Chapter 1: Free-Range Kids
Early Years in the Okanagan Valley
Welcome to Part II of the story of my parents, before they were my parents! If you are just coming across this little project, please feel free to check out Part I, the story of my mom, before she was my mom.
Part II is my dad’s story, and this is the first chapter. If you are interested, and are one of those people who appreciates context, I have written a prologue that briefly tells how my dad’s parents came to Canada, and their unique Mennonite backgrounds. It informs how my dad’s story unfolds. You can read it here:
Learning to Fly: The Making of a Bush Pilot
Walter Harms was born on September 2, 1940, in the small orchard community of Oliver, in British Columbia’s Okanagan Valley. He was the first son of Jake and Mary Harms.
Now, on to Chapter 1…
Walter sat on the edge of the sandbox, his fingers tracing mindless patterns in the sand. Beside him, Gerda did the same, her round face pinched with worry. At six, she was just a year older than Walter, and as the oldest children of Jake and Mary, they spent their days together roaming the orchard, climbing trees, eating fruit, and helping the adults when they could.
“They’re gonna be so mad,” she said quietly.
Walter didn’t answer. What was there to say? He knew it wasn’t Gerda’s fault, but that wouldn’t matter—they’d both get a whipping for this. The siblings had been in trouble before, but this felt more serious. Walter couldn’t stop seeing the orchard buggy stuck, its front passenger wheel hanging over the irrigation ditch instead of resting safely on the concrete slab that served as a bridge.
They were allowed to drive the buggy, that wasn’t the issue. Their neighbour, Mr. Gruel, who owned the buggy, and their dad had taken delight in teaching the kids how to drive it around the orchard. The problem was that they’d tried to borrow the buggy and take it over to their property instead of keeping it in the orchard, where it was used to haul apple boxes, and other heavy tasks.
Though called an “orchard buggy,” it was really just the front half of an old car. Mr. Gruel had removed the back of the passenger compartment, and installed a rough wooden deck on the chassis. Even the engine had been modified when a second transmission was added so the buggy could move at a crawl through the orchard, making it safer between the trees. After the modifications, the buggy was classed as a farm vehicle its owner could purchase gasoline, tires, and other parts that were otherwise rationed because of the war. Even though it was classified as a farm vehicle, it could also still be used as a regular vehicle on the roads. Walt had travelled in the buggy with his family to church and to visit his grandmother in Oliver on several occasions.
When their father, Jake, first showed them how to drive the buggy, neither child was tall enough to see over the steering wheel and reach the pedals, so they worked as a team. Walter, being taller, knelt on the seat to steer, while Gerda, small for her age, crouched on the floorboards to work the pedals.
That day, they decided that crawling along the straight rows of fruit trees wasn’t exciting enough. They wanted to take the buggy into their own yard. To do that, they had to cross the irrigation ditch, over the narrow concrete slab bridge. They knew the slab was wide enough, adults drove over it regularly.
Walter’s brow furrowed in concentration as he peered over the dash, steering the buggy toward the makeshift bridge. He stretched up as tall as he could, the buggy crawling forward, until a firm bump told him the front wheels had climbed onto the ramp. A moment later, the buggy lurched to the right, tipping forward before coming to a sudden stop. Gerda yelped as the jolt made her hit her head and let go of the pedals. The engine sputtered and died.
Gerda scrambled onto the seat beside Walter and looked out the passenger side—straight down into the fast-flowing water of the ditch. She turned back, wide-eyed. They tried restarting the buggy, but the engine wouldn’t start. Out of options, they climbed out of the cab, along the wooden platform, and jumped to the ground.
From the ground, they could see that Walter hadn’t steered straight, and the front passenger wheel had slipped off the edge. The buggy didn’t appear damaged, but it was stuck fast. They had no idea what to do. Realizing they were in serious trouble and couldn’t fix it, they went home to wait for their parents.
They thought about the buggy’s owner, Mr. Gruel, and felt bad. He had always been good to them. A German immigrant, his social circle had shrunk since the war began, and the Harms family, who spoke German with him, were among the few people he still saw. The kids liked him, even if he was a bit odd. He ate jam and bread for every meal; jam and bread for breakfast, jam and bread for lunch, and jam and bread again for supper. When they asked how he could eat the same thing all the time, he’d reply, “I don’t. Some days I eat bread and jam.” They thought that was hilarious. But now, they’d caused him real trouble.
When their father finally came home from work, he wasn’t alone—Mr. Gruel was with him, and they strode briskly across the yard. Gerda had read the situation well–both men were upset. Mr. Gruel’s voice was louder than usual as he told them he’d nearly had a heart attack when he saw the buggy hanging off the bridge and the children nowhere in sight. But then his voice softened.
“I’m just so relieved you are safe, and the buggy’s only stuck. It’s fine, and you’re alive. Everything’s okay.”
That seemed to settle it. Their dad calmed down, too. Walt and Gerda escaped the serious, and well-earned punishment they’d been expecting.
