After enduring the crossing of countless vehicles, including heavily laden highway rigs, the bridge on Highway 3 in Hedley is in the early stages of being replaced. With the appearance of a 250 ton crane, an excavator and a heavy duty forklift, it became evident to me that this was a project requiring meticulous planning and smart decisions. I wondered what sort of individual had the experience and wisdom to take on this responsibility. Hoping to get answers to my questions, I invited superintendent/project manager Derrick Bisschop to our home.

On a Saturday morning, over black coffee and Linda’s freshly baked oatmeal cookies, Derrick talked about his life and the intricacies of bridge building. He’s living away from his wife’s cooking so Linda’s cookies seemed to please him.

“As a kid, still in school, I worked on the family dairy farm, haying, milking cows and doing whatever was needed. Dad was pretty practical. I learned about the importance of producing a quality product. He wanted me to learn from others as well, so I also worked for a respected farmer in the area. It was from the farm experience that I got my work ethic.”

He is blessed with the sturdy frame that is well suited to the strenuous work on farms. His dad certainly wanted him to continue with the family enterprise after graduating, but it wasn’t in the cards. “I found it tedious,” he said. “I got a job with a construction company. I also enrolled in the UFV carpentry program and became a journeyman carpenter.”

While in the carpentry role, he participated in shifting the 400 ft. Capilano bridge 70 feet to one side. “We had 36 hours to get the traffic moving again. We did it in 12 hours. I learned a lot on that job.” Working on bridge building projects stirred his interest and he grasped that greater challenges and responsibilities were possible. He observed and learned.

Four years ago he was hired by Dorosh Construction, his present employer, to help the company transition more into bridge building. Still only 30, he exudes the quiet confidence required to guide a complex project to a successful completion.

Turning now to the local bridge project, still in its infancy at the time of our conversation, he talked about some of the planning and decisions. “When we decide to bid on a project, we have a 28 day deadline. We draw it out step by step, according to how it will actually build be built. We have to be able to look ahead and visualize the completed project.”

“Coordination is a challenge,” he said. “We will install a temporary bridge. I will bring in a crane capable of lifting 250 tons. It will place the girders, which weigh 56,500 pounds each. The crane costs us $650 an hour. I have 4 trucks coming with 20 concrete panels for the deck. The items we use on the temporary bridge will all be returned. We rent them.”

Derrick feels very positive about his crew and the contractors he hires. When I asked if he has had mentors, he replied, “yes, I still have a mentor. His name is Art Lundeberg. He has built 180 bridges over 40 years. I can call on him if I need to. The Ministry respects him highly.” This is fortunate because looking over Derrick’s shoulder is a Ministry supervisor. He shows up every day.

It may all sound well ordered but there can be glitches. Several days after the conversation in our home, the crane was to begin lifting pieces of the temporary bridge in place. One of the two trucks hired to deliver counterweights didn’t arrive, due to a flat tire. Without these the crane would topple forward. Derrick remained calm even though this wasn’t helpful to his schedule. The next day the truck showed up and the crane operator very expertly placed the girders precisely where they were intended to go.

Now, 2 weeks after the initial conversation in our home, traffic is flowing smoothly over the temporary bridge. Our faithful 70 year old bridge is being dismantled and its complete demise is imminent. We will likely miss it for a time, but I am confident that when Derrick and his capable crew are done, we’ll be happy with our new bridge. Completion is set for  October 19, 2018.

At age 83 Garnet Dean is again looking for a wife. “I married the wrong woman the first time,” he told me as he settled in for a wide ranging conversation in the Tea Room at the Hedley Museum. “I loved airplanes and she wasn’t interested. This caused problems between us.” He now has a sure fire formula to ensure he won’t make the same mistake a second time. Just about the first thing he says when he meets a woman is “do you make a good pie?”

Garnet has been asking this question for many years, but matrimony has thus far eluded him. Even so, he continues his quest with unabated enthusiasm.

My interest was kindled when I heard that he talks about pie to just about everyone he meets. When I arrived at the Hedley Museum at 10 a.m. last Thursday, Garnet had just ordered a slice of lemon pie. He was sitting at a table alone, contentedly sipping his first coffee. He waved me to the chair next to him.

