Carrick is for the bears

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This article was published 15/10/2022 (1097 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

“You wanna get hysteric. Come to Carrick!”

That teaser on a poster lured us to Carrick, Manitoba.

You’re wondering, “Where’s Carrick?” It’s south of St. Labre. Ok, it’s north of Badger. How about east of Woodridge?

For 28 years each August, this obscure Eastman community has hosted Carrick Days comprising a parade, horseshoe, bean bag and talent competitions, bouncy castle, plus bands and fireworks. We’ve attended twice — and not just for its plentiful parade candy. Not at all.

Gravel roads enter Carrick where a sign warns, “Caution. Don’t Shoot! Residential Area,” needed because Carrick shrunk from its busy woodcutting and rail-stop days to just eight small, widely-dispersed households — giving the impression it’s not there.

Another sign announces “Home of the Carrick Bears!” More than a former baseball team’s name, amiable black bears far outnumber humans here. In recognition, Carrick acquired two precast polar bears from Winnipeg’s Bears on Broadway display and painted them black.

The most endearing sign appears near bushes on Carrick’s road called Main Street. With hand-drawn trees, the moon, and a heart, it wishes happy birthday to listed residents. When will Winnipeg do this?

And when will Winnipeg get signs, “Don’t Shoot! Residential Area”?

Entering Carrick Days’ grounds, I asked volunteers how super-tiny Carrick nails a weekend festival with a parade. And if candies get thrown. And what kind.

They pointed to a fellow in a straw hat who they surely mistakenly believed was in his 80’s. They added, “He’s kinda like the Mayor,” and said he had a heart of gold. We introduced ourselves to Jim Danilchuk.

“What drives you?” I asked Jim.

He shrugged, “I love Carrick.”

Jim’s parents moved here, terribly poor, but the community gave them support. Jim retired from Winnipeg to gratefully return to his roots.

Uncomfortable talking about himself, he showed us the first-rate outdoor stage and community club buildings he helped fundraise for – and McPhillips Street Station Casino’s relocated mini-train. I tried ringing its bell but a four-year-old was reluctant to step aside.

We toured Carrick’s former one-room schoolhouse. An alumnus from Alberta joined us. Like others, he returns for Carrick Days to reconnect. He added, “I was first in my class. I was the only one in my class.”

Jim insisted I wear his gift of a T-shirt emblazoned, “Hysteric for Carrick.” Later, folks approached me with questions I couldn’t answer and seemed unusually chatty. Margie explained, “Gord, the T-shirt’s back announces ‘Volunteer.’”

At noon, onlookers with diverse and distant Carrick connections line Main Street for perhaps Canada’s biggest parade per capita. A siren foretells the hysteria.

As onlookers snap photos, an ambulance and fire trucks advance. Entrants include ATV riders pumping water hoses, tractors, a pink go-kart, and a look-alike Tow Mater from Cars. A Yoda plush toy peers from a semi cab. Children weave on two-wheelers. Balloons bob. A cheerful old chap scooted out to prick one. Bang!

The parade is especially sweet because most entries toss candy. When MLA Dennis Smook flung treats toward me from his truck, I got Dubble Bubbles and Hi-Chews without even nudging kids aside, this time. Margie amassed Tootsie Rolls, Freezies, Old Dutch chips. When I wasn’t watching, she gave them to a grandmother for her grandchildren. Ow.

A trailer carried a family playing guitars and harmonica. A woman enhanced their popularity with more candy. You must scramble quickly for scattered sweets, while watching Margie.

Miss Carrick appears. For our first year, Raelynn, in a long dress and glistening crown, waved from a vintage truck, accompanied by a taxidermized otter and a plastic pine branch. Her uncle, Jim, radiated, “She’s a lovely girl.” This year, Rene rested on hay bales as a nearby woman whispered, “She’s a lovely girl.”

Attention shifted to a flatbed where siblings, 85-year-old Helen and 95-year-old Peter, performed on guitar and accordion. We couldn’t hear the songs for the cheers.

The annual horseshoe competition follows. The same four usually win but that doesn’t dissuade up to 36 contestants.

At the abundant silent auction, first prize was a used kids’ battery-powered Ford F-150 with new parts. Second prize: eight bales of peat moss. An organizer confided, “That’ll be popular!”

Carrick Days exemplifies Manitoba charm, local pride, and leadership. But Carrick’s triumph isn’t alone among Manitoba communities with near-zero populations. For example, there’s St. Labre’s go-kart race called the St. Labre 500, Westman’s Harding Fair — billed as Manitoba’s biggest one-day fair, and Horod’s Ride for Life with horseback riding for needy families.

Manitoba events are tops, not just because of talent, fundraising, or candies from a float. The greatest feature is Manitobans’ volunteer spirit. And the candies.

The province’s volunteer army is collegial, focused, and tireless. I did notice some busy Carrick helpers grasping brews by noon, but if that helps bring them back, they deserve a round.

Events like Folklorama recruit 20,000 volunteers. For other events it’s a Jim Danilchuk recruiting 20. Boosters like Jim and countless helpers anchor communities and families. And award folks with the time of their lives.

Carrick, for one, may be slightly less than hysteric, but it’s mighty heroic.

gordmackintosh9@gmail.com