Prairie Trail - 1912 -p3-
by
Isabel Carmichael
During the first summers hordes of primitive mosquitoes welcomed us at every turn. When the cattle were brought home to be milked, clouds of these pests hummed over them till a smudge made of dry grass gave relief. Every household had a "smudge can" to smoke windows and doors making discomfort for man and mosquito, so we could live without being stung beyond recognition. This was long before the day of sprays. Children were covered with net while sleeping, and everyone had a straw hat trimmed with green net which fell over the brim, and was drawn tightly over the collar while outdoors. In later years when much land had been broken, the mosquitoes subsided to normal proportions.
There were many wild animals to contend with, but none would harm us. Gophers popped out of their holes everywhere and helped themselves most destructively to our crops and gardens. Traps, snares, and drowning had little effect on the population of these prolific fellows, even when there was a bounty on gopher tails. He had a disconcerting way of standing upright and squealing till the stick we had in our hand to pounce on him, hit the empty spot where he stood, and he was safely in his hole beside it. An aunt who refused to go West with us, and who resented the whole exodus with wit and sarcasm, once wrote that she heard all we saw along the trails were gophers standing up and rubbing their hungry little bellies,--a prophetic warning of the fate awaiting us on the prairies. Badgers dug huge lairs below ground so shallow that machinery sometimes broke through them. Weasels invaded the henhouses, and chipmunks scampered away from us chattering in fright. Muskrats yielded prime pelts if they decided to inhabit nearby sloughs. Once a white antelope came within range of my father's gun, and we all enjoyed roasts of fresh venison. Most frightening was the coyote slinking over the hilltops to keep out of sight, and howling in weird antiphon at night, but he was harmless except to our flocks of turkeys.
Winter nights, bright with moonlight and sparkling frost, found us invariably at our favourite sport of coasting. There were wonderful hillsides on the rolling prairie where no rocks or trees stopped our swift sled on their delightful long slopes. Little wonder that the first snowfall evokes childhood memories of feverish hunting for mitts and sleighs. We learned to skate on the wide expanses of ice on the sloughs, and even dabbled in hockey with makeshift puck and sticks. When the Chinook winds came in March our winter fun was quickly spoiled. We wandered over the bare hilltops, kneeling here and there with faces close to the ground, looking for the first fuzzy head of a crocus. In summer we played for hours along the shores of a grassy slough back of our house. We gathered handfuls of sweetgrass near it, and readily recognized the wonderful fragrance in baskets which later came to the shops. These were made by Indians, beautifully done by unknown, deft fingers. One of my mother's ducks made nest in the grassy edge of this slough, and we put under her the eggs carelessly laid by the others in the water. When the ducklings hatched, we enjoyed them swimming about and coming to our hands, while their wild kin would rise with a great swoop and quack at the sight of us. The men brought home plenty of game, prairie chicken, duck, and hungarian partridge were the most common. They also brought loads of poles from far away, and stacked them tee-pee fashion to dry. What fascinating play-houses they made for our rag dolls and chip dishes until sweeping winds blew them over. We were shown how to lay out let's-pretend houses with rooms marked off by rows of stones. These were elaborate mansions with many rooms and furniture, even a parlor organ. Our poles made summer fuel, and coal from Drumheller kept us warm in winter.
July was haying time, and mowers were run over many acres of wild, uncultivated hay land yielding tons of excellent feed. This was stacked near the barn, and kept perfectly under its cover of snow. The dairy herd which was housed, freshened in the spring and gave us welcome butter and cream cheques during the summer. A team of horses for driving was also housed in winter, and the rest were turned out when harvest was done, to range, scraping the snow off the grass for feed, and snow provided drink. In the spring round-up they were put in, fat and shiny, but care had to be exercised in the change of feed. These horses were never shod, so the sod forge fell into disuse. Winter gave much needed leisure to man and beast after the hectic pace of cropping and harvest.
Horses were used almost exclusively, but one summer an uncle bought two yoke of oxen to try them. They had the exciting names of Joker, Nigger, Riley and Snoop, and we watched the great beasts, with their slow, powerful motion, doing the farm work. That they could move swiftly we discovered when they dashed madly, yoke, plow and all to douse their heels in the slough, because of the heel-flies. There they stood despite the unfinished ploughing.
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