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somewhere man!

Reflections on Origins, Presence, and Destiny

Jerry Bouma

Ainsley Wood Press Edmonton Copyright @2026 Jerry Bouma somewhere man! ISBN 978-1-0674806-0-8 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical means with the prior written consent of the author. Cover Photograph This is a photograph of my cousin Gerben Bouma and me (my name is also Gerben Bouma). We are standing on the road where my grandfather Gerben Bouma our namesake, farmed in the Province of Friesland, the Netherlands. Gerben Bouma is buried 2 km from this intersection in a church plot located in the village of Folsgare. I first met my grandfather when I was eighteen years of age. He never came to Canada and that was my first trip to the Netherlands. Then the first time I visited my grandfather’s grave some years later, I was not prepared to see my own name on the gravestone. It shocked me. Yet at the same time, I was instantly assured that this is from “where” I came.

Table of Contents Foreword

Part 1: We are all from Somewhere

Part 2: Ode to the Seasons

Part 3: Life’s Challenges

A Tribute to Russ Ebbets

What Does it Mean to be a Canadian?

Tribute from a Friend & Teammate: Ed Takacs

About the Author

A Teammate’s Perspective: Dave Patrick

Foreword “We are all from somewhere. We all have something to give.”1 So, where are you from? Such a simple, benign, non-intrusive question. Often the question asked when two people first meet. But a question whose answer can be extremely positive and affirming. Or an answer (or non-answer) that is extremely unsettling or troubling. Consider a rural Irish or Dutch farm resident. Such a person is likely to live in a community that has been home to his or her family and ancestors for generations. This person is likely to have relatives living in every direction, have 30 to 60 first cousins, and even more second and third cousins. The local graveyards are replete with ancestors – direct relatives as well as those who are more distant but related, nevertheless. And a detailed history of resilience having endured imperialism, feudalism, famine, war, occupation, peace, massive social and economic changes …. all the tides of history over the years. It is all there in the architecture, the farms, the houses, the roads and pathways, the stories and the local yarns. Every piece of property is tied to a family and is likely to be known by that name. That’s the “so and so” farm. And there’s the “such and such” place. Everything is familiar. No question about where this person is from. 1

Aligns with themes of honoring one's origins, ancestry, and the collective strength of the Métis people. While not explicitly attributed to a single, famous historical figure as a formal "proverb," this sentiment reflects the Métis, or Otipemisiwak (the people who own themselves), perspective of pride in their unique culture, history, and contribution.

Then consider a refugee – in a place not by their own choosing by likely by default or at the direction of some third party. That person has left everything behind. All the markers of home have vanished. No relatives or friends anywhere. No connections to location or person. No real place that provides familiarity or comfort. Nothing but violence, the tearing apart whatever the cause, shattered hopes and dreams in places where both language and landscape are strange. There are major lapses in background and history. No one knows the full story, only bits and pieces linger. Now consider today’s society. Never have we been more connected and disconnected at the same time. So many are lost in their virtual worlds, with little or no awareness of the present, their families, their communities and all the social, cultural and historical threads from the past that have shaped them. And in many cases, not knowing what they don’t know. We all have a need to belong, to be part of something – a family, a community, a team, a country, an ethnicity, a tribe….some group, that serves to define our identity and provides context for our sense of self and in part, one’s raison d’etre. This volume of poems and writings is a lamentation of connections lost. It is also a challenge to reflect and restore those fundamental connections that define who each of us really is.

Jerry Bouma, August 2025 2

Part 1: We are all from Somewhere “ Where are you going now, my friend? Where will you be tomorrow?”

“Déjà vu” Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young

Somewhere Man Each day the background hum grows louder Each day, dark clouds are closing in The path ahead looms ever dimmer Where to start? Where to begin? We all come from somewhere And we all have something to give. Somewhere man, just look around You did not arrive here all alone Somewhere man, you’re life’s much bigger Your past and present are deeply sown. The signs ahead seem so confusing No truth that’s clear or ground that’s firm Some are winning but more are losing We’re data rich…. but what’s to learn? We all come from somewhere And we all have something to give. Somewhere man, do not lose heart You’re well connected but know no one Stop looking out, search deep within Your cause for being has just begun. We all come from somewhere And we all have something to give. Somewhere man, just look around You did not arrive here alone. Somewhere man, you’re life’s much bigger Your past and present are deeply sown.

