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A few days after his sixteenth birthday, Walter drove his dad to work, dropped him off, and then headed to the Motor Vehicle Branch office to take his driving test. The examiner asked how he had arrived, and Walter simply gestured toward the car. Nothing more was said, it was expected that kids in the area learned to drive well before they were old enough for the road test. After getting his license, he drove to school to join the rest of his class and later picked his dad up from work. There was no fuss about it – he simply became another driver in the household.
Walter continued to do well in school. Although sports and recreation were not high on the family’s priorities, that year Walter joined the high school badminton team. The team played one evening a week, and he had to borrow his dad’s car to attend. His dad never questioned Walter’s requests to borrow the car. Walter got the sense loaning him the car was one of the quiet ways his dad acknowledged Walter’s contributions to the family. Although there were other sports teams to choose from, badminton required the least financial outlay up front. The school provided the racquets, and, although they were pretty poor, Walt and his classmates figured they were a fair match with their skills, so they had no complaints.
With the end of the school year on the horizon, Walter again turned his mind toward summer employment. He heard the labor shortage was ongoing. Many men had not returned from the war, and some who had were left with injuries that prevented physical work. Meanwhile, post-war infrastructure projects were booming, and there simply weren’t enough workers to fill the jobs.
On the first day of summer break, Walter returned to the marshalling yard in Campbell River, ready to accept any job. He stood with hundreds of men and teens, and like the previous summer, it took no time at all for everyone who was there to get a job. And they weren’t just labouring day jobs; they were permanent summer jobs with good wages. The word was, once a company hired a worker, they were very reluctant to let them go. Walter knew though, there were a few things that could get a guy fired. Certainly, he knew from experience that being under-age could do it, but he heard a few classmates also got fired the previous year for other reasons. There was an expression some kids used a lot in school: when a teacher told them to do something, they would fire back, “Do I have to?” Walter heard that a guy asked that once to his foreman on the job, and the foreman didn’t hesitate.
“No, you don’t. Go and sit in the crummy,” he said. The fellow was taken off the mountain, and that was the end of his summer job. Walter wasn’t in the habit of complaining in school, and certainly not on the jobsite, so now that he was legally allowed to work, he didn’t put much thought to being fired.
As men were being picked for jobs, Walter was pleased to be rehired by the road-building crew he’d worked with the summer before. This time, he was assigned to the powder crew, and instead of blowing out tree stumps, they were blasting solid rock to make way for a section of the new logging road. The work was hard, noisy, and dangerous, but it was also interesting.
For part of the summer, he ran a jackhammer, drilling holes deep into the rock to prepare for blasting. Once the holes were ready, Walter was back in the role of powder mule, hauling sticks of dynamite, blasting caps, and fuses to each blast site.
He also learned the careful process of assembling a detonator. Each one started with a stick of dynamite. Into the dynamite, the crew inserted a small fuse cap connected to a length of safety fuse. The fuse was coiled and wrapped securely around the stick to prevent it from getting pulled out when the charge was lowered into the drill hole.
The powderman – the crewman in charge of setting off the blasts – would move from hole to hole with a lit fuse lighter, touching it to each fuse in turn. The fuses were cut to burn long enough to allow time to light several charges before retreating to safety. Moments later, the mountain would erupt with explosions, sending a shower of rocks flying for a quarter mile in all directions.
