On the Alberta/Montana Border: Food Flight

Tuesday, July 18, 2023

Food Flight

Okay, this has never happened to me. Honest. I mean, I’ve pretended that food talks—especially when trying to get one of my kids to eat broccoli. But it’s never actually happened. So I have my doubts as to the veracity of this story…

But let’s scoot ahead, shall we?

There was an elderly woman who had never been able to have children.

One day, she got the brilliant idea to ‘make’ a child.

She gathered: flour, sugar, shortening, eggs and spices, bowls, spoons, baking sheets. An oven.

Okay, yes, I’m beginning to understand her difficulty at conceiving.

Ahem…

Using all of her not-inconsiderable skill, the woman rolled out a fine dough and cut it into the proper shape.

Then she added some currant eyes, nose and mouth and little raisin buttons.

Her ‘child’ was starting to look pretty sweet. In a totally un-child way—if you catch my drift.

She tenderly assembled the pieces on a baking sheet and slid the whole into the oven.

Then sat impatiently and waited for it to come out.

Huh. Whenever my friends told me they had a ‘bun in the oven—Wink! Wink!’ I pictured something far different. Was I wrong?

Moving on…

Soon her little dough boy was ready and steaming happily on the cupboard.

Well, ready. I’m assuming the ‘happily’.

Even though this little ‘boy’ looked totally delicious in a ‘made-with-flour-and-sugar-and-yumminess’ sort of way, I guarantee that his ‘mother’ just had a nice snuggle with her new baby son in mind, when she reached for him.

Whatever her intentions, ‘Ginger’ was having none of it.

Leaping from the table, he looked at her and said (I am not making this up!): “I’m outta here!” Well, actually, it was something more along the lines of “Run, run as fast as you can! You can’t catch me, I’m the Gingerbread Man!”

I want to mention this, because I’m sure many of you are thinking it: This little lad was pretty self-aware, considering his lack of years. And the fact that he was 100% cookie.

Bringing the whole Nature vs Nurture discussion to a new level.

Anyways, he leaped nimbly off the table and dashed head-long out the door.

The old woman dashed after him, but, being somewhat slow and cumbersome due to her advanced age and lack of speed-running prowess, he soon left her far, far behind.

Sigh.

I don’t know about you, but I hate it when my food talks back AND makes a runner.

Needless to say, his mother was quite despondent, even questioning her parenting skills.

As we all do when our child acts in a less-than-exemplary fashion.

But I digress…

The little Gingerbread man ran quickly along the country road, making good time.

Well, he would have been making good time if he had any idea where he was going.

And a firm or even a rather vague destination in mind.

A group of farmers was just having their lunch when he dashed past.

Now I’m remembering my box lunches from my youth and a fresh gingerbread cookie would have livened them up no end.

No wonder they all jumped up and gave enthusiastic chase.

But with a laugh and another “Run, run as fast as you can…” speech, he eluded them.

There was real Olympic potential in our little sprinter.

Of course there’d be a distinct lack of competition in his category, but let’s not split hairs, okay?

The same thing happened with a group of children, some geese, and one or two more citizens. He outran them all.

See? Olympics, here we come!

But we’ll soon see that youth and skill can always be outdone by old age and treachery.

Truth.

The Gingerbread man reached the bank of a wide, cold, fast river and skidded to a stop.

Now, lack of brains aside, he was canny enough the know that, for someone made completely out of dough-like materials: Dry land=good. Rushing water=bad.

He stood there in indecision for a moment.

“Why, little boy! Whatever are you doing out here all alone?” asked a sly voice.

Ginger turned and began to spout his now-famous speech. “Run, run…” But he petered out.

Neither of them were running.

The fox—for it was a fox—was standing just inside the tree-line. Not quite in sight. But not quite out of it, either.

He knew he couldn’t outrun this little guy if he chose to flee.

He would have to best him by brainpower.

And yes, he was fighting an unarmed opponent.

“Are you wanting to cross the river, my fine young friend?”

Okay, I know he’s assuming Ginger’s age, but, let’s face it—how long can a cookie live?

In my house? 0.6 seconds.

Less for chocolate.

“Ye-es,” Ginger responded.

“Well, there isn’t a single bridge or a ferry for miles.”

“No?”

“But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Since I’m going across anyway—I have an appointment with my medical professional—I would be totally happy to ferry you across.

“Really? Won’t I be too heavy?”

He looked at Ginger with his clever ‘fox’ eyes. “What do you weigh. Maybe 10 ounces? It’s no problem.”

“Ah. Well, if you’re sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

And, just like that, Ginger leaped up on the fox’s back.

The fox slid carefully into the water.

At first, all went well. The fox swam. Ginger hummed happily to himself.

Then the water started getting deeper.

“Ummm…Mr. Fox?”

“Ye-es?”

"The water’s getting deeper.”

“You’d better climb up on my head. View’s better there anyways.”