By the River’s Edge The narrow rural road wound through the heart of Forest Glen, separating the farm from the one across the way. Trueman, an 18 year old boy had grown up on the family farm. In the spring of 1916 Trueman attended a recruiting meeting in the village of Kemptville, and in May enlisted with the 219th Battalion. Before leaving for basic training, he worked at the lumber mill in Carleton, his hands roughened by the labor. When not working at the mill, he would return home to help his father with the farm chores. On leave, one September afternoon, the day before he would leave home to take a train to Halifax, Trueman, wearing his uniform, crossed the roadway and knocked on the door of the neighbouring farmhouse. The girl who lived there opened it with a smile, a picnic basket and blanket in her hand. The day before it was decided they would go on a picnic together. “Trueman,” she said, “where are we going?” “To the river,” he replied, holding out his hand. They walked side by side, down through the fields. The river sparkled ahead, its waters winding through the far corners of the farmland. Trueman spread the blanket on the grass, and they sat, talking quietly and ate the picnic lunch. Trueman described the camaraderie among the soldiers and talked about the training. She listened, chuckling at some of his stories. “You look so different in that uniform.” He chuckled. “It’s not me; it’s the khaki. You know, enlisting seemed the right thing to do.” He pulled a photograph from his pocket, an image of himself in uniform, eyes stern and resolute. “A memento.” As she reached for the photograph there was the haunting sound of loons in the distance. She held the picture of Trueman, her gaze lingering on the young man. “I’ll keep it close.” At that moment there were unspoken words and thoughts between them. “And when you hear the loons,” she said, “think of me.” “Loons in the trenches? I’ll try.” But the war would take its toll. In August 1918, Trueman was killed in action. Years passed. She married another, and the photograph of Trueman hung on the wall, a reminder of the farm boy from across the road. When visitors asked about the young man in uniform, her husband would smile, look at her and say, “That’s her old boyfriend.” And so, a promise made years before was kept. His picture has survived over a hundred years, now framed anew in the home of her grandson. The river still flows, and the promise a grandmother made by the river’s edge still remembered.