“Did you do it on purpose?” As a kid, my mother seemed all-knowing. She could tell if I was lying — even tell if I was just stretching the truth a little. The best policy was to be completely honest.
A small village sat nestled in a scenic valley between two low mountain ranges.
Otto was known for building the best barbed wire fences in the county. Straight and true mile after mile. The wires were so tight one could almost pluck them like a guitar string.
“The berries are certainly big and juicy this year.”
Eileen nodded. “Imagine how wonderful they’ll taste with fresh cream.”
“You remember Christine, don’t you, Sarah?”
Sarah and her mother had gone to the hospital to visit Bart, a neighbour who had recently suffered a debilitating stroke. Bart’s wife, Christine, was pushing him down the hallway in a wheelchair when they arrived. Bart didn’t look the way Sarah remembered him — happy with rosy cheeks and a twinkle in his blue eyes.
“Go tell it on the mountain — over the hills and everywhere.”
The clear, strong voice rose above the din of the school bus.
I had exactly 75 cents to spend a week’s allowance.
I checked the pocket of my jeans again to ensure the quarters were still there.
“That’s going to take him half the summer!”
I had heard a number of neighbours say it.
“What do you think?”
I pointed to the sign made from the wooden slat of a mandarin orange box.
A few years ago for Father’s Day, my wife bought me one of those huge, chrome barbecues.
Back in the 1960s, few country roads in Northern Alberta had gravel.
A story about nine mentally or physically challenged athletes has been retold on the Internet and other places, including a short film.
