Dad, these days: Part Seven

   In "Dad, these days: Part Six", I began by describing it as the last in the series of blogs relating to my Dad's decline and passage. In retrospect, I guess a person's story doesn't always end when it ends. With this is mind, I offer this current blog. There is a temptation to describe it as the last in the series but, seeing as how I just learned my lesson on THAT one, I will refrain from doing so!
  
   A few years ago, Dad made me the executor of his estate. Along the way, I thought it might be appropriate to talk to him about the disposition of his remains. Not surprisingly, to me, he told me he wanted his ashes scattered in the ocean out in front of the old family cottage in Gibsons, B.C. It was here that his parents had retired to and where he had spent the glorious days of his youth. It is also where he and my Mum had taken us for vacations when I was a child and I was fully aware of the magic surrounding the place.
   I told my Dad at that time I would do my best to ensure that this final request was granted, not thinking that I would need to follow through on this any time soon. Sadly, though, we found ourselves in this position much more soon than we thought.
   There is no real timeline when it comes to matters such as this and I suppose we could have held on to my Dad's ashes indefinitely. I also knew that there was a certain impetus in play here, that I had been pretty well constantly involved with my Dad's affairs since he'd passed and should I suddenly stop there was the possibility that this impetus might be lost and then be hard to regain.
   With all of the above in mind, Doralyn and I set out three weeks ago to fulfill Dad's wishes.


The boundary "B"

   We flew to Calgary, rented a car there, and began our (and Dad's) journey through the mountains. Dad had always travelled through the Rockies to get us to Gibsons and it only seemed right that he would make this trip one more time.
   It is always a glorious trip through the mountains and, even with a little cloudiness and a few raindrops, this trip began the same way. Eventually we ended up in Gibsons where it was cool and drizzly for about a day and a half and then...the sun came out! And stayed for the whole rest of our trip!
   We had a day or two to explore Gibsons before my Uncle Keith (minus my Aunt Barb, who'd unfortunately had knee-replacement surgey just prior to us leaving) arrived, from Comox. As well, my cousin Cynthia and her husband Kevin joined us.

Doralyn, Kevin, Cynthia and my Uncle Keith

   We all congregated down on what family members refer to as "Gran's beach" for the ash-scattering ceremony. We arrived at low tide which we figured would give us the best opportunity to get close to the ocean water Dad had always found so near and dear. A few words were said, simply to acknowledge that Dad was finally back where he really belonged and we then scattered his ashes in the waves and the rock pools there.

Dad, flying into the ocean one last time...

   One of the other things we managed to accomplish while we were there was to find the legendary "B" which my grandfather Ernest Baker had carved into the rocky outcrop we stood on for the ceremony. My Uncle Keith had had the clearest (and only) recollection of approximately where this had been done and several sets of eyes finally managed to make it out. We marked it for clarity and it is pictured above. Over a beer after golf, Dad had many times told me the story of this letter having been carved into the stone. Probably about 75 years ago, by my uncle's reckoning, my Granddad had purchased the small lot adjacent to the family cottage. At this time he thought it would be appropriate to to go down to the beach and carve in where the new boundary line now was. Standing there as a group, looking at it that day, it was a further testament to the family history and, coupled with the reason we were there in the first place, made it that much more of a memorable moment.

Doralyn, skipping a memory stone

   Apart from my Dad's ashes, we had also brought with us "memory stones". At my Dad's memorial in London, we had asked friends and relatives to sign little messages for or about Dad on stones we had there for them. The idea then was for us to bring all the stones with us and send those messages into the ocean along with my Dad, either by skipping them in or just throwing them. Skipping stones in the ocean was something Dad had taught us as kids (as I'm sure his dad taught him) and it's been something that's stayed with us since. This was also a wonderful moment.
   We parted company shortly after this, Keith back to Comox and Cynthia and Kevin headed back to Mission, B.C. Doralyn and I had the luxury of staying in the Gibsons area for a few extra days and much sight-seeing and visiting with family friends was done. We then spent a couple of days in Vancouver before starting the trip back through the mountains.


My Sweetie, back-dropped by the Banff Springs hotel

   One our stops was in Banff. This was one of the places we'd missed when we were out that way three years ago so we wanted to make sure we didn't miss it this time. One of the other stories Dad had always told me after a round of golf was the one about the Banff Springs golf course. This was a course that Dad had played more than once, back in the late forties to early fifties. In particular, he would tell me stories about the world-renowned fourth hole, known as the "Devil's Cauldron". He would describe it in intimate detail, all the surrounding scenery, the elevated tee and the bunkered green and the large pond your ball would have to carry in order to make the green. His favourite part of the story was about the man in the rowboat who, as golfers invariably would land their shots in the water, would then fetch their balls from their watery grave and sell them back to the golfers! There was a name on the side of the boat--The Maid of the Missed--and this really was the part of the story Dad enjoyed telling the most, relating the clever little play on words the title of the boat suggested.
   With all of this golf history Dad had passed on, it was difficult to actually be in Banff and not visit the same golf course he'd told me about repeatedly. We did go and visit the course and obtained one of the yardage maps they pass out to the players. One of their staff  did give me directions to the fourth hole but it was a little too far off the beaten path to go and see and by then I was happy with our visit anyway.

"Devil's Cauldron" back in the late 40's-early 50's

Dad, teeing off, likely on the Devil's Cauldron

   When I got home, I was randomly flipping through one of Dad's older photo albums and came across some pictures taken on a golf course. When I looked at all of them, I realized that they were pictures of the Banff Springs course! And not only that, when I looked at two or three even more closely and compared them to the map of the course I'd been given in Banff, I also realized I was looking at pictures of my Dad playing the Devil's Cauldron fourth hole he'd been telling me about for so long!
    Right after Banff, we ended up in Canmore for a couple of nights and then on to Calgary for our last day. Our flight from Calgary left extremely late that night (actually early the next morning) so we had pretty well the whole day to kill. We started off by having lunch with Ralph Green, Dad's oldest and best friend. This was a "must" and only fitting, given the reason for our trip, that we have a visit with Ralph.

Doralyn and Ralph in his Stampede attire

   Ralph is a wonderful man and Doralyn fell in love with him right away. He is also very clearly a sentimental man and it was easy to see that occasionally he had a difficult time talking about Dad, as well as Marg, his wife, who had passed away a few years ago. We took some pictures, exchanged some pictures, and promised to send back the pool cue Ralph had only "lent" to Dad. We also promised to simply stay more in touch. It was a little bittersweet saying goodbye as you just never know when we'll see each other again. And, frankly, it was one of the highlights of the trip for me.

Elbow Park Community Centre--from the "ski hill"

   Finally, one of the advantages to having the whole day to ourselves was being able to find Dad's old neighbourhood when he was a boy. Once again, on our weekly talks after golf, Dad would always tell me stories about growing up in the Elbow Park area of Calgary. His fondest memory of those days was all the time he was able to spend at the Elbow Park Community Centre. He would always describe how it was bordered by this huge hill you could ski down in the wintertime and how they would flood the tennis courts, making them into hockey rinks and how you could get all this for only two dollars a year per family!

   It was an amazing trip that afforded me, along with the opportunity to fulfill Dad's wishes, the chance to see a few of the things he'd been telling me about for years, things that somehow or other in my mind had become "legendary". Each and every one of them will now be that much more special to me, as well!
  

The boundary "B"-in its pristine form