Freedom to Play: We Made Our Own Fun

THE ABSOLUTE FREEDOM WE HAD

One day—a bitter cold, winter day—seven girls besides myself went over to the woods. We got as far as the creek, when two girls stepped on the ice, but passed on no further. I jumped next while the rest followed. As the last stepped down the ice gave way. All tried to stay on the largest piece, but it broke, sending us in all directions. I got on the opposite side and pulled another girl after me. All except one girl got back again; but she was utterly helpless. Imagine her sitting on a piece of ice in the middle of the creek, and wringing her hands. However, she got out with the aid of two boys who came along. THE ABSOLUTE FREEDOM WE HAD The Clay boys spent most of their growing years on the southern end of Vancouver Island. Don, the eldest of the boys (born a year apart), looks back over seven decades. My earliest memories are of our three and a half acre place at Sooke. Our playmates were the younger members of the large Pontius family whose property was accessible through our back fence. The Pontius’ big barn with its loft and empty stalls, was one of our favorite places to play. Sooke Harbour was only a half hour’s walk away, and my mother used to take us down there to paddle when we were little. Two summers in particular stand out above all others. Because my dad worked for Sooke Harbour Fishing and Packing, he could arrange to take us camping on site when he worked the East Sooke traps. In front of our tent was a steep slope covered with dry grass, and Dad built little sleds for us to slide down. This really provided some hairy scary runs. How we didn’t break our necks is anybody’s guess! The beaches were a source of an endless variety of treasures including flotsam and agates. The following summer we went out to the Muir Creek traps, out towards Jordan River. That summer my Mother found an abandoned seal pup on the beach and made quite a pet of it. My dad fashioned a collar for it and strung a wire across the mouth of Muir Creek with a sliding chain on it so the seal could swim Go Outside and Play 39 and feed himself. He would come out and sit on my mother’s lap. I even have a picture of it. But there was a small outfit cutting cordwood up in Muir Creek. They loaded the wood on to a scow, and one night a tug came in at high tide and towed out the scow. Unfortunately, our seal went with it. In 1927, we moved to Ocean Falls where my Dad got a good job as a bricklayer with Crown Zellerbach Pulp and Paper Company . Here fishing was one of the main attractions for us. There was a great big company store right down on the wharf, and a combination storm drain and sewer outfall came out just off the waterside corner. And that water was just teeming with fish. We used to call them ‘sewer cod’. We would rig tackle (hand lines) and we’d pull in a fish every time we dropped a line in the water. We spent hours down there. The store provided our main source of income for tackle and candy—we would break up packing cases for kindling and then pedal the wood about town. Later, my Dad built a dory, which we subsequently moved up to Link Lake behind the dam. On weekends he would row us out where creeks ran in off the hillside, usually providing a gravel bar you could land on. These were great places to picnic and fish. The water was so clear you could easily see the trout feeding where the stream ran into the lake. My youngest brother Leonard was fantastically lucky in fishing; he could out-fish Eric and me two or three to one. I have never seen anyone his match. My mother also had this ability. Another summer jaunt was to take the trail to Martin Valley to the old farm were the Company had (unsuccessfully) tried running a dairy herd. A beautiful creek ran through the farm where you could see large steelhead resting in the pools. In summer , this trail was the greatest berry picking patch you ever saw with luscious huckleberries, blueberries, and salmonberries. In the latter part...