Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

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



Thursday, September 6, 2018

Let There be Trees

Notice the trees. Please.
When I was fourteen, Dad decided to combine the best of all worlds.
He sold the old family ranch twenty miles from the town of Milk River and bought a new spread.
Somewhat closer.
Situated immediately adjacent to the town – and I do mean immediately – it retained all the charm of living in the country.
Within walking distance of everything ‘town’.
Perfect.
There was just one drawback.
The ranch grew from the ashes of the old town slaughter house.
Quite literally.
The slaughter house had burned to the ground and the town butcher had taken it as a sign that it was time to retire.
Dad was only too happy to help him out and bought the almost bare patch of ground.
Oh, there was pasture. Plenty of it.
But no buildings to speak of.
My parents had to start from scratch.
After several months of construction, corrals, barns, outbuildings, quonset and finally, home, appeared.
But that was just the first part.
Now, I should point out, here, that the town of Milk River lies nestled in a crook of the actual Milk River on the prairies.
The rolling, grassy, windswept, breathtakingly beautiful, treeless prairies.
Our recently vacated old ranch had been planted, sometime in the thirties, with acres of trees. Trees that stood tall and straight and looked like they had been there forever. Tress so lush and beautiful that is was rather difficult to see the ranch house.
Though this new place had many, many amenities, its treeless state was achingly obvious.
Mom set out to do something about it.
And roped us kids into helping.
Sigh.
We planted trees.
Acres of them.
And then, if that weren’t enough, we watered trees.
Acres of them.
Oh, we used the garden hose – for as far as it would reach. Then we used a little water tank on wheels.
It was aching, back-breaking work.
But who is going to sneak away to happier pursuits when one’s mother is out there, sweating beneath yet another bucket of water?
No one could be that heartless.
Okay, well, Dad would have had something to say about it if we disappeared . . .
We hand-fed those trees the entire time we lived there.
Then dad, he of the itchy feet, bought another ranch, this time near Fort MacLeod, Alberta.
One that was, mercifully, well treed.
Happily, we packed our buckets and moved.
But we often drive past the old place, whose trees are now nearly fifty years old.
Trees that stand tall and straight and look like they’ve been there forever. Tress so lush and beautiful that is was rather difficult to see the ranch house.
I guess we gave them a good start.
And, really, that’s all that matters.

9 comments:

  1. Sounds like such beautiful country. Good for you for helping your indomitable mom.

    ReplyDelete
  2. So interesting how we both wrote about trees this week. Enjoyed your post and of course, related!

    ReplyDelete
  3. You didn't just plant trees, you grew a whole forest! Isn't it amazing how those things grow while everybody is just busy living life?

    ReplyDelete
  4. I do love trees! I would be just like your Mama.
    :) gwingal

    ReplyDelete
  5. Your stories are so wonderful, Diane. The only planting we did when I was a child was grass seed and marigolds in the side garden. My window mother typed insurance policies in our dining room and we roamed the neighborhood free and having fun. In some ways, you and I were both blessed.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Long ago, I lived in Kansas (but not on the prairie although we saw enough prairie from our car). Hubbie and I planted some trees later when we lived in rural Arkansas. I had a small taste of that backbreaking work - a small taste. My virtual hat goes off to you - the nice thing is, you've seen those trees you planted grow, which is a wonderful thing, indeed.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Hooray for trees. And their planters. And waterers.

    ReplyDelete
  8. My dad had itchy feet too. I grew up in a small town from age 5 to 16 and in those years we lived in 6 different houses. I don't recall us ever doing much with the yards though, we only ever had what could be truly called a garden while mum still lived with us.

    ReplyDelete

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