Sunday, September 23, 2007
Friday, September 14, 2007
The Final Leg ………
Sep 7 to 13, 2007
I haven’t been in Edmonton for thirty years so we decided to spend a few
days there and see how it had progressed in the interim. We’d never before visited that Canadian icon of commercialism, West Edmonton Mall. Isn’t it strange that we’ve travelled to some of the most remote places on the earth and yet never visited it? So we remedied that - on our first day in the city, we checked it out. It’s almost a carbon copy of The Mall of America in Minneapolis and I think I’m way too old to appreciate either one. We stopped at my favourite shopping spot on the way home to Maggie; the place that always gives me the thrill of consumerism – Costco! Now, that’s my amusement park.
We had a glut of social interaction while in Edmonton starting on Saturday afternoon with a visit to Fernie’s sister (1 of 5). We were staying in Leduc south of town and she lives on the northwest side. The traffic was horrendous crossing the city particularly on the return because of the numerous road construction projects forging towards completion before the winter sets in.
Sunday morning for breakfast at the White Spot we met a business colleague of Fernie’s from the 1980’s. At that time, I referred to him as a ‘kid’ so I was taken aback to find that he’s now over 50. He’s a scintillating conversationalist and so it was a pleasant diversion for me and Fernie was so pleased to be back in touch with his old friend. That was the first of three social engagements that day.
It was my turn now for a bit of
nostalgia with a visit to a high school chum. She and I only got back in touch with each 
other about 6 or 7 years ago and now for the first time, we were able to sit down with each other and reminisce. It was non-stop chatter from the moment I stepped through her front door. Fernie plunked down with her son and husband who were watching football and had a stimulating afternoon and was not in a hurry to leave.
Finally, we had dinner at a Greek restaurant in Leduc with a young couple we’d met on our South African journey last year and we shared tales of our travels and their anticipated journeys. It was a terrifically satisfying day and it didn’t even wear us out.
Never before in any city we’ve visited have we experienced driving habits quite like those in Edmonton. Now please Edmonton folks, don’t get defensive; I’m not attacking, just reporting. Edmonton drivers are so painfully slow. With a speed limit of 110kph, many coasted along at 90kph. So I’d pass one of the snails and move over and invariably within a couple of minutes I’d catch up to another one. This necessitated a constant series of lane changes. So I wondered – are they farmers that have come to the city – used to driving tractors rather than cars? Another curious habit was they’d drive half way across the shoulder – that must be from driving farm equipment. The drivers ranged from young women to old men and everything in between. So maybe it’s just an Edmonton phenomenon. So I guess they just aren’t in a hurry and that was also exhibited by an amazing tolerance and graciousness in merging.
We drove south from Leduc to Red Deer and then west to enter the Icefields Parkway in Banff/Jasper National Park in the middle, then back north to Jasper before heading west on the Yellowhead Highway. That route was such a mistake. First, they charged us $18 to go through the park and as a ‘cheaparino’ that irritated me. The road was rippled and rough – I guess our $18 isn’t for highway maintenance. But worst of all were the thousands of tourists. It was off-season and we were told at the entrance station that most campgrounds were closed – since Labour Day.
“Can we boondock?’ I cheekily enquired. After I explained the term boondock, she assumed a horrified expression and sharply retorted, “No, certainly not – you must use a campground”.
“Hrmphhh!”
The Columbia Icefields, crawling with trippers was just an anticlimax to all the wonders we’d seen in the far north, so we slowed down, noticed how much the glacier had receded since we’d last visited and peeled rubber to get away from the throng. The only campground open was “Whistlers” 2km south of Jasper with over 700 campsites – so what else could we do. We didn’t really want to drive that far but it was necessary. Exhausted when we arrived, we were shocked to find ourselves in a long line-up – about thirty RVs were ahead of us – mostly Cruise America/Canada rentals and it appeared to be taking an inordinate amount of time to just sign in one of them. So we soared past them all and manoeuvred a tight U-turn to whip right outa’ there. After the Yukon and even Alaska, which we perceived as busy but not so in comparison, we had been spoiled by the easy access to isolation. Banff/Jasper National Parks have become amusement parks for the thousands of Europeans that descend annually and I think we’ll just stay away in the future. We stopped in a BC Provincial Parks campground for the night – it was only 30 minutes west of Jasper and there was hardly anyone there.
