in 1974 we were young living an adventure in remote British Columbia. We were able to immigrate to Canada by taking a job no Canadian would do. An isolated fly-in lumber mill on Takla Lake was wanting to start an elementary school in its camp where a few families lived. I took the job despite the fact we had to live in a place with no road access (it was a fly-in camp), no radio or TV reception, and no phone, except a radio-phone in the mill office.
It forced my wife and I to live without most of the things we were used to, including our families and friends, or a grocery (or any other kind of store) and very irregular mail. Starting and teaching in a one-room school was an all consuming job. In my university teacher training, one-room schools were never mentioned, so I had to figure it all out by trial and error.
A couple of weeks ago, when my brothers and sisters recently came to McBride for a visit, my sister gave me a packet containing some of the letters I had written home during my one-room school days, that my mother had saved. This one was from September of 1974, the start of our second year in the camp. It gives a glimpse of what our isolated lives were like.
Dear Everyone,
I guess by the time you get this letter, Grandma will have already been dead for several weeks, but to us, she just died yesterday when we received your letter. It is strange. I knew she would probably not last too much longer, but still it was such a shock to hear of her death.
I was glad however that she didn’t have to endure longer the incommunicative existence that had become her life. How terrible it must have been for her to want to say , but not be able to get it out. How frustrating to be aware of your environment, but not be able to respond to it. I am glad that that kind of life didn’t last any longer than it did.
We are sorry we couldn’t be home for her funeral. I guess she had already been buried for six days before we even found out about her death.
I guess I owe grandma a tremendous amount. She has had a very great affect on my thoughts and feelings. I remember how much I used to hate all of those lectures she constantly gave us kids, about war, playing with guns, and things like that. Even with the attitude I had at the time, her lectures planted seeds that grew and developed into major parts of my philosophy. Also, her interest in wildlife and wilderness have also grown with me as I have matured. I will never forget Grandma and Grandpa.
School is going well. We still don’t have 10 kids (above photo taken at a different time), but we are now up to eight.
Right now my wife is baking a round bread and a braided bread. We haven’t bought one loaf of bread since the electric stove in our teacherage has been hooked up.
Our dog Vincent ( a Pomeranian) rubs his neck in dead fish every time he finds one, which is often. He must have found one tonight, because he smells terrible and his neck is all black from rotten fish.
I had to report the Aboriginal family that lives down by the lake, because their kids are not going to school anywhere.
I made a sandbox for the school yard using railroad ties. Then I borrowed a mill pickup and drove down to the Big Lake (Takla) and dug some sand, hauled it back, and filled the sandbox. . It was really hard work loading the sand in the truck because it was wet. The kids really do like the sandbox, which is the only playground equipment they have in the camp.
I plan to make some more playground equipment for them, but the mill has yet to give me the supplies I need.
If you ever need to call us, do it during the day. The mill office is closed after 6:00.
Your Son,
David
View my paintings at: davidmarchant2.ca
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