It wasn’t winter the day Uncle Zacharias and his family pitched their canvas by the lake, but it wasn’t much more pleasant, either. Spring rains had flooded all the dirt wagon roads between St. Paul and Armistice making them nearly pure mud. By the time they reached the lake they and the horses were cold and drenched and the buckboard was thick with sloppy mud. But here they were on their very own homestead, their very own piece of land to work however they wanted. Zacharias’ dad looked around that mucky little chunk of land and saw golden opportunity.

          As the summer months began, the whole family had begun to realize how worthwhile their long journey had been. It was a different world from the loud, smelly factories of Ottawa that they had left behind. Here there were bushes heavy with blueberries and saskatoons, and ditches bobbing with Brown-Eyed Susans and those beautiful pink wild roses. Flocks of plump partridges rustled through every shrub. It couldn’t have been more beautiful.

          Lizette was in the tent, that hot, muggy afternoon, doing the cleaning, while Zacharias was kneeling on the floor patching a little tear in the canvas wall. They were supposed to be watching the younger kids while their parents went to St. Paul for supplies, and they could hear shouting outside, but that was hardly unusual. They’d have been more worried if the kids were being quiet. So, they weren’t really paying attention.

          That’s why they both jumped when Benjamin came barging into the tent hollering:

          “Lizette! Zacharias! Hurry up! You have to see this! Come on!

          He was gone before they could move. They ducked out the tent flap just in time to see Benjamin grab Dad’s big axe out of the chopping stump in the woodpile. He turned around.

          “Come on!” he hollered one last time, and started running across the sun-baked meadow towards the other kids.

          It was then that Zacharias realized that all the kids were gathered around one old aspen staring up into its branches. Tippy and Hazel were screaming, high-pitched and shrill, and Ernest was dancing around shouting:

          “Hurry up, Benjamin!”

          Zacharias and Lizette caught up with Benjamin at the base of the tree just as he swung the axe and landed a shuddering whack in the trunk.

          “If we can catch ‘em,” he said, “we’ll have ‘em for pets!”

          Zacharias and Lizette looked up into the tangled branches and jumped. There, about eight feet above their heads, sat two frightened looking little black bear cubs, clinging to the trembling tree.

          “Benjamin!” Lizette shouted, “You can’t – -“

          “Put that axe down” Zacharias hollered, “Before you – -“

          Tippy and Hazel were bawling so loud the others almost couldn’t hear each other.

          “Nearly got it!” Benjamin cried as the tree swayed dangerously. The little bears bleated.

          “I’ll get ‘em!” Ernest yelled, running for the tree, but Lizette caught him by the suspenders and dragged him back.

          “Here we go!” Shouted Benjamin, and suddenly everyone was silent as the tree groaned and slowly began to fall. A few green leaves fluttered free and there was another little bear bleat as the tree picked up speed and hurled towards the earth.

          But, even before the aspen could hit the grass, the two little animals leapt out of its branches, landed on the ground with a gentle thump and galloped off to the forest’s edge.

          Suddenly everyone froze and stared after the cubs, tree completely forgotten. An ice-cold chill coursed through Zacharias’ body as he stared straight into the eyes of the big, dark, glowering Momma bear. He swallowed.

          There was a moment of breathless silence as everyone stood there with no idea what to do. Then, without a sound, the Momma bear turned around and, with her little cubs, vanished into the trees.

          Zacharias stood still, his heart throbbing in his chest, gasping for air. He licked is dry lips. There was no question about it. Living in Alberta was going to be an adventure.          

That’s the story the elderly, white-haired gentleman told us at the last family reunion. We all listened in silent fascination, but the elderly men and women just laughed and nodded. Those, they told us, were truly the good old days.