Cranberry Portage Evacuated

Cranberry Portage has been evacuated as a wildfire closes in on the tiny community. My paternal grandmother and her partner Val lived in Cranberry Portage for as long as I knew them; it lies just a few kilometers south of Flin Flon, my birthplace. 

Cranberry Portage is barely a blip on the highway, home to just a handful of businesses and some dozens of homes; it's a peaceful, quiet, lovely corner of northern Manitoba. I hope it survives this latest crisis. 

Grandma and Val's house in 2006, demolished after their deaths a few years back. Warm memories. 

A Fishy Culinary Tradition

 

Whose idea was it to add breading or batter to fish? Fish is delicious when fried or seared, rich in flavour and texture. Breading it just masks the flavour and makes the whole dish feel much heavier than it should. 

Maybe I'm spoiled. Mom and Dad used to catch fresh fish from the pristine lakes of northern Manitoba and clean and fry the fillets right at the campground. The pickerel and trout they prepared in those days remains my favourite meal of all time. All fish since has paled in comparison. 

Even so, I can still enjoy fish if it's not wrapped in a casing of fried lard and butter. 

Fish: better without the batter. 

The House that Jack Built

During the 1970s, we drove to Cranberry Portage many times to visit my paternal grandmother. Grandma had an old Singer sewing machine with a drawer filled with fun toys and knick-knacks for my brother and me to amuse ourselves with. Naught survives but this Wade Whimsies ceramic model of the house that Jack built, of nursery rhyme fame. Grandma had this Wade Whimsy, and others, because they came packaged with Red Rose tea. How I managed to come into the possession of this lone survivor, I don't recall. 

I was surprised to learn just now that Red Rose still distributes Wade Whimsies with its tea. 

No Unsharp Mask Can Save Thee

While scanning the family collection of negatives, I came across an entire roll of film shot out of focus. I have no idea how this could happen. And it's a shame, because the photos capture an early 1980s trip back to Cranberry Portage. I tried re-scanning the roll to see if it was some weird scanner configuration problem, but no dice. And the blur is so bad that tools like unsharp mask can't fix it.

Quelle dommage, as they say in France! 

Snow Place Like Home

The author in a snowsuit in Thompson sometime in 1971 or 1972. 

There's a lot more snow there today. Wear your mittens!

I'm seeing reports on Twitter and Facebook that my old home towns of Flin Flon, Thompson, Leaf Rapids and Cranberry Portage are under siege from snow, with Leaf Rapids in particular getting at least 60 cm of snow with up to 15 cm more on the way by day's end. Winter always came thick and fast in northern Manitoba. I hope everyone's hunkered down with supplies and a good book or two. 

National Aboriginal Day

Today is National Aboriginal Day in Canada, but despite growing up in northern Manitoba I feel woefully unqualified to speak to the complex issues surrounding the relationship between Canada's indigenous peoples and the European settlers from which I descend. My limited experience comes almost exclusively from my mostly long-distance relationship with my paternal grandmother's decades-long partnership with Val Head, seen here a few years ago at their home in Cranberry Portage, Manitoba.

I only saw Val every few years after we moved to Alberta in 1979, but during the 1970s Val was involved in several memorable family adventures, including the time we wound up trapped on an island during a thunderstorm while on a fishing trip; we put baby Sean under the boat. Val was very good at catching, cleaning and cooking fish over a campstove (Mom and Dad were no slouches either); to this day my favourite meal remains fresh pickerel fried exactly that way, even though I haven't tasted it in probably 30 years.

Val also taught me how to utter a moose call, a party trick that I've used to amuse select friends and colleagues over the years, much to their collective amusement.

In recounting these memories I worry that I'm stereotyping Val in the "Indian guide" role; he was much more complex than that. He took care of Grandma, he played guitar, he had a huge collection of old Westerns on VHS, and he loved gadgets; for many years, Grandma and Val were early adopters of a bunch of cool technology, and in fact they passed along a very nice (for the time) video camera that I used through high school and university to make most of the silly movies Paranoid Productions is famous (?) for, including Bitter Litter and Generous Nature.

