Ah yes, I can recall those idyllic teenage years gone by, growing up in Saskatchewan. Those Saturday afternoons playing cricket under the mango trees and then later in the day, heading to the docks to watch the fishermen mend their nets while others set out in the boats to commune with the dolphins and whales.
Oh, those were the days.
They are also figments of my imagination.
Being a teenager in Saskatchewan in my era meant one thing … bush party dude!
And it seems this is one thing we all experienced. Cindy, who runs roughshod over our sales teams here, confirmed this, having attended a few in the southern end of the province, albeit a little later in history than I did.
By the time I arrived in Estevan, I was a mature adult. Well, I was as mature as I was going to get and, who can define maturity anyway? That meant I only attended an occasional Estevan bush party.
What brings this topic up though, was a coffee corner discussion I overheard in the office on Tuesday morning with one of our more mature employees (i.e., Cindy) trying to explain to one of our near-rookie employees, what a bush party was.
It didn’t start well.
The youngster wanted to know what app she would use to link to bush party, thinking it was a version of Candy Crush perhaps?
It was explained that this was not a virtual game, but a physical event that one attended in person.
The lesson went on as to how one did booze cruises, pulled beer, and then slid out to the bush party … those things cannot happen now and are never recommended, so let’s just say bush parties should remain fond memories for “party veterans” and leave it at that.
In small town Saskatchewan, the bush party adventures were varied and sundry and I feel fortunate to have participated in my share.
I don’t know if you’ll get anything on your screen if you Google bush party, and I’m not going to venture there. It’ll probably lead you to the American Republican Party site where someone will ask you to donate to the George H., George W., or Jeb campaign, depending on which one is running the United States this week if Barack, the Donald or the Clinton clan are busy.
Nope, bush parties are unique to Saskatchewan, or so we veterans would like to think.
Where I attempted to grow up, there were at least two well known locations. One was the Horseshoe, a well-tramped U-shaped party central deep in the bush country, not too close to a farm, yet well away from the bright lights of our town, population 1,600.
The other was The Pavilion. Hey, you can’t say we didn’t have sophisticated names for our parties in the dirt! Actually, the Pavilion was located around big rocks that were near the mighty Quill Lake which has pretty well flooded its shores, meaning our once revered party-hearty place is probably under water.
Yes, we drank beer, kissed girls and girls kissed guys, and we roasted hot dogs or chicken over open flames that we always extinguished properly … because many participants were farming stock. We gripped about overbearing parents and teachers, talked football and hockey or listened to talk about hairstyles and who was going with whom and why. We wore jeans and ill-fitting jackets and slipped on muddy tracks if it had rained and then headed home with non-alcohol drinkers at the helm, before dawn.
I’ll spare great details, but will confirm, there is no app for bush party. It’s a long-lost Saskatchewan experience with no mangos.