A Restless Wind Blows The usual evening calm Shrouded by shining rays of the setting sun Lie hidden As the clouds gather, Dark and looming As a restless wind blows. Branches full of leafy splendor Stately in their early season glory Swing wildly And widely, in a growing disarray Of broken stems and detached leaves As a restless wind blows. Old newspapers crumpled, in shreds Lay wet, torn and rotting in back alleys Unread stories The lessons of yesteryears Foretelling but fading As a restless wind blows. Jackboots and threatening batons Shined to perfection Swing into action Civility, unspoken but understood Lies forgotten As a restless wind blows.

Then2 Then comes the sound of thunder, a new voice settles in Reflection runs for cover, the madness doth begin. Directions seem inverted, no what or why or where The sighs of nodding penguins, and truth no longer here. Then science has no place and opinions lead the way Constructive speech goes missing, much noise on every front. Gravity is an option, and experts have no say The world seems to wait in silence, news darker every day. Then thunder clouds loom larger, the daylight growing dim. The sounds of boots on sidewalks, peace keeping in disguise. The dogma grows yet stronger, and voices call for more We shudder in our silence, awaiting what's in store? Then you and I, though shaken, must stand strong and true And fill the unforgiving minute though heart and soul feel blue. These times have become before, and they will come again Gaze long beyond the shouting, let not our spirit wane.

2 Inspired by “If” written by Rudyard Kipling

Truth Some say the world was built on truth Others say, it’s all a pack of lies Here’s my thought for what is worth I stand with those considered wise That truth will stand the test of time And lies? Will lead to sure demise.

Full Circle We are but trees swaying in the wind With many branches and leaves That come and go as seasons change Differing in colours, shapes and sizes Some have more than others We search for purpose, meaning, fulfilment Often striving and chasing the wind But as we reach the sunset of our day We end up where we began With…. One root.

Nordic Blues The shortest day is in our sight Our biggest fear – the endless night The trembling tree line cries out “no more!” While worst of winter lies yet in store. Each year we dread the loss of light It grips our soul, no deeper fright. But today it breaks, at least relief Make room for hope and deep belief. Thickening All around me there is a thickening! Thickening middles Thickening thighs Thickening men Thickening women Thickening children Thickening arteries Thickening borders Thickening rules Thickening regulations Thickening thickening…. Some might say that it is all quite sickening. But I would say, it is just a thickening!!

Excellent Five Stanley cups Eight Stanley cup finals 45 seasons of non-stop action 61 NHL records by one player 215 points in a single season Players dazzling like none before The best of the best Not once but twice! The best team ever Legends growing over time Losses long forgotten Glories and memories Deeply embedded in the community DNA The highest earning revenue team in the country! What’s not to love? Excellent!

Living by the Shore3 Wind and storm - sounds like home! Spoken by a voice that knows Clear sparkling waters in the evening sun And purple skies when full fury blows. Icy forms, shapes not before seen The vast expanse of the white beyond Snow like concrete and mysterious caves Sheets of glass, like a local pond. The gentle lap of morning waves The whispering of those trees that weep The bending cedars, the swooning swans The looming clouds o’er waters deep. Cumulus climbing, soaring aloft To seek relief from summer heat Rise from waters shimmering below Frightening strength when wind forces meet. The darkening days come much too soon The waters mutter, not you again? Has this year not just begun? Oh, why the haste---oft heard refrain? When seas meet land and land meet seas It fuses memories deep to the bone No two days are e’er the same Wind and storm, sounds like home. 3 Inspired by a colleague who lives on the Baltic Sea, Lithuania. I grew up on Lake

Huron—one of Great Lakes.

Viola Rose4 Vibrant is the proper word Inside and out Others dare to follow her, but Left quickly behind, she’s Always a step ahead. Reaching for the stars Others dare to follow her, and Steadily she takes the lead Exceptional in every way.

