Broad Is the Way: Stories from Mayerthorpe

19 Scrub Trees May Have Deep Roots

nineteen Scrub Trees May Have Deep Roots It was summer, and I was at Surprise Lake Camp with our two younger children. I had just assured the chore boys that we now had enough wood to keep the kiln firing all night when we heard a car coming down the camp road. In a few minutes Slim Collins appeared through the trees. “Marg, the RCMP have been looking for you all day. Jim’s had an accident and you are to phone your brother in Cooksville. I’ve come to take you to Edson so you can phone him.” Alarmed, I ran to our cabin, picked up a sweater, and told our babysitter, Maggie, that Jim had been involved in some kind of an accident. I was off to Edson to phone home and would be back in an hour. I would tell the camp mother, on my way out, so she would take charge while I was away. By now, the chore boys would have told everyone else. As far as I knew, Jim was on Manitoulin Island, which had been devastated by a hurricane, helping his brother Eddie clear up around the family cottage. He’d taken four-year-old Sara with him to visit Grandmother Norquay, who she hadn’t seen Sara since she was a baby. When I contacted my brother Rob, he said Eddie had phoned from Sudbury to say Jim had been injured falling out of a tree, but he didn’t think it was serious. But he thought I should phone Jim’s mother for details the next morning, it being too late to phone her that night. I returned to camp, not particularly worried. The trees on that part of the island were all short and stunted, so Jim couldn’t have fallen far. He probably had a few bruises and was a bit shaken up. When I got back to Surprise Lake, the whole camp had stayed up, anxious to find out what had happened. When I told them it wasn’t serious, that Jim had just fallen out of a small scrub tree, they were so relieved they almost laughed. Only the week before, they’d seen him precariously perched on top of the craft house, trying to mend the roof. One of the staff offered to drive me to Edson next morning 78 right after breakfast to phone Jim’s mother. Calmly, we all went to bed. After breakfast, the counsellors and campers headed off to the kiln to find out how their clay pots had come through the firing. Since the kiln was just off the parking lot, I walked along with them, and couldn’t resist stopping briefly to watch as they opened the kiln, which was emptied in minutes. There were the usual cries of delight when a piece came out whole, and groans of disappointment when someone’s pot had fallen apart. The campers then went off to do breakfast dishes and clean up their cabin, and I walked to the parking lot. I was surprised to see a car on the camp road, coming toward us from the highway. It stopped, and its driver, Darrel Dugan, a young man in our Edmonton congregation, told us he’d heard about Jim’s accident and knew I’d want to get home. I never thought of asking him how he had heard about it, or even what he had heard. Camp was closing the next day and, given the accident, however slight, I thought Jim might not make it back to pick us up as soon as we’d planned. Going home with Darrel seemed like such a good idea that I completely forgot about phoning Jim’s mother. Leaving senior camp staff in charge, we piled into the car: two-year-old Robbie, seven-monthold Naomi, Maggie, and I, together with playpen, carriage, diaper pail, and a few toys. When we got home to the manse, the whole street came out to greet us, bringing casseroles of food, offers to put the children to bed, and all kinds of advice, and telling me to be sure to take a sleeping pill so I’d get a good night’s sleep. I was completely mystified, turned down all offers of help, put the children to bed myself, followed them without a sleeping pill, and planned to phone the next morning as instructed—not realizing the “next morning” had already gone. I’ve never been able to...