A few weeks ago, I had the honour of reading some of my stories at a cultural festival concert in Branch. You good folks who were in attendance on that occasion, please forgive me for repeating this excerpt from that presentation.
In Branch, in the 50s and 60s, I was lucky to have grown up next door to the Wester’ Cove which had no livyers at that time. I think it was reserved for more fanciful and more private things. Actually, this lovely little inlet was the local Lover’s Lane. If two people were seen walking in that area, right away they were considered an item and their activities became fair game for the rumour mill or over the fence gossip. This particular incident refers to courting in the Wester’ Cove. Courting? Good gracious! Is that word even used today?
Long before my peers and I even considered taking an amorous stroll in the direction of the Wester’ Cove, we sometimes found a way to be part of the action. We discovered that spying on courting couples was a handy, dandy way to acquire some of that “out behind the woodpile” knowledge. Way up in one of the meadows was a cozy little hay house. Now, I’m not saying that any hanky panky went on in there. By the same token, I’m not saying that it didn’t either. I am just saying that the rough little structure was there, used by the owner to store hay until it was needed. It was never meant to provide shelter when sweethearts got caught in the rain or when the evening air got too cold or perhaps when the atmosphere got too hot, if you get my drift.
The event of which I write occurred on a drizzly evening, one which the singer Eddie Coffey would describe as a grey, foggy day. My friend and I were playing near the gully when we spied our prey. Sauntering leisurely along the path with their arms entwined around each other’s bodies, the unsuspecting couple thought they had the Wester’ Cove to themselves. We decided to blend in with our surroundings by flattening ourselves in the high grass in the meadow. To our utter delight, the duo headed straight for the shelter of the hay house. We waited long enough for them to get settled inside the little shack. Our intention was to creep up close and listen in on a true lover’s conversation, thinking that we might learn something for future reference. What a disappointment! All we heard was that someone in Branch was getting a new chrome set from the Placentia Trading Company and someone else was looking for a job in Carol Lake. When they began to backbite some woman who hadn’t donated very much for the garden party tables, we decided to vamoose. It was time to get out of the uncomfortable wet grass with the fog hovering over us and the nippers buzzing everywhere. We hadn’t garnered one bit of new information. Afterward, we said that stealing a few carrots out of someone’s garden or knocking down someone’s cock of hay would have been a lot more exciting.
Ah yes, I harbour lots of adventures and shenanigans related to the Wester’ Cove of Branch. They all happened eons ago when summer seemed to last forever and I didn’t really know what life was all about. I smile when I think about how eager we all were to learn about the facts of life and other related stuff. Sometimes I feel it might be kind of nice to go back to a time when the total of my birds and bees info was what I had read in my elementary school science book.
marinagambin@persona.ca
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