Last week, on my way to somewhere else, I stopped in and visited the town I grew up in.
I once heard Pense, Saskatchewan described as a place that was a long way to go to be nowhere when you got there.
So to save you the time and expense, Welcome to Pense.
I, for one, want to know who picked the font for the Welcome sign. Only horror movies from the 50's and carnival freak shows use that font. Oh, and the Town of Pense. Welcome! Enter if you Dare....
The house with the red tile roof in the background is a house I am intimately familiar with. My babysitter, Maria Whaley and her family lived in it my whole growing up life. This house was one of only a handful of houses located South of the Railroad Tracks. The rest of the town was on the North side of the Railroad Tracks. Maria was an artist and said "Get Outta My Road!" at least a hundred times every day. The window at right (between the branches of the trees) belonged to Maria's daughter, Marissa. Marissa was exactly my age (she was born on the exact day Elvis Presley died), had the longest flaxen colored hair, and had a canopy bed that made me sick with want. Her window faced south (and also the Transcanada Highway) and was the perfect vantage point for watching for my mom to come home from work. The Highway was just over a km south, and I could just make out the colors of the cars. Pense was so exceedingly small that if I saw a spot of a red car, blinker on, slowing down, any time between 5:45 and 6:15, I knew to get my shoes on. My mom was comin' to get me.
This is the last remaining grain elevator at Pense. When I was small, they knocked down the old brown wooden one, and the Menfolk stood around and shot at the rats that had taken up residence inside.
This is also the location that the kids of Pense, with very little to do, entertainment wise - flew their kites.
From the top of the elevator.
This practice came to a screaming halt when another little friend, Sherri Kohut, lost her footing and fell down the ladder and landed right on her bottom. Her dad was summoned and as he was loading her into his truck, gave me the WORST stink eye I had yet received in my life.
Hey, Mister, I thought. I didn't PUSH her or anything. Although after that look you just gave me, I now wish I HAD.
Here is the field on the North side of the tracks. When I was small, there wasn't anything here. No little path, and certainly no cut grass. Just a long, narrow ditch where spring run off collected in big, freezing cold. muddy colored puddles. It's also the place I almost died under tragic circumstances.
I mentioned that the babysitter's house was on the South side of the tracks? And the school (and everything else) was on the North side of the tracks? Yes, I did.
Well, to get to school, we would short cut. Over the tracks. Sometimes, there would be actual trains in the way. No matter. We would go under them. EVEN IF THEY WERE MOVING.
The thought of crawling under moving trains today makes my stomach sick. Because one day, when we were about 7, Marissa Whaley and I BOTH got a walkman. And because the field above was flooded with spring run off, and the entire surface of the huge puddle was covered in a thin layer of ice, we decided, after crawling under a train, to walk down the tracks to circumvent the puddle. So there we were, two little girls, one in cowboy boots (Marissa), and one with hair that looked like a big old hair alarm was going off (Me), walking down the tracks, listening to our brand new shiny walkmans...rushing to school because we were almost always late.
Something moving on the left caught my eye. Big Old Bill McNabb, who owned a garage and gas station directly across from the tracks, was full out RUNNING towards us...breaking through the ice, water splashing up around him, mouth open and twisted. The look of him without any accompanying noise was comical. I backhanded Marissa (who also had her headphones on) in the stomach and pointed at Bill. She looked over at him (still running) and waved politely. He pointed. VIOLENTLY POINTED. Still running. SCREAMING. Face red. POINTED. LOOK BEHIND YOU.
And there, behind us, less than 5 railroad cars behind us, was a monster train, barrelling down the tracks.
Bill McNabb, on account of being a mechanic, had the upper body of a gorilla, and hands the size of toilet seats. Seconds after we lept from the tracks, Bill finally made it to us and with the upper body strength of a gorilla, spanked us. HARD.
You stupid, (SPANK) stupid (SPANK) little (SPANK) children! Don't (SPANK) you (SPANK) know you (SPANK) coulda (SPANK) been (SPANK) killed (SPANK SPANK SPANK)????
After that, with our bottoms stinging after school, there was huge outcry. Stupid little children were no longer permitted to go near trains, under trains, or anywhere there could be trains. And rightly so.
Tune in next time for a tour of the North side of town. Complete with a barn, a dug out, the school and our house.
Lise Merle
Intertwine Design + Communications
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