by Suzanne Schmidt

It was a beautiful spring day, and a little over week since my mother, my friend, and my soul mate was diagnosed with acute leukemia. She was given only two precious months to live. Instinctively I knew I had to take her to Sturgeon Falls, the place where my mother, her sister Fern, and I were born. My Aunt Fern still lives in the house that my grandfather built after he sold the family farm. Throughout the years it had been a custom for my mother to go to Sturgeon Falls for her annual retreat in an attempt to escape her demanding life.

My three sisters Kathy, Janet and Pat and my daughter Tessa decided to come along. We packed our bags, and as I helped Mom into the SUV, I was reminded of the many Saturdays we spent together and how I would joke and say, “Get that side of beef in there,” every time I helped her into the car. I had to struggle to lift and push her into the seat, because she was so short and heavy, and we would laugh every time.

I decided to do the driving, which I often did, when I took Mom on road trips every summer for the past few years. This time no one seemed to mind the fact that it would take us four hours to get to Sturgeon Falls because as soon as we got in the car the adventure began. We talked and analysed each others’ lives and sang Mom’s favourite songs in both French and English. Music was a big part of her life and ever since she was diagnosed with cancer, we seemed to sing all the more. When I asked her why this was
so, she said “Turn a bad time into a song.”

After crooning a few of Mom’s favourite tunes like; “You are My Sunshine”,
''Le Festin de Campagne'', and “Jambalaya on the Bayou”, we reminisced about the many family road trips we had taken when we were younger. All six children were crammed into our car, and the little ones, Kathy and Janet, usually sat in the front seat between Mom and Dad. I was the unfortunate middle child who had to take a turn sitting on my older brothers, Jim or Harold or my sister Judy’s knees in the back seat. The trips were so long that I would fall asleep and usually end up peeing on one of their laps. They would get so annoyed and we would start fighting. Dad always threatened, “Do you want me to pull this car over right now? You keep it up and YOU WILL ALL GET IT!” For some reason, my brothers loved to hear me whine, especially in the car when Dad couldn’t see what was going on. They would tease or tickle me and my father would reach his big hand back, while he was driving, to slap whoever was unlucky enough to be within his reach. Imagine, we didn’t have to wear seatbelts back then and my brothers enjoyed offering me up for a slap or two. You certainly didn't want to make my father angry. He was under so much pressure, trying to make enough money to put a roof over our heads and food on the table. Dad really did do his best, but it was always an uphill battle, and on these trips, our car would usually break down and cost him money he just didn't have. He would end up making some sort of deal with the garage owner and after hours of waiting, we would be on the road again.

We couldn't afford to go on regular vacations, but once a year our family would pack
up the car and visit our relatives. I can't imagine how overwhelmed they were to receive so many guests at once, but in those days it was the thing to do. Relatives always covered   your back, and without exception, they were there to help you out in times of need. I remember we were usually the ones to open up our home to my grandparents, aunts and uncles and their kids, and they were always welcome to stay as long as it took to get back on their feet again. It probably didn't help our finances any, but it did teach us the importance of family, and sharing.

Driving that day to my Aunt Fern's house, we talked about one of our longest and most memorable road trips from Sudbury to Thunder Bay to visit my Aunt Joan and her family. Dad was a carpenter by trade and he made this huge wooden carryall for the top of the car that must have weighed a ton. I’m not sure if the weight of that thing, or the fact that we had six kids affected the cars fuel consumption and car troubles, but this was definitely a trip to remember.

Everyone knew it would be a long gruelling trip because Dad said it was 1,000 miles from Sudbury to Thunder Bay. We sang, ate, and listened to his stories, which we had heard for the hundredth time. Whenever he would start telling one of them, Mom would interrupt and argue about the facts, which he seemed to change every time he told the story. Our eyes would glaze over and there was no escape. After spending so much time in one position in the cramped sweltering confines of the back seat of the car, it felt as if we were glued to each other with sweat.

The hours seemed to crawl by and I was beginning to feel car sick. Dad was telling one of his scary bear stories, and as I looked around at my siblings, I knew that our only escape was in our minds. We looked out the window and dreamed of a better time or place to be. Tired, hungry and thirsty, we put little faith in Dad when he told us we would stop soon, because he had said that same thing over an hour ago. The only thing we had left was a warm can of Tab and we passed it around wondering if this would be our last drink for hours to come. There was nothing left to eat and we were only a little over half way to our destination, but I wasn’t too worried about eating, as I fought back my nausea. I usually was car sick after being in the car for only 5 minutes. All of a sudden my brother Jim said, “Hey Dad, look at that tire rolling right down the road.” My father calmly said, “Don’t be silly Jimmy.” Judy saw it too and we looked around, and were wondering what they meant. The car went thunk, thunk, and the sparks flew and instantaneously we knew Jim and Judy were right. The wheel had come off our car!

Dad pulled over cursing and swearing, just like Ralphy's father in “The Christmas Story.” No one dared say a word, and we knew we were in for trouble. Just as Dad was ready to get out of the car Jim said, “Hey Dad what if there are bears out there?” Jim was teasing him as he often did and Dad said, “Don’t be silly Jimmy.” He quickly found the tire and put it back on the axel, ingeniously using one bolt from each of the remaining three tires to secure it. As he was screwing on the last bolt we heard two big bangs ring out like a shot gun and out from the bushes came a big brown bear. Jim quickly rolled his window down and frantically yelled, “Dad, a bear just came out of the bushes!!” Dad was getting a little angry with him at this point and I’m sure he was thinking, “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter Jimmy.”  Glancing over his shoulder, just to be sure, he began to say, “Don’t be si---- hit!”, as he locked eyes with the bear that was no more than 10 feet away.

