In Times of Trouble

We were talking about his business trip, day 4 of 5, when the conversation turned to the weather app he was hoping to install. Northern Ontario, Canada can be a difficult place to be on winter roads. As we spoke he digressed to another moment in time where lives mattered and little was available for help. Cell phone service had not been an option on this isolated stretch of a narrow two-lane northern stretch of highway.

We'd been travelling on a desolate stretch of road in late March, many years ago. An unexpected Spring snow storm greeted us making driving treacherous. Suddenly, we came upon a long lineup of stranded cars on the side of the highway, many stuck in the ditch. There was no shoulder. Signs indicated that nothing - no food or gas - was available for at least a hundred kilometers. Terror held these motorists and us in its grip. We stopped to help. But how, I wondered?  

Earlier that day, we had bought two cases of water for the trip north. My husband, a man of steel, possessing unheard of directional and driving skills, knew what we had to do. I began to distribute the water to the stranded motorists, waiting in their cars, precipitously, on the narrow two lane road. We were worried. Icy roads, with transport trucks as constant companions, made the circumstance a possible life and death issue. The posted speed was 80 klm. We had to get help. Tow trucks and the provincial police would be here soon, we assured everyone. The water, I hoped, would hydrate and keep these travellers able to cope with the events that would be unfolding that day.

Staying inside the vehicles was the safest place to be. Throughout this ordeal, my husband had  remarked that the name Florence Nightingale was being used by those waiting for help as I handed out water. I could not remember the trip nor the exact details of it but felt circumspect and humbled by it all. It was a tumultuous time. What I did was very little yet to be called Florence Nightingale was most humbling. 

Being on that road that fateful day in March was the result of a husband's driving skill and desire for travel. .. (I would be content to just be home with my Labrador puppies.). My sense of direction is abysmal. In earlier times, when we camped, as a family, one son would 'escort' me to the camp store or  'facilities'. On that snowy dangerous day long, long ago, fate intervened reminding us to be ready. Others may need us as we pass through.

 

"Have Fun in Second Place"

The race was over. He had won. He hoped he would 'cause he was better and had had a head start on us. Dad and grandpa had planned it that way.

We had arrived with the super food of the summer at the house of our son and 'daughter', living nearby. Strawberries hit the spot anytime, especially now in June's wondrous heat. We had been up early with plans to shop early at two places then home. I had so much to do. Don't we all? The visit was ending when it happened: the race to the corner.

Our racing competitor, our happy-go-lucky, enthusiastic, 'driven' four-year-old grandson, had recently broken his wrist while playing outside. He had landed on his hand, seriously injuring it. He was unable to play sports for a month so had to adapt and avoid strenuous activity. Then came the idea. Our grandson was on his tricycle with dad behind him directing the race. 'Alex' steered with precision while pedaling speedily along the side walk, smiling at his competitors on the road next to him. Grandpa and his sidekick, grandma, smiled back at this precious child who belonged to them. Rules were followed as the Chevy Avalanche sped to 15 klm. The race was on!

We drove respectively and respectfully down the road as our enthusiastic grandson, on his three wheeler, smiled at his competition. He is an avid and accomplished cyclist but doctor's orders prevented him from demonstrating his prowess for now, broken wrist and all. Dad was so proud.

The street was quiet that morning.  Well under the speed limit, grandpa drove. The little guy, an aficionado of all things big, fast and classic was excited to be racing against the biggest truck of all. And it all belonged to his grandpa!

"Have fun in second place" declared our grandson, happily, as we drove away from this sweet encounter on the corner. He was a delight; the words, beyond his years. And he was ours!