Sequel to I Heard the Alps Call His Name

Storm Across the Prairies

“The storm is where?” I asked incredulously. 

“It’s coming from Montana, planning to make its debut sometime tomorrow morning,” my cousin Bonnie said, sitting across from me in her kitchen, sipping her coffee on a dreary Thursday morning in late October 2012. 

“How bad is it?” I waited for a reply, staring outside from the large paneled windows in the five-bedroom house she and Rick had painstakingly built themselves, taking in the brown grass covering the open fields that stretched across the blue horizon towards Lethbridge. A single white cloud floated lazily above the bare, leafless trees. Canadian geese could be seen flying in a V-shaped formation high in the sky, honking in unison at their delight and anticipation of the long journey south. They must have sensed what was to come, for they were one of the last to take flight that morning from the gray, foggy ponds that bordered the farm, forming a final group of older, seasoned males in front, with the young, inexperienced ones taking up the rear, and the females and the vulnerable in the middle – a small band of travelers. 

“They said on the news this morning that an autumn storm was coming down from Alaska, hitting Seattle head-on before traveling east to Great Falls, and could turn into a blizzard. It’s moving fast and is expected to hit us by early morning.” 

Situated two hours north of the US border and five hours from Great Falls, Lethbridge was right in the path of the unpredictable storm. The Alberta weather could change in a heartbeat from balmy, warm winds to blizzard-like conditions. I had packed Mom’s things and stored them in boxes, not wanting any loose ends if I had to leave in a hurry. 

     “What will you do now, June?” Bonnie asked after Mom’s funeral. I smiled fondly at my younger cousin, grateful for her and Rick for letting me stay at their farm outside of Lethbridge while Mom was ill and afterwards when she passed. Their three-story white-sided house stood majestically on the coulee edge overlooking the rolling prairies and Old Man River, with incredible views of the mile-long scenic train bridge in Lethbridge. From its huge, wrap-around decks, one could see the city of just over 100,000, with its Brewery Gardens and the University nestled between a valley in the hills. 

     “I plan to head east. I’ll finish packing and leave next week.” Once again, fate stepped in in the form of Mother Nature. 

     “I’m worried if you don’t go now, you might be snowed in for a while,” said Rick. You never know when the roads will clear up enough to drive.” 

“I have family pictures and heirlooms to take back to Ottawa, so I have to drive. I think I’ll leave by dinnertime and try to make it to Calgary.” I will visit Ontario before the snow flies and visit my sister and niece in Ottawa until the estate is finished. I can’t see any reason to stay here. Only Mom and Dad were left, and now they’re both gone”. 

“It’s true; you always wanted to be closer to your family in Ottawa and your son in Switzerland,” Bonnie said sympathetically. 

Three hours later, I waved a fond goodbye to my cousins as the sun dipped behind the horizon. The winds shifted to the southwest, and dark clouds framed the Lethbridge skyline. After another two hours of dry pavement, I saw the lights of Calgary and settled in my hotel room a half hour later. I phoned my friend Jessica. 

“We’d better leave early in the morning for Medicine Hat. The storm is supposed to hit Calgary by dawn. Let’s leave at five. Will you be ready?” 

“Yes, pick me up at my sister-in-law’s in north Calgary. Here’s the address.” 

I was there a few minutes to five, and Jessica was waiting on the dark doorstep, wrapped in so many layers I hardly recognised her at first.  As we pulled onto the Trans Canada Highway, a few flakes fell on the windshield. The roads stayed clear until Brooks, then huge, wet snowflakes rammed against the car windows and covered the highway. The intensity continued for another half hour, and everything turned white. “I can’t see the road!” I uttered through clenched teeth, straining my head between the rapidly moving wipers and wiping condensation off the inside glass. 

“Put your hazards on, and I’ll try to guide you,” said Jessica in a voice cracking with emotion that escalated into a high-pitched tone.

Cars now dotted the side of the road and center median. With their bright yellow lights, snow plows flashed past us, blowing up snow that covered my car in a blanket of whiteness. The wind blew huge drifts across the road, and the snow turned into pounding flakes stuck to the wipers and headlights. We plowed on for another two hours, guided by the center line and the car’s tail lights in front of us. 