We both agreed that it was time to go home. As we passed Mount Robson, sparklingly etched against the cornflower blue sky, I stifled a yawn. Ho-hum!
I haven’t been in Edmonton for thirty years so we decided to spend a few
days there and see how it had progressed in the interim. We’d never before visited that Canadian icon of commercialism, West Edmonton Mall. Isn’t it strange that we’ve travelled to some of the most remote places on the earth and yet never visited it? So we remedied that - on our first day in the city, we checked it out. It’s almost a carbon copy of The Mall of America in Minneapolis and I think I’m way too old to appreciate either one. We stopped at my favourite shopping spot on the way home to Maggie; the place that always gives me the thrill of consumerism – Costco! Now, that’s my amusement park.We had a glut of social interaction while in Edmonton starting on Saturday afternoon with a visit to Fernie’s sister (1 of 5). We were staying in Leduc south of town and she lives on the northwest side. The traffic was horrendous crossing the city particularly on the return because of the numerous road construction projects forging towards completion before the winter sets in.
Sunday morning for breakfast at the White Spot we met a business colleague of Fernie’s from the 1980’s. At that time, I referred to him as a ‘kid’ so I was taken aback to find that he’s now over 50. He’s a scintillating conversationalist and so it was a pleasant diversion for me and Fernie was so pleased to be back in touch with his old friend. That was the first of three social engagements that day.
It was my turn now for a bit of
nostalgia with a visit to a high school chum. She and I only got back in touch with each 
other about 6 or 7 years ago and now for the first time, we were able to sit down with each other and reminisce. It was non-stop chatter from the moment I stepped through her front door. Fernie plunked down with her son and husband who were watching football and had a stimulating afternoon and was not in a hurry to leave. Finally, we had dinner at a Greek restaurant in Leduc with a young couple we’d met on our South African journey last year and we shared tales of our travels and their anticipated journeys. It was a terrifically satisfying day and it didn’t even wear us out.
Never before in any city we’ve visited have we experienced driving habits quite like those in Edmonton. Now please Edmonton folks, don’t get defensive; I’m not attacking, just reporting. Edmonton drivers are so painfully slow. With a speed limit of 110kph, many coasted along at 90kph. So I’d pass one of the snails and move over and invariably within a couple of minutes I’d catch up to another one. This necessitated a constant series of lane changes. So I wondered – are they farmers that have come to the city – used to driving tractors rather than cars? Another curious habit was they’d drive half way across the shoulder – that must be from driving farm equipment. The drivers ranged from young women to old men and everything in between. So maybe it’s just an Edmonton phenomenon. So I guess they just aren’t in a hurry and that was also exhibited by an amazing tolerance and graciousness in merging.
We drove south from Leduc to Red Deer and then west to enter the Icefields Parkway in Banff/Jasper National Park in the middle, then back north to Jasper before heading west on the Yellowhead Highway. That route was such a mistake. First, they charged us $18 to go through the park and as a ‘cheaparino’ that irritated me. The road was rippled and rough – I guess our $18 isn’t for highway maintenance. But worst of all were the thousands of tourists. It was off-season and we were told at the entrance station that most campgrounds were closed – since Labour Day.
“Can we boondock?’ I cheekily enquired. After I explained the term boondock, she assumed a horrified expression and sharply retorted, “No, certainly not – you must use a campground”.
“Hrmphhh!”
The Columbia Icefields, crawling with trippers was just an anticlimax to all the wonders we’d seen in the far north, so we slowed down, noticed how much the glacier had receded since we’d last visited and peeled rubber to get away from the throng. The only campground open was “Whistlers” 2km south of Jasper with over 700 campsites – so what else could we do. We didn’t really want to drive that far but it was necessary. Exhausted when we arrived, we were shocked to find ourselves in a long line-up – about thirty RVs were ahead of us – mostly Cruise America/Canada rentals and it appeared to be taking an inordinate amount of time to just sign in one of them. So we soared past them all and manoeuvred a tight U-turn to whip right outa’ there. After the Yukon and even Alaska, which we perceived as busy but not so in comparison, we had been spoiled by the easy access to isolation. Banff/Jasper National Parks have become amusement parks for the thousands of Europeans that descend annually and I think we’ll just stay away in the future. We stopped in a BC Provincial Parks campground for the night – it was only 30 minutes west of Jasper and there was hardly anyone there.