That summer forest fires flared up on Vancouver Island. Most jobs were paused, and workers turned their efforts to fire fighting. They were joined by temporary workers from Victoria and the mainland. The guys on Walter’s crew called them “the barflies”. They told him the men had been rounded up from various pubs and bussed up to the fires. They were only being paid 25 cents an hour, where Walter and his co-workers were paid choker man’s wages, $1.83/hour. Walter wasn’t surprised when the “barflies” weren’t very hard workers. He figured that was probably why they had been in the bars. They were kept up on the high ground, while Walter and other local crew were sent down into the valley to fight the fires there. It was a particularly dangerous area to work. The area had been logged in preparation to be flooded during the construction of a new dam. Because of the recent logging, there were a lot of branches and other debris on the ground, perfect fuel for fires during a hot, dry summer. The terrain was difficult to walk over because of the debris, but there was an even bigger danger than tripping over a branch. An underground river ran beneath the cedar stumps, and in some places the ground had sluffed away into the current beneath, leaving holes obscured by brush. If you stepped into one of the holes, you would simply disappear, washed away by the underground river. The thought of that fate weighed heavily on Walter’s mind, adding tension to already difficult and stressful work. Vivid scenes of slipping into one of those holes and being carried away by the cold, dark water below ran through his mind as he lay, exhausted, in bed at night. Falling asleep was much more difficult than it should have been. Despite the stress and exhaustion, Walter made good money that summer. The crews worked very long days and received a lot of overtime pay. Sometimes, they didn’t get the necessary 8-hour break between shifts, so they were paid overtime for a few full days in a row. Even so, it was a relief when the fires died down, and it was time to go back to school.
That fall, Walter started Grade 12, his final year of high school. He was still doing well in his studies and was beginning to think about his future. In British Columbia, regular high school ended at Grade 12, but students bound for university carried on with Grade 13, known as Senior Matriculation. The courses in the additional year of high school were recognized for first year university credit. Walter was thinking of becoming a teacher, and that required a university education. He knew that teaching jobs were easy to get. The wage was less than he earned doing physical labour – a first-year salary for a teacher was $280/month for 10 months of the year. In the days when a guy who was handy with a chainsaw could make $80/day, teaching wasn’t the path to prosperity, but the work was steady, and it was a respected career.
Tsolum School, where Walter attended, didn’t have Senior Matriculation classes, so he applied to attend Grade 13 at the Mennonite Educational Institute (MEI) in Clearbrook, British Columbia. He quickly received a letter from MEI accepting him into Senior Matriculation along with a list of families who billeted students near the school. Everything was falling into place.
At home, his parents were fostering two little boys, Bobby and Pinky. Both still infants, they were a handful to take care of. Gerda had left school at the end of Grade 10 and had been providing childcare to families around Black Creek since. She helped a lot at home as well, caring for boys. Pinky was adopted by another family quite quickly, and the Harms family began the process of adopting Bobby.
At the end of Grade 12, Walter was surprised to receive a scholarship for his academic achievements. He hadn’t applied for any awards, so the $75 prize came as an unexpected gift. His younger sister, Margaret, wasn’t surprised in the least. She often said her brother was like a sponge, soaking up information wherever he went, and the award was simply more proof of that.
Once school wrapped up that June, Walter turned his attention back to earning serious money. Now that he had a career goal in mind, he knew he would need to start saving for school.
He was quickly hired as a labourer on a crew building a concrete canal, part of a hydroelectric project designed to divert a river into the Campbell Lake system. The job didn’t pay as well as the previous summer’s blasting and firefighting work, but the hours were far more civilized, and the work was just as engaging.
Before canal construction began, large culverts had been installed beneath the canal bed to preserve the natural flow of creeks and other waterways in the area. Some of these culverts were massive. Walter stood inside one, it was smooth-walled and round. He was unable to touch the ceiling even with his arms fully extended. It felt more like being inside a room, rather than a pipe. Many of the creeks in the region swelled significantly during the spring melt, so the culverts had to be large enough to handle the surge.
To construct the canal itself, a wide trench had been dug into the ground. Where a culvert crossed under the canal, sand was packed in around the curve of culvert to bury it. The sand needed to be packed down before the concrete walls and floor could be poured. Walter’s job was to run a tamping rammer – nicknamed a “jumping jack” – which packed down the soft sand into a firm, level base. Gripping the machine’s handles tightly, he spent long days wrestling the heavy, pounding tool over the sand. The jarring motion was exhausting, and by the end of each day, his arms felt like rubber bands.
One day the jumping jack he was operating struck a rock and bounced back onto his foot. Fortunately, he was working in soft sand. Instead of crushing his foot, the machine drove it down into the sand. Even through his heavy work boot, it hurt. But Walter kept working, nobody got paid for going home. Once the canal bed had been properly packed down, a large machine was brought in to pour the concrete floor and walls, marking the next phase of the project.