We never witnessed Dad moving so quickly in all our lives as he scrambled to get back into the car. The bear didn’t stand on his hind legs, growling and pounding its chest like the ones in the movies, however, just the sight of it caused everyone to scream in sheer terror. It was interested in that rolling thing and started sniffing the tire. We were panicking and Mom was trying to calm us down before the bear decided to shift its attention on us. The beast slowly turned its big brown head towards the car and we screeched even louder. My brothers were laughing, probably due to the intensity of the situation, or their warped sense of humour. We tried to keep still and quiet so it would leave us alone. I am sure my mother was saying her prayers. It stopped and stood there looking at us for what seemed a life-time before it ran across the road and into the woods. We let out a huge sigh of relief. Just when we thought we were out of danger, the bushes beside our car rustled and we feared it was another bear! Out burst a hunter with his gun held high in the air. The only hunter I ever saw was Elmer Fudd and I was really impressed to see a real live one. We rolled down our windows, pointed to the other side of the road and yelled, “He went that way!”

When all the fuss was over, we drove slowly to the next gas station praying hope against hope that the car would make it there. It wasn’t too surprising to find out that there was something seriously wrong with the axel. Unfortunately it would cost more than my parents had with them. My father didn’t have a credit card and there certainly weren’t any A.T.M. machines around. All the money they had was in my mother’s purse.

We went into the restaurant so my parents could come up with a plan. This was a
real treat for us because we never could afford to eat out as a family. We had to order pancakes due to the fact that it was the cheapest way to fill up six hungry bellies. I ordered chocolate milk and everyone just looked at me in disgust, as if I was so stupid that I didn’t realize we were in deep trouble, stranded in the middle of nowhere, without enough money to fix the car, let alone order chocolate milk. Dad was always so optimistic and I think he took pity on me and said I could have it. Looking back I realize that it was very selfish of me, but I was young, and yes I was very spoiled.

Dad convinced Mom to phone her sister Fern and ask her to lend us some money so we could get the car fixed. After hours of waiting we were on our way again. When we finally reached Thunder Bay, I really wasn't feeling well and to add insult to misery, I ended up in bed for a week with the German measles. Dad had another good story to tell even if he did embellish it a bit in the years to come.

As we continued to drive to my aunt's house for the last trip Mom would ever make, the landscape began to change and we could see how the highway had been carved through thick walls of granite. Memories of blueberry picking with my Mom flooded my thoughts and we talked about the time we had to take a canoe to some sort of small island that her father, my Grandfather Thibault owned. It was a real adventure rowing in a small boat with my mother, ducking my head under low lying branches, and trying not to fall out of the boat. When we were on dry land, Mom told us we had to watch out for bears and try not to get stung by bees while we were picking. After our previous experience with bears, I was well aware of the possibility of meeting one out in the wilderness and found myself watching and listening for any sign of danger. As the sun beat down on our  backs, I popped another berry into my mouth, and thought there was nothing more delicious than freshly picked blueberries. I felt a closeness to Mom, as we worked side by side in the blazing sun. Of course I ate more than I put in my basket, but Mom was the real expert. I was always amazed by the amount of energy she had and how hard she worked at everything she did. That day we filled quite a number of baskets and couldn't wait for the jam and the blueberry pies Mom would make, and that made it all worthwhile.

Looking at the solid walls of rock on the way to Sturgeon Falls, we talked about the time we were so poor that my siblings and I had to take a wagon every day and climb the rocks in Sudbury to find driftwood to burn in our fireplace for heat. This daily routine was necessary, as we didn't have enough money to fill the oil tank out back. Mom never liked to ask for help, but when her mother found out that we didn't have any oil, she came and filled the tank, bought us much needed glasses to wear and a new washer and dryer. Mom was so overwhelmed and I remember her crying. She didn't cry very often or like to show any kind of emotion. That was just the way she was brought up. It wasn't until the last few years of her life that I taught her to say “I love you” and really mean it.

Although it was our last road trip, I knew that Mom was so pleased to have us all together no matter what the reason. Pulling into the driveway, and seeing my Aunt in the front window, brought back memories of past visits when my Grandmother Thibault was alive and I was a little girl. As soon as we got there she would take us to the grocery store and let us put anything we wanted into the cart. Chips, pop, candy, cookies, you name it and we got it. Then we would go to her house and spend glorious days, pigging out, while listening to my Mom and her family speaking in French. There is something soothing about that language, and whenever I hear someone speaking it, I am immediately transported back in time to that kitchen, where we would stuff our faces and play cards with my Grandmother. We knew that she cheated, but she would always deny it. We called her Granny, much to her dismay, and she would scold us and tell us that in French, Granny sounds like “grand nez” translated to “big nose” in English. When we were there, we were always treated royally and our problems didn't seem to exist.

I was glad we decided to make this final trip. We spent a great deal of our young lives growing up in Sudbury and the surrounding areas and I knew that I was taking Mom home, not just for her sake, but for mine too. That somehow, if we went back to our roots we could make this nightmare we were living go away, even if it was just for a few days. It would give us a reprieve before the storm that we were about to endure in the next few months to come.

suzanneschmidt6@yahoo.ca