Three Hills

The gas station. A place of meeting, a place of eating, a place of memories. From the time children are walking they are coming through that glass door, holding their mother's hand and pointing at the slushie machine or running their hands along the rows of candybars and chips. Teens are eager to earn the badge of honour that arrives with the first lunchtime trip to Circle K, leaving school grounds for a five minute walk to get a large bottle of pop that they can drink obnoxiously during their next class. College students come in search of burgers and midnight fuel as they take breaks from writing papers, truckers stop in for their early morning caffeine, and travelers in desperate need of a bathroom find rest in the back, surrounded by dirty tile. The gas station is the heart of the town and one of the very few sources of entertainment to be found in Three Hills, Alberta.

The train surrounds our town, it passes by on every side, loud and ancient, it roars as it passes by, wheels clacking along the rails with no regard for what hour it might be. In the dead of night you might be shaken awake by the thunder of the engine, children innocent of the workings of the world may clench your hand in nervous excitement, anxious to not be run over by whatever is shaking the ground. The railway is also a popular site for young girls, eager to get a picture in the setting sun, their legs crossed elgantly across the tracks, wide smiles splitting their faces. Many friends and lovers have walked those tracks, holding hands and sharing secrets, staring out past the boundries of our little town and wondering what the world might hold for them. There is a legend told of one young girl, desperate and distraught who lay across the tracks in fatal sorrow. But it is only a legend, a myth, a ghost story for the teens who walk at midnight.

The abandoned gym holds many secrets. Broken windows, disentagrating roof, the innocent attempt at griffitti that adorns the outer wall. Once a gym for the famous Prairie Bible Institute, it was left unused for many years before being turned into a skate park. Ramps and half-pipes were well-worn and well-loved by the many youths of the town until the building became too delapitated to inhabit. Rails and ramps abandoned the building sits now awaiting death. If only there was some money to spare to put it out of its lonely misery.

A sign so old you'd believe it to be abandoned but in fact this store is still operating. No one knows who uses it. But yet someone does. And everyday you walk by and the lights are on and there are clothes hanging in bags on the racks. Never once have I entered the Speed-Wash, but perhaps one day I will.

Behind the college lay two plots of soil, community gardens we call them. Most often they are filled with potatoes, carrots, and beans, but every once-in-awhile some kind soul will plant a field of sunflowers. Bright yellow faces turned up towards the sunshine, leaves reaching out to fill the space between their neighbours, bees buzzing between the stalks. A small Utopia in the midst of the dreary summer.

Three Hills is full of secret nooks and crannies, troves of secrets hidden in corners and dusty alleyways. You only need to know where to look. But like all towns it has its short-comings. Lack of entertainment for youth, no reliable shopping centre for clothes or shoes. But these things are made up for by the amount of hospitality waiting behind every door. Houses are warm with light and love and everyone is family. That is what transforms Three Hills from a town into a home.