Trail makeover

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 16/07/2022 (1318 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

In a previous story, I pretended to be Jean-Baptiste Lagimodiere with his box on my oxcart (sorry about that J.B.) and then I compared my wife, Patty, to Jean-Baptiste’s wife, Marie-Anne. Two similar women of courage. Now let me take the Doerksen-Lagimodiere analogy one step further. Julie was the youngest daughter of the Lagimodiere family. I think I understand how proud Jean-Baptiste must have been as his little girl rode beside him on their Red River cart, just the way I felt when our youngest child, Mischa, came down to Minnesota to ride with me a few weekends ago.

Julie was an unusual girl. She dreamed dreams. Important dreams. She had a direct line of communication with God. She wouldn’t make one move without His guidance. Julie changed the people that knew her and made all the friends around her better people. I guess it was natural for a young woman that good to assume the best thing she could do in service of God was to become a nun. But God had a bigger plan for Julie; to become the mother and shaper of the future “Father of Manitoba” — Louis Riel, Jr.

Mischa was the self-defined “Queen of Imagination.” A cardboard box that used to carry Christmas gifts could quickly became a trash bin. Mischa would dig through the discarded wrapping paper in the “dumpster” in search of an apple core she might eat. It wasn’t just a game. Her heart always identified with those who were less fortunate. And like Julie, Mischa, with matter-of-fact clarity, sees the pictures the Heavenly Father reveals to her. But she might also seek out her earthly Daddy for wisdom. That’s what happened yesterday as I was leading Zik and our cart near the Red River Trail. Unlike Jean-Baptiste, I happened to be carrying a little cellular contraption in my pocket that makes that kind of connection with one’s daughter possible. Mischa is working with youth in Winnipeg’s North End this summer, but she isn’t sure if she should continue into the fall. I asked what was in her heart. Her response was, “I just want to keep spending time with my ‘kiddos.’”

There’s really only one thing remaining for my daughter to complete the analogy with Julie Lagimodiere-Riel: Become the mother of a future premier of Manitoba. No pressure, Mischa.

Ode to a famous ox

The ox-cart trek down the Red River Trail was often a family affair, with women and children part of the procession. A Minnesota newspaper writer of the time noted that “the carts of the women are painted; and have a cover with other appearances of greater attention to comfort than is displayed in the carts appropriated to the men.” Knowing that, I asked the Queen of Imagination to bring lots of blue fingernail polish with her when she came to ride with us. Only I wasn’t planning to have her paint the cart. Just some fingernails — ox-sized “fingernails.” I wanted to pay tribute to the most famous Minnesota ox of all.

You might remember stories of the winter that was so cold that words froze before they reached a person’s ears. People had to wait till spring to hear what was said. That was the winter Paul Bunyan, the legendary lumberjack, found a little ox which was so chilled it had turned blue. He named it Babe and warmed it up by the fire, but the ox kept its unique colour. Like Paul, Babe grew up to be huge. Forty-two axe handles and a plug of tobacco measured the distance between his eyes. While walking his way through Minnesota, Babe’s giant hooves formed the 10,000 lakes that this state is known for.

Today, just beside the Red River Trail, another ox cooled his hooves in one of those lakes created by Babe. And like Babe, Zik’s hooves were blue.

Fact-checking Babe

It is said that Bunyan wanted to straighten the Mississippi River. He harnessed Babe up and connected him to that stream’s source here in northern Minnesota. Babe, according to the accounts, pulled with all his strength and managed to straighten out every loop in that curvy river. I hate to be a skeptic, but I question the veracity of this story for two reasons. For starters, have you seen a map of this area? Have you seen the spot where the Métis cart drivers on the Red River Trail turned their carts into boats and floated them across the Mississippi? It’s right in the middle of a huge bend in the river. Hmmm.

My other reason for doubt is from personal experience. I have ridden in a cart behind an ox for many a mile now. Zik’s loopy trail down the road makes me wonder why he’s never been pulled over for a breathalyzer. I’m sure he’d blow zeros on blood alcohol level, but between you and me, he does a lot of grass. No, an ox should never be used to straighten anything.

Blazing speed

The rare time I’ve watched a car race on TV, I’m a lot more impressed by the speed of the pit crew changing out the tires than with the speed of the cars. Sometimes I try to go “pit-crew” and see how fast I can get Zik harnessed and hooked up to the cart. I’m impressed with myself if I can do it in under five minutes. I’d be more impressed if I had never visited the Winnipeg Fire Fighters Museum.

I asked Dominic James at the museum how long it would take in the old days to harness up horses to a fire buggy in response to an alarm. He explained that when the bell inside the station rang, the gate for the indoor horse enclosure would automatically open. The trained horses knew perfectly their route from the stalls to their place in front of the buggy. When the horses were in place, one lever would cause the harnessing to drop onto them from where it was hung from the ceiling. A fireman had to secure a single buckle and then the whole outfit was ready to race off to the fire. Total time from ringing of bell to completed harnessing: 14 seconds. That’s smokin’ fast.

I might never get a job with a pit crew, but then Zik isn’t exactly a race car. He doesn’t need a drag chute to slow down for a stop sign if you get my meaning. In my experience there’s only one thing in God’s creation slower than Zik after siesta: a gaggle of geese crossing Lagimodiere Boulevard during rush hour.

FAQ: What exactly is an ox?

An ox is any bovine that’s been trained to work. A draught animal. People can use bulls or even cows for the purpose. But usually oxen are big steers like Zik. So now you’re going to ask: “What exactly is a steer?” A steer is a castrated bull-calf. The only balls Zik has are the brass ones on the tips of his horns that keep me from getting gored. He wouldn’t do it on purpose, but he doesn’t realize that his affections are a little overpowering and that he’s as strong as an ox.

Smart as an ox?

There are several words used to complete the phrase “as _____ as an ox.” The most complimentary is the word “strong.” Oxen definitely are strong. On the Red River Trail, oxen could pull much heavier carts than the faster horse. Clumsy? I’m not sure if an ox is clumsier than the next animal. Zik did fall down several times during training with a sleigh because his hooves had no traction on ice. That was more clumsiness on my part for asking him to do something he wasn’t built for.

The most unfair word to complete the phrase is “dumb.” When I first started training with Zik, Dennis, my trainer, made the comment that learning how to handle a cart would take a long time. Then he made it clear that it wasn’t Zik he was worried about: “Oh, Zik will learn what he needs to know after a few sessions.” I may be dumb, but at least I figured out who Dennis was worried about. It only took me 15 minutes of thinking hard about it. Oxen are quick studies. The first attendees at Oxford were, well, oxen. That most famous of universities was named after the place where oxen crossed the River Thames. All this to explain that the phrase “dumb as an ox” is actually an oxymoron.

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A COVID convo

During a wave of COVID I texted my son Leif.

Me: Do you want to help me do a training run with Zik?

Leif: Wouldn’t that be considered socializing?

Me: No. It would be oxidizing.

Leif (a science teacher): You seem to be a little rusty on your chemistry.