I thought that these moments would become easier with Hilary beside me, but they didn’t. Instead, they were seared into my memory like a scar.

Once, May Donahue ordered her dog to attack us. Although we knew that her cocker spaniel had a mean bark, we didn’t think he could harm us. Still, we didn’t want to find out. We ran from that dog like she was a wolf protecting pups, jumping onto our bikes to escape. We found solace in the woods at the edge of the Elk River, off Cypress Trail, where the trees spoke to us softly, the wind caressed our hair, and the water provided a refreshing place to play.

The trail wasn’t groomed, which meant we had to help each other over the large boulders and tree trunks. Despite this, it looked as if the forest had laid out a red carpet for us, with the fallen pine needles drying in the heat, the padded bed below our feet cushioning our falls. We found a peaceful part of the river and descended towards the cool water. We took off our socks and shoes and waded in the water, watching the striders and the minnows rippling the surface. The silt from the mine flowed between our toes. When our feet got too cold, we rested our backs against the trunks of trees, tracing the paths of caterpillars as they artfully ascended into the canopy. We watched cocoons swaying in the wind and hoped to see a butterfly emerge. The sun dried our feet and warmed them like a wool blanket in winter. We picked daisies and wove them into our hair to make crowns, fashioned delicate bracelets from the blooming forget-me-nots.

Sometimes the forest wasn’t welcoming, but we always came prepared. The mosquitoes, especially after rain, invaded our sanctuary, but we applied Tiger Balm to our bites. Occasionally, the bites on my legs swelled to resemble large red-hot eggs, soothed only by the coolness of the river water and menthol. Sometimes kids would smell the herbal ointment, pinch their noses, and tell us that we stank like skunks. We didn’t care. We knew the balm was magic.

Often, we shared our provisions with the forest’s other inhabitants. We would scatter Father’s stash of sunflower seeds and watch birds come down for a meal, distinguishing the different species not by their common names but with names of the characters from our favourite TV show, Jem and the Holograms. Bea would peel the bark off white birch trees to make plates for the birds. “Eating off the ground is uncivilized,” she said. And we brought snacks, mostly penny purchases from Woo’s Confectionery. Hilary loved the sour candies, and Bea was partial to Swedish Berries. Bea and I were able to bring Haw Flakes and White Rabbit candy after we returned from trips to Chinatown in Lethbridge or Calgary. Hilary sometimes brought dried seaweed. Most of the time, we held tea parties with the queen as our imaginary honoured guest.