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