One Afternoon in Herbert, My Home Town

The first thing is getting there. Take the Trans-Canada west into the Missouri Coteau.

My bird-loving friends will approve of a stop at Chaplin.

In Herbert, I tried to check into the motel or campground.

Nothing was open.

I went over to the Co-op to ask. Me: I was born here. Co-op guy: I'm busy! It looked like hard times at the Lone Eagle.

Just east, the grounds where we used to go on Sports Days.

I never had much luck here.

When the highway diverted to the south edge of town, the original Trans-Canada became South Railway avenue.

I used to get a bean shave here.

Dad got a new red Chev every two years here.

I'd heard that local media were excited about the hometown boy returning as poet laureate this summer. 

The quieter the town, the louder the train.

The giant poplars are all that's left of the school where I'd been a good boy for Mrs. Campbell, Miss Shopa, Miss Higginson, and Mrs. Benallack . . .

. . . though some the bricks were used for the Memorial Wall.

I walked by 432 Brownlee. I felt the pain from a fall off my bike long ago.

That was it for my camera battery. The rest was notes toward a Herbert piece I'm working up for this summer. See you at the Herbert Rodeo weekend, July 29-31.