We both agreed that it was time to go home. As we passed Mount Robson, sparklingly etched against the cornflower blue sky, I stifled a yawn. Ho-hum!
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Winding down......through BC and Alberta
Aug 28 to Sep 6, 2007
So this is where all the wildlife is…..in northern British Columbia.
Several herds of buffalo relaxed right beside the highway, lounging in the long grasses with their long-legged, ungainly babies. We had to stop for them as they decided to amble across the road. One baby, left behind by his mother, bleated a panicky drawn-out ‘Maaaaaaa’ as it ran to catch up. It sounded more like a sheep than a cow
Muncho Lake Provincial Park was packed full of animals and every corner turned we spied something new. We had to slam on our brakes to miss hitting a baby caribou. It could have been a calamity – I can’t imagine what it would feel like to injure or kill an animal like that. It sauntered across the road unaware of the danger; I have no idea where its mother was but surely she couldn’t have been far away. A bit further along, a caribou threesome, ‘Ma, Pa and baby’ strolled along the road in front of us refusing to move over and allow us to pass. They finally crossed to the other side but not in a hurry.
As well as seeing a ton more of caribou, we did spot a cow moose just disappearing
into the trees beside the highway. A bright-eyed red fox stared intently at us as we drove by slowly; a large deer on a curve caused us consternation when we could see a semi-trailer coming at full speed but the driver spied it in time and slowed down allowing the deer to dart up the bank. A large coyote dashed across the road in front of us – again, we had to slam on the brakes. No wonder there’s so much road kill. But the most heart-warming of all was the family of black bears only inches from the shoulder – a mother and three cubs. Surprisingly, the cubs were quite small considering that autumn is approaching fast. As Mom munched on berries, the cubs frolicked and rolled around in the grass, play fighting with each other. There was no room for us to pull Maggie right off the road, so we couldn’t linger as long as we wanted.
Liard Hot Springs had been highly touted to us by several friends so we anticipated staying there for a day and overnight in the Provincial campground. I think it’s changed since it was recommended and not for the better. They’ve put a charge into effect now at $5 per person for day use – it used to be free.
I suppose that’s understandable to cover the cost of maintenance and improvements. However, it points towards its overuse. No longer is it a well-kept secret and a natural hideaway. The next pointer to its disintegration was the children with their multi-coloured blow up inner-tubes and other water-toys. The last straw for me was the young men with snorkels! Now, I’m not a lover of hot springs anyway but Fernie is and he had no interest. “Too many kids” and It’s not hot enough” were his criticisms. The upper pool ‘Beta pool’ is supposedly hotter and therefore maybe usually less crowded but a padlocked gate and a sign warning of a ‘problem bear’ took away that option. So we saved the $10 and carried on.
Between Fort Nelson and Fort St. John the weather changed. We could see the heavy layer of clouds ahead of us and hoped it wasn’t too deep and we’d get through it. But we were immersed in the socked-in low cloud and heavy rain. It was so depressing. If the weather had been like this in the Yukon and Alaska, it would not have been so enjoyable. It made me realize how lucky we’d been.
Fernie, who usually resists driving more than a hundred
or two miles per day, was obviously in a hurry to get to his ‘homeland’, Dawson Creek where he spent most of his formative years. He drove three straight days of around 300 miles each; I could do nothing to slow him down. Even my pleas of “Let’s stop in Fort St. John and look around” were met with “I hate Fort St. John – it’s a rough and dirty town” and he drove right on through.
We settled into the Dawson Creek Walmart in a quiet area on the north side of the store and we stayed three days. Each day, Fernie relived a portion of his youth with me as his chauffeur and audience for his reminiscences. We visited his childhood home; the house has been torn down now and replaced. Then it was on to his school, Notre Dame, his various abodes after he left home, his workplace, Bear Mountain (which is just a pimple on the landscape) where he wandered alone in the woods and so on and so forth, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.
Dawson Creek, Mile 0 of the Alaska Highway
is in farming country. It’s an agricultural centre that is slowly being taken over by oil and gas. Oil pumps and tanks are starting to mar the farmers’ vast fields. There was the most amazing sunset as the storm clouds parted just enough to allow the brilliance of the sun to paint a memorable and vivid scene. It looked as if the city was on fire. Geocaching took us around town and out to McQueen’s Slough where Ducks Unlimited maintains a waterfowl refuge. It was on our third day there and finally the sky was blue and the sun was warm. There was no one out there other than us and it was so peaceful and beautiful. We even saw an owl.
