The End of the Line

By Jim Hagarty
I have a fascination with old abandoned farmhouses. Also ghost towns. Canada has quite a few ghost towns, especially in the prairies in the western part of the country. On car trips across the country, I sought out these small villages whenever I could and was fascinated by the eeriness of them. In the biggest one I drove through in the province of Saskatchewan, there was a downtown area with stores, all empty, a Ukranian church and a community centre along with a couple dozen houses. All empty except one and it was very odd to see that place. The lawn was green and well trimmed, the house was kept up. It was explained to me that the house was probably being lived in by squatters who moved out from the city and just took over the place. This place also had a war memorial in the centre of town and a closed gas station. The price on the pump was 43 cents a gallon. In any case, the house pictured above is located just outside of Stratford and will obviously be demolished soon. I stopped yesterday and got a few photos. In my younger days, filled with more nerve, I used to go through some of these old houses. Not any more. A friend and I once went into a place that you could hardly see from the road. Just the top of the roofline above the trees. It took quite an effort to fight our way through the brush that had swallowed up the house and once inside, we were enthralled. The kitchen floor was gone, having fallen into the basement. But we worked our way around what was left of it and went upstairs. There we found papers strewn around and we checked them out. The most recent date on any of them, if I recall correctly, was 1903. The house has long since come down.

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Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.