A Rhyme for Ena5 A shining light from the Baltic blue Quiet but bright the whole time through Leading, guiding, our Nordic Star But still she shines, now from afar.

A tribute to my wife, Viola Anne Rose

A tribute to Ena Radovics, Honorary Consul for Latvia who died unexpectedly in August of 2024.

Weeds and Wine6 The days are short, the bins are full The rows of bales are all in line Snowflakes land gentle on the grassy plain Time to reflect on weeds and wine. Cows move slow to the watering hole Fall calves in tow, all looking fine Soft breezes float across the yard Time to reflect on weeds and wine. Another year soon in the books Some memories stick, some less sublime Pause to remember, strain to forget Time to reflect on weeds and wine. This narrative may seem absurd What shall I write? What words will rhyme? But on I press; do not ask why? Time to reflect on weeds and wine.

6 Inspired by a friend who works as an agronomist

Could Have He could have made the Olympics, But he didn’t. He could have prevented World War 2, But could not see the future. He could have been a brilliant mathematician, But instead, dropped out. He could have ushered in a new era of peace and understanding, But a bullet shattered that dream. She could have been a top-class engineer, But told - no place for a woman. He could have been a great leader But got too friendly with a junior staff member. She could have saved a person in despair, But had a hair appointment. I could have …….. And what about you?

August 7, 2025 Fall spoke to me today, Quietly, I’m coming! The first turned leaf The weeds in head The fatted squirrel The slanted ray of sun Entering my side window Just a touch earlier And slightly more golden Than the day before. The Reaper whispered to me today Very quietly. I’m coming…. Another season Another crop year Passing too quickly Many behind me But fewer ahead And coming faster With speed I never imagined, Than the day before.

Part 2: Ode to the Seasons The world is full of majesty and mystery. The more one knows and the more one discovers, the more one is amazed and filled with wonderment. And ever more questions. As Jack Kerouac once said: “There are no answers, just questions.” When I was young, I took nature for granted. Perhaps it was because I was so immersed in it, growing up on a farm. I experienced first-hand the marvels of birth, the planting of seeds, the joy of harvest, and the quiet closing down of the natural world each fall before winter. Now that I am older, I stand amazed at all these very phenomena and have grown to realize the perfection one finds in nature. No living organism is just sort of adapted to its environment. No! Each one is perfectly adapted to it. Life is a great mystery. The human heart is an even more mysterious place. It moves, it wanders and chooses what it will. I do not profess to understand it. But two things are common to life and without these, life in any form cannot exist: Sun and rain. What lies within this selection of rhymes and narratives, is a whimsical tribute to these two essential elements – with an emphasis on the most important source of life – the sun. The following deliberations, including the month and date, are but a small sample of the writings I have generated over the years. When I am driving, walking, or just looking about, an image, a thought……and before long a lyric.

Spring March 24 The sun has crossed the ‘centre’ line More light, more heat, more days sublime The nurturing warmth prepares the earth And seeds soon stir... new life bursts forth. April 21 Ah! A ray of sunshine Breaks through the gloom Might be just enough To make flowers bloom. May 7 Prose and poetry continue to flow Come rain, or wind, or wretched heat Or the chance of snow and sleet! The skies are bathed with sun and light To wit: Sun Goddess in full flight!!

Summer June 2 Oh nameless hills in front of me What lies beyond what I can see? Will be there green? Will there be glory? Another day, another story. July 4, Remember the sun also rises The winds always blow There is a clear destiny When it comes, we will know. July 10 The rains doth come, the sun doth go Hope for bright days, beginneth slow The rain doth go, the sun doth stay At last, we have a pleasant day! August 12 The week behind with mist and grey Will sun come out for just one day? I wait and wait. What’s this? Oh no! This can’t be real! We’re in for snow.

Fall Sept 29 Alas September is about to pass The turn of heat, the dying grass Sunrise, sunset, converge to noon The swirl of flake arrives too soon!

October 29 The sun is bright, but air is cold. Morning has passed, the day grows old. Seven hours plus of relentless speak My mind and heart long past its peak! Nov 4 Shakespeare wrote that April is the month most cruel From my view, November would win that duel Dark skies. A break! A shaft of light distant. Could this have stirred an inspired Rembrandt?

