This short story is a piece of fiction I wrote many years ago, no real people, no real situations. MLT
We'd missed Lester's birthday party. His son and daughter-in-law had invited the whole community to join in a potluck supper at the hall on a Saturday evening in April, celebrating his 85th year of life. But for us April means only one thing - lambing. Lambing morning, afternoon, evening, suppertime, midnight. Just lambing. A sort of intensive, focussed time of year. So, when May came along and things settled down we piled into our old pick-up and steered our way to Lester's door. His son Willie and Willie's wife, Fran, looked up and waved from their garden, looking a little puzzled as we rolled on by to Lester's tiny Grandpa house nestled in behind their trailer.
"Well, hello!" said Lester. "Come on in, come on in. I was just watching a Blue Jay's game on TV. They're losing," he said, "don't know who they're playing anyhow." He flicked the remote and the TV blinked off. "Have a seat," he said, "make yourself comfortable."
I sat down next to a shelf shared equally by dozens of family photographs and a thick layer of dust. On my left was a tall glassed in china cabinet, also full to the brim with photos. "Holy cow", I said, "you must have a pretty big family, Lester!" My eyes fell on a sepia tinted photo of three young boys. "Is one of the kids in this old picture you?"
"Yep," he said, "that's me in the middle there. This here fellow's my little brother James and the other one's my older brother Martin." We then spent some time looking over the other photos, his whole family history stepping out of the frames. "Gee, I'm sorry," he said, "but I can't seem to remember your names."
"That's David and I'm Jennifer. Morrison," I said. "We live just up the way, on the old Johnson place. We brought you a little birthday gift."
"Well, thanks a lot," he said. "I can't quite remember how old I am, more'n 80 I'd say. My birthday's comin' up in just a few days I guess. I'm thinkin' Willie and Fran are gonna have a birthday party for me; you should come. Would you like some tea?"
He moved into the kitchen and put on the kettle, started looking every which way for the tea. "There's some instant coffee here on the table," I said. "That'd be fine with me. How about you, David?" We all agreed that coffee would be just as good as tea. I noticed an exercise bike in the corner and pointing to it I asked, "Do you ride on that thing?"
"Used to," Lester said, "in the winter. Not so much any more. I walk a lot though... You know, I've forgotten your names again."
"David and Jennifer Morrison," I said. "We live just up the way about ten miles or so, on the old Johnson place right on the edge of the river. You told us you used to ice skate there when you were a kid, years ago before we ever came to this country. Lots of folks did. Cleaned the snow off the ice on the back eddy every winter, even had an old gramophone for music."
"Oh, yeah, I remember now - you live on the old Johnson place. We used to skate there every winter."
Conversation rolled around to old times. Lester had helped his father on the homestead, inherited it when his brothers moved off to Edmonton. He and his wife Naomi raised 5 kids on the farm. One by one the kids moved away, married, had kids of their own. But the oldest son, William, had stayed on. Together they worked the farm in partnership for many years. Lester never really retired, just slowed down after Naomi passed till he finally came to a halt and handed over the reins. Winter's he worked at the local sawmills. "You know," he said, "I remember my old friend Sten. He was a canter; I tailed the saw. Sten always used to say, 'Life's a trial and a strain from beginning to the end, so tip your glass and say your prayers and NEVER cheat a friend!' "
"Do you mean Sten Larson?" asked David. "I remember him. He was quite a colourful fellow. I met him when we first came to this country. I went around looking at all sorts of log structures before I started building my house. He built some incredible log buildings, dovetail corners. There's one old shed still standing just down river from us. He was a fine log builder."
The tea kettle set up a wail, Lester started looking for the tea pot and the tea once again. I said, "Don't worry about the tea, Lester. We can just have some of this instant coffee here on the table; just as good."
"Yeah, just as good," he said. Lester got out some cups and a spoon, asked if we wanted milk and sugar, poured the water into each cup and sat down again. We brought the conversation back to Sten Larson. "Sten sure was a fine log builder," Lester mused. "There's an old building of his still standing not far from here. Dovetail corners, he was a real craftsman; died some time back, about ten years ago, I think. Good friend, Sten was. I remember he always used to say 'Life's a trial and a strain from beginning to the end, so tip your glass and say your prayers and NEVER cheat a friend!' "
"Well, I think we'd better let Lester get back to his ball game," I said. "I left a roast in the oven and I don't want it getting burnt to a crisp. It sure was nice to visit with you Lester, you should stop in at our place some time."
"I'll do that,"he said. "Where did you say you live?"
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