THE OLD ROAD
by
Alan A Sandercott

       It’s been approximately one hundred years since the first pioneers laid claim to the farmlands along Francois Lake in British Columbia’s Central Interior. Times were difficult and only the hardiest survived to conquer the wilderness. Bit by bit they struggled to clear the land required to plant their crops. Each had a large garden lined with rows of raspberry canes and protected from unwelcome scavengers by crude picket fencing. Stores of food supplemented by local wild game were preserved before the onslaught of winter. What they couldn’t acquire locally they had to freight in from the outside world.

       Means of travel back then were limited to water and walking. Supplies and livestock were rafted up the lake or walked in along crude trails through the bush. Through sheer necessity the trails were widened and soon the first wagon road evolved. Trips into town were shortened to only a few days. More settlers came and soon more and more wagons traveled the lifeline laden with the supplies desperately needed to sustain life on their back wood farms. Deep ruts wore down into the hard ground by years of steel rimmed wagon wheels. It wasn’t easy; weather played havoc with the road bed turning it to mud at times, mosquitoes were tormenting. It was often necessary to rest, feed and water the teams of horses. It’s not hard to envision children playing in the hay lined wagon beds, hanging their legs out over the tail gate, running along behind picking the wild strawberries that grow in abundance along the trail.

       Long since replaced with newer roads and routes, most of the old road has disappeared to nature or the ever expanding agriculture. But here and there remnants of that old road still exist. One stretch of the old road crosses our property. It enters from the east, meanders along between the remnants of once tall spruce and cottonwood trees and disappears at our western property line. Over the years that we have lived here many interesting artifacts have been recovered; several worn and rusted horse shoes, a cast iron cooking pot, dozens of rusty tin cans and different coloured glass bottles.

       We deliberately protect this chunk of local history by constantly wrestling it from the grasps of Mother Nature. We keep tree branches cut back, remove over-growing brush and retain the roadbed in a recognizable state. We are aided by wildlife such as moose, deer and bear using the road as a game trail. Its length across our property makes an excellent nature path through the trees for walking.

       In front of our home a lawn now covers a portion of the road but that does not deter the animals that continue cross regularly with little concern for us. From the modern convenience of our front deck we can look both left and right to see distinct remains of that road while the animals provide us with hours of viewing pleasure. It’s easy, with closed eyes and a touch of imagination, to see one of the wagons crossing in front and wanting to wave a friendly greeting.

       I rather doubt the pioneers who, out of necessity, carved the road through the natural landscape had any idea that remnants of their hard labours would still remain a century later.