Winter Dec 19 One more day to sun’s nadir While days are short, there’s much to cheer. Then each day will bring more light More of day and less of night! Jan 22 As I brave the wind and cold I search the sky, no break I’m told No moon, no stars, no sun in sight A feeling of eternal night Feb 6 Soaking in the blue and breeze News of cold and deepest freeze Swaying palms, boundless appeal Do I imagine or is this real?

Part 3: Life’s Challenges

“Strength and growth only come through continuous effort and struggle.” Napoleon Hill

To become stronger and more resilient means that you must first tear down what exists. Then you allow your body or mind to rebuild. That is the essence of all training. Resistance should not be seen as a constraint but rather a stimulant—indeed a path forward. Thus, embrace resistance so you are then able to overcome it. Note: This section (“Life’s Challenges”) first appeared in an earlier collection. However, since our daily lives are replete with challenges whatever age or circumstances, it bears repeating.

Never Give up!!

Today, I’m feeling old and slow. My spirit’s damp, my soul is low My knees won’t lift, my heels won’t rise This thing called ‘age’, I do despise!! One day older, but out again, Will the run today bring forth ‘Zen’? Some strides across a playing field To tides of time, I shall not yield! And now I hear the siren song Be gone dear stasis, I don’t belong Though be it fast or be it slow A call to rise, it’s time to go! The path ahead is far from clear Will days be grim, will days bring cheer? I lift my eyes to the reddening sky Today I run; do not ask why.

Sheer Madness Ten thousand years of civilization Five thousand years of tending flocks and fields Two thousand years of loving thy neighbour One thousand years of limited regal rule Five hundred years of building a new world Two hundred and fifty years of government by the people One hundred and fifty years of industrial wars Eighty years of mutual destruction capability Endless examples of war, death and destruction, but… Endless examples of peace and prosperity. And the best we can do Is continue and engage in brutal violence And the destruction of a people. Will we ever learn? Can we ever learn?

Three Times as Hard and Barely Moving The day is young; it’s time to run Up at dawn and before the sun. It took some time to get out the door, Rather stay put, even lie on the floor But my body decided before my mind kicked in Mind following body like an angel sent Three times as hard and barely moving. Out on the trail, but moving still There’s an icy patch just over the hill Keep to the left or move to the right? My mind is loose but the body is tight Matters not, ya’ don’t slip at this speed How much further? Seems long indeed Body following mind, like an angel spent Three times as hard and barely moving. One last turn and close to home Muscles sore, now chilled to the bone Another run, oh why do I bother? I call to the Father and the Blessed Mother Body and mind, no angels here! Just another run, just another year….. The air is silent despite my demand! “Relax my son, be glad you still stand, Three times as hard but you’re still moving!!”

Scholars Edge7 A sign ahead reads “Scholars Edge”. What could this be? What is the offer? My eyes are locked, my head’s a whirl Is this figurative or perhaps literal? Deep thought today is hard to find Brief tweets and texts on every front Short terse ‘bites’ are now the norm True sage and wisdom stand forlorn. My thoughts seem rapped in cyber cages Yet hope still stirs on streets ahead I reflect yet further: is this the trend? Could this Scholar be my new friend? Yet “Scholars’ Edge” screams loud for meaning! Will Kant and Hegel be found nearby? I search the street both up and down Nothing emerges, my face? A frown. Gloom and angst rise deep within What insight can be drawn from this? Begone oh sign, I will not stay I’ll seek the path called “Philosopher’s Way.”8

Inspired by a sign located in my neighbourhood. A painting company?

An actual street in Heidelberg Germany adjacent to the University

Tick Tock Tick Tock The sun is down Tick Tock Earth wears a frown Tick Tock The harvest’s in Tick Tock Grain’s in the bin Tick Tock A year has passed Tick Tock Went way too fast Tick Tock Where does time go? Tick Tock Please make it slow? Tick Tock War rages on Tick Tock Who knows how long. Tick Tock My heart doth sink Tick Tock Is this the brink? Tick Tock Tick Tock……..

