This page is a text version of the Beckoning Hills History Book. This is the story of the Turtle Mountain Area of Manitoba. You can get a PDF copy of the book on our full version page. The PDF copy is an exact page by page representation of the original book. This text version has been reformated for the web and contains text recognition mistakes. These mistakes do not appear in the full version. The full version also includes each image in the original book.

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great quantities. Parties would drive with pots and pans, tents and bedding, and stay for several days, making their jam on the spot.

After picking all day they would often go for a run in the old "Lady of the Lake," and sometimes the Captain (often Bob Hurt) would stop the boat out in the lake, and let it drift. Then everyone would sing; someone usually had a mouth organ or banjo, or cornet, and it made lovely music, over the water in the moonlight. Truly a happy time to remember.

My first visit to the Lake must have been about 1896 I think.

We drove down with Captain Whitla and Mrs. Whitla. The road was corduroy most of the way to the Lake, on account of the over­ hanging trees, which met overhead; the sun never got through to

dry the road. .

Some way along we came to a tree fallen right across the road.

The men folk were somewhat stumped as no one had thought to bring an axe. It was impossible to turn as the trees were too thick. What to do was the burning question? Presently we heard the noise of a wagon approaching from the opposite direction. Ned Sankey hove in sight, and what a welcome one too. He had an axe and soon made away with the fallen tree. Then he took his wagon apart and turned it by hand, so he could go back to the Lake with us.

I can well remember the saw mill and all the buildings, includ­ ing the planing mill, also all the piles of lumber, and slabs. I can still smell the new cut wood.

Mr. and Mrs. Frank Thompson joined us at the Lake, and we had a fine picnic. Captain Whitla was a great cook and provider, we had wine and wine glasses as well as many other luxuries.

After lunch Mrs. Thompson elected to do the dishes; she put them into a large basket and then took them in swimming with her, swishing them about in the water. I never heard how many were broken.

The first time I saw the island at the Lake must have been about 1898, when our cottage was being built. We crossed at the northwest corner of the island, in a home made boat of sievelike quality. Two people baled madly while one rowed, and the passengers prayed. I was terrified. We walked through a very rough path to the cottage, which was built of logs and had a nice big red door. It stood on the site where the Holditch cottage now stands, and the tree with the ladder that Arthur Aitkens put up is still there.

By this time the fire had swept through the Mountain and there was no mill, and no timber, only black stumps to show where the lovely hardwood forest had been.

So ends my reminiscing of childhood memories.

Sincerely yours Ailsa Hurt

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