By Dan Thedroff – Mission, B.C.
In 1939, at age eight, I went from our farm at Crane Valley in southern Saskatchewan to visit my cousins on the farm of Uncle Tom and Aunt Flora Andrie in the Ormiston area. They had a fairly large family. The cousins around my age were Wesley, Rosie, Sager, and John.
One day we were to pick Saskatoon berries at a good spot a few miles away. They had a quite a few horses. Some were fairly lively. Wesley picked one out and harnessed him up to a two-wheeled cart. It had a pole on each side which hooked up to the harness.
Off we went. Four of us picked berries and had a lunch that was sent with us. It was a good day. We had a several pails of berries that we put them in the cart and headed for home.
We were going down a hill when the ‘evener’ of the cart caught up to the horse and hit him in the back of his legs.
He took off like a bolt of lightning, and we hung on to the cart for dear life. When the horse veered off the trail we hit a rock and, well, there were boards, pails, berries, and kids flying all over the place.
I could see Wesley still holding onto the reins for a few very long strides trying to stop the horse.
No one got hurt very bad. Wesley had a big bruise on his chin, plus a few others. We were quite lucky, but had some explaining to do when we walked home empty-handed.