Time Lost There was a time when there was no time No time to think, no time to see Lessons to learn, it’s all about me? Workouts to do and times to achieve No matter what, there seemed no reprieve Papers to write, classes to attend Thankyou’s to give and greetings to send. Families to raise, obligations to keep The path ahead seemed especially steep So much to do, no time to enjoy Spend time with my girl and some with my boy But no need to join that; just have to be there Most things are dull but few do have flair Try to find meaning, try not to despair. No time for me. And no time for you. So much has been lost, so much to re-do.

Four Times as Hard Time to go but my legs lie still I need new strength, seek extra will My too-worn shoes wait by the door But first to cross this slippery floor. Four times as hard And I’m not moving! The day is short, my spirit’s grim The depth of winter has settled in Oh to rise and greet the dark Tour quiet streets, twice round the park. Four times as hard And I’m not moving. The days of running fast are gone But memories of that speed stay strong To wait and kick, now that was sweet We took for granted our fleet feet. Four times as hard And I’m not moving. May the words above ne’er come to pass Give me woods and more green grass Four times as hard, so let it be But as of today, I still run free. Four times as hard But I’m still moving!! 28

It’s Optional Feel like a woman today Think I will run some races Or better still Enter a boxing ring Or play some soccer Oh… some big guys over there Maybe not. But what’s the big deal? When gender is just a state of mind And……it’s optional Think I will fly like a bird From the top of that building Or that 30 foot wall. Jump from the speeding train Or jump in front of that train What does it matter? And what’s the big deal? When gravity is just a state of mind And……it’s optional. Think I’ll declare myself a non-person Neither here nor there Past or present. Some may miss me But most will not know the difference Life is but a mirage. But what’s the big deal? Existence is just a state of mind And…..it’s optional! 29

Two Poems by Morrison Reid9 The Iowa Wave10 He sits beside me drawing Ball cap on small shaven head, hiding the scar The drawing, a yellow sun over green grass He whispered in a soft voice, it was not the funnest time Sometimes, pictures are in colour, sometimes black Colour can mean love and hope, black, pain and fear Carefully, he drew a flower in the grass and said...... They say it might come back, but I don't think it will That brings me here to this place, where it all began A place better now, then it was before Because of the children high above a green field Watching other children play below I am here with others to wave colour to your pictures We know it's not the funnest time Morrison Reid, Social Work, University of Iowa, 1974, 1982

Morrison Reid is a long-time high school friend and fellow runner. He became one of the top athletes in Ontario and accepted a scholarship to the University of Iowa. We exchange ideas and poems regularly. 10 The University of Iowa Stadium lies in the line of sight of the adjacent Children’s Hospital. Each year, the entire crowd stands and waves at the children at the end of the first quarter of home football games. It is a moment when 75,000 join in unison to wave at the viewing children.

Looking For Ghosts The old man walked slowly with an awkward limp Searching for memories of a day, a trace Some of his thoughts told him to leave It had only been a high school race Things had changed over many years Forgetting, hurt like a cut from a knife He had not expected this type of blank This had been a day that changed his life The man found a clearing at the top of a hill A couple sitting, a scene, calm and peaceful He said, sorry to trouble, but what is over there They told him a steep hill trail, be careful Suddenly the old man was in the pack running hard Bodies close, breathing deep, movement graceful They had climbed, raced the flat, now the descent A flow of youth, of health, a coloured waterfall The old man waved to the couple gave thanks They could not know at a different age He had rushed their grove in a storm of speed and grace The old man walked away, his mind turned a page.

A Tribute to Russ Ebbets In August 2024, I was contacted by a dear friend and former Villanova teammate Russ Ebbets. We only spent two years together – I graduated, and Russ transferred to Union College. But while at Villanova, we would meet and chat regularly – most times it was in the Field House when we would cross paths for our morning runs. Sometimes he finished and I was starting. Or I would be finished and he would be starting. Or our schedules would coincide and we would run together – usually an easy 5 miles or on occasion a 6 ½ mile run which we tended to avoid since there was this massive hill at the three-mile mark. Whatever the case, we would engage in conversation non-stop. Russ went on to be an accomplished coach and writer. He had several books to his name: two quasi fictional publications “Supernova”, and “Time and Chance”; and two coaching guides “Call Me Coach” and his most recent book entitled “A Runner’s Guide” which is a very insightful exploration of the many issues that a runner faces in training, exercises, nutrition, and life in general. Russ was the person who encouraged me to submit my book “Touching Greatness, Forever Together” The Villanova Track Story to the Track & Field Writers Association of America. But this call was different. I could sense a degree of intensity and urgency. He posed a critical question that had become very important to him. He asked: can you write something about what it means to be part of a team. See my response - next page. Russ Ebbets passed away on August 30, 2025.

