On a crisp and sunny November day in 2021, my wife Lisa and I were taking the scenic route from Grande Prairie to our home in Calgary, unaware we were about to learn a piece of family history that would lead to greater family connections.

How a white-haired old-guy can cause a tough young-guy to take flight.

That is my Dad, Jim Mawdsley, in the foothills of Alberta, circa 1952. He would have been 22 and recently finished his BSc in geology. Throughout his life he often said, “This reminds me of working in the field,” then tilt his head up and to the right, focus on the middle-distance and reminisce as he spoke to no one in particular.

My late Auntie Endla, who passed away 20 years ago this week, could make me laugh like nobody else. She is so missed.

It was a warm early-spring day in Calgary when our neighbours heard a commotion and looked out their window just as our daughter sprinted past their house—without shoes. This was immediately followed by Lisa’s car accelerating past with spray from the melting snow flying behind.