James A. Bole Blacksmith Shop

A Tribute to a Blacksmith

By: Anne Sanderson of the Wadena News with assistance from Ida Bole (Monday, December 22, 2003)  

       There was a chill in the air and the icy cold fingers of darkness were still lingering across the landscape as the tall form of a man sliced through the shadows.

Head bent against the cool breeze, the man buried his gloved hands deep in his pockets, his steady footsteps echoing like gunshots across the still frozen prairie. Gee it was cold this morning – hard to believe that this was supposed to be spring. The soil would have to warm a lot before it would be ready for seed.

By the time he was half way to his destination James A. Bole had become accustomed to the cold. He threw back his head and inhaled the fresh, cool air. God it was great to be able to stay home. A man didn’t mind getting up at the break of dawn when the day was his own.

Sure, in this business a person never knew what the day would bring. But somehow the rat race seemed easier when a man was his own boss.  

The acrid smell of dead ashes hit his nostrils as he unlatched and swung open the heavy wooden door. He didn’t hesitate as he pushed his way through the darkness – he knew the shop like the back of his hand. During the busy times he practically lived in here, and that wasn’t a bad thing. Next to working with his animals and being with his family this little shack was his favorite place to be. These four walls held his identity.

As he stoked the ashes he hoped he’d be lucky and find a hot ember flickering beneath the pile. He could hardly wait to feel the fiery warmth of the fire. To him flames were an awe-inspiring sight to behold. Hardly any wonder considering that fire was perhaps the most important tool in his business.

The small building was bulging with warmth when approaching hoof beats sounded across the awakening land. As he tipped his trained ear the man could tell that the horse needed to be shod. It was hard to get farmers to spend the money these days; most didn’t spend before it was absolutely necessary. Although most of his customers were pretty good when it came to looking after their horses the reality was that there just wasn’t much money out there. Sadly enough as a businessman there was only so much he could offer – credit was just too risky a business these days.

As the eldest of 12 children James A. Bole knew what it was like when money was tight. Born at Greenwood Farm in Pembroke, Ont. in 1863, he had watched his father struggle to make a living off the land. As a young man he had worked on farms, then in lumbering in the Ottawa Valley, before becoming involved with the railway first as a surveyor and then as a blacksmith. He liked the latter trade so much that he eventually took three years of training, a decision that would later give him the necessary tools to realize his dreams.

As the hoof beats thundered closer James thought back to 1891 when he had arrived in the Elfros area. That year his blacksmithing had taken him as far west as Calgary , but eventually he got itchy feet and was ready for something different. He went to Edmonton and came down the North Saskatchewan by riverboat to Prince Albert . From Prince Albert he walked across country to the end of the rails at Saltcoats. When he arrived in the area he knew he had found the place of his dreams. It would be the perfect place for the ranch he had built many times in his mind. His enthusiasm made it easy to convince his brothers William (Bill), Hugh and his Uncle Jim, and before long the four men had agreed to homestead on section six, township 33, range 13.

Life hadn’t been easy in those first few years on the homestead and Jim had little choice but to use his blacksmithing to supplement the family income. He often worked for cash in the CPR shops. For many years he spent winters blacksmithing in Manitoba , and it was during one such winter that he had met the woman that would become his wife. He smiled as he remembered the day that he had met her.  

She had literally lit the dark shop on fire when she had entered – just a little waif of a thing who needed her driving mare shod. He still couldn’t believe that he had been fortunate enough to convince her to marry him. She must have had misgivings on the ten-day journey out here, but if she did she never mentioned a thing. She was still lighting up his doorway two years later – he was a lucky man.

The door burst open with a bang, bringing his mind abruptly to the present. Standing before him was an authoritative looking man in a red uniform. “The North West Mounted Police must have some new recruits in”, he thought as he looked at the strangers face, “Wonder what he needs this early in the morning.”

“This horse needs to be shod right away, I’m due in Wadena in the forenoon,” the man thundered in a voice befitting of his size. “The men told me that you’re the only blacksmith in the area. I know its spring and all but I was hoping you could fit me in. This is quite a shop you have here. Can’t say I quite expected this in the middle of nowhere – did you make all of these tools yourself?”

Although James already had a full day planned he knew which side his bread was buttered on and gave an affirmative nod. The NWMP were good customers and one could hardly turn them away when they needed something done. Besides this man had broached his favorite topic, he never minded giving others a look at his tools, even if it was early in the morning and this man was a little rough around the edges. Couldn’t be that bad of a man if he was interested in a simple blacksmith’s tools – at least he was smart enough to recognize that they were all handcrafted.

The truth was that James really didn’t have to scramble for business as his blacksmithing talents and honesty were known for miles around. It didn’t hurt that the Bole homestead bordered the Touchwood and Nut Lake trails as there was always someone traveling by that needed their horses shod. And of course the Trading Post, which he and Jessie operated, drew people from miles around as there weren’t many other places to buy boots and clothing, food, hardware, tobacco or farm produce. Spring was on its way and soon the local farmers would be bringing in their plow shares to be sharpened. At two bits a share, spring often proved to be one of the most profitable times of the year. It was a well known fact that James would rather sharpen plow shares than plow in the fields and was more than willing to allow customers to partially pay for their work by doing a couple of rounds in the field.

Hard work and dedication allowed the Bole family to realize their dream of being ranchers. They ranched their own cattle and sheep and also custom fed steers for firms such as Gordon and Ironcides at $5 for summer, $10 a head for over-wintering. All the while James continued to operate his blacksmith shop, his work slowing only for about five years from 1911 – 1916 when he and his family lived in Wynyard so the children (Mary, Lola, and John J.) could attend school.

As his family grew James began to share his knowledge with his children and eventually his grandchildren. His son, John J. became very adept at blacksmithing and spent many satisfying hours sharpening cultivator shovels, straightening bent mower guards, bolts or axels from farm machinery. His grand-daughter Reta VanOs McKee also remembers with great fondness the many wonderful hours she spent in her grand-father’s blacksmithing shop listening to stories about the early days and all the interesting places he had worked.

James A. Bole passed away in the land of his dreams in 1938. He leaves behind a legacy that has spanned and will continue to span many generations to come. He was known as a pioneer, a homesteader, a blacksmith and a tireless promoter of his community. James A. Bole was a man whose focus on his vision provided not only an essential service for the extended community in which he lived, but also enlightened the lives of all those who knew him. His blacksmith shop and all his tools have recently been donated to the Wadena and District Museum where they will soon be open for public viewing. Not surprisingly the tools, including the bellows, have been maintained in top condition, a true testament to a blacksmith.