A Tale of Travail on the Trail
by
Libby Simon
The difference between urban and rural living is never taught in schools. A visit to the farm, maybe, but that is a very cursory experience. Those of us who are urban-centered all our lives are not prepared for the harsh realities of a cold winter day in rural Manitoba.
I set out one winter day in January to visit a friend who lived in an outlying area north of the city. Now, you must keep in mind that I do not often go beyond the city's boundaries. The extent of my experience with rural life was summers at Winnipeg Beach.
So, in my urban winter wear, mini-skirt and sweater, pantyhose and cute little fashionable boots with heels, off I went in my car with the innocence of Little Red Riding Hood skipping through the forest to Grandma's house. Never for a moment did I suspect I would be facing the Big Bad Wolf.
It was a crisp, cold morning registering 25° below, the car radio said. The houses began to spread farther apart as patches of white grew into a series of patches as far as the eye could see.
As I manoeuvred the car onto a side road toward what I thought was my destination, the road suddenly came to an abrupt end. Directly in front of me was a blanket of solid white. There were no visible signs separating road from ditch from field. The road just suddenly seemed to disappear. I was forced to stop the car.
I stepped out and looked around. Was there a road under this blanket of snow? In the distance I could see cars moving. How did they get there? They must have come through on this road, I concluded, since I could see no other option. A fine layer of snow must have blown over the road, hiding it from view.
Satisfied with my clever deduction, I got back into the car and stepped on the gas pedal. As the car moved forward, it slowly sank into the deep snow as if into quicksand. My heart sank with it as I realized this car and I were going nowhere. I stepped out again to see all four wheels covered up to the axles.
What now? I was standing there in my urban winter wear, all alone in a white wilderness on a freezing cold January morning. As I surveyed the area, my eyes fell on a farmhouse which appeared to be not too far back on the road I had just travelled. I began my trek toward the farmhouse. It was a little farther than I had anticipated, but I walked it with no great difficulty.
My initial optimism quickly faded when I got near and noticed the doors and windows all boarded up. The house was an abandoned old shack, obviously uninhabited. My confidence began to disappear. I scanned the area again and another farmhouse came into view some distance down a side road. My legs were beginning to freeze and my boots were certainly not made for walking. Being barely five feet tall, I needed all the help I could get from high heels! Ah vanity! A quality that by any other name spells s-t-u-p-i-d.
There was no choice. Sheer perseverance and a strong will to survive carried me to the second farmhouse with my hopes rising each step of the way as the house loomed larger. Once again my hopes were squelched. As I walked up the driveway, three huge dogs abut the size of bears came menacingly (or so it seemed) towards me. We eyed each other. I caught sight of huge bones strewn about the yard. These were no ordinary bones. They were gigantic carcasses the dogs must have devoured. The dogs bore no resemblance at all to being gentle creatures. I wasn't sure when they had last eaten, but felt they were looking at me as if I was to be their next meal. It filled me with terror.
Slowly and cautiously I began to back up, moving towards the road and keeping my eyes fixed on the dogs. What would I have done had they attacked? I don't know, but I made it to the road and hurried away.
By now all exposed parts of my body were tingling or numb, and I knew my options were diminishing. I envisioned tomorrow's headline (vanity rearing its ugly head again): "Woman found frozen to death on rural road!"
My heart and step quickened apace as another farmhouse came into view down the road to the left. This had to be it! It revived my energy and I began to walk more quickly. However, as I approached, two huge German Shepherds moved slowly toward me. I stopped in my tracks. At this point I figured my choices had boiled down to being frozen to death or being mauled to death. Neither appealed to me. The only way I could avoid a direct confrontation with the dogs was to push my way sideways through the ditch.
And that's what I did. Sliding slowly, step by step, through thigh-high snow, I pushed my way to the house. I guess it was not my time yet because a kind lady opened the door and invited me in. I was very relieved and very grateful! She fed me breakfast and lunch while I waited for a tow truck to come from Winnipeg.
This city bumpkin had one more lesson to learn about rural life before the day was over. As my rescuer served lunch I could hear squealing just outside the kitchen window. "Oh," she informed me, noting my curiosity. "Those are our pigs. We used to have three but now we have only two." Her explanation came as she offered me a plate of ham sandwiches. Was this the third pig? I didn't want to know and I didn't ask. I had never been this close to the food chain before. I declined food and settled for a cup of hot tea.
This experience made me realize how little I and many urban-bred folk know or understand about the country lifestyle, but it certainly gave this city girl a new respect for rural living. While some country folk may lack big-city sophistication, it brings to mind the movie Crocodile Dundee, where each person had to learn a whole new set of survival skills when placed in the other's environment. The key is to survive long enough so that you can learn from your experience.