Springfield Roads

I woke up one morning with a thoughtful eye,
Being an election year and all, I had to decide why.
So I figured a bit of wandering,
might help to clear my mind.

I started off east toward Norse that morning,
With no particular place to find,
Thumb out waving at the traffic,
Watching the world roll on by.

I came to Norse,
Place of Queen's Valley final resting.
Then found my way back down to Vivian an old Whistle Stop town.

Took a left toward Ostenfeld,
Nothing left of the old boyz hockey rink or woodstove change house,
But a new place of prayer had been built,
keeping its spirit alive.

Westward bound to find Monominto,
once the local post office & gossip shop.
Only dust upon the wind was left, to my chagrin.

Back toward the highway once again,
Searching for the old Queen's Valley one-room schoolhouse,
one of the many that once served our settlers, our pioneers.
Finally closed and shuttered back in 66.
Though I searched and searched.
No trace remained at least that I could find.

Decided to stop awhile in Anola town,
After Jumping out of the pickup box thinking,
"Let's see where the road winds now."
Thanked the driver for the ride and with a knowing smile he said my pleasure after all this is my home town.

I headed north with no destination,
Just following where the gravel would go,
But when I finally hit Boundary Road,
I knew I'd overshot the show.

Said to myself,
"I've got to get back to some familiar ground,"
So I turned toward Cooks Creek village,
Where the shiny church can always be found.

Past the museum, the landmark steeple, and the grotto.
Through to Hazelridge, once a dance hall legend I made my way,
past the Sport Plex, with hockey on my mind,
breaking away with a good stick on the road rest of the day.

I kept on thumbing from those town to towns,
Meeting many a good folk along the trail,
Till ended up back in Glass — don't blink, or you'll miss the sign,
Then as I turned right Dugald came into sight and I carried on westward past the curling club the Great Train Wreck 1947 site.

YES INDEED

From Norse to Vivian,
From Cooks Creek to Hazelridge,
Glass through to Dugald,
It's the people that you meet.

Every road tells a story,
Every village has its pride,
And we're stronger as a community,
When we're walking side by side.

Well knowing miles of prairie lay ahead,
I stepped that a way and carried on past many a homestead,
Zig-zagging here and there,
Like a fellow with the map upside down.

Next, I found myself topsy turvy on route number 207 - keeping pace toward trying to find the next town - near as I was told.
A little tuckered out by now it dawned on me heaven is just a few steps away
There it was - Deacon's Corner for a cup of joe, letting it warm my hands, letting some of the afternoon drift away.

Talked with some fine folks about the weather,
The crops and the price of hay,
Then I spotted a rainbow in the distance,
And thought I'd chase some luck that way.

I never did find that pot of gold,
Though I wandered high and low,
But next thing I knew I was standing,
In the park at Prairie Grove.

The people there were friendly,
An absolute gem to find,
So I told them I was a little lost,
And asked if they'd point me in line.

They laughed and said,
"Just follow that little airplane,"
And sure enough upon the horizon,
Home of Lyncrest Community Club and Flight Centre
Came into plain recognizing.

Now oriented once again,
I knew where I ought to be,
Ran into a Cowboy on a buckboard with a grin.
"Can I give ya a lift, son?" is what he said to me.
So I climbed aboard, and with a snap of the reins off we were to a trot.
Being pulled by a team as fine as can be.

We rolled along through Springfield's Industrial Park,
Crossed the floodway at low flow,
Sure enough there it was—
Pineridge territory, standing proud.
Just as I'd hoped,
With a hoot and a holler, I cheered
"Yippee Ki-Yay!"

I returned the cowboy's grin. With a tip of the hat, we both knew—that was that.
Carried on my way, past the Birds Hill roundabout,
Chasing the fading light.

Back to familiar Oakbank streets,
Talking with folks along the way,
About families, farms and futures,
And hopes for another day.

Getting tuckered, I travelled onward,
Some miles left to do—the evening settling low.
A brief pause, paying respects, among old friends and family too.
Finding rest where generations lie in peace,
Moose Nose Cemetery, est. 1872.

A whisper filled the air, soft as a fresh fallen snow.
There I stopped to catch my wind,
As the evening breeze began to rise.
Time to head on home, just a little farther,
Making my way through the sheltering trees.

In this neck of the woods, together we'll always be,
Rooted since eighteen seventy-three,
Built through hard work, sweat and blood,
Among families, love, laughter and tears,
Guided by sacrifice, hope and unity.
Neighbours looking forward,
Growing and guarding our community.

From Norse to Prairie Grove,
From Oakbank far and wide,
We're strongest when we're together,
And walking side by side.
Every road tells a story,
Every village has its pride,
Springfield's finest chapter is just coming alive.