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Idle
Time
by Scott
Casey
A Picnic in
the Colonies
The sun was shining and the
birds were chirping and there was just enough of a breeze to make
the heat of the Osoyoos summer bearable. It was a splendid day for
a picnic. Edith and Arthur were visiting tourists that were
enjoying their stay in B.C. They had spent the morning at the beach
in Osoyoos and now were looking forward to going part way up
Anarchist Summit to look back down at the town and surrounding
valley. Edith had taken special care to pack an extraordinary
picnic lunch, right down to the kippers and olives. Arthur’s
favourite.
The travel van was packed and
ready to go as Arthur took his place in the passenger seat. Early
in the trip Edith had informed him that he was not very good at
driving on, “the wrong side”, of the road so he had surrendered the
driving duties. The pair enjoyed the short trip up the hill to the
viewpoint and after a few snapshots for the folks back home they
began their decent of the hill. They had only gone a few hundred
metres when they came to a wide spot that looked like the perfect
place for their picnic.
Arthur meticulously set up
the small card table and unfolded the red and white checkered table
cloth. This was the perfect picnic spot he thought. It had a few
trees to provide shelter from the noonday sun and was snuggled in
on a quiet country lane. “That was very nice of the Canadians to
build this pullout here, although I don’t quite understand why the
lane doesn’t go anywhere. Perhaps it’s intended for future
developments.” he mused.
They were in the middle of a
nice cup of tea when they heard the rumble of a distant transport
truck that became increasingly louder as it got closer. All of a
sudden the rig rounded the corner above them and Edith couldn’t
help but notice it was coming down the hill quite fast. The truck
grew bigger and bigger as it neared the pair of picnickers and then
the driver started flashing his lights and blowing his air
horn.
“Confounded noisy thing”,
Arthur said. Edith had other ideas however, “Arthur that
truck is coming right for us!” she yelled.
The truck was within 100
metres by now as dust flew up off the shoulder of the highway. It
was within 50 metres and showing no sign of slowing when the card
table was flipped up in panic as the vacationers sandals were
furiously digging for traction. The last thing Arthur saw was the
red and white of the tablecloth as he and Edith ran for the
ditch.
At the last moment the
transport driver gently pulled to the left, slowed his vehicle down
and continued on his way.
“It was a necessary lesson,”
the driver thought. “Perhaps next time they will pick somewhere
other than a country lane named ‘Runaway’ for a
picnic.”
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