That fall, Walter began a season of new experiences: it was his first time living away from home. He packed lightly, fitting clothes and a few personal items into a single suitcase. In his pocket, he carried the address of the Martens, an elderly couple who would host him for the school year in Clearbrook, British Columbia.
Outside, his dad waited by the car while Walter said goodbye to his mother and siblings. He knew it was unlikely he’d see them again before Christmas, as travel between the island and the mainland was not easy. Together, he and his dad took the ferry across to Vancouver and then drove on to the Martens’ home. Walter knew almost immediately that he would enjoy living with the friendly couple. His dad stayed the night, then left the next morning, and Walter stepped into his new life as a serious student.
He settled quickly into his studies at MEI, treating his education as if it were a full-time job. After registering for as many courses as the school would allow, he spent nearly every evening in his room, bent over books and assignments.
The one frequent – and welcome – disruption came from Mr. Marten. An avid crokinole player, he kept his heavy wooden board set up on a side table in the living room, practicing daily by flicking smooth wooden discs toward the center target. From his room, Walter often heard the familiar rattle of the discs as he studied. Many evenings, Mr. Marten would knock gently on his door and coax him out for a few games. Walter enjoyed the matches and, more than that, the easy companionship of the Martens, which made his new surroundings feel like home.
When classes ended for the Christmas holiday, Walter took a bus to the CPR terminal in Vancouver and caught the ferry back to Naniamo, where his parents met him. It was a good Christmas, with everyone together again, and it passed too quickly. In the new year, Walter returned to Clearbrook and his studies. Despite his heavy course load, he continued to earn good grades. He applied to the Faculty of Education at the University of Victoria and was accepted into second-year studies.
When he came home at the end of the school year, he learned his sisters were also applying to attend MEI in the fall. Gerda, who had left Tsolum School after completing Grade 10, hoped to complete Grade 11 and 12 there. Margaret, who had continued with her studies, applied to Grade 12. If accepted, it meant that all three of the older Harms siblings would be away from home the following year.
After graduating from Senior Matriculation and returning home to Black Creek, Walter found a summer job at the local pulp mill. This work was different again – he was hired as a labourer on a crew that was building big bins for the woodchips, the raw material for pulp. His crew also took on general maintenance around the mill and helped clean the recovery boiler. Walter soaked up the details of how the mill operated, and the summer passed quickly. The pay was good, and this year he set his earnings aside for his university expenses, rather than adding it to the family finances. In fact, that summer’s wages covered his costs for the whole year of university, while the scholarship he had been awarded in Grade 12 paid for his textbooks.
As Walter prepared for his first year at university, big changes were underway for the rest of the family too. When Jake and Mary had first moved to Black Creek, they dreamed of turning their large acreage into a working farm. The reality was the soil was poor, and the massive stumps scattered across the land proved unyielding. With the resources they had, the property was simply too much to tame.
Before the move to Black Creek, Jake had been successful managing orchards in the Okanagan. On the island, however, he had to rely on jobs in the bush or at the sawmill just to keep the family afloat, leaving no time or energy to work his own land. Now he and Mary decided it was time to let go of the dream. They would move the family back to the Okanagan, this time to the growing town of Kelowna, and buy an orchard there.
The decision came as a surprise to the older kids, but it didn’t’ affect them much. Walter would be heading to Victoria for university, and Gerda and Margaret would be at school in Clearbrook. The younger boys felt the change most. John and Norman, still small when the family first arrived in Black Creek, had few memories of life before it. For them, Black Creek was home, and they would be leaving their friends and familiar routines behind to start fresh in Kelowna. They would go to a new school in Kelowna as soon as they arrived there. Bobby, not yet in school, would have more time to adjust to the new place before starting school.
As Walter packed for university, just clothes and a few personal items, he paused to look around the Black Creek house one more time. He remembered when it had been nothing more than a leaking cabin, and all the work that had gone into making it into a home. Life there had been hard, especially in the early years, but the family had managed to carve something out of it. Walter wondered briefly what the next chapter would look like for them all before he turned back to his own future and set out for Victoria.
