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Thursday 6 June 2013

How to Ruin a Picnic

After Mom and Dad were married, they chose to live in Edmonton, raising their four sons there and living in various parts of the city their entire lives.  While my Dad hailed from Yorkton, Saskatchewan, my Mom had been raised on a farm near Lamont, located thirty-seven miles east of Edmonton in central Alberta.  Her Father's farm and two others, one belonging to her brother and his wife and one belonging to her sister and the sister's husband, were located a few miles from Lamont.
 
They visited each other on a regular basis and our family was affectionately referred to as being 'the city slickers.'  At the time of this story, not all highways were paved, some being gravel, and so it took considerable effort to make a journey even though today it can be done in less than an hour from city limits.

In preparation for the journey, Mom said, "I'll pack a picnic lunch; the boys will get hungry.  Besides, it nice to stop for a bit even to stretch our legs."

"You had better bring along some extra blankets," Dad replied as he looked at the sky, "If it clouds over it could be cold travelling."

At the time, my Dad had a 1928 Model T Ford which had been nicknamed 'The Tin Lizzy" by their owners.  The auto was loaded up and the journey begun.  Travelling that day were my parents, my two oldest brothers, and an Aunt from my Mother's side of the family who often helped look after the boys.

The journey was uneventful until my Mother spotted a skunk crossing the road a few yards ahead of them.  "Watch out," she warned, " there's a skunk on the road!"

"It's too late," shouted Dad as he attempted to brake and slow the vehicle. "Maybe if I hit him quick, he won't get a chance to spray."

Those were famous last words as the Tin Lizzy hit the skunk with a sickening thud.  Immediately the air reeked with the pungent odor skunks are famous for!  Dad stopped the auto and got out to investigate.  The spray had hit the underside of the vehicle and had somehow penetrated the trunk where the spare blankets and picnic basket had been stored.

"This is a fine mess," Mom observed, holding her nose and surveying the scene.  "Whew! It makes my eyes water.  What a way to ruin a picnic!"

The boys were looking at the dead skunk fascinated by what had transpired but not knowing what to say.

"You might as well bury those blankets and the picnic basket," said the Aunt, "that smell will never come out."

"Maybe Uncle Charlie will know what to do," Dad said hopefully.  Charlie was Mother's sister's husband.

But Charlie had no suggestions on how to get ride of the smell and eventually Dad traded in his Model T for different vehicle.