over the trees along the river bank, there was no indication of an accident and the police didn’t believe her story until the vehicle was discovered in the river several weeks later.

When TJ took over her store here, fierce competition from across the street compelled her to rely on her innate ingenuity, explosive energy, and the lessons of her parents. She quickly applied for licensing to sell lotto tickets and also liquor.

Wanting to make a positive difference, she joined the Hedley Community Club. Here she met Doug Bratt and they soon realized they were equally committed to making Hedley an exciting, safe community. They began investing time, money, and energy in club ventures, including the ball park and outdoor skating rink.

Working closely on various projects, they soon realized they were kindred spirits. “In 1996 we eloped to Nelson and got married,” TJ said smiling. “Some years later when our competition was put up for sale, the numbers made sense and we bought it.”

Over the ensuing years they built a thriving enterprise. Their son Jake and also Doug’s two daughters put in time at the cash register.

This year has been a time of transition, with Viktorya and her husband Mike taking over the business, thereby freeing TJ and Doug to pursue other interests and commitments. I often see TJ’s car at the home of Natalie, a single lady up in age. “I bring her meals three times a week,” TJ said. “Natalie is very talented and often we sit at her kitchen table and write poetry together. Until Roland and Ena moved to Penticton, Doug brought meals to them.”

Although they are now technically in retirement, we shouldn’t expect to see them reclining in easy chairs for some time.