Sunday, Sept. 1 - Here we are in Whitecourt, Alberta, in a very nice Lions Club RV park. Nearby is an excellent Forestry Management Park, with a very fine display of the history of local forestry and displays that detail the modernization of the industry. Excellent to tour for an hour.

We left Peace River this morning, with, for me, many thoughts of my early years in this area. We moved to the village of Brownvale in 1945, after selling the family farm and shipping my grand-mother off to Toronto to live with her sister. It was either that, or my mother was outta there, as my grandma was a very religious overbearing person, and living with her was a bit too much.

So off we went, two small kids and an adventurous couple, to live in the Peace River District. It was a long way from Edmonton, a full day's drive under difficult conditions...all gravel roads from Westlock, 450 kms, the road sometmes consisting of mud bottoms that required a tractor to pull you through. I remember Dad going down into the ditch to bypass the road on logs that were spread into the ditch for traction. He went to Brownvale, a village of just over 100,  to run a grain elevator, and later to operate Richardson's Smiling Service, an all purpose store that met the needs of the local farming community.

We had 8 pretty good years there, my mind now piled up with lots of memories of good times growing  up with loads of freedom. We attended a one-room school house, grades 1 to 6, when we were old enough, the class consisting of kids from the nearby Cree reserve, and immigrant farm kids, plus a few of us town kids. The teachers were amazing, although in my first year, I think we went through 5 teachers before the community found one who could manage us. She told great stories about eagles, enthralling us all (and keeping us under control).

I've been back once in the 67 years since we moved to Edmonton. So this was my second time back, the result being a mix of good and rather sad memories.

In the first picture, you can see in front of our r.v. a sad reminder of the good days of Richardson's Smiling Service. This is where my parents ran a general store for several years, purchased after three years of operating the grain-buying business in an elevator across the street. The store was still operating when we were last here over 20 years ago, although only as a little corner convenience store. Now it is boarded up, shows major peeling paint, and sits forlornly on what used to be a center of local commerce in this village. These small centers supplied the needs of the local farm community, and I know that often my parents extended credit to those who may have had a tough year.

Across the street, the third picture shows the area where there were 5 of those iconic grain elevators, all placed strategically next to the old Northern Alberta Railways line. Trains came through once a week or so, maybe more frequently, to pick up grain from the elevators, and to leave necessary supplies for the local folks. All gone now. The fourth picture shows the old track line, all the rails removed, which would make a good Rails to Trail site if there were enough local interest.

Going back to the second picture, that's where we lived from 1945 until about three years later. When my parents bought the store, we moved next door, as we had to vacate the house owned by the grain company. The house is still occupied, and we were lucky enough to speak to the current owner, who has renovated it nicely, and is now trying to sell it so that he can move closer to his work. It can be had for about 69,000 bucks. The current owner had an interesting story to tell of having been T-boned in his car by a drunk driver, which put him in hospital for 6 months, with the prospect of never walking again. One day he threw away all of the meds he had been prescribed, determined to get better, and here he is, a full-time working man today. Great spirit.

Down the street, we met two sisters, named French, who I didn't remember. They were born after we left the village, but as they have lived here most of their lives, they had a lot of information about some of the families that I remembered from my days there. It was a great experience to catch up on old families we'd known through their knowledge of the area. We also met an old acquaintance from those long-ago years, a man named Ron Tattrie, who moved back to the village after more than 40 years away. He remembered my sister Marilyn, as she was a good friend of his sister Velma.

The final picture is the old Presbyterian church, where I went to Sunday School, and where my mother was the church pianist. It's pretty much derelict now, as you can barely read the sign on the front of the building that identifies its origin. I even earned a gold pin for perfect attendance at the Sunday School. What choice did I have with my mother a mainstay of the church?

We finished the little tour with a visit to the Brownvale Cemetery, where we found some headstones of people that we remembered. That wrapped up a bundle of memories and feelings, which it will take some time to process. We all have our pasts. A significant part of my past is wrapped up in the 8 years we spent in Brownvale.

All for now. More later. Stay tuned.