In Victoria, Walter again lived with a host family, this time an Irish family. In contrast to the quiet Martens, this family was loud and boisterous. The lady of the house was quite a character, with a wide smile and a big laugh, and a broad Irish accent. She loved to tell stories, like the one about the telegram she had once received from a relative back in Ireland during the war:
CHILDREN TRAVELLING BY SHIP TO CANADA STOP
KINDLY MEET THEM IN HALIFAX STOP
From her home on the opposite coast of Canada, she had replied:
BETTER YOU MEET THEM IN HALIFAX STOP
YOU ARE CLOSER STOP
Back then, as long as the kids arrived in Halifax with papers stating where they were headed, the rail service took responsibility for them, delivering them safely to their destinations. The story ended with the children eventually arriving in Victoria. Walter was never sure if the tales were true, but he was amused by the woman’s wit and her lively nature.
The host family’s home was some distance from the university campus, so Walt’s dad let him use the family car. Jake had since acquired an old truck, better suited to moving the family and working on the orchard.
Just as he had done at MEI, Walter registered for as many classes as he was permitted to take each semester. He treated his studies seriously and worked hard. Not everyone in his class shared his dedication. A group of classmates in his English class constantly complained about the number of essays assigned. Convinced the professor didn’t actually read them all, they devised a test: a few students glued together a couple pages in the middle of their essays before handing them in. When the essays were returned, the glued pages were still stuck, and one student triumphantly confronted the professor for not reading his work. The professor listened with a raised eyebrow as the lad laid out his accusations. The rest of the class sat in silence, waiting for the exchange to play out. When the young man finally finished, the professor replied evenly,
“Sonny, I don’t need to eat the whole egg to know it’s rotten.”
That ended the matter.
At Christmas, Walter and his sisters went to Kelowna to spend the holiday with the family. It was their first time seeing the new house. Jake had purchased an orchard, and the property came with an old house. It was rough at first, but that didn’t stop Bobby from excitedly showing them all its rooms and features. In time renovations would make it quite comfortable, for now though, Jake and Mary had only been in it for a few months and were still getting settled. The holidays passed quickly, filled with stories and catching up, especially hearing John and Norman describe their new life in Kelowna.
Back in Victoria, Walter threw himself into his studies again. He rarely took breaks, but on one weekend in the second half of the school year he drove up to Black Creek to visit friends, returning Sunday evening. Not long after dark, as he approached Nile Creek on the winding coastal highway, he spotted a trailer pulled over at the roadside. As he drew closer, he saw a pair of legs sticking out from underneath it and swerved wide to avoid running them over. The car swung too far, and when he tried to correct, it fishtailed. As the back end of the car slammed into the bridge abutment, he heard the scrape of metal against concrete, the crash of shattering glass – then his head slammed into the windshield. After that, stillness.
When he finally arrived back in Victoria, his landlady was alarmed by the sight of him. She had questions, but Walter had little memory of how he had managed to get home. She carefully picked shards of glass from the gash on his forehead and cleaned him up as best she could. Seeing a doctor for such injuries wasn’t something Walter even considered.
From then on, he had no vehicle and walked to class. The walk was long, but he preferred it to the alternative: catching one bus downtown, then then waiting for another to the campus.
During his first year, Walter made a few close friends among his classmates. He often overheard them commenting about writing home to ask their parents for money. Walter stayed quiet; the wages he’d earned the previous summer had left him comfortable for the school year. In fact, one day he received a letter from his dad, who needed to buy a new car and was asking Walter for a loan. Walter was glad he could send the money and still have enough for himself. After all, it was likely his dad needed the car because Walter had wrecked the old one. Still, the next time he heard classmates complain about asking their parents for help, Walter felt a quiet pride at being on the other side of that conversation in his own family.
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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 curiosity 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.
N.B.2: If you are interested in reading more about the Mennonite settlement of Grigorievka, Ukraine and the migration of its residents to Canada, the route Walter’s father followed, you might find this account: Memories of Grigorievka, edited by Ted Friesen and Elisabeth Peters, published by the Canadian Mennonite University, to be enlightening.