When our family moved to Fort St. James
Back in the summer of 1959
My brother Colin and I chased the Indian horses
That ran wild in the summertime.
We chased them through the Necoslie reserve
Past Armand’s Garage and Dickenson’s store
Across the creek to Well’s Street
And along trails that aren’t anymore.
Then just when we thought that we had ‘em
They’d swap ends and go galloping hard
Past Murdock’s place on the old creek road
And right through the garden in Burdeniuk’s yard.
If it was raining, the mud would just fly
If dry, we’d be covered in dust
It seems that cuts, scrapes and torn Levis
Went with chasing wild horses in August.
But oh, how we loved those Indian ponies
For we were almost as reckless as they
Running them through Bird’s fields at Resort Hill
And back along the lake past Carnell’s cafe.
Sometimes that’s as much as we’d muster
Before going home to supper and calling it a day
But at other times we’d keep the herd moving
Past the post office and the old Hudson’s Bay.
And those horses sensed they were almost home
But I think they knew too, just for sport
That they could lead us into real trouble
If they galloped through the centre of Hill’s Auto Court.
Well I can’t remember Colin or I riding those horses
And now they’re lost in the circle of time
But the sweet memories of our adventures
Add a special rhythm to my rhyme.
And now that I’ve gotten older
With some experience I’ve realized
As with many of life’s more pleasant pursuits
It was the chase and not the horses we prized.