I can’t remember the last time I was in Hairy Hill but I sometimes wonder about the town that was my first home away from home.

   In 1940 I had completed grade eight – the top grade taught at the Deep Lake country school.     At that time I don’t recall being concerned about my future.  After their country-school education was over most young people helped their parents at the farm and later married and began their own lives on farms.  The occasional courageous and daring young person took the train to Edmonton and sometimes found employment there.  Cash in one’s pocket was rare but desperately desired. 
  
There was always much to do at the farm.  I plunged into the routine of helping with chores and seasonal work.  
 
  At that time Steve stayed with a Toma family near Hairy Hill to help transport their children to school (by sleigh in winter and buggy in spring).  That gave him an opportunity to study beyond grade eight.  After two years that family needed him no longer.  So Father bought a lot in Hairy Hill and that summer sacrificed commitments at the farm to build a small house in town.   The house had no electricity, no running water and no phone.  But in spite of that it was possible for us to continue our studies.  

   That fall, at the age of thirteen, I left the security of farm and family to venture into the unknown.  Our parents decided that our younger siblings (George, Lucille and Bertha (Beth) and later Adeline) would also live with us.  Town schools where a teacher concentrated on one grade only would be superior to a country school where one teacher taught eight grades.   Besides they would not have to walk the long three miles to school each day come rain or snow.
  
Five people were a lot of bodies for the small dwelling.  Steve and George crawled in the attic space to sleep.  They dressed sitting on the floor.  Although cooking was never one of my favorite pastimes, the family had to be fed.  One change of clothing was worn all week long.  During the fall and spring when travel by car was possible, we generally spent the weekends at the farm and got a clean set of clothes.  Our food supply for the week also traveled back with us.  However, the cellar in the little house had potatoes so there was no need to starve.   Winter months were difficult because cold spells sometimes prevented a weekly trip to town for our parents.    Those trips were by horse and cutter.    During those periods we fended for ourselves without the luxury of even buying a loaf of bread.
 
   I remember my first attempt at making bread.  During a cold spell no supplies came from the farm.  On Saturday I tried my hand at making bread.  The sad batter did its best to rise when to my pleasant surprise our parents arrived.  Mother quickly added more water and flour to the batter and kneaded it well.  The end result turned out surprisingly successful.
  
Some teachers questioned our living alone without parents.  Steve, at seventeen could not be regarded as an adult.  However, we ‘kept our noses clean’ and no action was taken.  

   Hairy Hill was only twelve miles from the farm but those days that was considered a far distance.  By that time our dad was one of a very few farmers who owned a car.  Most neighbors traveled to town with horses. 

    Snow ploughs and antifreeze were unheard of so the car sat idle during the winter months.  With horses, the trip to town and back took a whole day.

      While a youngster I heard neighbors talk about H-aa-rr-y Hill.  Later I learned that the name was derived from a ‘hairy’ hill where the buffalo slept and shed their old coats of hair.

   I soon discovered that the main street ran down the slope from south to north.  The street continued down a rough, curved trail through a grassy slope to the railway station at the bottom of the hill. 

   One of the buildings on the main street was the impressive Imperial Lumber Company.  Its manager was a Mr. Samograd.  While in twelfth grade, Steve was employed there after school and felt blessed to get the job and earn a few dollars.     Just north of the grand building, a small convenience store run by Orest Arechk and his wife was an attraction to high school students.  During lunch breaks the store’s narrow aisle was crowded with students but our family was forbidden to go there.  In fact we were not allowed to go into any buildings.  Our instructions were that we go to school and return home with no meandering.  Because we had no money there was no purpose in going into stores. 

   Across the street from the lumber store was a pool hall.  Our parents forbade us to ever go into that place.  I did not know what a pool hall was and was curious.  The few times I went past it I glanced towards the window to see why it was an evil place and why it was out of bounds..

   In the northeast corner of the same block stood a progressive general store run by Mr. George Michalcheon and his assistant, Mr. Hauca.  A similar but smaller store in the next block owned by Mr. Steforak did not do well.  Times became difficult.  Rumors had it that he set fire to his business in order to claim the insurance and feed his poor family.  Sadly, he perished in the basement of the building.

   Below the Steforak store was a barbershop, the community hall and the hotel, run by the prominent Mandryk family, stood at the bottom of the block. 

  Across the main street from the hotel Mr. Olewich ran a machine shop.  (His son Thaddeus was in my grade.)

   A couple of small streets on the west side of main bordered the school grounds where in the winter a boarded hockey rink provided entertainment for fans, including girls standing in the cold in the then popular nylon stockings hoping to meet Mr. Right.  (Slacks were still a ‘no-no’).

   East of main on a small street was the blacksmith shop run by a Mr Kowalchuk.  Near it a pump and water trough served the horses that drew farm wagons into town but also for homes in the area.     Water was carried by pail.  Down that slope north of the water pump stood the Zukewsky house where the farm children stayed to attend high school.  Another student house stood between the Zukewski house and ours.  Below our house Steve bought a lot and immediately concentrated on building his own home.  The Straty family lived across the street from us.  Mr. Straty owned a dray that mostly transported supplies from the train station to the businesses in town.  The post office, manned by Mr. Lisigor was south of the main street.  Other names on  the town that come to mind are Skirkas, Kassian, Lukan, Mosuik, Grekul…

   After nearly a decade of depression, money began to become more plentiful.  It seems that the war helped make the difference.  That period was the beginning of Hairy Hill’s growrh.

   The community strived for progress.  Women wanted stylish clothes even though they rarely had the money to buy them.  They looked for something different often visiting the Salvati0n Army stores in more progressive centers.  Kerchiefs gave way to hats. Nylon stockings were the rage but were not readily available.  Girls who wore them often checked the backs of their legs to make sure the seams were straight.  High-heeled shoes were popular.  Dress and skirt lengths rose.     Young men wore their military uniforms with pride.  In most cases the uniform was the first real suit of clothes that they owned.  They walked the streets with an air of superiority.  

   The train was the most practical mode of transportation.  It traveled east - Edmonton to Lloydminister one day and returned the following day.  It transported passengers as well as goods.  On Thursdays, heavy cans full of cream covered an area on the station platform.  Each can had the name of an Edmonton dairy and the shippers’ name brightly painted on its sides.  On the return trip, empty cans waited on the platform to be picked up.  Livestock and poultry as well as grain brought to the elevators near the tracks were shipped by freight trains.  Men in the services depended on the free travel by trains.

   During the war years Hairy Hill’s population and economy was on an upward swing. 
   When I left Hairy Hill after high school, it was a growing town.
   Now more than fifty years later, it seems the growing town has taken a downward spiral.  Buildings have been taken down or destroyed by fire.  Shops have closed.  The population has decreased.

   In spite of its decline, part of my heart will always be with Hairy Hill. I am indebted to the town and school that helped guide the course of my life.    
   © September, 2007  Pearl Murray