This is one I’ve been looking forward to sharing for quite some time now. Returning to my childhood home after 15 years was a surreal experience. A rewarding experience.

Concession roads and whiskey barrels. Cedar fence posts and northern leopard frogs. Fields of corn and alfalfa. Limestone homes and coyotes that howl late at night when the Canadian Pacific train rumbles through the township. The sound of crickets and the smell of Massey Ferguson tractors. Property lines marked by lilacs and mailboxes adorned with familiar names. Signs for ‘Smitty’s New & Used Appliances’ and the trickle of the Salmon River in the late summer sun. Spend a few minutes surrounded by these stimuli and it feels like you never left.

This is a story of familiar faces. Familiar places. Of coming together to decorate and rehearse. To go through the paces. To corral the kids from the sandbox and make sure that a can of Bud Light is always within reach. To wrench on an aged flat nosed Blue Bird in the hopes that it can be used to ferry the bridal party. To fill it with diesel and take it for a rip through the fields.

It handled about as well as you’d expect. And it confirmed that the best seats are always at the back because that’s where you get the most air off a bump.

This is a story of creating flower arrangements. Of setting tables and stocking a bar. Of hair and makeup in the new Farrell household, of razors and suits in the old McGuinness homestead. Of running down the street to Mary Walsh’s place when a button needs mending. Of greeting family and friends and making sure that the village matriarch has the best seat in the house. Rita Farrell - Lonsdale is a richer place because of you and your family. I truly mean that. Of seeing your partner for the first time and then exchanging vows with the biggest grin on your face. Of hugs. Of tears. Of high-fives and shouts of joy.

This is a story of Jell-O shots and the smell of burning pads on that flat nosed Blue Bird because the driveline brake is slightly sticky. Of hopping from one limestone rock to the next and tiptoeing across the top of a Salmon River dam. Of snapping turtles along the water’s edge. Of garter snakes in the reeds and cracking another Bud Light as the sun begins to set.

This is a story of returning to the party and roasting the newlyweds. Of handmade cheesecakes and a well stocked bar. Of a dance floor that never fizzled out and of propane heaters that quit long before the guests did.

Thank you friends, I’ll always remember this one.