Fortunately I wasn’t pressed for time. Garnet has a raconteur’s capacity for telling stories and confidently offering views on issues that confound world leaders. Like an ancient Biblical prophet he speaks forcefully, as though he has just received a major revelation.

My interest was primarily in his pie addiction but I would have to be patient. Retired and living in a motor home, he has plenty of time to ponder. From brief earlier encounters, I knew there were numerous topics that intrigued him.

The lemon pie arrived and when he paused to lovingly gaze at it for a moment I asked, “Is lemon your favourite?” “O no,” he responded. “I like them all, but apple pie is actually my favourite.” Now that his mind was on the subject, he held a forkful of pie but didn’t indulge. As though to present his credentials he said, “I come in here for pie every day. I’ve eaten pie in a lot of places. Sorrento, North Vancouver, Keremeos. In Keremeos the mother of the cafe owner made excellent pies. I don’t know if she’s still there. The Hill Top Cafe in Langley is one of the best. Some cafes have mostly crème pies. I prefer fruit. I don’t like a thick crust.”

He slid the morsel of pie gently into his mouth and seemed to forget about me, savouring it. “I’ve been coming here since 2004,” he resumed, then drifted to another topic. “ Joe Roberts and I painted the front steps and deck of the museum. I helped Lorraine Lance rebuild the back stairs on the historic little house.”

Wanting to bring him back to the subject of pies, I asked, “in all your travels, where did you find the tastiest pies?”

“Right here!” he said with enormous gusto. He wanted me to understand he has the extensive experience required to speak authoritatively on the subject. “In all the places I’ve been to, I’ve eaten pie. Once I drove 150 miles into the U.S. to an apple pie festival. There were 80 feet of tables, loaded with apple pies. I bought a piece for myself and one for a Vietnam war vet.” He patted his stomach, still enjoying the memory. I mentally questioned whether he really limited himself to only one piece.

“The secret to a great pie is a great crust,” Garnet explained. “In one place in the Similkameen Valley their crust is too thick.” He patted his stomach again and admitted, “when it comes to pies, I’m a sinner. Margaret’s pies will be the death of me.”

At the end of 90 minutes, we parted company and the next morning he and his motorhome departed for Vancouver. He has health issues and wants to be close to his doctor.

Garnet is like a “rental” baseball player who is with a team for only part of a season, then moves on. He showed up in late spring, regaled us with accounts of airplanes, pies, horse racing. even a pig that lay on the couch in its owner’s livingroom. I don’t know if he is seriously on a quest to find another wife. Probably he’s having too much fun traipsing around the country. Undoubtedly though, by now he will have asked several Vancouver ladies the all important question, “do you make a good pie?”

“We come back to Hedley every second year,” Gwen Fraser told Linda and me in a telephone conversation from her home in Nanaimo. “I make my husband drive up and down every street. I get out of the car and walk around. I talk with people and when they know I lived here in the 1940’s, they have a lot of questions. It’s like coming home.”

Gwen was born in the Princeton hospital in 1939, 10 minutes ahead of her twin brother Glenn. Her memories of Hedley are those of a young girl growing up untarnished in a community where gold was king. “My Dad worked as an accountant, first at the Canty mine. When it closed he went to the Mascot. We lived next to the staff house on the corner of Daly and Irene. A number of mine workers lived there and they had a cook. We’d often go and talk with the cook.” Not having television, they were actors in their own real life reality show. She and her friends roamed about in their rustic, geographically constricted world, never troubled by thoughts of being molested or kidnapped.

“There were a lot of children in town then,” she said, “and the 2 story Hedley school was full. For some of those years, I didn’t really learn a lot because I had rheumatic fever. I couldn’t do much and the teachers didn’t expect much. Some days I mostly did puzzles. They passed me anyway.”

Beginning in 1900, six hotels were built in Hedley. Over the years they all burned to the ground. Gwen recalls that in her time one, (The Great Northern), was still intact and functioning. “The workers put the empty beer bottles out behind the hotel. We’d go back there and help ourselves. Then we’d go in the front door and sell them to the hotel.” Maybe she wasn’t entirely untarnished.

Unsupervised, in winter they gravitated to the river. “We clambered all over the ice when it piled up. A few times, one of us broke through.” In warmer weather, they sought adventure elsewhere. Curious about the cemetery, they at times played among the headstones and white crosses.