As we walked down the streets of town, we were regularly greeted with “Good morning” or “How are you today?” and “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”. The clerks in the shops, the customers and everyone we met were so familiar – it took me off my guard. I guess this is what small farming towns are like. I was reminded though that Dawson Creek is not ‘small’. I was to find out what a ‘small’ one was like when we visited Spirit River, Fernie’s birthplace and home of his same-age uncle and aunt (E&C).
Spirit River is only sixty miles straight
(and I mean straight – there are no mountains to go around) east and we arrived on a sunny Saturday afternoon and docked Maggie comfortably in E&C’s back yard. Days of roaming and evenings of cards and dominoes filled our time pleasurably. We introduced E&C to Geocaching; they taught us how to play dominoes and took us out to visit their children and we just plain enjoyed each other’s company.
Sunday afternoon, we drove out to Dunvegan, the earliest settlement in the area. A long suspension bridge, the longest in Alberta (or is it just northern Alberta?) gracefully arches high above the mighty Peace River. There resides a Provincial Park where the original church and rectory still stand and nearby is a beautiful white statue of “Our Lady of the Peace”. Because it was Labour Day weekend, the park was teeming with locals out for picnics or just on an outing after Sunday morning church services. Farm country is usually very religious (moreso than urban environments) and thus is often known as the ‘Bible Belt’. It was a festive environment; there was a huge cake, urns of steaming tea and coffee, bottles of water and cartons of juice and the staff told us to help ourselves. So we did and sat under a shady tree to enjoy it.
After finding a couple of caches, we headed a bit further along the river to Dunvegan Gardens, a farm and nursery welcoming customers into their antique shop and ice cream parlour. They had a table set up on the lawn with a steaming pot of freshly cooked corn on the cob, which they plunged into a vat of melted butter and handed out the dripping cobs to all who passed. We each had two cobs before we were done – they were absolutely delicious and of course ‘calorie-laden’. Usually when I eat corn (which is seldom), I have it without butter or margarine, just salt and pepper, so you can imagine how wonderful this was for me. It’ll be hard to go back to it plain in the future.
E&C escorted us on a round of visiting their four offspring. How different their rural lives are from ours in the urban environment. Two of them have large acreages and when visiting it seems so idyllic but the work to keep the land maintained must be all encompassing. I would be far too lazy for that unless I had servants to do it for me. Mind you, I think it would be fun cutting lawns with one of those little tractors. Hmmm, would I soon get tired of that?
I am flabbergasted by the number of relations that Fernie has in this area. Of course, when you think that his paternal grandparents were directly responsible for almost 600 descendants (so far), when you factor in the spouses and then his maternal side of the family, it’s absolutely staggering. Two elderly aunts (91 & 84) live in a retirement home in the little town of Falher, Alberta about 70 miles from Spirit River. When we told them we were coming, they called another of their sisters who still lives on a farm in the area and she drove (at 89 she still drives and amazingly well too) in to visit with us. Two of their daughters also came out and we sat around for several hours laughing & chatting.
On the way to Falher, we stopped in the little town of Tangent (it’s so small, I wouldn’t have even known it was a town – a half dozen houses, a store and a hall). It’s full of Boivin family members but Fernie didn’t know who was who there so we didn’t see anyone. We did stop at Smoky Gardens in the valley of the Smoky River where a Boivin cousin just a bit younger than Fernie grows and sells vegetables.
A sign scrawled in red paint on the side of an outbuilding proclaimed, “Supervise your children!” and “Garden is restricted area” As we pulled up to the vegetable stand, a fellow in big rubber boots and overalls and grubby from working in the fields sauntered over to us. He didn’t recognize Fernie immediately and was extremely serious when Fernie asked him “How much do you want for your property?”
“I’m not selling,” he snarled.
Fernie told him who he was then and his face broke into a wreath of smiling lines etched from the sun.
“Come on in for coffee!” he demanded and led the way to his humble abode.
Another cousin sat inside at the window nursing his steaming cut of coffee. He too was in overalls and his muddy boots sat outside the door. They work together in the fields happily and had just stopped for a coffee break. Both of them are divorced and have no women in their lives “No more for us!” they chorused. “We’re happy the way we are”. So the two aging bachelors revel in each other’s company scorning women and marriage. It was an interesting visit for me – as a woman - and I was very amused by the repartee between them.
