Submitted by Kaare Askildt, former Preeceville area farmer in training. This one of a series on getting settled in Hazel Dell.
Uffda! What's going on? 10 cm of snow? Shipped to us from Alberta? What have we done to upset those nice Alberta conservatives that just fired Alison the Premier? Hey Alberta! We have the Saskparty and Brad Wall as premier! We are the good guys!
Wet heavy snow it was as well. I had to take Marion to Preeceville hospital to get her dressing changed, but I had to push some snow first with my tractor so we could get out. Of course I had to get stuck a couple of times. No problem I have learned some tricks from sharper tractor drivers than me, so I got myself unstuck! It's a combination of straight front wheels, bucket operation, reverse with high revs and some choice Norwegian phrases. Wheels are straight, I push back with the bucket, pop the clutch, and the air turns blue from the Norwegian prose! Works every time!
I backed the tractor into the shed, shut it off and climbed down. Marion closed the shed door and we headed back to the house to drive to town in our Ford F-250 Super Duty. I was very concerned about all this deep, wet and heavy snow, plus the fact that the snow plow had not come to our village yet, so there were roads to negotiate in all this snow. Good thing we have a 4x4 truck! Getting out of our yard and driveway was no problem, being as it had been cleared by me. Now the village roads were a different story.
Some of the residents had cleared the road in front of their houses, and Bill Kitzan was running his skid-steer to clear the various driveways. I was carefully driving down a village road, not the main road, which is the road that I normally take. We are approaching the T intersection at the end of the road, and there was a pile of snow left there sort of in the middle of the road. My wife Marion being the self-appointed official co-pilot was pointing ahead yelling: "Don't turn! The corner is up ahead!" Well, just to be clear, I'm the sort of male that do not stop and ask for directions. I mean there are only four roads and four intersections in Hazel Dell, who needs to ask for directions? Anyway Marion kept on yelling: "Don't turn! The intersection is up ahead! Aaaargh!" I thought I knew where the actual intersection was, and elected to drive on the right side of the snow pile while turning my wheels to the right. However, it was not right to go on the right, it would have been right to go on the left, but I went on the right instead of on the left and that was not right.
You probably can figure out what happened next, I went heavy into the right ditch with the left set of wheels on the right shoulder, stuck deep and solid in the heavy wet snow, unable to move. Fortunately Marion had the good grace not to say: "I told you so!" Bill Kitzan the kind soul tried to pull me out with his skid-steer, but my F-250 Super Duty was too heavy. So Bill turned right and left the area. I find that sometimes right and left can be very confusing, especially when one don't have much left to work with, right?
We are on first name basis with Ron from Roadrunner Towing. Marion has used his services on numerous occasions. This one was my first. Of course Ron positions his rescue unit well behind my truck, secures it so it won't slide, fastens a steel line to my tow hitch, and just stands by his truck humming a tune while he gently pulls my truck back up on the road. Piece of cake! Thank you Ron!
It was an early evening in the Hotel bar in Preeceville. Two men were sitting side by side on barstools, drinking beer and talking. "Hey," said Kaare, "you're Norwegian, aren't you? I'd recognize that accent anywhere!" "Of course I'm Norwegian," said Kjell. "Well, Holy Oslo, so am I!" replied Kaare. "Let me buy you a beer." So Joe the bartender brings each of them another beer. After a bit, Kjell asked Kaare, "What part of Norway is your family from?" "Oslo," came the reply. "Really? That's where my family is from! My turn to buy you a beer," So Kjell called over the bartender and they toasted one another with their beers and kept talking. "Where exactly in Oslo are you from?" asked Kjell. "We lived on a peninsula called Bygdo," answered Kaare. "I can't believe this!" cried Kjell. "I used to live on Bygdo, too." He waves at the bartender: "Well," said Kaare. "You must have gone to school in Oslo. What year did you finish school?" "In 1964," replied Kjell. "Holy fjords! Me, too! Let's have another beer!
This is some coincidence!" said Kaare, "to think I'd meet someone from Bygdo here in Preeceville! What was your mother's name?" "Her name vas Esther," replied Kjell. "What!" Gasped Kaare. "My mother's name was Esther also!" About this time, another man came in and sat down at the far end of the bar and motioned for Joe to bring him a whiskey. "Hiya, Joe," he said, "how're things?" "Kinda dull, as usual," Joe answered, polishing a bit of brass with his apron. "The grill's on the fritz, the wife's sore at me, and -- oh, yeah -- the Askildt twins are plastered again."