On one occasion their play became overly realistic and produced a serious consequence. Gwen’s twin brother was hit in the eye by an arrow. A local physician, Dr Ride, had an office on the upper floor of what is now Rod Moncrieff’s building. This case was well beyond his level of expertise, however. Because the Hope-Princeton Highway was not yet completed, the family made an emergency run to Vancouver via the much longer Fraser Canyon route. In spite of the efforts of the specialist, Glenn’s vision in that eye remained significantly impaired. Even so, he later trained as a welder and worked for the City of Vancouver for many years.

The gold mines attracted a substantial population and Gwen remembers that Hedley had a police officer. “When my dad wanted to buy a new car in Keremeos, he took us kids along, and also the officer. Probably he borrowed a car for this and needed someone to drive it back. On the way to Keremeos the officer spotted a car travelling well over the speed limit. He ordered dad to catch it. The surprised driver stopped and received a ticket. He had not realized the long arm of the law could reach this far out of Hedley.”

Much of what we take for granted now was entirely out of Gwen’s experience . “I never saw a plane fly overhead. The first time I ever saw a plane was when one landed in a field just outside Hedley. Lots of people went to have a look. We walked around it again and again.”

Gwen remembers the Hedley flood of 1948. “Some families moved into tents on the golf course. Us kids thought it was great fun.”

When the Mascot mine shut down operations in 1949, Gwen’s family moved on. Later, as a young adult, she met Doug at a party next door and they eventually got married. They lived 20 years on Vancouver Island’s west coast where Doug was a lighthouse keeper. “There was only one other family.”

At the end of our conversation Gwen again said, “when we come to Hedley, I feel I’ve come home. There’s a sense of peacefulness, of community. Sometimes, I’d like to move back.”

When I learned that Bill Bradley, now of Summerland, had lived in our Hedley home from about 1941 to 1956, I immediately invited him and Diana for lunch and a conversation. They responded enthusiastically, seemingly eager to return to the community that had given him an abundance of youthful memories. Although now 79, Bill’s recollections and observations flowed freely, almost from the moment they walked in the door.

Glancing around with evident interest, he said, “that wall has been moved. The living room is bigger now.” He pointed at another wall. “Our piano stood there My mom gave lessons, but she didn’t charge much. Our main source of heat was a sawdust burner. No central heating. The windows were single pane. In winter they frosted over on the inside and I remember drawing pictures on the frost.” Like a kid in a toy store for the first time, he wanted to see it all. In the bathroom he was surprised to note that the tub, vanity and toilet had all been re-arranged. “The wringer washer stood where the tub is now,” he said. I wondered if he had hoped it would all be as he had experienced it many years ago.

When we sat down at the table in our sun room, Bill seemed to be mentally transplanted back to those early years. “I was about age 3 when we moved to Hedley,” he began. “My dad was a miner. After graduating from university he was offered a job in a mine at Osoyoos. After working at several mines that shut down, he got a job at the Stamp Mill in Hedley. He did heavy duty repairs and maintenance.” Bill still clearly recalls the incessant day and night pounding of the stamps. It could be heard and felt everywhere in Hedley. By the time the mill closed in 1955, some local residents had become so accustomed to the stamping they complained they couldn’t sleep when it ceased.

“Because of Hedley,” he said, “I think we were more down to earth. We were isolated, but at the time, that was normal. It didn’t affect us. ” Certainly their activities were of a less sophisticated nature, and yet they were immensely satisfying. Not having electronic devices to divert them, they were outdoors a lot.

“We organized our own activities,” he recalled. “We made up a game we called American ball, especially when there were only 4 or 5 players. It consisted mainly of pitching and hitting, no running the bases. At school and the local hall, we played basketball.”

In summer they swam in the river. “It was about 30 feet deep at one spot. There was a diving board and a rope to swing out onto the water. We also played golf on the reserve land that overlooks the town. There was no water but the greens keeper maintained it well.”

One of the major events during his time in Hedley was the opening of the Hope-Princeton Highway. “They gave us a day off from school to attend the ceremony at Allison Pass. There was a huge crowd and cars lined up along the highway. We walked 3 or 4 miles to get there. They didn’t have good signage then and seven or eight people were killed that day. Probably a lot of celebrating contributed.”

