Arborg – Page 2 – Tammy W. Karatchuk

My Tragic Childhood Cat Tales, The Legend is True

As a child, I loved cats.

However, the title of “Tammy’s Favourite Cat” was dubious because they all died. Natural causes. Alright, semi-natural.

My history with cats is traumatic – and a tad gory. Feline lovers, you may require tissue.

I grew up on a dairy farm in the hamlet of Geysir outside Arborg, Manitoba. Hamlet sounds so quaint.

Our farm was overloaded with cats. In the evening when all 70 to 80 meowed at once – it was Alfred Hitchcock-like. A main contributor to the feline population was Puffballs, a tabby tomcat who visited every winter. Then he’d ship off, and lo and behold, the following spring would bring baskets of kittens! Most resembling Puffballs. Luckily, we had a large barn.

Like a beehive has its Queen Bee, we had a monarch cat: Lucky. A sleek and sophisticated tabby with her own sleeping area and milk bowl. When Lucky birthed kittens, a hush fell throughout the farm. Lucky’s kittens were coddled – and the first-born was held up by a mandrill … wait, that was The Lion King.

Lucky birthed my first favourite kitten, Rainbow, who was brown with orange dots. We kept Lucky’s kittens in a silicone castle with padded carpet. So, an extra large red plastic crate with straw. One day, I couldn’t find Rainbow. Until I dug into the straw. What kitten dies when they’re barely a month old? The start of the curse.

I moved onto Gizmo, who looked similar to Rainbow.

Gizmo, far right-hand side. Isn’t he adorable. Just look at the fear in his eyes.

*Graphic Content Ahead*

Childhood Memories of Stefan’s Store – Chocolate, Candy, and Old Cornflakes

Boarded up with chipping paint. Far left, Stefan’s Store. Middle building, CJ’s,
Far right, Stefan’s former house / Credit: Tammy Karatchuk, 2017

There’s a small white building at the corner of Hwy 8 and Provincial Road 222 in Hnausa, Manitoba.

When I was a child, that white store was Stefanson and Son General Store. However, most people called it Stefan’s. Stefan and his father, Sigurgeir, ran the business until Stefan went solo. Meanwhile, his brother John operated The Dog Patch in Arborg, an eight-minute drive from Hwy 68 and Hwy 8. However, Stefan catered to a different clientele. Cottagers. Campers. Fishermen. Kids at the beach. Teenagers who wanted to shoot pool.

I grew up near Hnausa during an idyllic time. When Hnausa Beach was a beach, not a Provincial Park. When you could enter year-round rather than a gate blocking access at the end of summer until camping season.

One constant was Stefan’s store though. The only thing that changed was the colour of the building. Until the early-90s, it had a Walmart blue door, matching the bottom half of the store.

Stefan Stefanson was a gruff and tough man with a heart of gold. Whenever he’d tally my Mom’s purchases, he’d allow my older sister, Jenn, and I behind the counter to choose from an array of chocolate bars, bubblegum, and novelty candies – such as candy necklaces.

During the summers, our Mom would make an early morning pit stop before dropping us off at Hnausa Day Camp. We’d arrive at camp with lipstick candy and lollipop rings. Stefan’s store used to have a go-cart track behind his store. As camp was winding down, the older kids could be heard for miles zipping around that track. Stefan shut down those go-carts in the mid-80s, deeming them a liability. Stefan’s was the only place to buy gas in Hnausa, but those tanks were more of a hassle. He let them run dry, and he kept them for decorative purposes.

Owning Your Birthday When You’re Alone

In about eight hours, something different will happen.

Not completely different, just different.

For the first time in 20 years, I’ll be alone on my birthday. I have a ritual where I wake up and yell, “It’s my birfday! It’s myyyy birfday!” and then I break into song. Thank goodness the neighbours have moved out.

But no one will smile and say, “Yes, it is,” and then serve me breakfast in bed. And then lunch. And make me dinner. My birthday’s tend to revolve around food. I won’t go to Hecla or Hnausa dock for a photoshoot. Or have a scavenger hunt around the house or mall . Which I found rather stressful. If I owned last year’s birthday, I’m grasping this year’s like a cuddly teddy bear.

But some things never change.

Next Time You Pass a Car Wash and You Hear a Beep – It’s Probably Me

Last night, I ran out of coffee.

So, I rose with the sun. I accomplished some writing stuff, and then I slapped on a houndstooth hat and drove to the Arborg Co-op.

Which is the main part of the story.

At the till, I chatted with the cashier, and then I walked along the yellow-brick road to my dirt-caked vehicle. Why was I driving a vehicle caked with dirt?

With Def Leppard blaring, I headed to the Arborg Co-op Gas Station’s car wash. I drove into the bay, and I washed my Kia. With a wand. For the first time.

I’ve never wand-washed a vehicle. It was either a hand wash or drive through car washed. Needless to say, this was a new experience.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: