My recollections of the small town I grew up in. Memories are a bit vague but I believe they are reasonably accurate.
I grew up in the Hamlet of Enilda, 7 miles East of High Prairie. Those of you not familiar with that part of northern Alberta it was about 10 miles west of Lesser slave Lake. At that time it was a vibrant community with a population of around one hundred. There were 3 grain elevators, 2 United Grain Growers which my father ran and an Alberta Wheat Pool. We had a Post Office ran by Anna berg, Northern Alberta Railways station ran by George Berg, Bissel Brothers lumber mill, 2 general stores, 1 owned by Malcom Cartwright and 1 by Bert Jeffries and Sybil Krenn. We also had a small Café ran by my mother and family friend Violet Franklin. At that time there was a Kingdom Hall, a Roman Catholic church and the Anglican church, and a 1 room school.
When the daily freight train arrived, it was met by a dray man with his team of horses and wagon. He would deliver freight to all of the local establishments; I can’t remember his name but it may have been Scotty Nielsen.
Enilda Served as the hub for the local farming communities of Big Meadow and East Prairie. Farmers would deliver the grain, drop off cans of cream at the station to be delivered to Edmonton for processing, pick up their mail and groceries.
Those were formative years, as a kid dealing with the mobility issues only being able to get around on crutches braces on both legs, I was fortunate to have not only the support of my parents but the community as well. All of the kids in the community were friends and we spent a lot of time creating our own adventures in an era prior to television.
I went to the local school from grades 1 through 3, the school was then closed and we were bussed to High Prairie from then on. I attended Prairie River School through grade 10 then went to Grande Prairie Vocation School for grades 11 and 12 majoring in Electronics.
Waiting for the next chapter…
I just now discovered your blog, Bryce. Your writing pumped the well and now I’m having abundant Enilda memories. I vaguely remember the polio days-when you disappeared from Enilda School for a long spell in hospital. Remembering teachers Mr. Simmons and Mr. Clossey (who spanked me for swatting Karen Berg as she scribbled on my work). Losing a load of hay bales as we crossed the tracks with the wagon. Stabling our horses in the school barn. School outhouses tipped over on Hallowe’en, and Mr. Simmons stepping into the hole as we collectively tipped up the boys’ toilet. Our grandmother giving us money, a rarity, for the three Smith kids to buy a hot lunch at Enilda Cafe, but the owner, Mrs. Nellie Somers, wouldn’t let us pay. Remembering you driving us somewhere (Shaw’s Point?) in the green 59 Chevy. Donnie Campbell and I shared a birthday-this year I couldn’t call him for obvious reasons, but definitely thought about him on March 14. And so on….thanks for sharing.
W
You are such a good story teller. This should become a novel.
Xoxo
Good job Bryce , takes us old farts down memory lane . I will be following your blog .