Trees Tell a Story

If only these evergreens could talk...

- Vi Hughes

I grew up on a hobby farm in British Columbia, not far from the sea. I believe that my father and mother were the first owners of the land, having settled there in the early 1940s. They cleared the land with a big workhorse named Dolly, a wagon, and a stone boat. There was no electricity, no telephone, and we drew water from a well.

We kept cows and chickens and grew every kind of vegetable. The cows were a gentle herd of four. They produced milk for us and for the Fraser Valley Milk Producers Association. Every day, my father would load the metal container of milk onto a red wagon, and we would pull it down the road to the highway.

In those days, the road was dirt and full of potholes and muddy grooves when it rained. Summer meant dust and a dry well.