Farm Exploration

I have always been captivated by two and three storey houses with a veranda and even as a youngster, dreamt of living in one. There was something enchanting about the stairs that went up to another level, and the world looked different from the panoramic view of the second storey. The ranch house that was originally on our home quarter was one such a house. I was very young but there were special areas of the house that stayed in my memory; the long stairway to the second floor, the cozy corners and secret spots perfect for hide and seek. It was my Uncle Clayt and Aunt Doris’s house as they owned the ranch at the time. They had the most beautiful view for every season of the year; the fields and pastures in every direction to the river hill and it didn’t stop there; you could see the river hills on the other side as well. This two-storey ranch house was demolished and replaced with a new house in 1959. My parents bought the ranch in 1961 and moved our family into a 2-year-old Nelson Lumber bungalow complete with running water and modern appliances. The ranch included five sections of land and my siblings and I explored them all and were fascinated by the abandoned homes and barnyards of the past farmers who had moved away a generation before. The house on the Fox place was a narrow, very plain two-storey house with small rooms and an enclosed stairwell with rickety stairs to the second floor. Despite our hopes, the only thing we discovered inside was a lingering sense of mystery, as if the walls held secrets just out of reach. Not even a box was left to help us uncover a forgotten past. The Fox house would remain silent and empty.

The buildings on the Elliott place were simple; partial barn and corrals were all that was left, but we found them interesting. The house was gone. Weathered wood and hand-forged nails spoke of decades of use, while the layout suggested a practical approach to daily chores. We found remnants of harness and hardware, such as old leather traces and iron buckles, which offered glimpses into the earlier farming practices of those who once lived here. Horses were essential for ploughing fields, pulling wagons and transporting goods, connecting us to our agricultural heritage. In 1961 my Dad still had many chores for horses, so their lasting presence felt both familiar and meaningful, bridging past and present.

The house on the Redman place was a great discovery for us. It was once, quite obviously, a beautiful two-storey house. As we wandered through its rooms, we imagined the lives of the family/families who once called it home. The creaking floorboards and faded wallpaper made it feel “homey” and hinted at years of laughter, celebration, and hard work. Our imaginations transformed each space into scenes from the past, making the Redman house feel welcoming. It had an open concept kitchen and living room and it’s hide-away pantry was an actual room, very long and narrow lined with rows of sturdy shelves ready to hold every imaginable staple and treat. A coffee grinder was still attached to the shelf. A broad staircase, crafted from rich dark wood and styled with understated elegance, led to the ultimate second-floor loft. One could easily picture a barracks of beds nestled under the sloping ceiling, looking out over a large living room. The living room itself was anchored by a grand door facing south, inlaid with intricate stained glass that danced with colour in the afternoon sun. On the same wall a large square paned window offered uninterrupted views of the Battle River hills, and within it’s view to the west it captured the turn of a deep coulee as it headed towards the river also inviting in the golden prairie light every afternoon. I always dreamed of living there when I grew up, but sometimes life leads us down unexpected paths. Although all the houses have disappeared, the memories I carry remain vivid and cherished.