Photo (Cousin Helen Pylypow)  Uncle Denny Dewan with a load of logs.  During the early years many family members gained extra money by logging in the winter. My Dad did that for much of his life.  This story tells about the first experience Louise and I had in hauling logs on our own.

Link to Next Post:  Winter Trip to Cold Lake
Link to Last Post:  On Thin Ice
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Late Fall, 1948

Dad was behind in his work due to injuries suffered in car accident that summer. As winter was upon us, Louise and I asked if we would be allowed to cut and haul some fire wood, a job dad had usually completed by this time. The snow had arrived early that year and by mid-November, after Louise had turned five, there was nearly two feet on the ground in some places.

When we approached Dad said ‘OK’ but Mom, of course, was not all that thrilled with the idea. She had previously watched us haul manure for her garden and lumber for our playhouse, so I suppose she figured we could do it even if she did not like the idea of us heading off into the bush with the team of horses for a full day. 

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Photo (From the photo files of a High School buddy,  Guy Venne).  This logging truck when through the ice just off the waterfront from the town of Cold Lake.  It was totally submerged in about 50 feet of water.  The photo here shows the final stage of the truck being lifted back onto the ice. The following story is about my Uncle, Warren Harwood, and his step-son, Emerson Dewan, facing a life or death situation when travelling across the thin ice of Marie Lake to visit our home.

Link to Next Post: Hauling Logs
Link to Last Post: Crash on Highway 28
Link to Family Stories Index

Fall, 1948

“For God’s sake Warren, you’ve gotta jump, the car’s going under!” Emerson hollered as he began to pull the door open.  “What to hell made him think he drive on thin ice.” he thought.

Driving at 30 mph, Warren could hardly see as water sprayed across the windshield. Emerson, standing on the running board, was soaked to the skin, freezing and afraid for his life. A few seconds later the engine flooded and as the car sputtered to a halt, the ice cracked and water began to spurt up through the cracks.

Outside, Emerson could see they were going under but couldn’t jump until he helped Warren out. As he pulled, Warren pushed and when part way out, a shard of ice jammed against the door. There was no way Warren’s short, stocky body could squeeze through.  Emerson pulled with all his might as the car slowly began to sink.

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Family Photos via Mom’s Photo Keepsakes (July, 1948).  I always remembered this photo and by good fortune on January 2, 2016, it magically appeared in a photo album my sister Dianne McNeill had preserved.  It now stands as the lead photo in this story of this accident that nearly killed our father, Dave McNeill and injured several others.  The photo was taken in the Cold Lake Hospital just before Dad was transferred to Edmonton for emergency surgery.

Photo (by Mom): Auntie Marcia, Louise and I stand beside geese shot by Mr. Goodrich our trapper neighbour. Dad love eating fresh cooked goose, but would have a tough time savouring these birds.

Link to Next Post: Link to On Thin Ice
Link to Last Post: Link to My Best Friend
Link to Family Stories Index

July, 1948

In mid-July, our family made a regular visit to Cold Lake to buy groceries and other supplies. Heading into town was a big event as it meant visiting family and a chance to play with other kids, not something we had a chance to do very often. There would also be a lively party at someone’s home and while the men didn’t drink much while working in the bush, they made up for lost time when they hit town.

It took men many decades for men to learn that when it came to getting home safely after over consuming at a party, horse drawn wagons or sleighs gave a much better bet of arriving in one piece.  Cars, in a hands of a drunk driver, were much more deadly.

Photo (mom’s files): Harold with guitar, u/k male and female, mom with frying pan, Louise in front of mom, not sure if the man is Uncle Emerson (Dewan) but also looks like Uncle Denny (Helen Pylypow’s dad), and dad with the violin.  All standing in from of our home on the West side of Marie Lake.

At 10:30 one evening, after drinking for several hours at the Grand Centre Hotel,  eight men pilled into old Chevy Coupe and headed to Cold Lake to catch the last call. Uncle Warren, man furthest to the left in the lead photo, was a front seat, right side passenger and as the car hurtled down the long hill leading into Cold Lake hollered: “Lee, for Christ sakes slow down, there’s a turn at the bottom of the hill.”  This bit of information came from Uncle Warren some time later as he had not been drinking as much as the others and had been watching the road closely as Lee (Hobbs?) always tended to drive far to fast particularly when drinking. 

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Photo (Web):  As most realize, crows are one of the smartest birds on the earth. They work hard to protect each other and would never hesitate to attack someone who has either hurt one of their own or is damaging their property.  Such was the fate of my cousin Stanley and I as we went about trying to destroy one of their nests.

Link to Next Post: Link to Movie
Link to Last Post:  Snakes
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THIS STORY IS CURRENTLY BEING PROOFED AND UPDATED

Spring, 1949

“You better check those limbs carefully Stan or one is going to break and you’re gonna take one helluva fall.” I commented, as Stan and I climbed another ten feet up the dead poplar. A pile of dead brush and rocks circled the tree about twenty feet below.

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Photo (from Web): The  Harlan Shool House sits today as it did in the ’20s,’30s and ’40s. That could easily be my cousin Stan and I standing by the school.

