THE EXPEDITION Chapter 10 Things from Left Field (Section 2)

In which the expedition meets a house with a history 

Date: May 12, 2019

From Gull Lake to Webb 25 km

We were packed and getting ready to leave as the other folks were getting up. It was about 7am I think, and I wanted to go have breakfast and use free internet at the gas station across the highway. We got through the town, and through the roadwork on the way, and across a dauntingly busy highway, and settled down for breakfast. We chatted with a few locals and got a few more signatures, and I was trying to catch up with some of the people doing so much helpful practical stuff.

Someone was sending a piece of money, so I checked to make sure there was a bank machine here; there was, on the gas and shop side, and it was working and everything. At least, it was until I went back to the table, accepted the transfer, and returned to the machine, which was as dead as a door nail.

The elderly Chinese man behind the counter had no idea why it had shut down. He checked the plug, and said he had to call someone. He drew me a map to find a convenience store in the town with another machine. Nothing else was open here till tomorrow. I thanked him and sighed and gathered our things, and someone gifted us our breakfast, and we crossed the highway again.

I found the store, and the machine, and while there found a screaming deal on some organic vegan gluten free breakfast drink mix, which seemed like a pretty ideal thing to carry, so I got it. On my way out, a couple I’d seen in the restaurant came in and recognized Mr Myrtle and I. We talked a bit, and they wondered why I hadn’t just used the bank machine over there… which had been working fine when they’d used it just before driving here to the shop.

Electronics hate me. Also, sometimes you just have to pretend things make sense.

The stop sign lady at the road crew site couldn’t help laughing when she saw us go by a third time, already exhausted because of all the hills around these parts. We joked about sometimes wishing Saskatchewan was as flat as people think it is! Truthfully, the hills and valleys are so beautiful, and so full of stories. I was so glad to be seeing it and being sort of part of it. When the camera on the phone cooperated I took way too many photos, of everything. Also truthfully, though – hills hurt! Except the down parts, the down parts were good.

And thank goodness for them. Those 40 and 50 kilometre days had more to do with wind and hills than with me, but they’d felt so good. Now, with my knee, I felt so not-good. I was being nice to it, not overdoing things, but it was frustrating to be so slow, and to want to be slow.

This day might have been really short. I thought I might stop in Antelope, which was only about 10 kilometres, just for the sake of being careful. GoogleMaps wouldn’t zoom in on anything and kept bouncing around (as per my normal), which made it hard to tell what might be there. Nothing, it turned out. Antelope was more of an area than a town, so we kept going. We reached Webb late afternoon.

Webb is small. Just houses, maybe thirty of them, if that many. There’s a great big car and truck graveyard on the access road. There used to be a post office outlet attached to what used to be a pocket sized store stuck on the side of one of the houses in the middle of the bunch, but it may or may not still be open. I think not, but don’t quote me. Everything was quiet. A car went by as we walked down the access road and returned our wave but other than that it could have been abandoned. It didn’t feel ominously empty though, so I decided to just find somewhere that looked campable, unless I found someone to ask for a recommendation (or a piece of their yard). Then I noticed two men talking at the far end of the grassy driveway of a large and distinctive house in a field on my left.

I’m not sure what had them more boggled – us and our caravan (which I’d left at the top of the very lumpy driveway), our reason for being there, or the nerve of stray treehuggers who ask for tent space. They offered us water, though, and once they’d gotten enough talk out of me to decide I was alright, the man who owned the house offered us a campsite for the night.

“Let me finish mowing this,” he gestured to what I realized was a homegrown baseball diamond, “I need it for the weekend. But then you can camp wherever you want… over there, back there, maybe up here…” A very thoughtful discussion ensued while they decided the safest and best place for the tent. Then Mr Myrtle and I hauled the caravan towards the house and got it parked in a good safe spot, also carefully and helpfully determined by my host and his visiting out-of-town friend.

Glen, it turned out, didn’t live here either, and the house itself wasn’t a local either.

The house had been one of the oldest in Swift Current, and could have been one of those designated and recognized historic properties which colonists use to help ground our stories, if it hadn’t lost a lot of its aesthetic and structural integrity. It ended up being sold at auction, where the current owner saw it and thought it would make a terrific restoration project, and a lovely gift for his wife, so they could enjoy their retirement in what he would make into her dream home.

Through a series of serendipitous circumstances and arrangements, the house came to settle on a piece of property he’d purchased before as a place to build ideas and future memories. It got there in three pieces, but it’s healed so nicely you can’t tell where the seams were. He’s an impressive craftsman, and touring the house proved it over and over. Unfortunately his wife wasn’t quite as enamoured with the whole idea as he’d hoped, but he’s got an awesome project and is doing a beautiful job of it.

It’s really a wonderfully built home. It’s sad that its lost its original character, but its being given a whole new life, kind of like new bones and organs in the same skin and clothing. It must’ve been rather lost in the city; here, it glows against sunsets and lights up in the dawn, standing strong and proud like the women who made it a home so long ago.

After the tour, and after his friend had gone home, my new friend surveyed the sky and considered the weather. “Well, I’m off. Can’t be late for dinner.” He perused the clouds. “Help yourself to water or whatever you need, if you can find anything you need, I’m not sure what’s there. Not much, but help yourself. Don’t drink the water – there’s good water in the fridge and some more somewhere in there… you’ll be fine…” He looked over towards the intended tent site.

“Make sure you get the door shut, you know, when you go in, if you need the bathroom.” He’d shown me the trick of the tricky door earlier. “Or just stay inside, really, might as well… that’d be alright… probably better anyways… and you won’t have to pack in the morning, long walk to Swift Current from here if that’s where you’re headed… yeah, I think so… just don’t lock yourself out in the middle of the night, and send me a text in the morning.”

I was so touched I had to double check that I’d gotten his offer right and then I hugged him, much to his surprise I think, but I was already a surprise anyways and it was so good of him to give us such a comfortable safe quiet place.

“Don’t miss the sunset” he called as he left.

We climbed to the topmost window, where he had said we’d get the best view, past the steeple (no, it’s not a church, and yes, it has a lovely steeple). The sunset was an immense wash of colours and shadows, night sweeping up from the horizon and throwing the first stars across the sky. I took photos even though nothing but memory and storytelling can capture sights like that.

I got out some of the road food stash for dinner. Mr Myrtle always had kibble – it turns out that’s a staple commodity at roadside convenience shops, thank goodness. I bought small bags of whatever was healthiest, mixing new into old to transition gradually, and trying to stick within a limited selection of what was generally available. I had precooked rice and beans and an apple and it was delicious.

My future sailboat crew of one called, and I was able to message a little with a couple people who matter to me. That was a rare and precious treat. Then Mr Myrtle and I tucked ourselves into our sleeping bag on a thick carpet in a sunroom that would come to life with light at dawn, and hopefully wake us up that early too. We’d need a good start. As our absent host had said, it would be a long day, and I’d still have to pace myself and take care of my knee for a while.

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