When I was a little girl growing up in Meadow Lake, Saskatchewan, I would often hear the mournful whistle of the train as it came into the Meadow Lake Railroad Station.

My father had deserted us, and we were dirt poor. We lived off the land as best we could, never complaining or seeking assistance from anyone. We lived a few miles from Meadow Lake in a small log dwelling.

Everytime the train came or left Meadow Lake I was overwhelmed by the mournful call of the train as it seemed to call out to me. I would look at the train station being left alone and somehow feel its sorrow and fear. In my heart I'd call it my building, my house. On occassion I would enter the old station and try desperately to see over a high counter to see what my building looked like inside, but I was too short. I'd touch the walls and whisper "my home."

As an adult the building continued to intrigue me. It became the most important part of Meadow Lake to me, although Meadow Lake, was my birth place. I always felt that the train or the station would take me away from my childhood of poverty and hunger. This feeling never left me.

In the year 1991 I was drawn to the Saskatoon Star Phoenix newspaper. I glimpsed through the pages and was horrified to see a sales tender out for my building. I only had a couple days. I couldn't bear to see my station being sold to anyone.

I called CN rail in Winnipeg and faxed in my bid. I spent days praying and quietly crying. I'd make a 50 kilometer trip to Meadow Lake every day to look at the building and to tell the people who hung around the tracks not to drink or smoke carelessly around my building but to use the protective overhanging roof as a shelter. I would take them pop and lunches and they became the keepers.

A few days later it was confirmed that I was the sucessful bidder. I thanked my God and knew that this was part of his plan, The building was moved to Green Lake, where it sits today. The Station, now named Kewatin Junction Station, will take care of me and I of her.

Rose