They say you need to leave a place before you can write about it.
You need to walk the cobblestoned streets of Edinburgh before you can describe the dandelion-laced sidewalks of small town Western Canada. You need to drive to Vancouver to learn that hauling your own water is as mysterious to some as sailing waits are to others.
We didn’t mean to take our water tank to Vancouver, but a series of panicked last minute events caused us to somehow overlook the giant white plastic tank in the back of our truck. By the time we realized it was still there, it was too late to do much about it. We worried about it being stolen but as it turned out, thieves rarely steal something they don’t recognize.
Read Also
Food can play a flavourful role in fun summer activities
Recipes – popsicles are made with lactose-free milk and yogurt so are perfect for those who can’t tolerate milk, while everyoneelse will also enjoy them
The farther south we sped, the fewer water tanks we saw. But it wasn’t until we arrived in Surrey that I realized our tank had become a thing of mystery. People stared and pointed and, well, they laughed. They laughed even louder when we explained what the tank was for.
“Stop it. You got to be kidding. You haul your own water? In a tank? How much can one family drink?” (Laugh, laugh, laugh.)
When we explained we lived in the country and had a cistern as opposed to a dugout, this only opened a whole new nest of wasps.
“So let me get this straight. You store water … in a vertical culvert?” (Laugh, laugh, laugh.)
“And what’s a dugout?” Our answer to this one was met with disgusted astonishment.
“So you’re telling me that people up there in northern B.C. basically drink water they collect in a mud puddle? That’s disgusting.”
When we told them it was much more than a mud puddle – deeper and wider for two things – they still couldn’t move past the stagnant issue.
The strangers were bad enough, but the worst reactions came from people we knew. Or thought we knew.
“These are the McKinnons,” one acquaintance said by way of introduction for the entire weekend. “They buy water.” (Laugh, laugh, laugh.)
To this day, whenever that person sees us before we see him, he shouts out, “It’s the McKinnons. Hey, does anyone have any water for sale? They’ll haul it themselves. Seriously. In a tank. In their truck.” (Laugh, laugh, laugh.)
It’s all relative, I suppose. I listened to CBC radio mention sailing waits for years, but having no clue in my landlocked world what they meant by it. I thought they were saying sailing weights. I figured it was something like our road bans.
But why, I puzzled, would it possibly matter to the ocean how much a ship weighed?
Yes, as a matter of fact, I am blonde. And I buy water. And when I do, there’s usually two vehicle waits.
Shannon McKinnon is a farmer, columnist and freelance writer from Dawson Creek, B.C.
