Prairie Trail - 1912

by
Isabel Carmichael

Memory the magic carpet takes me to a time far in the past. As a child of five years, I roamed Alberta's prairie hills in sunny summer days, my dearest treasures the gay, colourful flowers, orchid blue crocus with heart of gold, my wet feet going where long-stemmed violets grow on marshy tufts, and shooting star, and tiger lilies aflame in tall grass. There were so many more for which I had no name. I loved them and they brought me joy. On a sandy hilltop prickly cacti bloomed in yellow satin and tulle, as if fairies had left their Cinderella finery. White clouds drifted lazily in translucent skies, and the horizon stretched to infinity, it seemed, in the clear air.
I picked a bright red rose, perfect in its single symmetry, and it too had a heart of gold. Its perfume filled my nostrils, and the meadow lark filled my ears with song. Thousands of birds nested in lonely grassy places, by sloughs or lakes, and some found a treetop in a dark coulee. Many flocks flew high over my head going North to nest. The Wa-wa charmed me, and frightened me if he decided to land his flock nearby to feed before continuing his long trek.
This was a new land, new to me and those I loved, new to any settled habitation, new to the plough, and to domestic herds. There had been buffalo herds, for we gathered their whitened bones in heaps, not knowing they were left from Indian feasts many moons ago. The new sod barn was being built for winter. How strange it seemed to see the wide furrowed sod cut in neat bricks with the broad-axe, and laid in rows to make the wall. The rafters were of slim poplar poles which had been brought many miles, and thatched with sod. There it stood, the first barn that ever was on those acres since time began.
Here the gate opened on a new life full of challenge. It was the pioneers life, with its labour and loneliness, heartache and backache, its beguiling successes, and terrifying losses, its joys and sorrows, chasing each other like summer shadows across the landscape, yet nothing has erased the ecstacy of that new summer at five!
We had come from the comfortable homes, and familiar settlements of our forebears in Eastern Townships, Quebec. About 1850 our grandparents had come there as children with their pioneering parents, from the Highlands of Scotland, and from Ireland. In the heavy timberland they had hewn their homes and small clearings to grow food, but lumbering was the main industry. By 1912 the original holdings were shorn of timber. The rocky land was unsuitable for large scale farming, and a living had to be made elsewhere. "Go West, young man" was a popular slogan, and many did. Among them was our group of twenty men women and children who pioneered in Whitton, Alberta.
In 1911 three men of this group had gone West on a "Homeseekers Excursion", and prospected for property. Their return fare to Quebec was thirty dollars each. They chose adjoining sections six miles north-east of Consort, and filed on homesteads. This meant a cash outlay of ten dollars for a quarter section which had to be proved up within three years by erecting suitable buildings, and cultivating part of it. Each pre-empted an adjoining quarter at three dollars an acre, and this formed the nucleus of what later became the district of Whitton.

Returning to Quebec, they spent the following winter preparing for the long move West in the Spring. The Government provided colonist cars for transportation. These were loaded at Springhill, Quebec, with lumber laid on the floors, horses, hens, cows, implements, democrat, buckboard, dogs, buckboard, dogs, furniture, and household effects. Livestock had to be attended, so this gave free passage to several young men eager to try their luck at pioneering.
When our goods left, there was time to visit relatives, and sad farewells with fond grandparents who dreaded our going away into the unknown rigours of the Western plains. At the station, our minister, Rev. Malcolm MacLeod, blest our parting with his prayers knowing that so many went where church services would not reach them for months, perhaps years.

Boarding the train was high adventure for the seven children in the group. Where it took us didn't matter! The long line of cars was headed by a black, monstrous engine, with a huge bell swinging hypnotically on top, which announced our stops. It was all wonderfully noisy, with an ear stunning whistle as it roared into the station. Conductor and trainmen, in trim uniforms, swung deftly to the platform as passengers came and went. Then we left a trail of sooty clouds against the sky, that the chiselled lines of modern jet exhaust can never match for sheer spell-bibnding excitement. Likely very little of this aura rubbed off on our pioneering parents, for comforts were few. How they struggled with making meals for days from supplies they had taken, and kept us reasonably clean, has escaped memory.

Colonist cars had slat seats facing each other, which opened out for beds. A mattress was provided, and we supplied our own blankets. A silent trainman intrigued us with the magic taper he thrust into hanging oil lamps leaving a row of soft golden lights overhead. Warmth and heat for meals was provided by a coal stove, which was out of bounds to children. We learned with awe that the gentlemen in red coats, with gold stripes down their dark trousers, were "Mounties", and we sat very still as they passed down the aisles. Even a kindly smile didn't hide their commanding air or the clank of spurs.