A Rock of Refuge

“Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations.” Psalm 90:1

Antiquarian Anabaptist

In 1951, when I was nine, my parents bought a small farm just outside of Craik, Saskatchewan.  Our living was provided by the cream and butter from a few cows, the eggs from 200 hens and garden produce from two acres of market garden.  My father also worked as janitor at the local eight-bed hospital.

A ravine wound its way through the pasture on this farm.  At the far end of the pasture, on the side of a hill, was a massive buffalo rubbing stone.  Surrounding this stone was a hollowed-out area on the hillside, created by the passage of millions of buffalo over thousands of years.  The rock was rectangular in shape, with a raised step on one end, somewhat like a giant recliner.  I could sit on top of it, stretch my legs out and rest my back on the raised portion.  There was a scraggly native honeysuckle…

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