Tate's Little Slice of Heaven by Eden Monroe

 

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There’s probably no place closer to my heart than my grandparents’ farm and the countless hours I spent there as a child. My memories of that idyllic time often find their way into my storytelling, but perhaps none so much as in my latest book, Sidelined. It was in the nearby village of Cambridge-Narrows, not far from that farm, that Tate McQuaid of Sidelined returned to realize his dream of starting the Willow Wind Ranch.

Both the village and my grandparents’ farm are located on the shores of the Washademoak Lake. It’s not a true lake at all as it turns out, rather just a widening of the Caanan River, but beautiful nonetheless. True blue, dyed-in-the-wool country folks, my grandfather was a cavalry horseman during the First World War. My grandmother was a British home child who came to Canada at the age of nine and was taken in by the Akerley family of The Narrows (Cambridge and The Narrows amalgamated in 1966). The only girl in the household, she had six older brothers who adored her.

One of those brothers was Walter Akerley who, despite losing part of one leg while still a youngster (stepped on rusty horseshoe nail) he went on to live a full and productive life, all one hundred six and a half years worth. It was Walter who ran the general store mentioned as Bennett’s General Store in Sidelined.

Writing about the village and the farm was a heartwarming experience, a homecoming for me as well as for Tate because that’s where he’d spent much of his youth on his Uncle Arthur’s farm, which was really the farm of my childhood.

So Tate’s love for this place, is mine too, a wonderful full-circle moment.

A rodeo star, Tate has come back from the west to raise paint horses; to see the pastures on his ranch – lush and green - filled with handsome paints grazing peacefully under a warm summer sun, the scent of clover in the fresh clean air. It’s his own slice of heaven. Not much wonder the village calls itself the best kept secret in Canada. I’ll tell you, it doesn’t get much better than early mornings on the Washademoak, and I’ve seen a fair share of the world beyond that gentle valley.

Nevertheless Tate’s return to New Brunswick was bittersweet, because he’d chosen his own path in life much to the chagrin of his disapproving parents. They’d had a more cerebral career in mind for their only child than being a bull rider:

“The tension was palpable and his father’s arms were still folded as he continued to watch his son. ‘You say you’re back in New Brunswick for good, so where do you plan to stay, because if you think….’

Tate was one step ahead of him, holding up his hand. ‘If that was an invitation, Dad, I’m going to have to turn you down,’ he said tightly. ‘There’s a big spread up on the Washademoak, not far from where Uncle Arthur used to live near Cambridge-Narrows. The Willow Wind Ranch has three hundred glorious acres, barns, home to some of the finest paint horses in Eastern Canada. That’s where I’ll be.’

His father sighed. ‘At least you found a job, that’s something I suppose. When do you start?’

Tate shook his head, meeting his father’s eyes and holding his gaze. ‘I guess you could say right away. I’ll be working around the clock because I bought the place and will be naming it as soon as it’s up and running. It’s my dream to make it a premiere paint breeding facility, and I’ll realize that dream too, whether you believe in me or not. I’m not just some empty-headed cowpoke without enough sense to get in out of the sun, I’m a businessman and a retired athlete. I have made a success of my life so far, just not on your terms.’ “

When I finished writing Sidelined I decided to take a leisurely drive through the village, Tate so real to me now I half expected to meet him at the general store a short distance down the road when I stopped for a fill up. A little further along I pulled over for a closer look at the property I’d chosen for Tate’s fictitious horse ranch and imagined, just for a moment, that it was not just a story.  He lives only in my imagination of course, but on this cloudless summer day, crickets chirring in the heavy summer heat, I can almost see him walking up from the barn. He’s wearing a straw cowboy hat, stripped to the waist and tanned a deep brown. He stops and looks around, likely feeling as I do that there’s no place on earth he’d rather be. I see the lake just beyond, shimmering sapphire blue, the pastures stretching out before my eyes, and yes, Paint horses grazing contentedly. And then the moment passes and I move on, smiling as I glance back at the empty yard and fields. But still, it was a very good day to be in Cambridge-Narrows.