Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



All of My Friends

Monday, January 30, 2017

Arrived

Then . . .
Now . . .











Ringing a little bell here . . .
I liked to read with my children.
But more than that, I liked to sing to them.
Little songs that told a story.
I did it a lot.
One, The Biplane, was a particular favourite.
And therein hangs a tale.
So to speak . . .
When our eldest son was three, our family attended a family reunion.
People were getting re-acquainted—talk and laughter filled the wooded area where we had gathered.
Food was set out. A vast array. And talking lessened as gullets were filled.
An impromptu program began.
Someone recited and a couple sang.
My little three-year old stood up in front of that group.
And sang.
The Biplane.
All five verses.
With choruses.
People clapped and cheered.
And enthused.
I hadn’t realized he knew the entire thing. It was a proud moment for his dad and I.
Yesterday, I sat with his father in a crowd and watched that same son, now a man holding numerous degrees in music and education, working with a choir.
His knowledge, talent and skill were obvious. The choir responded and the music was amazing.
It was another proud moment.
He sang one difficult passage for the group, helping to clarify and, in that moment, I suddenly remembered the small boy who had stood in front of the large crowd—all alone—and sang.
All five verses of The Biplane.
Maybe it had something to do with our singing together when he was little.
And maybe he just got there on his own.
Do we ever really know what path we’re steering our children along?
Until they get there?

The Biplane

Way out in London airport in hangar number four
A lonely little biplane lived whose name was EvermoreHis working days were over no more would he sailUpon his wings above the clouds flying the royal mail

ChorusBye bye biplane once upon a sky planeBye bye hushabye lullabye plane

All the mighty jet planes would look down their noseThey'd laugh and say oh I'm so glad that I'm not one of thoseAnd Evermore would shake away the teardrops from his wingsAnd dream of days when he again could do heroic things

Chorus

Then one day the fog and rain had closed the airport downAnd all the mighty jet planes were helpless on the groundWhen a call came to the airport for a mercy flight'Twould be too late, they could not wait, someone must fly tonight

Ah they rolled the little biplane out to runway number fiveAnd though he looked so small and weak he knew he could surviveAnd as he rose into the storm the big jets hung their wingsAnd they hoped someday like Evermore to do heroic things

Chorus

And so my baby bundle I have spun a tale for youYou must learn there's nothing in this world that you can't doDo not be discouraged by circumstance and sizeRemember Evermore and set your sights upon the skies

12 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Thank you, Bonnie! I'm so happy you enjoyed it!

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  2. I think I would have been crying if I were you, thinking about that while watching adult son in his vocation, Diane! (because there are a few tears flowing just reading it) How wonderful - and told so well.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks so much Jenny! The tears were pretty close to the surface, I can tell you!

      Delete
  3. What a cute story! It's amazing the little things that stick with our children.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Of course you had an influence! Isn't that always the case when it is something positive? What a terrific story, and a great moment of pride.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It was so funny that I looked at that 6'4" man standing there and suddenly remembered that little tyke, standing alone. Singing. Sigh.

      Delete
  5. I read this with tears in my eyes. I knew my son's talent (working with his hands) at an early age. You told this story so beautifully.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Alana! Isn't it wonderful to see them doing the things they were just born to do?!

      Delete
  6. That was a complicated song for a little tad to learn.

    ReplyDelete

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Diane was born and raised on one of the last of the great old Southern Alberta ranches. A way of life that is fast disappearing now. Through her memories and stories, she keeps it alive. And even, at times, accurate . . .

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