Link to Next Post: Interesting History
Link to Last Post: A Final Farewell  (The last of Part III)
Link to Family Stories Index

Early Spring, 1949

We arrived at the school early that morning, but dad stayed in the car. Getting the kids enrolled was a job better suited to women and mom seldom choose to question dad’s decisions. As for me, there was no question I was more than a little scared, as I had never before set foot inside a schoolroom. All the kids at the school had been in class since last fall, were nearly finished for the year and were looking forward to the summer holidays. Other than Betty and Stan, Louise and I did not know a single person.

Five minutes later, my worst nightmare came to pass. I was assigned to Grade 1. “What in hell did I do to deserve this?” I am eight years old and they are putting me Grade 1 with all these little kids, even with my baby sister and she is not even supposed to be going to school yet.” This was definitely unfair.

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Photo (by Mom).  Shep and I head out across Marie Lake one fine winter day, we would have to travel about 5 miles across Marie Lake, 4 miles through bush and then another 10 miles across Cold Lake before arriving at our destination.  Mom was not a happy camper when Dad told her what he needed Shep and me to do.

Link to Next Post:  A Final Farewell (The end of Part III)
Link to Last Post:  Hauling Logs
Link to Family Stories Index

January 1949

“Mush!” I hollered with all the presnce my eight your old voice could muster. At the same moment I kicked off the toboggan with one foot expecting Shep to hit the traces. Not to be!  He just stood there, his feet firmly planted in the snow, refusing to move.  The toboggan hit the back of his legs, he yelped and I fell flat on my face into the hard crusted snow. Ouch!

I looked up red faced as my trusty companion Shep turned and cocked his ears as if to say:  “Mush? Mush? What the hell are you talking about?  I’m not just some ordinary sled dog, so don’t start getting all uppity with me. The next thing you will be calling ‘gee’ and ‘haw’. Not gonna happen buddy! Now try to get this straight, ‘we-are-partners’ in this adventure, not master and slave!”

Properly chastened, I tried again: “Ok, Shep old buddy, let’s hit it!”  This time he hit the harness so quickly I nearly fell off the back of the toboggan. Not a great start, but we were off on our first solo cross country, a trip that mom vigorously opposed.

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Louise (4) and Harold (7) hold a large Silver Wolf that Mr. Goodrich (photo below) had shot earlier that fall. Wolf packs were very common in the area, but they seldom bothered any of the area residents as wild game was plentiful (Photo by Mom).

May 8, 2014.  This story is brought forward as it is the 7th birthday of our Grandson, Grayson Edward Walker.
Grayson, check out one of the things Grandpa was doing during his 7th year.

Link to Next Post: Link to My Best Friend
Link to Last Post: Link to Explosion
Link to Family Stories Index

Winter of 1948 – 1949

Suddenly Shep stopped dead in his tracks and stood perfectly still. The hair on his neck and back bristled as a soft, low growl emanated from deep within his throat. I scanned the bush – nothing. He continued to growl and slowly sniffed the air off to my right.

Suddenly I caught a wisp of two large silver-grey animals moving furtively through the trees about 100 feet off the trail. Wolves! No doubt the rest of the pack would be nearby.

Everything Mr. Goodrich had told me about encountering a wolf or other predator flooded into my mind.

“Just keep walking and go about your business! Don’t run. Stand tall. Keep chatting – make some noise – fire a shot at a tree if you wish. The wolves have been well feed this winter so they are more afraid of you than you of them. Remember, a healthy, well fed wolf or bear will seldom attack a human.

‘Seldom attack?’ ‘Well fed?’ I certainly hoped so. At under four feet, even ‘standing tall’; I was not going to make much of an impression. As for the part ‘they are more afraid of you than you of them!’ there is no way on God’s green earth, one of those big, silver-grey wolves could possibly be more afraid of me. It probably didn’t help that mom had been reading all those ‘big bad wolf stories’ when I was a little boy.

Photo: (by mom):  I do not have any photos of Mr. Goodrich hunting big animals, but in this photo he stands holding his shotgun in front of our house. Beside him is several geese he had shot early one fall morning in 1948.

As for wolves, just the previous week Mr. Goodrich had killed a large male not many miles from my present location. He  also told us he had observed a kill site further north where the wolves had taken down a deer. Louise and I had held the skin of that large male and had to pull hard just to keep it to off the ground. It must have stretched six or seven feet from the tip of the nose to the end of the tail.

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Photo (by Mom):  While was a good friend with who I spent considerable time exploring the wilderness around our home, by best friend was my little sister Louise. Together we spend hours building things, helping around the house and taking school lessons from mom.

Link to Next Post: Link to Crash on Highway 28
Link to Last Post: Link to The Trap Line
Link to Family Stories Index

1947 -1949

Life can be fragile, a fact our family had plenty of chances to learn – Louise nearly drying from a killer fungus, then, nearly drowning and mom’s injury from the explosion.

The coming summer, to be our last at Marie Lake, would find dad left for dead in the Cold Lake Hospital. That fall, Uncle Warren and Cousin Emerson would stare down the grim reaper on the thin ice of Marie Lake, the lake that had nearly taken Dad, Aunt Marcia, Louise and me to the bottom.

It was a time when Louise and I would be drawn more closely together than at any time in our lives, before or after. While our dog Shep played a prominent role in my young life, I would have to say that Louise grew to be my very best friend over the two short years at Marie Lake. We played, worked, studied and planned new adventures and, Shep was close by our side. It was an all too brief interlude in our lives, a time when life stood still.

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