Triggers - Story #5 of 52

There are things that will forever trigger memories for all of us. It can be a song, a photo, a smell, a certain food or a place. One of those triggers for me is the little country church that sits perched on a hillside in Bjorkdale, Saskatchewan. Some of my happiest memories are from the times we’d visit our maternal grandparents who lived in Bjorkdale and, this past September, my brother, sister and I returned there to lay our mom to rest with her parents and other family members.

We had some extra time so took a drive around the small village. It seemed so much smaller than we all remembered. We recognized the building by the Post Office that used to house a small gift shop where we’d look through all of the trinkets and, invariably, Grandma would let us choose some small item that she’d buy for us. We identified spots that held memories for each of us. The hill behind grandma and grandpa’s house that led to the neighbor’s who had kids our age whom we hung out with. The Co-op where we’d go with grandpa and he’d buy us rosebuds (who remembers those?) or a pack of gum; the various alleys and fields where we played hide and seek - usually at night when it was more fun. And then we saw the church and we had to stop and take a photo. This church, long abandoned, still stands like a sentinel overlooking the sleepy little town. It was also the inspiration for one of Grandma’s most-recognized poems that she had published, along with an iconic photo of the church. I still have that newspaper clipping and it holds a place of honor in our home.

Memories are always linked intrinsically to something besides the actual memory and when you see or smell or taste that “thing” it will trigger a sudden rush of emotion when you least expect it. Some of the other things that do this for me are, maple walnut ice-cream, Thrills gum, Band on the Run, by Paul McCartney & Wings, Christmas tree lights, fresh baked bread, playing cribbage. It’s funny that I never did have the opportunity to go inside that church, yet it will forever be a symbol of some of the happiest times in my childhood.

Here is Grandma’s poem:

Soliloquy of a Little Country Church

Anne W. Bailey

For thirty years in weathered mood,

Upon this grassy hill I’ve stood.

My feet are firm on virgin sod;

My steeple reaches up to God,

Who consecrates with hallowed breath

All christenings, marriages and death.

In humble reverence I can see

The world in its temerity

Rush by with mad, untempered speed,

Intent on self and worldly greed.

While God who watches from above,

Expresses His infinite love.

Almost daily there are some

Who leave the multitude and come

To ask their sins be washed away,

Or guide a child who chose to stray.

And as they kneel in silent prayer,

I feel God’s presence everywhere.

My steeple’s slivered edges show

The years it’s stood in rain and snow.

Yet, still it transmits loud and clear

The Voice of God for all to hear.

For Him my life I will fulfill;

A country church upon a hill.