Home on the tundra

They’re a little bit country and little bit Eskimo.

For four hours and change, last Friday, I was treated like a long-lost son by sixty or urban cowboys who live east of Toronto and way north of Memphis, Tennessee.

“It’s an older crowd and it’s a great crowd,” boasts Ron Keirstead who started the weekly gatherings about a week ago. Along with his wife, Linda, Keirstead obviously puts in long hours getting ready.

Everyone, including an unlikely visitor from a far-away land called California, was obviously at ease and feeling no pain – though this was an alcohol-free event.

A local newspaper reporter observed, “The event isn’t just about enjoying country music and having a good time.” Much of the six-dollar entry fee ends up in the coffers of a local food bank.

More food than a crowd twice the size was spread out on tables at one end of the hall for a short dinner break. None of the food appeared to have been prepared by caterers or to have been purchased ready-made; it was the kind of fare one finds at potluck suppers: good and plenty.


Kierstead summed things up in his interview with the local paper: “it’s the satisfaction of the people and knowing the enjoyment they’re getting out of it,” he said. “The smiles and the very important word of thank-you. It’s the satisfaction of new people coming in saying how much they like it and that they’ll be back.”

Eight or 10 musicians took the stage during the open mike portion of the evening. They were all quite good, but the warm reception provided by those in attendance – about half of whom were on the dance floor at any given time – put the singers into a comfort zone that gave an enhanced meaning to the words “country” and “community.”

One gentleman sang two songs as a tribute to 54 years of marriage. The look in his bride’s face later in the evening when the couple two-stepped around the room confirmed my sense that music had allowed this husband to describe his love in a way words alone never could.

There were no children present, and I may have been the only person present under 60; but I’m certain that the good will that filled the room must spill over into the wider community.

I suspect that this one-year-old enterprise will thrive, perhaps outgrowing the odd fellows hall. And I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if a group looking very similar to those I met last week is still gathering every Friday night 20 or 30 years from now.

This was a night I’ll remember, a group of just plain friendly folks who gather for the sheer joy of sharing time, music and dance with each other.

I’m proud to be an Okie from Ontario, Canada.