We had lunch with Fran Huebert! Fran is 90 years old and a delight to talk to. Her husband, Dave, was one of my mentors. On the Easter long weekend in 1987, Pastor Dave traveled 2,000 miles North from Chilliwack to the Yukon as the guest speaker. He brought the usher of his church along. The usher, Harold Hansen, eventually became my father-in-law. He is Deanna’s dad. In 1993, Pastor Dave and the leadership team of Glad Tidings Church, now City Life Church, sent us to Brazil as missionaries. Deanna’s family are among the significant participants in the early years of the church-planting movement in Xingu.

In the Spring of 1987, it was a sunny Sunday morning. The windy mountain road was extremely slippery, with the ice melting on the frozen base. I wanted to spend my day off working on my new computer. As I settled in with a cup of coffee, I clearly remember God saying, “Do you want to be part of My program or your program?” I knew He was referring to my going to church. I drove the 100 km to participate in the Sunday service with seven other believers.

Mule Creek Camp – 1987

Christmas at Mule Creek Camp, 1986.

The word that describes my memories of that season: Comeraderie.

I’m still in touch with Ron Wilson, my foreman, during that season.

A Mystery

One of the machine operators was a woman. She and one of the guys were sleeping together. They were a couple and had been for about five years. Throughout long winter evenings, we had time to discuss everything. I asked them why they didn’t get married. “No, we don’t want to get married. When our friends get married, it signals the end of their relationship. Soon, they are divorced.  We’d rather continue our relationship.” The conversation was ongoing, with me promoting commitment and marriage. When I visited acquaintances from there some time later, I learned my friends did get married. And were soon divorced.

Now, 40 years later, I continue to wonder about the complexity of people and combinations of people. And I still believe in commitment and marriage.

I operated graders, snow plows, and snow blowers, depending on what was needed to keep the mountain road open.

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The road from the summit to the Alaska border wound includes a long stretch of moonscape and a 15-mile descent through giant evergreen trees. It’s like you enter another world. When I could lean into the fresh snow with the plow truck and work my way up through the 13 gears, balancing the truck power against the snow load, I remember that great feeling of power and the joy of being alive. I cannot describe it, because there is no experience like it. But it feels good.

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In Spring, we unofficially planned a great snowmobile race. We groomed the highway for weeks so there would be no bare pavement. On race day, the Alaskans and Yukons lined up. Our road crew attended the route with radios. Traffic was stopped. We closed the highway. The snowmobiles were categorized by size and paired up. Two were released every minute until they were all on the route, 60 miles. An ambulance and “sweeper truck” went last to load up the machines that blew their motors on the wide-open road. At the far end, drivers were carefully recorded with their times and lined up again. When the sweeper truck arrived, stating the road was clear, they all flew back to the Alaska border. To say it was an exhilarating day is a vast understatement.

Note that the ambulance from Alaska, the snowplow from Mule Creek, and the sweeper truck are all signs of a fun day living on the edge. The closer you get to the edge, the more fun life is, as long as you don’t go over the edge.

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