It's as if I were here first,before the world I was in, and that world slowly emerged around me and took form gradually.By no means am I able to recall all things that were happening around me by the time 1963 came around.And many of those things,when I think of them today I viewed very differently than I would have as an adult,or even as I might have just a few months later.But memory about those days is not entirely absent.The most noticeable thing about those thoughts and memories to me now is that they give me a sense of myself as a developing person.First memories of the place we lived after we left Goose Bay are foggy,but they become more certain in my mind towards the end of the year or so that we spent there.My first memory occurred,there,my first event that I am able to recall,that is,with the absolute certainty that it happened,and was not something related to me by others.Still,memory from that time was a very odd thing,and I'm rather keenly aware of my thought processes being so very different then.
Sometime in 1963 we moved to the community of Redmondville in Easten New Brunswick.I don't recall moving,or how we got there at all,but Redmondville became in a sense my first hometown.It was located on highway eleven which is the main route up the east side of New Brunswick. Redmondville itself is located south of the Mirimachi river between what were at that time two military bases,one at Chatham and one at St. Margret's.It was a relatively flat stretch of not very good road,cracked,potted and bumpy,bordered by small,not very productive farms and having both hay fields and thick bush coming right up to the roadway.In places,dirt,or,more usually mud roads crossed the main road and went back,who knows where into the bush.
My father had taken work at the military base in St.Margaret's,which had radar installations and a power generating station where he worked.It was south of the larger base in Chatham,and south of our house as well.To the best of my recall,it seemed about five miles from where we lived to where my father worked.
That old home place stands fairly clear in my mind,or so I thought until I tried to find it on Google Maps.The best I've managed to do is narrow it down to two or three possibilities,all of which could be the place,but none of which have all the elements laid out exactly as they live in my mind.But,then again,it's been over fifty years now.
It was a big,tall white house,standing near the road.A dirt driveway ran down the south side of the yard and there was a barn behind that,with a door that was located facing east,toward the road.The barn,in my mind had a door located near it's northeast corner,more or less directly behind the house's back porch.Behind that was a garden and some hay which grew up unbidden here and there.To the south there was a trailer where our nearest neighbors lived.The trailer was brown and white and it had a closed in wooden porch attached.It's narrow end faced the road,and behind it was a road running off into the woods.The road only went a short distance before it dead ended to car traffic,but still continued on as a pair of deep ruts,and it must have been traveled to some extent,because the trees did not over grow it.Whenever I asked an adult where that road went,they would just say "nowhere". It just went off into the trees.The trees...all else around our place was trees.
Up the road some distance to the north was another farm house.I have the sense of there being a small creek lying between that farm house and our own,because in my memory there was an alley of low lying land lined with trees.I never saw a creek there,nor can I find one today,but it was the sort of vista that implies a small watercourse.
Further on,a mile or so up the road,I suppose,and on the opposite side was a small school.A little shack of a building, painted white at one time.Between that school and our house, also on the west side of the road was an old school bus parked perpendicular to the road.It was a sun bleached version of the familiar school bus yellow,and a rusty stovepipe protruded through it's roof.
The thing I recall about the inside of our house is that it always seemed to be drafty.Little winds circled all about,almost like being outside,and things would blow about whenever someone opened or closed a door.It was a big house with high ceilings.There was a kitchen and living room on the first floor with a bath and maybe two, or even three bedrooms upstairs.They kitchen faced south and the main view from it's window was of our neighbors yard and trailer.The living room had a huge window facing the road.You could watch passing traffic,or crows gathering in the trees and on the wires across the road.
Just outside the door,running along one side of the house was a narrow,fenced in enclosure,perhaps intended to be a dog run at one time.That's where we were put when we went outside to play.But,even though the road was near,I was eventually allowed the run of the yard to play in.But my little sister was not,so far as I can remember.
Continued
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