To be Part of a Team – Jerry Bouma, August 23, 2024 What does it mean to be part of a team? This question was suddenly posed to me by my long-time friend and former Villanova Teammate, Russ Ebbets the day I learned he was submitting to surgery to remove a brain tumor. It struck me that Russ’s question arose in his hour of greatest need. Without question, he was at his most vulnerable. Would he survive? Would he emerge ever to be the same again? I could discern by his question that this was a time when he needed to know that he was not alone. That his life’s work (and struggles) had not been in vain. He needed to know that he was part of a team! So, let us first address a more fundamental question: What makes a team? My thoughts moved quickly to paraphrase the ‘team’ question to a question posed by Shakespeare: What’s in a name that a rose known by any other would smell as sweet? And so, to the question: what’s in a team? I turned to my own experience as a member of the Villanova Track Team 50 years ago. So, what’s in a team that a group of athletes bound together for a short period of time, as students - 3 to 4 years at the most, and in our case, would continue to gather on an annual basis some 40, 50, or even 60 years later? Indeed, what does it mean to part of that sort of team? The factors are many. And complex. Nor are any two situations or cohorts ever quite the same. Track and field (athletics) is 33

such a unique sport – and arguably the ultimate paradox – a sport defined by supreme individualism yet producing star performers shaped within a team environment whose bonds endure the years and the generations. The more obvious reasons are rooted in that common purpose, a culture of winning, the shared experience, the fighting of tough battles together, not unlike a “Band of Brothers” in a wartime. And fused by the many miles run together; the grueling interval workouts; the critical hills in the various running loops that broke even the best runners among us. Add to this mix, the unique Villanova experience of “indoors yet outdoors” those winter workouts on the “Boards” – our 11 laps to the mile track set up on the football practice field. Oft-times covered with snow, wrapped with a wicked west wind on a cold January day. And the meals together, the rooming together, the classes together, the lonely weekends together when the campus emptied except for us few non-locals or foreign athletes who came from too far away to even consider a trip home …… But it is more than that! For that matter, many teams experience the thrill of winning a big race, a relay, a championship and even generate a star in their midst for a period of time. But is that enough to generate the continued gathering that defines the Villanova Team experience who come together year after year? So, what is this ‘more’? It is indeed a merger of special ingredients. Perhaps it is type of athlete who was recruited in 34

the first place; or that one star who really cared about his teammates and established the essential ‘caring’ dynamic which then passed from cohort to cohort. Or maybe it requires a process cemented by a certain “cultural dissonance” or an element of adversity that needed to be overcome (albeit subconsciously). Again, Villanova was powerfully influenced by the legendary Irish ‘pipeline – and more precisely, a Dublin-Cork axis. Most came from modest backgrounds, who found themselves immersed in a totally different middle to upper-class society – face to face with the American Dream in full measure, seeing and knowing that this was their opportunity to succeed. The pressure was on! Interestingly, that same dissonance factor was manifested within the Western Kentucky University team with a decided British-Bristol factor; or the East Tennessee team which also had that Irish influence although different than Villanova, defined by a west Ireland Limerick-Leitrim dimension. To be sure, the stars emerged as the team leaders, setting the tone and holding court. But these stars would readily cite the support of their teammates for their success. Teammates who toiled in relative obscurity to grind out the miles and the repeat intervals only to be passed and surpassed time and time by their more talented counterparts. But not forgotten. As the years passed and athletic performance became a more distant memory, the allure and influence of the stars would be balanced by other team members who took up the mantle of leadership. Sometimes this would be the 3rd or 4th man on a 35

