Since 1912, Marjorie Scott Cowie Hunt has enjoyed a century of lake life-all at White Bear Lake-and much of it documented in her poetry. Although the 102-year-old Regina resident now lives in a care home, she regularly travelled to White Bear Lake to enjoy summers there until very recently, but still draws on memories of her days at the lake for inspiration. Hunt's eyesight is failing, so she writes her poems by memoy, until they can be dictated and transcribed on paper.
Hunt spent her first summer at what was then known as Carlyle Lake a century ago. Born in Rocanville, an early photograph shows her in 1915-at two-years-old-sitting on her mother's lap in the family car, a model which predated even the Ford Model T. The drive to the lake took almost an entire day, with the family driving on backroads that were really “just dirt roads”. They would travel south from Moosomin and with the aid of directions provided by the people of White Bear First Nations, would eventually navigate that season's best road to the lake.
“They were really just dirt tracks,” says Hunt. “And if it was muddy, we were in real trouble. The people from White Bear not only gave us directions; they often helped push us out of the mud if we were stuck.”
“My dad would often give them a dollar for that.”
“The roads went every which way,” says Hunt. “So their help was really valuable. It was really a hazardous trip. We would go from Moosomin to Carlyle Lake,” she says.
“It was a full day of travel. My mother packed a lunch and early in the trip, we had to travel through the Pipestone Valley. We'd often get stuck going up and going down. We all got out of the car and helped. And of course, we were always watching the skies and praying it didn't rain.”
“I was really big news when a road was cut through from Carlyle Lake to Kenosee Lake. It became the #9 highway, now. But that was big news!”
“Even though we didn't live as close to the lake as people in Carlyle, my dad loved the lake,” says Hunt. “My dad and a man from Carlyle named Stockton both had general stores and they met at a meeting. That's where dad learned about Carlyle Lake. No one knew about it at all in Rocanville.”
Many lake pleasures are “timeless and enduring,” according to Hunt. Swimming, boating, berry-picking, days spent barefoot in bathing suits, and watching water levels were-and still are- unchanging aspects of lake life. However, Hunt witnessed changes in clothing, cars and boats during a century of summers.
“In the early days, the beach was called a bathing beach,” she says. “People would put on their swimsuits and then change into their clothes right after they swam. There were no changing rooms then and people didn't spend the day at the beach in their swimsuits. They would change in and out of their clothing every time they went for a swim.”
One of Hunt's most recent poems chronicles the annual boat regatta and swimming competitions at the lake during the 1920s, adding that people came from “near and far to attend.”
“It was a very well-attended, exciting event back then and you could see cars parked everywhere along the beach,” says Hunt. “It all happened at Hotel Beach. There were boat races-the boats were made of wood back then-and all kinds of water competitions; swimming, diving, that sort of thing.”
“Bill Mitchell (author W.O. Mitchell) was about my age. The Mitchells went to Florida in the winter and they could do all kinds of dives in the water,” says Hunt. “They really stole the show because they were so good at all of the watersports. They really had it over the rest of us prairie people,” she laughs.
“Later-in the 1950s and 60s, we would often see Tommy Douglas and his wife out for their evening walks,” says Hunt. “They had a cabin at the lake back then and they were private people, but at the same time, just like normal cottagers.”
“He had a walking stick and wore a hat. They weren't dressed fancy or anything like that, but he looked important. They were friendly, but we also respected their privacy.”
“A lot of United Church ministers stayed at the lake in the summer,” adds Hunt. “Back then, you could rent a cottage there for not much money. There was a little church on Sandy Beach and there always seemed to be a minister around. There was a pump organ in the church, too. And usually, there was someone around who was able to play it.”
“There were also tennis courts, dances with live bands and at one time, the store had a post office in it. There was even a milkman who delivered milk and cream for a while.”
“There were ball tournaments at the ball diamond at Sandy Beach,” says Hunt. “There were lots of cars, because people came from all over to play and watch ball.”
Hunt recalls cliffwalking with her children between Crescent Beach and Sandy Beach, picking berries and other simple pleasures and has passed on a love of the lake lifestyle to her children and their children.
“After I married, my husband would come out on weekends and spend his two-week vacation at the lake with us. During the week, we didn't have a car, so it was quite a job,” says Hunt. “There was no refridgeration, so you lived hand to mouth. My husband brought stuff out and we picked berries. There were a lot of wonderful fish in the lake; the perch came later. But you had to stretch things through the week.”
“In my dad's time, there was a milkman and the big hotel was the only source of groceries. There was a limited supply. The bread came daily from Carlyle and a local farmer supplied the milk.”
“But it was a wonderful time and a wonderful thing for a family to do,” she continues. “The children spent the day in their bathing suits and they enjoyed a lot of freedom.”
“My husband wasn't as fond of the lake as the children and I were, but he liked building things, so he built our cottage in the early 1950s. My daughter Ruth still lives at the lake for part of the year and my son Don lives in Calgary, so he and his family have a cottage near there.”
“For me, the lake was really a retreat. We made wonderful friends there. There are people who want to get back to things that are simpler. It's such a beautiful lake and we love it.”
One of Hunt's poems 'Memories' recounts the excitement of the regattas held at the lake, and she says the final lines sum up her lifetime at the lake:
“White Bear Lake is still a gem
I see it now, remembering when.”
