by Hilary Jocelyn
My very first sweetie pie was called Rupert. He was the kind of person that made my knees quiver, and my desires vibrate when he smiled at me, with his deep green expressive eyes. I hadn’t really hit many successes in the Department of Romance during my transformation from teenager to young adulthood, and so our connection did indeed provide me with many youth-filled months of heartfelt satisfactions. Of course it didn’t last forever, and the inevitable breakup caused me a level of sorrow and tear falling that I remember still to this day, with the very name Rupert making my innards curl, as I sigh those sad memories into my boots.
Little did I know that numerous decades later, I would come across another Rupert that would play a much happier role in my life.
It was my late mother -in -law, who first mentioned the name one day, when we were up in the Hills visiting with them from our urban, but not very far away, home. “I got this from Rupert”, she said as she pranced across the kitchen of her dusty, log-built home, sporting a new apron and a lovely hand-knitted sweater. “Hmm, that’s great”, I replied distractedly, as I swallowed a mouthful of tea. At the time, my mind was far more occupied with worrying about how the kids were frolicking so dangerously close to the woodstove. Or maybe I was dreaming about escaping out into the woods, where I could spend a couple of hours wandering happily through the wild fields, as a rare treat. A perfect antidote to my hectic big city life. My mother-in-law was also a Big Talker, and I do confess that I didn’t always listen to her as fully as perhaps I should have done. But somewhere in my mind, it did register, that this Rupert might be worth taking the time to investigate further, so I put it on my ever-growing “to do” list, where it sat eternally neglected and eventually, all but forgotten.
Many years later, my in-laws moved into the village of Wakefield and set themselves up in what was definitely a more hospitable living environment for people in their late 90s. Their log house then sat mainly vacant for a few years, except for the numerous and highly unwelcomed flock of guest rodents. It was clearly a home that was in need of serious love and attention, and as we were now empty nesters, we eventually decided that the time was right for us to move up to the Hills and to share this old family home with the mice, squirrels and chipmunks.
And that’s when I discovered, by talking to our collection of new, welcoming and friendly neighbours, that the name Rupert was indeed a priceless pillar in our community and would be well worth me getting to know. So, one day, as a break from house-painting, renovating, and mouse evictions, I took the plunge and drove along the short and bumpy dirt road towards Rupert, where we could finally meet in the flesh. I really had no idea what to expect.
The numerous cars in the well-maintained parking lot proved to me that this was indeed a popular gathering spot. The first thing I saw was a simple, but well-sized, and beautifully cared for multipurpose Hall, with a sprawling view of hills and fertile fields. I heard the happy sound of kids playing outside. I breathed in the smell of freshly cut hay. What a place for a community to gather! But before I explored any further, I noticed that most of today’s action appeared to be spilling out from the downstairs entrance way. Families. Kids, Teenagers, Wise Elders. People alone. People together.
I went to the heavy door and pulled it open. Wow, what a sight to behold! Inside, there were people swooshing around, humping laden baskets, excitedly chattering, emitting hearty shrieks of laughter. Bags and bustle abound. I had walked into a one-of-a-kind second-hand store, and although back then it wasn’t called Rupert Treasures, it was certainly full to the brim of treasures galore! I realised happily that here was a place that could answer my every unmet need, my every lavish wish, and my every impulsive whim.
What perfect timing. I couldn’t believe my luck. Our new-to-us (but really very old) home was crying out for lots of care and nurturing. I nestled in cosily with the smiling crowd and quickly filled up several bags of the things I found that we needed the most. Sheets to replace the rodent-chewed ones. Pots and pans that weren’t stained and caked in last century’s grime. Un-chipped dishes that weren’t cracked. Wine glasses to fill and relax with, after a day suspended from a ladder, covered from head to toe in white paint. An electric kettle that worked just fine for my precious morning tea. Picture frames to display much-loved photos. And many, many more treasures.
Then I turned to the clothes racks, and lo and behold, after a short browse among the walls of carefully sorted and beautifully hung fashion wear, I chose a few items that perhaps would qualify me to compete with some of the best-dressed people in the village. And most incredulously of all, when I joined the cheerful line-up of friendly multitudes, with my filled-to-the-overflowing shopping baskets, and reached into my purse to pay for all my new discoveries, I got a solid handful of change passed back to me, from my humble twenty-dollar bill!
Over the many years since, I have become better acquainted with Rupert. I volunteer downstairs and spend a couple of hours a week unpacking someone else’s discarded treasures, which is mostly wonderful, exciting and informative. Sometimes, however, we discover the unexpected. Stinky Garbage. Dirty laundry. Dubious diapers. Or worse. Broken. Cracked. Rusted. Stuff no one wants. But we salvage the salvageable, and carry on unpacking, pricing and shelving. Laughing as we do our work, while around us, the energy and spirit of this special gift in our community grows and thrives.
But there is far more to this place than the treasured store. The whole Upstairs Hall is action-packed and vibrant. The lights are often on, and the door is regularly flung open wide. It’s the kind of place where you get to dance your toes off until the room spins, to the sound of fiddles and accordions. It’s where a group of friends and families might come together to watch the candles being blown out on those special Big Decade birthdays. It’s where the Celebrations of Life for the dearly departed and much-loved members of the community are held, holding space for shed tears and memories shared. Children gather in this place weekly to joyfully pirouette together. Neighbours get married here. Special seasonal concerts and many festive carnivals are held. Delicious food is concocted in the simple but well-equipped kitchen. Choirs gather to hit the high notes – and the lower ones too. Workshops, lessons, dog training classes, art sessions and many, many other creative moments all happen within these walls. Thanks to all in the community who help to make this happen.
But my dear readers, perhaps I have left the best until the very last last. On a Wednesday night, I lie on the floor of the Rupert Hall, on my much-used yoga mat, (that I bought at Rupert Treasures, of course). My body has just been expertly guided by a gentle-voiced and wonderfully creative teacher through many a Downward Dog, exciting twists, and most welcome bone-creaking bends. I finally sink into a rare state of calm serenity. As I submit myself to the final relaxation, and sprawl corpse like across the floor, I can hear the distant happy chatter coming from the last draggle of customers who are leaving from the store downstairs. Waves of contentment wash over me, as I breathe in the final conscious breaths of the evening.
What a deeply special place the Rupert Hall really is, and how privileged am I to be able to be part of its heart- beating centre!
Namaste and Peace to you all.
PS. Don’t forget the Rupert Winter Carnival on Feb 6th and 7th . Hope to see you there.
Wandering Wakefield 