relay time. Sometimes, this was someone who never made any of the teams – track, relay or cross-country. But always someone who knew the value of team; of loyalty; of culture; and fully appreciated the lifelong impact of the team experience. So back to the question: What does it mean to be part of a team? Consider these dimensions: • Being part of a team is being part of a distinct culture – a culture that embraces you and a culture that you are proud to pass on. • Being part of a team is having a clear, common goal. • Being part of a team is having leaders to look up to. • Being part of a team is going to the cafeteria knowing that no matter what day or time, there is a seat for you at the ‘track’ table. • Being part of a team is being given a hard time and taking it with a smile. • Being part of a team is giving a teammate a hard time, all the while keeping a smile. • Being part of a team is having to listen for the 100th time to a teammate’s regaling the greatness of his high school two-mile relay team. • Being part of a team is when a teammate notices that you are avoiding practice and asking if something is wrong. • Being part of a team is jogging your first 50 meters after a serious injury and hearing the supporting shout of a teammate.

•

Being part of a team is having a teammate to help you out when you are struggling with a course and need a lending hand. Being part of a team is seeing a teammate, whose griefstricken face tells you that he just received the news that he lost his mother and spending the morning with him before he travels home to attend her funeral. Being part of a team is responding when one of your teammates is struggling with a brain tumor and asks you to write something about “being part of a team”.

What does it mean to be a Canadian? Ask a Dutch Immigrant.11 The recent whirlwind of developments in the United States including the issue of tariffs and the threats to our sovereignty, has challenged our Canadian identity and indeed the very future of Canada itself. Never has the question “what it means to be a Canadian?” been more top of mind. If you are in need of a boost of national pride or a reminder of what being a Canadian really means, just ask a ‘liberated’ Dutch person. Or any Dutch person who immigrated to Canada for that matter. The response may surprise you. Eighty years ago this May, the Canadian Army liberated the Netherlands from the brutal German occupation, bringing World War II (WWII) to an end. For five long years, the Dutch endured a dark and seemingly hopeless period. The German Army appeared unbeatable, and their brutality knew no limits. Any form of resistance meant instant execution or imprisonment. Infiltrators were everywhere, and no one could be trusted. Intense fear hung in the air, and as the years passed, food and supplies grew ever scarce. Thousands had already died, and thousands more were on the verge of starvation during the winter of 1945, which was reported to be one of the coldest in years. And then came the Canadians! Who were these brave young men who exhibited such bravery and determination? Who was this army from a country unknown, to take on this hardened and increasingly desperate German war machine – the most 11

This article appeared as an editorial in Edmonton Journal on May 3, 2025. This past year (2025) was the 80th anniversary of the Liberation on the Netherlands by the Canadian Division of the Allied Forces, an event that is celebrated each year on May 5th.

formidable ever to dominate Europe? Such were the questions immediately asked by the astonished and oppressed Dutch people. Everything was on the line. In the course of several months, over 7,600 soldiers died as the Canadian Army moved through the flat, unprotected Dutch countryside, village by village, town by town, region by region. But advance they did, and the Dutch people took notice – not only because of their courage and fighting skills, but because of traits before unseen – kindness, generosity and a spirit of humility. These traits were in total contrast to the cruelty, brutality and superiority of their German oppressors. The Dutch people responded with overwhelming joy and immense gratitude. The incredibly positive impression made by the Canadian Army was also a contributing factor as to why so many Dutch people chose Canada as their new home, just a few years later. No event defines the bond between two countries like the Liberation of the Netherlands by the Canadian Army in WW2. Even today, a Canadian visiting the Netherlands will experience complete strangers coming up to them and thanking them for what Canada did in 1945. Though time has passed, Dutch people continue to ask themselves: why did these young men from a country far away, come here to fight, to die, and liberate us from our neighbours? To Canadians, the answer is duty and a commitment to fight for freedom. But to the Dutch, with their deep European history, the answer remains a mystery and the cause for gratitude and celebration.

Every school-aged child in the Netherlands learns about the Liberation and the role the Canadian Army played. Every Canadian soldier’s grave is tended to each year by school children. And every year, the Dutch celebrate the Liberation and give thanks to Canada for securing their freedom.