I'm glad Val was in our lives. I wish I'd asked him how he felt about aboriginal issues; he never mentioned the subject in my presence. He struck me as the type of person who just wanted to get along with others, but I'll never know what his true feelings were. If you fail to take advantage of your opportunities to understand people, you'll lose them. Maybe that's what National Aboriginal Day should be about. 

Val Head

Val Head has died, and I'll be going to Cranberry Portage to pay my respects on Monday. Val took care of Grandma for many decades - longer than I've been alive. Val took us boating and fishing on the gorgeous lakes of northern Manitoba, taught me how to perform a moose call and in many ways acted as a surrogate grandfather, since unfortunately Dad's father died before my brother and I could meet him. Val always impressed me with his toughness, and frankly I'm shocked and saddened that he passed only a few months after Grandma. But I'm grateful that they shared many happy years together, and I'm sorry he's gone. 

The Last Time We Saw Grandma

Grandma Woods passed away yesterday. Pictured above are Sean and I with Grandma and her partner of over 40 years, Val Head, in 2009, the last time Sean and I were in Cranberry Portage, Manitoba.

My thoughts are with my family. I'll have more to say after the funeral service. 

Streamer's

My cousin David Newton called my attention to this Winnipeg Free Press story about Streamer's, the independent hardware store in Cranberry Portage, Manitoba, where my grandmother lived until her recent move to nearby Flin Flon. When we lived in northern Manitoba, our stops to visit Grandma in Cranberry Portage were often punctuated by visits to Streamer's, usually to pick up fishing equipment. I took the photo above in 2006, when I drove Sylvia up to see Leaf Rapids.

According to the Free Press story, Streamer's has been around since 1928. Not bad for a small store in a tiny community on the edge of the edge of nowhere. 

Conquest of the Edge of Nowhere

Oof! Judging by the falling page hits garnered by this series of posts, I guess I'm among the few who finds these book covers amusing. Never fear, this is the last in the series for now.

Grandma's Satellite Dish

Mom or Dad shot this sometime in the late 1980s on a trip to visit Grandma in Cranberry Portage, Manitoba. I wasn't on that trip, but I'm sure I would have been impressed by Grandma and Val's new satellite television antenna, which loomed large in their back yard for several years. Cranberry Portage is just a few minutes' drive from Flin Flon, so it's not as isolated as some northern communities, but the presence of this dish is a sign of the technology needed to tie tiny frontier settlements to the outside world. I remember being very impressed with their collection of movies on VHS, too. Up north, entertainment options were limited to fishing and whatever movies you could import from down south.

Garden of Terror

Cranberry Christmas

Cranberries and Christmas go together like...well, turkey and cranberry sauce, I guess. Christmas also goes well with Cranberry Portage, Manitoba, where we often visited Grandma and Val for the holidays. I remember 80s winters as being a lot colder and snowier than we experience today, but then everything is colder and snowier in northern Manitoba. I'm not sure who took this shot of Grandma's place, but it feels festive despite the oppressive snow and darkness. This might have been four in the afternoon...

Cranberry Portage, Purple Datsun

Here we are visiting Grandma and Val in Cranberry Portage, Manitoba.  My shirt reads "Silence Please - Genius at Work." I'd never have the nerve to wear something like that today. Sean's Smokey the Bear shirt is far less arrogant and far more socially conscious.

"How long did we have the purple Datsun?" I asked Mom a few minutes ago.
"Not long, it was a terrible car!"

I barely remember this car. According to Mom, we sold it when we left Leaf Rapids. I do like the colour, though. Cranberry Portage, purple Datsun.

Leaf Rapids Clip Episode

Sometimes television producers are forced by circumstance to create the dreaded clip show, an episode created by using a cheap framing story as an excuse to show a bunch of clips from previous episodes. When bloggers get sick, they too may resort to pulling this nasty trick on their loyal audiences.

Apropos of nothing, did you enjoy my award-losing Canada Writes short story, Edge of Nowhere? If so (or even if not), perhaps you'll also enjoy more tales set in the faraway land of Leaf Rapids, Manitoba! Featuring guest appearances by Flin Flon, Cranberry Portage, Virden, the Hanson Lake Road and Sean and Sylvia!

