Miscellanea from the Lost Quarter and beyond.

Driving

They spent their days driving, countless hours. If you added them up, you would total another lifetime. It was the nature of living in those parts where it was two hours to anywhere and distance was always calculated in time.  

Summers they would head to the nearest movie theatre, an hour and a half away in a town a province over, where they showed the big movies at the same time they opened in the cities. They’d head out after dinner and be home when it was just starting to get dark.  

Winters they’d drive unless the weather got really ugly, though it was hard to tell what you’d find once you got started. How many times did they run in and out of blizzards as they headed north or west? The snow dancing in the headlights, almost blotting out the darkness behind. A blanket of undisturbed snow covering the road and the surrounding fields so completely it was hard to tell where the road ended and the ditch began. They felt like explorers, breaking new ground and setting the trail for those that would follow. 

Autumn and spring meant the deer and antelope were moving and dawn and dusk were dangerous. They had to be on alert, scanning the fields and ditches. Gophers, porcupines, skunk and badger all found their way under the wheels.   

They had different vehicles, fit for the purpose. There was the car, and later the jeep, for trips to town or the city. The old half ton fitted with a slip tank was the farm truck they used to take them to the fields or to check the cows. Then there was the one tonne they used for pulling trailers and longer trips where they’d be spending time on backroads.  

They never thought about all the time they spent in vehicles. It wasn’t as though there was any choice. They did what they had to do. Long drives they’d pack a lunch and stop somewhere scenic. A campground in a river valley. Somewhere with an outhouse. At every opportunity they’d take the unfamiliar road, just to see if it was a nicer drive. Something new to see, if nothing else. They saw more of the country than most. 

There was nothing like coming home as darkness settled. The twists and turns of the road so familiar the truck could probably drive itself. Kilometres and kilometres of darkness relieved only by the sparks of light from farmyards, providing their assurance that there were people out there in this vast place. The intersection would come into view, familiar enough they didn’t need a sign to tell them, and they would turn north and wait until they came to a rise where the lights of town filled up the horizon. They’d know then they were close to home and would continue into the darkness that lay beyond.