Big Wheels and Dirt Hills

The story can change, but the place stays the same. The place is where my mind goes to feel home. The place I lived from age 3-14, in a suburban Calgary neighbourhood where we would see deer running across the street and often have skunks nesting under the porch. When it’s a good dream, it's less of a dream, and more of a memory. But the place is always the same.

The view from my doorstep is all uphill. From the over-sized threshold with the giant metal door, I can see up nine or 10 homes to my good friend’s house at the top of the hill. Sean is two years older than me, but only one grade ahead because I’m a February baby and I am younger than everyone else in my grade. We lie to people that we are cousins, because we don’t want to be teased for our friendship.

To my left is a small, bean shaped garden. There is a tiny tree planted beside the garden, that was the exact height of myself when we moved in. It was there when we moved from Ontario in August 1980, as was the little garden. It was the following spring that I discovered one of my favourite scents in the world – lilacs. I can smell them as I slam the door and walk ahead, passing the carport that most bungalows of the late 1970s had, and grab my Big Wheel.

Once I’m at the end of my driveway, I can see the road going right, but I don’t care too much about that road, since I have no friends living there. It’s all older kids, like my babysitter Peter. He’s the coolest guy ever, long hair and a trench coat. He trick-or-treats every year, and mom gives him handfuls of candy and thinks he’s just a lovely young man. I think he’s pretty cool looking.

I’m heading up the hill to Sean’s house. I’m passing by Jenny and Kevin today, because we have a plan to go Big Wheeling in the dirt hills. We aren’t sure if we’re allowed, but we’re not asking. The dirt hills are only a few streets over. I never ride my Big Wheel up the hill to his house because it’s too steep. That makes it perfect for ripping down with no feet on the pedals and using the brake to make a skid-stop! I’m so glad I got the boy’s Big Wheel and not the girl’s Powder Puff. I’m convinced the Big Wheel goes faster.

Our street is almost all bungalows or split levels with lots of brick and brown and dark yellow siding. There’s a park at the top of the hill on the opposite side of the street as Sean’s house, so we tell his mom we’re going exploring and head toward that park, and we’re off to the dirt hills.

The dirt hills were preparation for the new homes and a large Latter Day Saint’s church that would be built over the coming 2-4 years, but for now, it was dirt overflow, perfect for kids to do what kids do best. And on this day, we see that some bigger kids have beat us to the punch. There’s one mound left for us. Sean goes first and can’t make it up. Then I try. We decide that we will need to carry our Big Wheels up the hill and ride down.

Fully aware that kids are laughing at us from their fancy mountain bikes, we have a tremendous fun and can’t stop giggling. We head back when the street lights come on. Sean and I swear to never tell our parents where we were, and I hop on my trusty plastic ride and race down the hill to a perfect skid-stop. I’m covered in dirt, chilled to the bone, and completely happy as I smell the lilacs on my way in the house.

Of course, the way dreams are, these events usually happen in a slow, surreal way. But the feeling is always the same. This is home, this is the feeling of joy, of breathing in crisp air, and careless, effortless play. Of trusting that I’ll be safe no matter what, because my comrade and I are boundless, fearless, and by god, we have a Big Wheel for an escape if necessary.

I miss this place more with age, probably because the person I loved most was part of it and is now gone. I visited the house with a realtor when I was pregnant with my fourth child. The lilac bush is still there. The tiny tree is enormous and takes up most of the yard. It’s grown well.