The Reindeer Keeper

Growing up I never understood how my mother could get irked by my father. To me, he was near perfect. He had a sense of humor. He never yelled at us. He always gave us whatever we asked for. Over summer vacation, I'd stay up and watch the late movie with him. My father most always fell asleep. When we were old enough he'd let us drive his old funeral van around the backfields. Once I had my license he let me take whatever car was in the driveway. One week night when I was in my freshman year of high school, my mother had to go somewhere with one of her sisters. She left my father in charge. The only problem was he had a cold. I had a cold too but it didn't seem to matter. My father was the one sick. He was the one sneezing and blowing his nose. I was too but he retreated to his bed-covering himself up and telling me to turn the heat up because he was chilled. I told him I was too. My father didn't answer. Instead he asked for another blanket. After I got my younger

Like so many small communities, my hometown had a functioning train depot many years ago. I don't remember much about it nor do I recall the trains coming and going. I've seen photos and heard stories and understand its history-a history wrapped about our country's history of growing and expanding with people taking the rails to travel-with industries using the trains to ship their goods. I took the above photo of our train depot more than a few years ago. At that point in time, it'd been closed down. Travelling by train was becoming a thing of the past. Unfortunately my hometown lost this piece of history to a fire. Gone went its marble floors and the hustle and bustle. But one thing that hasn't disappeared is the howling of trains passing in the night. Living about an hour from Ottawa and two hours from Montreal on the U.S. Canadian border along the St. Lawrence River we are blessed by the howling of trains on the Canadian side drifting over the river, chuggi

I wish this old photo showed more of what was going on-showed more of who was there-maybe even showed my grandparents' farmhouse with its screened-in front porch because I know that's where this photo was taken. Underneath all that snow is the cinder driveway that led around to the back of that house down to the shallow rock. Shown is one poplar tree. There were more poplar trees lining that driveway back then. I loved when the wind moved the leaves. It was magical. I didn't love the thunder and lightning storm that cracked one of those trees in half on a summer evening when I huddled around my grandmother with my cousins on that screened-in front porch. Standing in the forefront is my father. What's surprising to me is not the cigarette in his mouth because they all smoked back then. What's surprising is the fact he is out there in the first place appearing to be enjoying himself. And he's not wearing a tie. In fact, he seems to be wearing a leisure sort of