In the middle of summer, when it was hot in town, was usually the time my mother liked to escape
to our old cabin at Sooke. We’d take the
old Dodge and potter off to the beach, stopping in at a farm market. We always got a HUGE bag of
jelly donuts, potatoes and great big slabs of steak.
Off we’d drive to Sooke with our purchases tucked safely on the back seat. Once there, out came the Coleman stove. My
mother pumped it up till it would almost explode, then she’d light the flame and
start boiling potatoes, till the skin burst. Next came the iron skillet. She’d
fry up each steak , one at a time, till they were good and dead and crispy. “Slather
on the ketchup”, she’d say. We’d eat
steak and potatoes on the old deck, while watching the tide roll into shore.
One time, my mother wanted to
have an adventure; to go home a different route. Up and over the
mountain instead of straight thru. The car packed up, she put the bag of jelly
donuts on the back seat. “We’ll have them when we stop for gas,” she said.
And off we went to find the mountain. My mother
figured she could eyeball it, as it loomed ahead of us. She picked a side road and started up. The old Dodge complained bitterly as it
squealed along.
We went up and up. The road turned to gravel. Up and Up and
Up. The old car complained. I complained. The hole in the floorboard broke
apart. Pieces peeled off onto the road
below.
And there was my mother, perched on three cushions, so she could see
over the steering wheel, her driving glasses slightly askew, her bare feet just
reaching the pedals, her hands fiercely gripping the wheel. She told me to look
for a cow farm, she knew it was somewhere near the top. Up and Up and Up……
There were cows. Highland cattle roaming here and there. The
gravel road ended at a copse of trees. We stopped. My mother left the car, and clamoured over an embankment.
She left the engine running cause she said the car sounded “iffy”. She stood on
the edge trying to see thru the trees. She forgot her shoes.
“I can’t see anything” she
yelled back. I sighed and joined her , leaving the doors open to the hot
sticky, old car. The two of us stood on
the embankment, surrounded by trees, trying to see where we were. My mother
figured she should have taken a different road and wanted to turn back
and try again. I wanted to go home.
Then my mother remembered she left the car running……
One of the raccoons
must have nudged something inside the car, cause the old Dodge began to roll
backwards. My mother started screaming. The raccoon started dancing excitedly on
the front seat. The Dodge happily plowed
into the wood fence behind.
That fence was good and solid. The car hit hard, and slid into the ditch. My mother screamed some
more. The raccoons, full of powdered sugar and jelly, hightailed it for the
trees. The farmer, out looking at his cattle, came over to see what the hub bub
was about.
We limped all the
way back to the main highway, some 45
minutes away. It exploded somewhere
under the hood, black smoke pouring out like witches brew.
People stared. I slid
down in the seat so no one could see me. That sticky, powdery Jelly Donut seat……
My mother, perched on her three cushions, put on a brave
face. It was about 45 minutes to home
and she drove that thing all thru town, revving the motor at each intersection,
while holding her bare foot on the brake. Smoking and wheezing it finally made
it home.
The old Dodge died.
Finally and completely. It never moved again. We gave up on Jelly donuts for a
while…….
My mother lamented the
fact she never did find that road. She
wanted to stand on top and see the world……to
feel like she was flying with the wind….
Photographs 2022
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