Editorial in the Edmonton Journal, May 3, 2025 Submitted by Jerry Bouma, Honorary Consul Kingdom of the Netherlands

Tribute from a Friend and Teammate: Ed Takacs12 “Jerry, you are a person who lives from the inside out and is secure in sharing personal introspection. Your statement, "This volume of poems and writings is a lamentation of connections lost. It is also a challenge to reflect and restore those fundamental connections that define who each of us really is." is noteworthy. It conveys near remorse of lost past connections and history, however, hopeful that such will be regained in the midst of today's seemingly societal decline. Now growing older, I particularly enjoyed the compositions that convey a sense of nostalgia of times and experiences that have life meaning, a sense of heritage, and destiny. Of course, the running poems speak for themselves.

With Ed Under “The Tree”

Ed Takacs was the second Canadian behind Jerry to attend Villanova University on a track scholarship. They became best of friends and remain so to this day. They are pictured here years later under the tree where they sat and commiserated after Ed learned that his mother passed away his freshman year.

About the Author Jerry Bouma was born in Owen Sound, Ontario and raised on the family dairy farm just outside of Leith. Growing up often meant long and often lonely hours performing farm duties: seeding, cultivating, mowing haying, raking, harvesting, pulling weeks, picking stones….but it gave him time to think. Through thinking, observing, and experiencing rural life, Jerry subscribed to the notion that we are all artists – some disguise it better than others but we are all artists whether we heed the call or ignore it. He challenges each of us to discover the artist within and explore how that artistic talent can be expressed. Jerry’s love of poetry and imagery flow from his personal experiences – he grew up on a country road where “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” could have been written. He was a “Swinger of Birches” before ever reading the poem. He could immediately relate to the ambience and rhythm of Dylan Thomas’s “Under the Milkwood”. And he felt the full measure of the gloomy fall evening before he discovered the same sentiment in the beauty of James Joyce’s narrative in the “Portrait of the Artist as Young Man”. This volume of poems speaks to the importance of roots. If you want to fully realize your potential, understand where you come from and what has shaped you as a person.

Villanova Track Team Reunion

Front Row: Dave Patrick, Paul Denis, Jim Sansevero, Billy McLaughlin, Charlie Messenger, Kevin Leonard, Glen Bogue Second Row: Larry James, Ed Takacs, Warren Clark, Jim Weir, Jerry Bouma, Brian McElroy, Marty Patwell, Phil Kane, Eamonn Coghlan, John Burns, Karl Kinscherf, George MacKay, Marty Liquori, Mike McDonnell III, Ken Schappert, Steve Dorsey.

A Teammate’s Perspective: Dave Patrick13 I was fortunate to meet Jerry Bouma when my track coach at Villanova University, the legendary James “Jumbo” Elliott asked me to host a potential recruit who was flying in from Canada. Jumbo informed Jerry was the top high school miler in Canada, and he would be on an official visit to Villanova. It didn’t take long for me to assess Jerry’s character, his passion and his talent. It was an easy endorsement to Jumbo that Jerry had all the tools to become an integral part of the track team. Little did I know that we would forge a bond based on mutual respect and a passion for competition that would become the foundation for boundless accomplishments. Jerry was quickly able to transfer his passion and exceptionalism from running to writing. He brings to life writings that cover a wide range of locations, topics and people that find you the reader, living in the moment just as he has penned. His major work “Touching Greatness, Forever Together, The Villanova Track Story” captures this essence in a unique way. My favorite poems reflect the stages of life we are all familiar with, whether you're an athlete or not. These poems—including “Twice as Hard, Half as Fast,” “Three Times as Hard and Barely Moving,” and “Four Times as Hard”—are sure to resonate with readers. Read them carefully and you will know what I mean. Dave Patrick Stoney Harbor, New Jersey 13

Dave Patrick is one of the Villanova ‘greats’. As team captain he led the Villanova Track Team to three world records, four individual NCAA Championships and three NCAA Team Championships. He was ranked number 2 in the world for the mile in 1968. Dave originally coined the expression “Touching Greatness, Forever Together” which became the theme and title of The Villanova Track Story.