I have this one recurring memory that keeps floating to the front of my head.
It's a summertime evening, that time of day where the sun is nowhere to be seen, but you can clearly see the face of the person in front of you. Pre-night? Post-daylight? Call it what you will, but it's one of those perfect environments that you don't want to end anytime soon.
I'm outside with my brothers and my parents, and even a couple of the neighbours have walked over, and we're all sitting around the bonfire that we've got stoking between the two sets of trees we have in our backyard. Mom's sitting at the picnic table not far from the flames, taking the wrapping off the uncooked wieners, splitting the hotdog buns, and opening a fresh bag of marshmallows. My brothers and I have our sticks that we found around the property, shaved and sharpened so that we can fit our dogs onto them. We fit 'em, cook 'em, eat 'em, and we make sure there's enough room for dessert as we take turns burning the absolute tar out of these poor marshmallows. But hey, they taste best when they're burnt, and I stick by that viewpoint today.
It's a Saturday night in the sleepy village of Conquest, Saskatchewan. The best kind of night. The kind of night that your pre-pubescent, eyes-not-open-to-the-world-out-there, nine-year old self doesn't want to end.
But of course, it did. As did many, many, many other similar nights where we had some epic bonfires and some crispy hotdogs and 'mallows.
I love that memory, and I loved those nights that I had with my family.
Because it took place at the home that we all loved.
Recently, my brothers and I sold our family home. The road to achieving this wasn't without its own obstacles, as well as a few frustrating days and nights, but after all was said and done, we finally reached the end of that long, twisting road, and the house once affectionately known as the 'Ruttle Family Compound' has a new owner.
That memory of the bonfire nights we used to have immediately came to mind after everything was official, but so did a number of other memories I have of my life on Bounty Street in good old Conquest.
I remember walking to school every day and walking home, and my mom being there to greet me at both of those times each day. Before school, it'd be a bowl of Rice Krispies for breakfast. After school, it'd be some chocolate chip cookies and a frosty glass of milk. In the wintertime, replace those cookies with homemade long johns and that milk with hot chocolate. I can remember one particular winter day where the weather was horrendous and the buses leaving Conquest didn't run, so we had a few friends who happened to be farm kids spending the night.
Let me tell ya, it didn't faze Mom and Dad one bit! My dad was the kind of guy who insisted on looking after kids when any sort of peril came their way. Kids needed a ride somewhere? Jump in the truck. You've got two or three bucks, but that thing you wanted at the store cost five? Here's a toonie. Kids are stuck in Conquest because of the weather? Get in the house, you're sleeping over. And Mom? She was prepared, with heaping plates of fresh-baked cinnamon buns and donuts and enough hot chocolate to keep an army of frost-bitten lumberjacks happy.
I remember many, many other things about the life that my family and I had in that house. Countless birthday celebrations, numerous Christmases where the house was bursting at the seams with all the kids coming home for the holidays, epic family reunions with every uncle, aunt, cousin, and neighbour coming out of the woodwork, and literally everything in between.
Every piece of great news that we all celebrated. Every heartbreaking moment that caused us all to take stock. Every moment that my mom used to say was worth remembering because, "Sometimes it's the smallest things; those little moments that you'll remember most."
Oh, how right she was.
Time is a funny thing because it can sometimes force you to take stock of where you've been and what you've done in your life. In that house, I plastered cake all over my face as a toddler while my parents laughed and took pictures for the family photo albums. I also sat in that house and tearfully wrote both of their obituaries when my parents' time on this earth was called. The time in between was a life spent in a place that, above all else, I was proud to call my family's home.
I wish the new owner nothing but the absolute best in that house.
I hope you make memories that are as cherished as mine are. I hope you have moments that are as unforgettable as mine are. I hope your time in that house is as fulfilling as mine was as my brothers and I were growing up.
To anyone else, it's just four walls and a roof. To me, it was a place of warm memories, unforgettable moments, times of heartache and pain, life lessons learned, a place where I knew I was always going to be loved and respected, and as a child, a place where I felt protected by two incredible parents who would walk through hellfire for any one of their kids.
It's a place where a piece of my heart will always be.
It was home, and I'll never forget it.
For this week, that's been the Ruttle Report.
