Meet Zeke and Mabel
A Friendly Warning Before You Begin
Meet Mabel Thistlewhistle and Zeke Bindertwine, two curious prairie storytellers who have set out to explore every corner of the Stony Plain & Parkland Pioneer Museum. Along the way they'll share stories, discoveries, and the occasional questionable theory.
Mabel and Zeke are storytellers, not official historians.
The buildings, artifacts, and history in these pages are rooted in the real stories of the Stony Plain and Parkland Pioneer Museum — but like any good prairie tale, a few details may be polished up, stretched out, or seasoned with a little extra Bindertwine imagination.
So yes, the history is real. Whether the taxidermy squirrel is haunted… remains unconfirmed.
Now then — on with the adventure.
How We Found the Museum
Now, I reckon I ought to tell you how Zeke and I found the museum in the first place — and trust me, it wasn’t nearly as simple as following a sign.
Zeke was driving that old pick-up of his, the one that rattles like a bucket full of marbles, when he squinted at the horizon.
“See that, Mabel?” he asked, pointing with a greasy finger. “I think that’s where history’s hiding.”
I rolled my eyes. “Zeke, that’s just a roof behind the trees. Not every piece of lumber is calling your name.”
“Roof, history, same difference,” he said. “If there’s wood and old stuff, it’s gotta be important.”
We bounced along the gravel road, Zeke narrating what he thought we’d find. “Barns! Sawmills! Tractors! Probably a ghost or two if we’re lucky!”
After threading our way past the Heritage Pavilion, crossing the bustling parking lot, and following the seemingly endless driveway, Mabel pointed ahead. “There it is,” she said — the museum grounds at last, bigger than a cow pasture and twice as interesting.
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Zeke jumped out of the truck, slapping his hands on his knees. “I told ya, Mabel! History’s alive, and it’s hiding in plain sight!”
I chuckled. “Alive, maybe. But unless the pie in the Tea House has learned to walk, I suggest we start with the front gate.”
He winked. “We’ll fix that.”
We wandered through the gates, and I swear the wind whispered through the trees like it was pointing the way. Zeke, of course, leaned on the nearest fence post and gave a long, satisfied whistle.
“Every building’s got a story,” he said. “And I aim to hear ’em all… before supper.”
And just like that, our little adventure began — a museum full of dusty corners, squeaky floors, and more tales than a prairie rabbit has fleas.
I took a deep breath, ready to meet each building like it was an old friend. Zeke did the same, except he was already plotting which pie he’d sample first.
Even before we stepped through the gate, you could feel it — this wasn’t just a collection of old buildings. It was a place people had worked hard to save. Somewhere in that moment, I realized: this was going to be one heck of a day.