The family huddled under the Blanket,
Warm and safe,
Listening to the wind outside.
Waiting out the storm.
The father, loaded down,
With a season’s worth of furs,
Approached the white man’s post,
Counting on fair trade for his effort.
Three and half centuries,
Treaties and trade,
Heartache and promise,
Woven into the wool.
A town grew around the store,
Families grew around the store,
As a country emerged from the land.
And a people found their voice in the wilderness.
Maps drawn,
Track laid and roads cut,
The citizens working together,
Became a Nation.
Three and half centuries,
History and progress,
The fabric of the country,
Woven into the wool.
Once a Company of Adventurers,
Now sliding into memory,
The fortunes made.
Prosperity hard won.
Once a Country of Adventurers,
Now dwindled in spirit,
Huddle under a blanket,
Waiting to see if they weather the storm.
By W.N. Branson