Despite that mishap, the orchard in Osoyoos provided Walt with his happiest childhood memories. The family had moved there in 1942, when Walter was two. Before that, they’d lived in a 10’ x 14’ one-room picker’s shack in Oliver, where Walter and Gerda had been born. Their father had bought land that included the shack, before marrying their mother, Mary, back in the 1930s. As they began married life together, Jake worked as an orchard manager, and Mary provided childcare for other families while raising her own children.
Much of Jake’s family lived nearby, his mother, brothers, and sister were all in the area. His younger brother Pete had bought land about a mile outside of Oliver, and their mother lived there with Jake’s younger brothers. When the war started, Pete was drafted. Although the Mennonite faith opposes taking up arms, he was recruited into an intelligence role due to his fluency in German. His duties placed him ahead of the front lines but didn’t require him to carry arms. He returned safely to the Okanagan at the war’s end.
In 1941, Jake and Mary planted their land with cantaloupe. They tended the crop while also working for others. At harvest time, they had a bumper yield. Unfortunately, that year there had been no market for cantaloupe. Unable to sell the crop, Jake and Mary stacked the fruit around the field’s edge for anyone in need, but most of the cantaloup were left to rot. The setback forced them to sell the land.
In July 1942, the Veterans’ Land Act designated parts of the South Okanagan for settlement by returning soldiers. A man named Mr. McCrae, a retired Scottish engineer, bought a plot of the VLA land about half-a-mile north of Osoyoos, though he lived elsewhere. He’d helped design the region’s irrigation system and felt connected to the area. He held the property for his sons, who were still doing military service overseas. In the meantime, Mr. McCrae rented out the land, which included a three-bedroom house and orchard, to Walter’s parents on a sharecrop basis, so the family moved from Oliver to Osoyoos.
By then, Walt and Gerda had a new baby sister, Margaret. With their mom busy settling the home and caring for the baby, and their dad working long days, the children roamed the orchard freely. One of Walter’s favorite places was the grape garden. It seemed endless to his three-year-old mind, though it was likely not much more than a quarter acre. There were common varieties like Thompson and Tokay, and rarer ones like the Black Hamburg grape. The children could eat as much as they liked.
They also loved climbing the orchard trees. After the pickers had filled apple boxes with the best fruit, the kids climbed up to see what the pickers had missed. There was one tree they had to be very careful with, though, a tree of Golden Delicious apples. The apples lived up to their name; they were indeed delicious. They also had extremely fragile skin. Even a slight bump would bruise them. The pickers didn’t grab and tug at the apples to pick them as they did with other varieties; they let the apple release from the tree into an open palm, so they didn’t bruise the delicate fruit. Those apples weren’t for sale, the tree was for personal use, its fruit was far too delicate to withstand the packing and shipping processes. A dessert made with those apples was a real treat to look forward to.
Summers in Osoyoos were full of fun and freedom. Walter, Gerda, and their little sister Margaret, when she grew old enough to tag along, spent long days playing in the orchard and vineyard. On weekends, their parents took them to the beach. The trail to the beach was an adventure in itself, navigating cactus-filled terrain. Long cactus spines seemed to reach out, snagging clothes or scratching bare skin. Occasionally, a jackrabbit, startled by the family passing along the trail, hopped away on its long legs. If Walt watched the jack rabbit, rather than the cacti, he might feel the burn of a spine digging into his arm. Despite the risks of the trail, the beach was worth it. Walter’s dad had built a small boat, and the family would row across the lake to a sandy point for picnics. One afternoon, while they were enjoying the far shore, the wind suddenly picked up. Walter’s parents rushed the kids into the boat, and Jake started rowing hard. The calm lake turned rough with large swells. Jake struggled to keep the boat steady. At one point, a wave washed over the back and soaked Mary. Normally, she might have laughed, but not that day. In fact, she found no humour in the situation at all. Walter also felt the seriousness of the situation, as the little boat was tossed around in the swells.
Eventually, Jake beached the boat roughly on a sand spit. The family gathered their soaked belongings and started the long walk along the shore to reach the road, hoping to flag down a ride. The wind blasted sand against their legs, stinging with every gust. They were relieved to reach a trail that led to the road, where a kind motorist gave them a ride home. Jake retrieved the boat a few days later—it had drifted far up the lake. That chaotic day became one of Walter’s most vivid memories of summer adventures in Osoyoos.
