Turn right at which cow?
These are actual directions I got the other day, as close to verbatim as possible (names are likely wrong), I had just been speaking to the old farmer about how I was new to town and didn’t know my way around, his directions: “Just go up the old Sullivan Lake road till you hit the Brownly’s farm and hang a left-“
“Is it called the Sullivan Lake road or does it have a number?”
“Oh sure, but I can’t remember the number, everyone just calls it the Sullivan Lake road, then once you’re on the road by Brownly’s go 4 miles-“
“Hang on, you’re going to have to gimme a name or number for the Brownly’s road,”
“Oh I don’t remember that, but everybody knows the Brownly’s, his father was in government back in the 50’s some kind of MLA or something, when you get 4 miles past that, right where the Hampstead property ends on the left there’s a turn off, there's usually a bunch of cows there, you won’t miss it, take a right and go 9 miles to the stop sign-“
“I’m sorry I can already tell I’m not going to be able to find it this way-“
“No, no, don’t worry it’s real easy, my property is right along the Palliser ridge, next to where the old Thomas boys used to try to grow Canola. If you just turn right at that stop sign you’ll see the Thomas’ family house within a few miles, a big pink place you can’t miss, they haven’t lived there in years but you’ll see the house. My road is just 3 miles past that, on the right, you might see those kids playing around on that corner with their bikes, they live up the other way, if you get to Ed Wright’s driveway you’ve gone too far…”
The flip side of a town where people give directions like that is you can usually find someone else who knows where it is who can just show you on a map.
______
Marge: [to Bart] Now we have to find another school for you.
Homer: And if you get kicked out of that one, you're going straight in the army, where you'll be sent straight to America's latest military quagmire. Where will it be? North Korea? Iran? Anything's possible with Commander Cuckoo-Bananas in charge.
3 comments:
In May I visited Saskatchewan with my wife. Her family, all farmers, is like this farmer you're talking about. We'd be out driving around, and the conversation would be dictated by the house we drove by.
"Oh, isn't it a shame about such and such. Both her boys died in a rollover." In Saskatchewan, you're not considered an adult until you've rolled your car. I can't count the stories I've heard about that, or driving off into the canola, etc.
I'm not sure how I felt when listening to these conversations. I mostly marvelled about how much people know about everybody else in a small town. It's scary. There's nothing else to talk about I guess.
You know you're living in a small town when...
"there's usually a bunch of cows there"
Best directions ever.
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