Driving..."Miss Hilda..."

PEDEDGOest I will go...and how I learned to drive.

Oh, yes...to sit behind that wheel...Seems like it’s most people's dream--old and young.

Old: I was thinking back to when my father-in-law turned ninety-seven, January of 2010, and he just had his car insurance renewed! He thought that this would be his last year of driving. The urge to drive fast was still in him. We stopped in to see Mama Betty at the hospital. Father-in-law, Jacob, was there as well. He had come with his scooter. On the way out of the hospital, he said, "This thing goes fast!" And sure enough, before we even got to our parked car...he was gone! And in the far distance, all we could see, was a red flag madly waving in the air. 

Young: I was thinking back when I was nine. Our friend, Onkel Chnalce (Cornelius Unger), stopped in for a quick visit--probably for a few rounds of maté (South American drink) and to see my mother, before going on a short errand. 

I asked if I could go with him in his gray VW bug. I liked the car, it held many special memories for me. You see...he had bought it off my mom, after my father passed away.

So...driving along, with the windows rolled down, on a warm summer day in Buenos Aires, and after having driven for...I would guess, about half and hour or so, he stopped in front of a big house, and left me to “mind my own business.” 

Oh...when the cat’s away the...

...and play I did. I moved over to the driver’s seat and like children will do...pretended to drive. But, this did not look “cool” enough. So I took one of Onkel Chnalce's cigarettes, and pretended to "smooook" and drive.  

I can’t for the life of me remember if I lit it or not. Knowing me...I don’t remember coughing...? 

It was a good thing that he had taken the keys with him! Who knows what I would have attempted...

The next time I had the chance to drive--for real--was my second summer in Canada, when I was twelve. I had asked my stepfather if he could teach me how to drive. 

The 1953 International farm truck, with the orange cab and green box, happened to be sitting on the yard, so that was the choice of vehicle. I didn’t object, I just took my place at the edge of the seat, right behind the wheel, and my stepfather in the passenger’s seat. He then began to instruct me on how to drive a standard farm truck. Shifting into gears was not a problem for me. I had been observing his driving in the past, so a couple of tries and I was ready to go.

I had wanted to go straight, but no...apparently that wasn’t a “big enough” of a challenge. He suggested that I drive between the chicken coop and the work shed. With not too much space between the buildings and barely being able to look over the steering wheel, I managed to drive between the buildings and stay clear of the ditch to my left. It was a little scary, but I did it!

               This is what the truck looked like after I was done!--Ha, ha!

After that, I spent many hours practicing on my own. Not with the farm truck, not with the two toned green 1956 Pontiac, and not with the 1951 navy Chevy pickup that was on the farm when my mother and I moved to Canada, but with the new 1960 light blue Chevy pickup that my stepfather bought in 1961. (Thanks, Allan H., for helping me out with the makes and dates.)

And practice I did! At first I went around and around our yard, and when that got too monotonous, I was allowed to drive around and around the field, next to the farm yard. I headed north, and then right, driving next to Peter and Anne Toews’ barbed wire fence, and then south, back towards our yard. 

Nothing mattered...I kept on driving and I was in my glory! I felt very grown up. 

This is the closest photo I found in Yahoo.com

I don’t recall ever driving the truck on those endless prairie roads, except for the little stretch between our field and my cousin Heidebrecht’s driveway when I would go over to play...and...oh yes! I did drive on the “out of the way” road when I would make lunch and take it out to the field where my Mom and stepfather where working. That piece of land was only eighty acres, so I don’t recall being there that often. 

But...I have to admit that my Mom drove her share between fields, because even though the land that my stepfather owned was all around the farm yard, you still had to go onto the road to get to another piece of farm land further away. 

Before she left the yard she would check to see if the road was clear...any faraway dust cloud in sight--a sure sign of an oncoming vehicle. Most of the time the road was clear, even though it was a secondary road (Hwy. 724). When we did hear a vehicle drive by, we would check to see who it was.  Left, would take us north, to La Glace, where I attended grades five to nine. Right, would take us south, to Wembley, to where the tall elevators stood, where the farmer’s grain was hauled to. 

The distance that she drove, without license...! was less than a mile (we learned to measure in miles once we got to Canada). On that short stretch home, would you believe it, she was stopped by a cop! Were did he come from!?

He had questions, to which she had no answers--pretended that she didn’t understand English! He only gave her a warning and then left. My parents figured that one of the neighbours must have reported her to the police. Who knows...?

Drive safely and enjoy the sunshine...

Hilda