Walt’s dad kept the boat a little way up the Okanagan River, which flowed into the north end of Osoyoos Lake. The family now knew that sudden storms could sweep across the lake, and the boat was safer, moored just upriver, where it was more sheltered. That area of the river had a grassy bank, and they occasionally went there for a picnic. One day, before Walt was old enough to start school, the family was picnicking on the grass. Walt and his dad were nearby, fishing from the riverbank. There was a deep hole in a back eddy there, and the fishing was usually good. Walt had a short piece of fishing line tied to a stick, with a hook and some bait dangling in the water. He and his dad sat quietly, waiting, when suddenly the line jerked so hard it nearly pulled the stick right out of Walt’s hands. He scrambled to his feet and began pulling the fish toward the bank. It was a struggle; the fish putting up quite a fight. Eventually, Walt got the fish to the bank, and got a proper look at it. He couldn’t believe his eyes–it was the biggest fish he had ever seen! He gave it one last heave, enough to yank the fish up the vertical bank of the river, about a foot high. It landed with a thud on the ground near his feet. He was thrilled! It was a carp, with a deep belly, and it was heavy, at least a couple of pounds! His excitement dimmed slightly when he learned the family didn’t eat carp, but the memory of that catch stayed with him for years, until he eventually caught an even bigger fish.
In the spring of the next year, Walt learned just how full of fish the river really was. During the spring runoff, a hayfield beside the river flooded, turning into a shallow lake. When the water eventually receded, it left behind huge puddles that were alive with flopping carp. Some were quite large, scattered all over the field, stranded in the low spots. It was clear the river was teeming with them.
There were so many interesting things to watch and learn about in Osoyoos. The farm across the road from their home became a source of fascination for Walt and Gerda, especially the crop growing in the field opposite the McCrae orchard. The plants grew in neat rows along the irrigation ditches, with broad leaves that sprawled across the ground rather than growing tall. All summer long, the kids had noticed the fruit slowly take shape under the large leaves. At first, it looked like it could be any kind of melon or squash. But the fruit kept growing, and growing, until some were nearly as big as the children themselves and clearly much heavier. They had never seen melons so enormous!
Walt’s dad explained that the crop was called zucca melon, though not a true melon at all, but a type of gourd in the winter squash family. One of the largest gourds in the world, zucca melons can weigh up to 100 pounds, more than twice what five-year-old Walt weighed.
Zucca melons were an unusual crop for the Okanagan. They’re more commonly grown in places like Africa, where long, hot growing seasons are the norm. But the Okanagan’s semi-arid climate seemed to suit them just fine. The flesh of the zucca melon is bland, which makes it an excellent base for many foods, adding nutrition and bulk to dishes, especially valuable during wartime rationing. The melons were added to jam, turned into candy, and became an unexpected ingredient in many recipes.
At harvest time, it was fascinating to watch. Workers pulled back the large, drooping leaves to reveal pale, hulking melons beneath. The workers gathered them into piles before loading them onto an orchard buggy to be hauled away.
In 1944, Walter’s brother John was born, and his oldest sister, Gerda started school. During the day when Gerda was at school, Walter missed her, as they had been playing companions. As soon as she returned home, however, she put Walter straight to work. She sat him down, and the game of “school” began. She diligently taught him everything she had learned that day. The family spoke Plautdietsch, (Low German) at home, but school was in English, so Gerda was learning unfamiliar words every day, then coming home to teach Walter daily lessons, whether he was interested or not. He preferred playing outside to the rather strict classroom set up his sister was running, but he didn’t have much say in the matter. Besides, Walt did enjoy learning new things, so he didn’t kick up much of a fuss over the lessons.
In the spring of 1945, Mr. McCrae’s sons came home from war, and the family had to move out of their rented house. They had spent three happy years on Mr. McCrae’s land, and Walt’s dad had grown two good crops in the orchard, but now it was time to move on. Walter’s dad found another orchard to manage, this time back in Oliver, near the rest of the Harms family. The new landlord was a man named Mr. Mars, and there was a picker’s cabin on the orchard for the family to move into. Though the cabin was smaller than the house on Mr. McCrae’s property, it had two small bedrooms. By now there were four kids, so the three older kids shared one bedroom, and John, who was still an infant, slept with his parents. The house was small, but it was well enough constructed, and the family was pleased to have it.
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Author’s Notes:
N.B.1: We often see our parents through the lens of their roles in our lives— caregivers, disciplinarians, cheerleaders. Perhaps they are our role models or mentors, but who were they before they became these things to us?"
To better understand who my parents were before they were, well, my parents, I set about interviewing them about their lives before marriage and kids. I started with my mom, and you can read her story here, and now, “Learning to Fly” is the story of my dad.
Walter Harms was the oldest son of Mary and Jake Harms, Mennonites who fled to Canada in search of safety and the hope for a better future. He was a curious child, always interested in the land they lived on, and how things worked. As a young man, this curiousity led him to respond to an advertisement for flying lessons, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Walter is my dad, and this is his story, as told to me in a series of interviews in 2024-25. The story is pieced together from Dad’s memory, photos, and documents. As we all know, memory is fallible. In the telling of this story, some names have been changed, either because they could not be recalled, or to protect the privacy of the person.
I’d like to extend a special thank you to my Aunt Gerda, Dad’s sister, who has shared her memories of events from the early years.
As a descendant of BC pioneers - most in the interior of BC - this story really touched me.