Our times

When we first walked into Cave and Basin, the smell was unmistakable. If our sense of smell provided a warning for bad things ahead, there was a clear sign to turn around. But we kept going, holding our noses.

The building ahead of us was a museum, it was famous because it used to be connected to a public pool. The pool was famous, because it was built on top of a cave. The cave was famous, because it housed a basin of highly concentrated mineral water. The mineral water was famous, because it was said to have miraculous healing powers. For over a century, people were known to visit the attraction to access the water, to bathe in it, and even drink it.

Walking through the museum and its exhibits, we learned about the Canadian history of Cave and Basin: how it was transformed into an attraction and then sparked the idea of national parks. This was, they said — where it all started.

At first it was the rich who visited. The completion of the railroads brought visitors from the east, and most of them were very rich — the elite of the elites. Then as more people owned cars and more roads were built, more rich people visited. Over time, the circle of inclusion expanded and the popularity of Cave and Basin (and its pool) thrived. By the 70’s, the average household could afford a visit and dip in the pool. By the 90’s, swimming pools were common in hotels, making Cave and Basin not as sought after. By the time we visited, the pool had been filled and covered with bricks, and the change rooms became the museum we stood in.

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The warning signs were obvious: Don’t touch! It’s illegal to touch the water at Cave and Basin. A rare kind of snail lives here and it’s about to go extinct. I complied and didn’t touch. The miracle water had an eery shade of blue, and it was fetid up close.

The water reminded me of Drumheller, where the Albertosaurus was found to exist, many, many years ago. The Earth was a different place back then. But in Drumheller, known as the badlands and rejection of human activity, it was as if time stood still.

And Drumheller reminded me of gymnastics school, where my daughter took lessons. I visited their girls’ washroom once and on the pink wall, next to the mirror was a sticker that read: Save the water! It’s been here since the dinosaurs.

Water, like this smelly water that I was staring into. The same water that fed the dinosaurs, the same water that people flocked to and now kept out of; the same miracle water that was once used to cure people, but was now reserved for snails.

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It would have been fascinating to visit Cave and Basin back in its heyday, in the earlier times. Before the 90’s when swimming pools were common. Before the 70’s when travel became an affordable luxury. Before road systems, before cars, and back when the elites hung out here. But if I were born earlier, would I have made it to Cave and Basin at all?

The last exhibit was an interactive photo booth that asked visitors to write their ideal future on a travel-size whiteboard, and then take a photo with it. My daughter was drawn to it immediately and wrote down her thoughts: My ideal future is one that includes others.

When I read what she wrote, I smiled, but wondered if it was just a catchphrase that she learned from school. These days, the mention of inclusion almost seems trite. Or was it because she saw a real need to include others? And if it’s the latter, did she include, or was she the other?

We wiped the whiteboard clean for the next visitors to write their thoughts. The evolution of times, people, inclusion — how easy it is to brush off when we’re no longer the other.