God, keep our land glorious and free, we Canadians croon each time sing our national anthem. But what makes a glorious country? I'd almost bet my buttons that at least some of it has something to do with people like Marg and her tribe.
I met Marg halfway to God-knows-where, in an unassuming wayside stop near Maidstone Saskatchewan. Halfway Campground, the sign proclaimed. Road-weary, the Preacher and I pulled in.
Perhaps it was because the sun came out just then after a lengthy cloudy spell. Or maybe it was the rustic birdhouse perched on a power pole. But something made me look a little more closely at Halfway Campground with its neatly groomed spaces, and the words, HalfwayPark - carefully hand lettered on each picnic table.
The charming log outhouse had three green doors. "Storage" said a sign on the middle door.
Pointers and Setters, read the other two, each decorated with a white stenciled figure. The Setter wore a skirt.
(Almost half a century ago, as a child travelling with my family in B.C., I discovered another campground washroom with similar signage - only the accompanying pictures depicted dogs. I recall standing puzzled in front of the doors, uncertain which applied to me, until Dad rescued me.
Age is good for something, after all. I had no such confusion at Halfway Campground.)
The washroom looked as clean as my own back home. Except I don't have the neatly hand-lettered sign: "Please shut the door when you leave to keep out critters and varmints." Or the hand-painted duck-pond toilet seat.
Walking back to our picnic table, I noticed a woman carrying a bucket across the otherwise empty grounds. Marg, it turns out. We struck up a conversation. I told her how much I appreciated the park's amenities - including the toilet seat.
She smiled. "My daughter painted that."
Marg told me a bit about Halfway Campground. Her family is one of ten living nearby who built the washroom and the birdhouses. They take turns caring for the place. "But we never get to enjoy it," she said, with a small grin. "We live too close to come here."
People like me frequently get their name attached to the things they do. We have our rewards. But people like Marg and the other nine families, who maintain a standard of cleanliness, beauty and order for strangers - those people are seldom known or thanked.
I thanked Marg. For me, for my husband, and on behalf of other travelers who stop tired and leave refreshed by Halfway Campground. Who, without a lick of their own work, find a comfortable, lovely spot in which to rest when the highway spins out long and the body spins out tired.
There are many other Canadians like Marg. People who, in myriad unnoticed, small ways make all our life's roads easier. Lovelier. Simpler. Smoother. Unknown, mostly un-thanked people. People God uses to help keep Canada glorious.
May we all be such people.