So this is where all the wildlife is…..in northern British Columbia.
Several herds of buffalo relaxed right beside the highway, lounging in the long grasses with their long-legged, ungainly babies. We had to stop for them as they decided to amble across the road. One baby, left behind by his mother, bleated a panicky drawn-out ‘Maaaaaaa’ as it ran to catch up. It sounded more like a sheep than a cow
Muncho Lake Provincial Park was packed full of animals and every corner turned we spied something new. We had to slam on our brakes to miss hitting a baby caribou. It could have been a calamity – I can’t imagine what it would feel like to injure or kill an animal like that. It sauntered across the road unaware of the danger; I have no idea where its mother was but surely she couldn’t have been far away. A bit further along, a caribou threesome, ‘Ma, Pa and baby’ strolled along the road in front of us refusing to move over and allow us to pass. They finally crossed to the other side but not in a hurry.
As well as seeing a ton more of caribou, we did spot a cow moose just disappearing
into the trees beside the highway. A bright-eyed red fox stared intently at us as we drove by slowly; a large deer on a curve caused us consternation when we could see a semi-trailer coming at full speed but the driver spied it in time and slowed down allowing the deer to dart up the bank. A large coyote dashed across the road in front of us – again, we had to slam on the brakes. No wonder there’s so much road kill. But the most heart-warming of all was the family of black bears only inches from the shoulder – a mother and three cubs. Surprisingly, the cubs were quite small considering that autumn is approaching fast. As Mom munched on berries, the cubs frolicked and rolled around in the grass, play fighting with each other. There was no room for us to pull Maggie right off the road, so we couldn’t linger as long as we wanted.
Liard Hot Springs had been highly touted to us by several friends so we anticipated staying there for a day and overnight in the Provincial campground. I think it’s changed since it was recommended and not for the better. They’ve put a charge into effect now at $5 per person for day use – it used to be free.
I suppose that’s understandable to cover the cost of maintenance and improvements. However, it points towards its overuse. No longer is it a well-kept secret and a natural hideaway. The next pointer to its disintegration was the children with their multi-coloured blow up inner-tubes and other water-toys. The last straw for me was the young men with snorkels! Now, I’m not a lover of hot springs anyway but Fernie is and he had no interest. “Too many kids” and It’s not hot enough” were his criticisms. The upper pool ‘Beta pool’ is supposedly hotter and therefore maybe usually less crowded but a padlocked gate and a sign warning of a ‘problem bear’ took away that option. So we saved the $10 and carried on.
Between Fort Nelson and Fort St. John the weather changed. We could see the heavy layer of clouds ahead of us and hoped it wasn’t too deep and we’d get through it. But we were immersed in the socked-in low cloud and heavy rain. It was so depressing. If the weather had been like this in the Yukon and Alaska, it would not have been so enjoyable. It made me realize how lucky we’d been.
Fernie, who usually resists driving more than a hundred
or two miles per day, was obviously in a hurry to get to his ‘homeland’, Dawson Creek where he spent most of his formative years. He drove three straight days of around 300 miles each; I could do nothing to slow him down. Even my pleas of “Let’s stop in Fort St. John and look around” were met with “I hate Fort St. John – it’s a rough and dirty town” and he drove right on through.We settled into the Dawson Creek Walmart in a quiet area on the north side of the store and we stayed three days. Each day, Fernie relived a portion of his youth with me as his chauffeur and audience for his reminiscences. We visited his childhood home; the house has been torn down now and replaced. Then it was on to his school, Notre Dame, his various abodes after he left home, his workplace, Bear Mountain (which is just a pimple on the landscape) where he wandered alone in the woods and so on and so forth, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.
Dawson Creek, Mile 0 of the Alaska Highway
is in farming country. It’s an agricultural centre that is slowly being taken over by oil and gas. Oil pumps and tanks are starting to mar the farmers’ vast fields. There was the most amazing sunset as the storm clouds parted just enough to allow the brilliance of the sun to paint a memorable and vivid scene. It looked as if the city was on fire. Geocaching took us around town and out to McQueen’s Slough where Ducks Unlimited maintains a waterfowl refuge. It was on our third day there and finally the sky was blue and the sun was warm. There was no one out there other than us and it was so peaceful and beautiful. We even saw an owl. 
