The Serial: Far From the Rowan Tree Day 10

It reminded me, more than anything, of a town fashioned from a child’s building bricks and dumped in the middle of nowhere

We felt very small and lost, not knowing quite what to do next. Suddenly we were distracted by two men on horseback, muffled up to the eyes, who galloped up to the railroad track and set off in hot pursuit of the train, which was already gathering speed and making that long lonely, desolate hooting that we were to get to know so well.

Then a tall handsome, weatherbeaten man marched sternly towards us dressed in a thick tartan jacket and cap with a visor peak looking as though he meant business. He didn’t appear to be particularly dressed for the weather. “I’m Schulz Muller,” he introduced himself. He had a polite but rather arrogant manner. He also had a certain informality about him, an odd contradiction.

He wasted no time in hustling us all into the large cab of his yellow Dodge truck and threw our luggage into the back. The truck engine had never stopped running. Muller jumped back into the cab and we were off. Tongue tied He said very little and we, too, were tongue tied. I had a funny feeling that we were not the sort of people he had hoped for. To him we must have looked very British and odd. Ronald tried to make some kind of conversation. “Have you a big dairy?” “Forty to sixty cows – it depends. “They’re due to be milked shortly,” he said and then, as though he was bestowing some great favour on Ronald, “Seeing you’ve had a kinda long journey I won’t expect you to help with the milking this afternoon but please be out at 5am for the morning milking.” Ronald agreed and conversation lapsed. I looked out of the cab window. We passed shining new shops and then streets of bright single-storey timber houses, all different shapes and sizes.

I wasn’t too disappointed in Red Deer. Like its name, it was pretty. But for all its brightness and newness, there was something inconsequential and unsubstantial about it. It reminded me, more than anything, of a town fashioned from a child’s building bricks and dumped in the middle of nowhere.

Here, things did look smaller but perhaps the size of the landscape we had come through had the effect of making normal size buildings look less than they were.

There was one landmark, in particular, that attracted our attention. Mushrooming into the sky, high above the houses, rose a slender structure fashioned from what looked to me like green glass. At the top it fluted out into an onion-shaped dome.

“What on Earth is that?” I asked, pointing to the tall tower.

Muller took his eyes off the road for a moment to follow my finger.

“That’s the water tower,” he told us in a Canadian accent that had a slight guttural quality about it, “the largest in Alberta. We sure have trouble with water in these parts.”

He didn’t elaborate and I dropped the subject just as Muller swung dangerously into a large almost empty parking lot and stopped the truck with a sickening screech of brakes. Giant oblong box In front of us stood what looked like a giant oblong box, across the top of which was printed in bold red letters, SAFEWAYS.

Without switching off the engine, Muller turned to me and said: “This is the supermarket we use. You’ll find you can buy most things here. Get supplies to keep you going for a week.

“If you don’t have any dishes, pots or cutlery with you, get some and don’t forget a can opener and an alarm clock.

“Please be as quick as you can. I’m in a hurry today. The godarn milking machine isn’t working properly – Ron, you better stay in the truck to keep an eye on your kids.”

I noticed that Ronald’s name had already been casually shortened. I mentioned to Muller that we had quite a variety of household things with us but that we had been told our crates would not arrive in Red Deer for a few days. He took no notice at all of this information.

I turned to Ronald to ask for some money. He counted out $40. “Will that be enough?” he asked. I had no idea and Muller said nothing. I climbed down from the cab, walked carefully over the frozen snow and pushed open the large glass doors.

A wind of warm air blew around me as I entered. I stood for a moment, confused; tiredness descending in waves, numbing my brain.

What was I to do now? Where did I begin? I had never been inside a supermarket before.

The brightness and bigness of it flashed in front of my eyes. Soft music was playing. I felt dizzy.

The place was practically empty of people and a girl, standing at the cash desk who had been watching me as I entered, spoke. “You new here? You look lost.” “Yes,” I said, “we’ve just got off the train.” “You got much to get?” the girl asked kindly. “Quite a bit.” “Well take one of these.” The girl helpfully pulled out a trolley on wheels from a row of others.

“Now,” said the girl in a pleasant Canadian accent, “go up and down the aisles and you will find all that you want.” I did as she suggested but my brain was still numb. Big display What a display of goods to choose from!

Then the thought of our new boss spurred me into action.

First of all the essentials – tea, butter, bread and sugar, then foods that were easy to cook, or needed no cooking at all.

Back home I was accustomed to getting a week’s supply of groceries at a time, so, once I began to fill the trolley it wasn’t so difficult.

Besides the food, I chose a cooking pot, a few mugs, plates, cutlery and other utensils – anything I thought we might need.

The same girl who helped me when I entered the supermarket was at the cash desk to check me out.

She was as kind as before and insisted in pushing the trolley to the truck for me.

“I sure hope you like it here,” she said before walking back to the warmth of the store. (More tomorrow.)