Journey to the Edge of Nowhere, Part I
Journey to the Edge of Nowhere, Part II
Journey to the Edge of Nowhere, Part III
Journey to the Edge of Nowhere, Part IV
Journey to the Edge of Nowhere, Part V
Journey to the Edge of Nowhere, Part VI
Journey to the Edge of Nowhere, Part VII

Return to the Edge of Nowhere, Part I
Return to the Edge of Nowhere, Part II
Return to the Edge of Nowhere, Part III
Return to the Edge of Nowhere, Part IV
Return to the Edge of Nowhere, Part V
Return to the Edge of Nowhere, Part VI
Return to the Edge of Nowhere, Part VII
Return to the Edge of Nowhere, Part VIII
Return to the Edge of Nowhere, Epilogue

Return to the Edge of Nowhere, Epilogue

The amusing highlights of a long journey home.

Journey to the Edge of Nowhere, Part IV: All My Fading Yesterdays

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

As we drove northeast, I scanned the horizon for the smokestack I knew awaited us, a silent herald of the tiny mining town where I was born. And just before 5, there it was, belching smoke as it had for decades, as it might for decades more:

I don’t remember much about Flin Flon; I was very young when we moved north to Thompson. But I do have one memory, perhaps false: my earliest one.

In that memory – less real than any dream – I’m sitting on the kitchen counter, looking out the window, and there’s a cherry tree covered with blossoms. It’s sunset. I have a vague feeling that mom or dad or perhaps both of them were standing just behind me.

A road carved through Canadian Shield bedrock, approaching downtown Flin Flon.

And that is all. I may as well never have lived in Flin Flon, for all the impact it’s had on my personal development.

But I am illogically proud of having been born there, simply because the name is so unusual, and because the origins of that name are stranger still.

Here’s the explanation, posted on a sign next to the huge statue of the community’s namesake:

I guess it makes sense that I come from a town named for a fictional character, since I’ve often felt like one myself.

Earl poses with Flinty.

A caged canoe, close to the statue.

We stopped in Flin Flon only to gas up take a few pictures. Once that was accomplished, we took a short hop south to Cranberry Portage, home of my paternal grandmother and her longtime friend, Val Head.

Here’s a recent addition to the town, a plaque explaining the community’s origins:

I have more memories of Cranberry than of Flin Flon, mainly because we visited Grandma from time to time while living in Leaf Rapids, and of course after we moved to Alberta. Grandma had an old sewing machine with a drawer that had little toys in it. There were plastic pigs, cows, some vehicles, and little ceramic houses that I later learned were Red Rose Tea premiums. These trinkets, the books I habitually carried around on such trips and comics purchased (for 35 cents!) at drugstores kept me occupied for hours; I was rarely bored, except when forced to go fishing, and sometimes not even then.

(On one occasion, we were on the lake when a severe storm hit, forcing us to land on a little island. Sean, an infant at the time, was placed underneath the boat.)

Family Food Town in Cranberry, still open for business.

I had no idea where Grandma and Val’s house was located, but Cranberry Portage is so tiny that I only had to drive around for a couple of minutes before stumbling across it. And I discovered once again that time hadn’t waited for me. Not only had many of the town’s businesses closed, Grandma’s yard was much larger than I remember; as Val opened the gate for us so I could park, he explained that they’d bought the property next door and erected a new storage bay.


Grandma and Val.

Dad had warned me that Grandma was suffering from Alzheimer’s, but to my relief she was very lucid and very pleased to see me and meet Sylvia (particularly, I think, since I introduced her as my fiancée.) In fact, I thought she was quite sharp, something I remembered from my childhood; Grandma was always pretty witty. We chatted for a while, and as the evening wound down Val set up the guest house for us, a small but comfy converted shack in the back yard.

Camping with Dad, Mom and Grandma, Suwannee River campground?

We slept surrounded by kitschy but strangely comforting knickknacks, and I drifted off to sleep knowing that come the dawn, we’d be on our way to our ultimate destination. So far, nothing was exactly as I remembered it. Would Leaf Rapids, or at least the sinkhole, be immune to time’s relentless onslaught? Would I find what I was looking for?

What was I looking for?

Click here to read Part V.