     “Can you see the sign for Medicine Hat yet?” I shouted at her, glancing quickly to my right and seeing a pair of white hands gripping the seat beside me. 

“We’re almost here, maybe ten more kilometers.” 

A thousand kilometers later, or so it seemed, we turned off to Medicine Hat and audibly sighed together. Blood returned to my face; two more turns, and we pulled into the driveway, or what we could see. 

“Thank goodness. John cleaned the driveway.” 

     On day four, when the sun came out, we dug ourselves and the car out of a meter-high drift of snow; with the highway plowed, Jessica and I continued on our trip east, crossing the Alberta-Saskatchewan border to Regina, staying overnight in an Airbnb that looked like a medieval castle minus the moat. The next afternoon, we drove into Manitoba and Winnipeg, stopping overnight to visit with my niece Kim and her family. Two days later, we arrived in the capital city of Ottawa – four days of driving, eight if you count one night in Calgary and being buried in a snowstorm for three days. Settling into two rooms in a rental house in south Ottawa that accommodated students and people who were there for a short time or just driving through. It was a block from where my sister Joan was staying and a half-hour drive from my niece Julia and her family in the suburb of Richmond. 

Three days later, I drove Jessica to the Ottawa Airport. 

“You’re always welcome to visit us in Phoenix if you get tired of the cold. We will be there just before Christmas. The average temperature there in the winter is seventy-five and sunny.” 

“Have a safe trip home, and thanks for the invitation,” I answered cheerfully, hugging my childhood friend. 

Having grown up with Fahrenheit temperatures, I knew it was swimsuit weather, and a picture of me sitting by the pool reading a Stephen King novel flashed before my eyes. Darn! I should go! I thought. 

Over the next while, my luck turned sour. Due to overbooking, I was put in a tiny room that I could barely turn around. The single bed with a lumpy mattress was raised so far off the floor that I had to put two thick books I found in the living room on the floor to hoist myself into bed. The TV broke down, and a new tenant enjoyed playing loud music and drinking beer until the early hours. My car broke down and needed expensive repairs, and the bug I picked up from the tenants turned into a nasty cold. 

“God, I hate being here!” I told my sister, sitting in her room one cold and overcast afternoon a few days after Christmas, 

“I thought you liked it,” Joan said, one eye on the Waltons, her favorite television program that she watched faithfully at 4 o’clock every day, and the other on me. “Mom’s will and estate are still unfinished, but at least there are no problems.” 

“We did have a nice Christmas, though, didn’t we?” my sister said with enthusiasm, giving me her undivided attention for a split second, and then both eyes returned to what John Boy was up to.

“Yes, we did. Julia and Rob were wonderful and put much effort into giving us a nice Christmas. And the kids, Mark and Evelyn, sure enjoyed themselves.” 

     “So, what’s your plan, Sis?” echoing a familiar phrase I had heard many times before. 

“I need to go somewhere warm, Sis. I can’t take this cold weather anymore. The house is so drafty that I go to bed early to get warm, and I can’t shake this cough.” 

“Where were you thinking? Mexico? Arizona? Somewhere else?” 

“Jessica invited me to Phoenix. She and John rented a house there for the winter and have an extra bedroom.” 

“I don’t blame you for wanting to go. If I didn’t have my medical tests coming up, I would go also.” 

“Let’s get over New Year’s, and I’ll see.” 

*** 

The first day of 2013 started out very cold and miserable. The neighbour’s New Year’s Eve party down the street was unusually quiet. Maybe the minus-twenty weather had something to do with it. One morning, I began to cough and had trouble breathing. At the walk-in clinic, Dr. Noble diagnosed pneumonia—another nail in the coffin. What should I do now? I went home with antibiotics and fell into bed. 

For a few days, I shared the adventures of John-Boy with my sister on the only TV in the house. Over the next few weeks, I could breathe without coughing and walk to the grocery store. Then the temperature dropped to minus twenty-five, and the roads became a skating rink. So many cars ended up in the ditch, and it looked like an auto wreck yard. After several sleepless nights of listening to AC/DC dance around with his electric guitar in the bedroom next door, I decided, born out of an unfathomable longing for a warmer climate, to put an ad in the Auto Market and sell my 2007 Toyota Yaris. Three days later, I booked a one-way ticket to Phoenix.

                                                               ***