Most people didn’t own cars so it was a special occasion when Bill’s dad bought a new Ford in Princeton. Like other car owners, he usually had passengers any time he drove to Penticton.

In 1960, while visiting his father in the hospital, a nurse suggested he date her friend Diana. They seemed meant for each other. Born and raised in Vancouver, Diana said “I liked the fact he wasn’t a city slicker. His family was a lot like ours.”

Bill recalled seeing a United Church Observer in her home. To him it was an indication of stability and sound values. “People didn’t stray from their roots as much then.”

After attaining a degree at UBC, Bill accepted a job offer at Tech Cominco in 1961. Diana graduated with a nursing degree in June, 1962. They were married that month.

Since then Bill and Diana have travelled extensively and survived serious health challenges. The qualities they saw in each other have given this Hedley boy and Vancouver girl a satisfying life together.

Terry Leonard and Valerie Beckman were seeking a source of plums for their ketchup enterprise when they decided to turn off the highway into Hedley five years ago. It was a decision that would alter the course of their lives. “There was a street dance in the evening and we thought that was pretty cool,” Terry said. “We danced, then stayed the night at Coral’s Cabins. The next morning we returned for breakfast.”

Noticing a “for sale” sign on the neglected, vacant motel at the corner of Scott and Haynes, they called a realtor. “It was on the main street,” Terry explained, “and there was plenty of space to expand for business. We saw possibilities.” Their capacity to see potential in that long deserted structure suggests a pretty far reaching ability to visualize what the future could look like. Certainly no one living in Hedley at the time considered the motel more than a tear down. A lesson in the importance of mind set?

Walking through what they have turned into comfortable living quarters, Linda and I marveled at their ingenuity, vision and skill. They are both artists and their creations adorn every wall. “We arranged the space around our furniture,” Valerie told us. We understood when she added, “I feel like I’m given a big hug every time I come into our home.”

We stepped outside, crossed a miniature courtyard, where Terry led us up a set of stairs so narrow a CFL line backer would likely not be able to ascend. At the top we were surprised by a small, secluded rooftop hideaway. It’s a peaceful space ideal for reading a book with coffee in hand, indulging in an afternoon siesta, or contemplating the sky overhead.

Terry and Valerie both arrived in Hedley with a breadth of experience that no doubt gave them an expanded perspective on the universe. Valerie was born in North London, England. When she was young, her family spent time in Italy each year, exploring the country. Their car was flown over on a Bristol Cutter airplane. Sometime after arriving in Canada with her family in the late 1970’s, she and her boyfriend joined another couple to buy a Volkswagen van and toured Europe. She later married the boyfriend, had 2 children with him, and then realized this was not the right man.

Terry’s father was in the Air Force so the family’s numerous moves enabled him to see every province. One of his most memorable experiences after leaving home was a month on Baffin Island. “The government gave me a grant to do painting. I had seen a lot in the Air Force, but nothing to compare with Baffin Island. I arrived in the middle of summer, and the ice was just breaking up. To me it felt like winter, but the children were happy in t-shirts. It was like God had taken a handful of rocks and strewn them all over the island. The colour purple was predominant. I hired a small boat to see the icebergs, but we couldn’t get real close. Sometimes they flip over. I sold all the paintings from that project.”

The plum ketchup enterprise which brought them to Hedley 5 years ago is now in production. They’ve built an addition which houses a commercial kitchen approved by Interior Health. Creating a business venture with the ketchup was actually the brainchild of Valerie’s son, Nathan. He is a business partner and deeply involved.

“The kitchen is an exciting piece of the puzzle,” Terry said. “We’re seeing the potential come to fruition.”

What is their perception of Hedley? “Hedley doesn’t look the same as larger centres,” Valerie noted. “When you look around, you don’t see signs advertising Canadian Tire, Tim Horton’s or Walmart. Also, we have a lot of interaction with people.”

Terry nodded agreement. “There is a sense of community here. Having moved around so much when I was a kid, I craved that.”

Terry and Valerie first met when he was renovating a building where she worked as a medical office assistant. Since then they have experienced numerous positive changes. One of the most important and satisfying occurred two weeks ago when they were formally engaged. “Since meeting Terry,” Valerie said, proudly showing her ring, “there have been a lot of adventures. He has totally enriched my life.” Terry’s broad smile made it clear she has enriched his life too.