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E. C. Unger
About the Writer
Halfway through the last century, the prairie sky was still huge and unchallenged; a clean, clear dome of promise to those who would eventually plan its skyways. The horizon was e...view moreAbout the Writer
Halfway through the last century, the prairie sky was still huge and unchallenged; a clean, clear dome of promise to those who would eventually plan its skyways. The horizon was endless and quiet, still unspoiled by too many white men; and spacious enough to hold a cowboys dream. The empty foothills wrestled westward until they were forced to yield to the conquering Rockies. Quick, cold streams slipped free of the mountains and meandered carelessly through the hills of green where the river willows beckoned pioneers to the land of vanishing buffalo.
This was the land of my birth. My parents were among those who, in the opening years of the last century, left the old country, as they called it, and gratefully accepted the hardships of the wide Canadian prairie.
I inherited the blessing of citizenship in this fair land a first generation Canadian, born on the wide open western plains, with Canada flowing in my veins. My parents nourished my childish soul with the principles of straightforward prairie honesty, respect for others, and integrity in ones public and private behavior. They expected me to grow into a trustworthy and respectable person, and to raise grandchildren that made them proud.
Working the prairie soil and tending to the needs of livestock was back-breaking, but healthy. Cousins, uncles, and neighbors worked together in barn and field, while sisters, aunts, and grandmothers shared the burdens of womanhood. After a days hard labor in the sun, muddy water in the irrigation canal provided cool relief. Days began when the sun came up. They were filled with endless but honest work, healthy food, wholesome relationships, and ended in honest sleep. In my community, this was the norm.
Eventually electricity came to the homestead, and hurricane lamps found quiet rusting places in abandoned chicken coops. Now, the flick of a switch could illuminate an attic bedroom at the top of the stairs; bright magic to a young country boy! The telephone arrived about the same time as electricity, and the party line became a grapevine that bore the sweetest fruit.
And it wasnt too long after that, that running water found its way through invisible pipes into the house, and the manually operated water pump joined old tractor parts in the tin tub we had bathed in on Saturday nights. But to my chagrin, the new porcelain tub was never allowed more than an inch or two of water, keeping baths brief to conserve the water in the cistern. At the same time, the new indoor toilet provided a mystery for young minds that stared and wondered. Unfortunately (I thought) the flush toilet was for winter use only, and the trail to the outhouse remained well-trodden, even after the first snows!
In time, the country road that crunched past the family farm became a highway, and soon the fantasy of television splashed black and white across the living room walls, bringing The Beverley Hillbillies, I Love Lucy, and The Untouchables. In the city, the 20th century was already routine and boring, but on our little country farmyard, it was just arriving! We tucked the innocence of our youth into back pockets, and grew up.
Eventually the city became home; policemen were always friends to be trusted; and one was never afraid! Bad things did not happen in Canadian cities in western Canada in the 50's. I worked many jobs, and never shied from physical labor. In every case, to do ones best was not an option.
Travel opened the door to horizons my old-country parents could not have imagined. I became educated, sophisticated, urban. I held many jobs, and lived and worked in many countries. I raised my parents grandchildren on other continents. Today, I hope Ive done them proud!view less