The Little House in the Rocky Mountains

I still remember how it felt, when I was 5 years old and we’d make the 10-hr drive through the winding highways of the Rocky Mountains. For some reason when I think back to that drive, I always remember it during winter, and at night. I guess because those times we did make the drive during the winter months were the most memorable. The sky-scraping mountains covered in pearlescent white snow; the thick sea of evergreens capped with fresh powder; the “S” shaped road constantly twisting and turning, our suburban hugging the side of the mountain, a sheer drop toward the valley on the other side. Sometimes I would nod off so the drive would pass by faster, other times it would snow and I would be wide awake. I may have been young but I was keenly aware of the times I’d heard my parents talk about the fatal crashes that happened on the icy Trans-Canada Highway. The breathtaking scenery, the adrenaline rush of traveling at 100+km/hr halfway up the side of a mountain. It was all part of the journey. Of my favourite journey, the one that went home.

The drive I refer to is the breathtaking trek from Vancouver, British Columbia to Rocky Mountain House, Alberta. Back when we made this trip, I lived in the suburbs of Vancouver, but my Dad’s side of the family is from Rocky Mountain House. In fact, we have been living in and around Rocky for 114 years. My grandparents, and my parents both live on the farmland that my great-great-grandparents originally started farming in 1907.

When I was younger, I used to think the log-house my grandparents lived in was called “The Rocky Mountain House.” The place I later came to know was actually Rocky, I just thought of as “The Town.” I was more than confused the first time we were at my grandparent’s place and I heard someone say, “Well, I’m heading into Rocky Mountain House.” I’d be thinking “Is this guy alright? We’re already at Rocky Mountain House!”

There are so many things that make this little slice of country one of my favourite places in the world. The fresh air, how many stars you can see at night, the classic one room movie theatre… I think more than anything it’s because when I’m there, my body knows I’m home. Let me show you some of the magic that is Rocky Mountain House.

Small Town Life

I’ve lived in several major cities, with all the amenities I could hope for at my fingertips, many of them available 24/7. So, you might think that hanging out in a small town of 6,000 people would be a big bore. This has never been the case. Going “into town”, when you live on a farm in the country, is kind of a big deal. I remember as a kid, we would often go into town on the weekends, Saturday to be exact. Saturday was the day we would hang out at the legion with the veterans, playing the pull-tabs, buying tickets for the meat-draw and hoping to win big. Yes. There is a meat-draw every Saturday, and yes, it is as awesome as it sounds. Buy a raffle ticket, if your number is called, head up to the front and pick your choice of prime Alberta beef (the best there is!) or other frozen delights. I was usually a fan of the honey mustard wings; my sister once picked a full frozen turkey! You just can’t get that kind of entertainment in the city.

We always looked forward to visiting the main strip of Rocky, conveniently named “Main Street.” It may be a small town but I feel like it has all the important things. A movie theatre, a video game store and a dollar store (which was a fan favourite when we were young)!

The real joy of a small town is that it gives you a sense of personal history. Big cities change so much and you make your mark on such a small part of them, but in a small town, your history becomes interwoven with it.

I recently joined a Facebook group after being invited by my Papa. It’s a group dedicated to the history of Rocky Mountain House. There are multiple generations of families connecting in this group, sharing stories, sharing photos, reconnecting, looking for friends and family they’ve lost somewhere along the way. Reading the stories that are posted in the group it’s humbling to see what this tiny place has meant for so many people. How one place can serve as home for many, and it can mean something different for each one.

My Papa actually has a book made up of newspaper clippings from the Rocky Mountain House paper, collected from the last 100+ years. At some point in the early 1900’s they were talking about the growth and promise of the town. They were looking forward to the railway going in, and after that they figured it would become the Chicago of the North-West. That made me chuckle seeing as Rocky’s population never grew much over 6,000.

Great Canadian Country

The biggest benefit of Rocky Mountain House, might be that it is smack dab in the middle of some of the most gorgeous Canadian country. I hesitate to use the word “blessed” because it is so overused these days that it has little meaning anymore but seriously… I feel totally and utterly blessed to be surrounded by nature like this.

Walking through these woods heals me. It replenishes me. Things just make sense here.

I like to roam through the trees without a destination in mind. Allowing the forest to take me where it will. Following animal tracks, or the sound of a bird. Getting down low to the ground to get a closer look at a mysterious mushroom.

Getting to share this with my family is extra special. Last year I was laid off, like millions around the world. After quarantining for two and half months, shut-in in Toronto, my husband and I decided we were going to drive to Rocky, to live on the farm for the summer. This was one of those rare miracles that came from living in the midst of a global pandemic. Spending this time with my family (after a period of 2-week isolation upon arrival), was maybe the greatest gift I’ve had in a while. Once you move away from home, start a career and start a new family, you might not get many chances to return. Especially if you’ve moved across a country as big as Canada. So, to be home again. To have the chance to strengthen and develop my relationships with my parents, my grandparents and my sister, will be a defining moment of my life I’m sure to look back on for all of my years.

While we were out for the summer, we took advantage of our extra time together by visiting some of the places where my Dad grew up, where he lived with my grandparents and his brother when he was younger. Before my grandparents retired onto the farm and started their second career as cattle ranchers, my Papa was working as a forest ranger and my Nana was a teacher.

Papa’s job required them to live on the outskirts of town, in the ranger’s house, situated right in the national parks. We took the time to go and visit the site of one of those houses, which had eventually been knocked down. Turns out people now gather there and camp with their RV’s on the weekend. Nana sure wasn’t too happy to see muddy tire tracks in what used to be her vegetable garden!

There is a reason why the Rocky Mountains are world famous and it’s not hard to see why. It’s amazing to see the rich natural world in all its splendour. We pulled off the highway at one point to trek up into the mountainside and have lunch! I would highly recommend the experience.

By the way, my grandparents are 81 and 79 but they scaled that mountain like Sam and Frodo scaling the side of Mount Doom. But with a lot less doom. They are certifiable bada*****.

Intimacy

There’s this intimacy that I feel when I’m at home. At the farm. In Rocky. It’s like I feel my family’s history in my bones. The struggles my great-great grandparents would’ve faced starting up the ranch in 1907, after having arrived by wagon from Oregon. My grandparents riding their horses 2.5 miles to the one room school house to study. My Dad, Papa and Great Granddad born in the hospital in Rocky, the only hospital around for over 100kms. My own memories I’ve been creating for the last 30 years. When I’m there, I feel it all.

Being there was where I learned to be grounded. To have respect for all that’s happened to bring me here. It’s where I was given space to run free, to play in the woods, to get the kind of freedom and responsibility you just can’t have as a child in a big city.

I may have lived in many places across this great nation but the little house in the Rocky Mountains has always been my anchor.

My home.

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Thank you to my parents and grandparents who helped me write this article, providing me with some old film shots and some new shots of the downtown, since I currently am unable to visit due to provincial restrictions. Thank you to the Rocky Recollections group on Facebook for some priceless shots of the Rocky of the past. And thank you to you, the reader for coming along with me on this journey. xx