As we walked down the streets of town, we were regularly greeted with “Good morning” or “How are you today?” and “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”. The clerks in the shops, the customers and everyone we met were so familiar – it took me off my guard. I guess this is what small farming towns are like. I was reminded though that Dawson Creek is not ‘small’. I was to find out what a ‘small’ one was like when we visited Spirit River, Fernie’s birthplace and home of his same-age uncle and aunt (E&C).
Spirit River is only sixty miles straight
(and I mean straight – there are no mountains to go around) east and we arrived on a sunny Saturday afternoon and docked Maggie comfortably in E&C’s back yard. Days of roaming and evenings of cards and dominoes filled our time pleasurably. We introduced E&C to Geocaching; they taught us how to play dominoes and took us out to visit their children and we just plain enjoyed each other’s company.
Sunday afternoon, we drove out to Dunvegan, the earliest settlement in the area. A long suspension bridge, the longest in Alberta (or is it just northern Alberta?) gracefully arches high above the mighty Peace River. There resides a Provincial Park where the original church and rectory still stand and nearby is a beautiful white statue of “Our Lady of the Peace”. Because it was Labour Day weekend, the park was teeming with locals out for picnics or just on an outing after Sunday morning church services. Farm country is usually very religious (moreso than urban environments) and thus is often known as the ‘Bible Belt’. It was a festive environment; there was a huge cake, urns of steaming tea and coffee, bottles of water and cartons of juice and the staff told us to help ourselves. So we did and sat under a shady tree to enjoy it.
After finding a couple of caches, we headed a bit further along the river to Dunvegan Gardens, a farm and nursery welcoming customers into their antique shop and ice cream parlour. They had a table set up on the lawn with a steaming pot of freshly cooked corn on the cob, which they plunged into a vat of melted butter and handed out the dripping cobs to all who passed. We each had two cobs before we were done – they were absolutely delicious and of course ‘calorie-laden’. Usually when I eat corn (which is seldom), I have it without butter or margarine, just salt and pepper, so you can imagine how wonderful this was for me. It’ll be hard to go back to it plain in the future.
E&C escorted us on a round of visiting their four offspring. How different their rural lives are from ours in the urban environment. Two of them have large acreages and when visiting it seems so idyllic but the work to keep the land maintained must be all encompassing. I would be far too lazy for that unless I had servants to do it for me. Mind you, I think it would be fun cutting lawns with one of those little tractors. Hmmm, would I soon get tired of that?
I am flabbergasted by the number of relations that Fernie has in this area. Of course, when you think that his paternal grandparents were directly responsible for almost 600 descendants (so far), when you factor in the spouses and then his maternal side of the family, it’s absolutely staggering. Two elderly aunts (91 & 84) live in a retirement home in the little town of Falher, Alberta about 70 miles from Spirit River. When we told them we were coming, they called another of their sisters who still lives on a farm in the area and she drove (at 89 she still drives and amazingly well too) in to visit with us. Two of their daughters also came out and we sat around for several hours laughing & chatting.
On the way to Falher, we stopped in the little town of Tangent (it’s so small, I wouldn’t have even known it was a town – a half dozen houses, a store and a hall). It’s full of Boivin family members but Fernie didn’t know who was who there so we didn’t see anyone. We did stop at Smoky Gardens in the valley of the Smoky River where a Boivin cousin just a bit younger than Fernie grows and sells vegetables.
A sign scrawled in red paint on the side of an outbuilding proclaimed, “Supervise your children!” and “Garden is restricted area” As we pulled up to the vegetable stand, a fellow in big rubber boots and overalls and grubby from working in the fields sauntered over to us. He didn’t recognize Fernie immediately and was extremely serious when Fernie asked him “How much do you want for your property?”“I’m not selling,” he snarled.
Fernie told him who he was then and his face broke into a wreath of smiling lines etched from the sun.
“Come on in for coffee!” he demanded and led the way to his humble abode.
Another cousin sat inside at the window nursing his steaming cut of coffee. He too was in overalls and his muddy boots sat outside the door. They work together in the fields happily and had just stopped for a coffee break. Both of them are divorced and have no women in their lives “No more for us!” they chorused. “We’re happy the way we are”. So the two aging bachelors revel in each other’s company scorning women and marriage. It was an interesting visit for me – as a woman - and I was very amused by the repartee between them.
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