Bush Parties and My Stupid Cousin R--s
In Grade 6, via an uncle's second marriage, I received two new cousins on the farm. It was a blessing, as I had previously been the only person my age for many miles, and certainly the only one without religion for many more.
Parents would think that the brothers were bad influences, but at the time, that was just what I needed. R----l and C----s, only a year apart from each other, one younger than me and one older, constantly abused each other and were fairly inseparable. They counted moving to the farm as a big blessing, which was a surprise to me. At the age of 11 I already felt that living so far from a town was a massive injustice no child should have to bear.
The farm was a big playground to them. They brought two ATVs (more on those in a later post) and contrary to previous assertions that I didn't know any first nations people, they were 1/8 Metis (which they only shared with me) and thus able to sport an enviable tan.
R--- and I became friends and enemies; we competed in school for popularity and grades. The brothers taught me how to take a ribbing.
C & R were born to party. In Grade 11 we laid enough pressure on the four brothers who ran the farm that they let us throw a party in the gravel pit on our land. By that age we had figured out that while parents always wanted to chaperone a party, chaperoning most often involved checking in once in a while to make sure things weren't totally out of hand. Meanwhile, the parents had their own little party in the house. The gravel pit was a mile from the nearest house, so we could count on the parents not checking in too often, which made for the best parties.
A massive bonfire was supplied; we took the fencing machine and drove two large posts into the ground and suspended a canopy made of silage bags between a stack of gravel and the posts. Enough room for thirty people sitting.
In small towns when you have a party, everyone knows about it and a big deal is made out of who is invited and who isn't. R---l was socially conscious and thus very choosy about his invitations, C---s was not and invited everyone. So, of course, we ended up with more of C---s friends than R---l's at the party. That night, forty or more came to the party and much was drank. A girl from Grade 10 had a panic attack, started screaming and yelling... she nearly kicked out the windows of S---t's car.
Near the end of the party, M--- V---, a tiny guy and a well-established asshole, began dragging flaming logs to the top of a gravel pile and throwing them down toward the crowd. Sparks sailed through the air and R---l, as the host, took offense.
R--- was much too drunk to responsibly act on the problem. He started yelling at M--- and ran, swooning, up the gravel pile. It is much faster to slide down a pile of rocks than run up it, so M--- just dropped to his behind and, amidst a landslide of small stones, slipped down the pile. So when R--- got to the top, the crowd of flaming log throwers were already at the base of the pile. A few of us were atop the mountain of stones with R---.
It was a great vantage point. We could see rows of tractors and other implements lined up a mile away, the lights of the main farmyard shining, the creek reflecting the moon on its meandering path to the North Saskatchewan river, the distant highway with its idle flow of cars between Lloydminster and Onion Lake. It was far enough from the fire that the air was clear, cool, and already heavy with dew.
Distracted, we hadn't yet noticed R--s, arms and neck tense, with a large round sandstone in his hand. He and M--- screamed. R--- threatened to throw a rock at M---. M--- dared him to do it. So R--- heaved that big sandstone with everything he had.
M--- held his ground. He stood directly North of the pile of stones. The stone arced up into the air, lost in the moonlight. The party fell silent. The crackle of the fire was the only sound. Then CRACK. It landed, like a laser-guided bomb, directly on the peak of the hood of R---'s own car, at least 20 metres from the actual target. Lobbed from forty feet in the air, the stone had enough force to invert the curve of the hood and pop the latch open. Another moment passed in silence. Then laughter. M--- laughed. He cackled. He rolled in the gravel. Then he gathered up his entourage and left.
R--- had to buy a new hood for his car. That night seemed to be the start of a long downhill slide for him that lasted years. He drank more and more. Accidents and bad luck clung to him like flies cover a cow-pie. When I went away to University, I started to tell stories about him. Stupid Cousin R--- became a genre of story.
Later, we reconciled and today, he's responsible, doing well for himself, a single dad.
Parents would think that the brothers were bad influences, but at the time, that was just what I needed. R----l and C----s, only a year apart from each other, one younger than me and one older, constantly abused each other and were fairly inseparable. They counted moving to the farm as a big blessing, which was a surprise to me. At the age of 11 I already felt that living so far from a town was a massive injustice no child should have to bear.
The farm was a big playground to them. They brought two ATVs (more on those in a later post) and contrary to previous assertions that I didn't know any first nations people, they were 1/8 Metis (which they only shared with me) and thus able to sport an enviable tan.
R--- and I became friends and enemies; we competed in school for popularity and grades. The brothers taught me how to take a ribbing.
C & R were born to party. In Grade 11 we laid enough pressure on the four brothers who ran the farm that they let us throw a party in the gravel pit on our land. By that age we had figured out that while parents always wanted to chaperone a party, chaperoning most often involved checking in once in a while to make sure things weren't totally out of hand. Meanwhile, the parents had their own little party in the house. The gravel pit was a mile from the nearest house, so we could count on the parents not checking in too often, which made for the best parties.
A massive bonfire was supplied; we took the fencing machine and drove two large posts into the ground and suspended a canopy made of silage bags between a stack of gravel and the posts. Enough room for thirty people sitting.
In small towns when you have a party, everyone knows about it and a big deal is made out of who is invited and who isn't. R---l was socially conscious and thus very choosy about his invitations, C---s was not and invited everyone. So, of course, we ended up with more of C---s friends than R---l's at the party. That night, forty or more came to the party and much was drank. A girl from Grade 10 had a panic attack, started screaming and yelling... she nearly kicked out the windows of S---t's car.
Near the end of the party, M--- V---, a tiny guy and a well-established asshole, began dragging flaming logs to the top of a gravel pile and throwing them down toward the crowd. Sparks sailed through the air and R---l, as the host, took offense.
R--- was much too drunk to responsibly act on the problem. He started yelling at M--- and ran, swooning, up the gravel pile. It is much faster to slide down a pile of rocks than run up it, so M--- just dropped to his behind and, amidst a landslide of small stones, slipped down the pile. So when R--- got to the top, the crowd of flaming log throwers were already at the base of the pile. A few of us were atop the mountain of stones with R---.
It was a great vantage point. We could see rows of tractors and other implements lined up a mile away, the lights of the main farmyard shining, the creek reflecting the moon on its meandering path to the North Saskatchewan river, the distant highway with its idle flow of cars between Lloydminster and Onion Lake. It was far enough from the fire that the air was clear, cool, and already heavy with dew.
Distracted, we hadn't yet noticed R--s, arms and neck tense, with a large round sandstone in his hand. He and M--- screamed. R--- threatened to throw a rock at M---. M--- dared him to do it. So R--- heaved that big sandstone with everything he had.
M--- held his ground. He stood directly North of the pile of stones. The stone arced up into the air, lost in the moonlight. The party fell silent. The crackle of the fire was the only sound. Then CRACK. It landed, like a laser-guided bomb, directly on the peak of the hood of R---'s own car, at least 20 metres from the actual target. Lobbed from forty feet in the air, the stone had enough force to invert the curve of the hood and pop the latch open. Another moment passed in silence. Then laughter. M--- laughed. He cackled. He rolled in the gravel. Then he gathered up his entourage and left.
R--- had to buy a new hood for his car. That night seemed to be the start of a long downhill slide for him that lasted years. He drank more and more. Accidents and bad luck clung to him like flies cover a cow-pie. When I went away to University, I started to tell stories about him. Stupid Cousin R--- became a genre of story.
Later, we reconciled and today, he's responsible, doing well for himself, a single dad.
posted by Jared at 12:50 PM
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