First I have to say that I’m sitting here writing this in the light because for the first time in probably a month, the power has not gone off. Not even for a second. Wait….I need to knock on wood…..okay, done.
My head teacher’s workshop was cancelled today because of a bunch of meetings at the cell level (smaller than a sector but larger than an umadugadu). So..I was in the office. I had been working for a few hours when I got a call from Vincent at the Post Office to tell me that a small packet had arrived for me. Already my day was looking good. Unable to find any moto to drive me (Murphy’s law: when you don’t want a moto they hound you, when you do there isn’t one to be found) so I started to walk. Eventually a bus came by and I hoped in. I arrived to collect my package when Vincent, with a big grin, handed me THREE!!!! What???? My parents, Aimey and family friends had all sent parcels and various stages and they all arrived today. I was giddy with excitement. The fact that my parents sent a parcel at the same time as the Lemphers made me wonder if, given the odds, I’d find a deck of cards and a score card for bridge. I found neither but I did find some wonderful treats including peppermint foot salts and Belgian chocolate – both of which I’ll bring south with me this weekend to share with Christine. My family and friends have been so generous that I can’t help but share. The package from the Lemphers was a particular and welcome surprise. The Lemphers are like my second parents. I grew up in the north and my aunts and uncles all lived in the east, and so we spent Thanksgivings and New Year’s Eves with them. I truly believe that if there is anyone, other than my parents, prouder of me for coming – and surviving – in Africa it is them. This is why:
I grew up in Whitehorse, Yukon. Okay, so I also lived in Fort Smith and Inuvik in the NWT and in Grande Prairie AB and in Calgary before I graduated from high school. But my formative childhood years were spent in the land of the midnight sun – literally. Have you every heard of a little known poet named Robert Service? If you’re a Yukoner you know many of his lines by heart.
There are strange things done, in the midnight sun,
by the men who moil for gold
And the Arctic trails have their secret tales
that would make your blood run cold
The Northen Lights have seen queer sights
But the queerest they ever did see
Was the night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
The Lemphers lived on the marge of Lake Lebarge and I, reluctantly, grew up there. Every Friday we would pack up our things and drive the hour to Lake Lebarge where, as soon as the kids were done eating, my parents would pull out the bottle of Pledge and polish the table until a playing card would slid across the surface without a molecule of resistance. Then the bridge playing began and it’s the sounds and smells of these weekends that are etched in my memory.
By the time our parents began to play, the kids had gathered (read: been banished) into “the addition” (the part of the house that was under construction) to watch a Betamax video that we’d pick up at the junction on the way out. Could have been “Batteries Not Included” or “Ghostbusters” or something like that. The five of us would keep ourselves entertained and every so often one of us would be sent to the kitchen for junk food or pop. We’d walk past the stereo that was usually playing The Kingston Trio and then dig through the Tupperware for something to eat. Sometimes my the parents noticed us, sometimes they didn’t. The language of bridge was something I learned as a kid. I don’t know how to play the game and yet could fake it by saying things like “four no trump” or “I bid six”. My understanding of the word “rubber” was far different than my peers in junior high, that’s for sure. My memory, of course, has changed over the years. I’m sure we didn’t visit every Friday and I’m sure the drive wasn’t a full hour. And I’m pretty sure our parents didn’t neglect us for an entire weekend. What I am definitely sure of, though, is that while my memory looks back on these weekends fondly the truth is, I hated going out there! I usually complained the entire time.
I complained about the animals. There were cats and dogs and horses and a black bird named Vicious that would never shut up! The Newfoundland named Brumby would lie on my shoes and druel on them. The cats scratched me and I fell of the horse, Angel, once on Thanksgiving and thought for sure I’d broken a limb. Also, there was no one for my to play with. Danny had Justin and Pat had John. But the Lemphers neglected to provide a daughter near my age to play with so I was stuck reading, listening to my walkman or more likely, whining.
Once the family thought it would be a great idea to have a big baseball game. I was dragged out of the house and told to have fun. Hmfph. Some game. The bunch of cheaters kept moving first base when you tried to get there or they pull you down as you were running. And just as I was whining at the injustice of it all I was hit in the knee by a line drive. I collapsed in convincing agony and FINALLY was aloud to go back inside to my Christopher Pike book and my Bon Jovi New Jersey album. How often had I wish that I was Sam McGee – if only just to get away from my wretched family!!! How dare they try to make my childhood fun, let alone memorable!
The reason I was miserable probably had something to do with the fact that I was misunderstood tween who was trying to find her way in the world. Or not. It probably had to do with the lack of a shower, septic tank, bugs and spiders, harsh weather or no television. (Sound familiar?) I constantly complained and whined and cried and made live miserable for those around me to. This is why, I think, when I proudly said “Yup, I’m going to Africa” my parents, and I assume, the Lemphers had to do a double take. Actually, on all my travels abroad, I have received such wonderfully supportive emails from them I think they might finally believe that it was just a phase!
We moved from Whitehorse in 1991 and I haven’t been back to Lake Lebarge since. I’ve been saying for years that I want to take a drive up north again. I have cousins in the Yukon too. I think when I’m get home and want to put my passport away for a while, I’ll head up north and maybe, have a baseball game on marge of Lake Lebarge in the midnight sun.
Thanks for the parcel! And….uh….sorry I was such a pain in the ass back then.
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