A couple of weeks ago, we explored the tale of the horse thieves of 1909—a story that captured the “Wild West” spirit of early Gull Lake. Just a year later, the community faced a far darker chapter, one that tested the limits of its fledgling law enforcement. The “Drunken Brawl”—As It Was Called at the Time In early 1910, William James McBride and his son Luther spent an evening in Gull Lake. According to contemporary records, both men were “the worse for liquor” as they left

The coffee was hot at the Gull Lake Diner this week, and conversation flowed easily among the regulars. The usual crew—Edna, Hank, Mabel, Earl, Rita, and Mayor Binder—gathered at their favorite table, turning their attention to the stories shaping the town: a legacy built on compassion, the co-op’s promising progress, and a festival that brings everyone together. The Foundation: Remembering "Slim" Edna, the group’s unofficial historian, set her mug down with a deliberate clac

My grandfather, Slim Willman, with his team on a winter day. It’s easy to take for granted the simple act of turning on a kitchen tap. But for generations in Gull Lake, access to water was anything but simple—and that story runs right through my grandfather, George “Slim” Willman. Before the Tap: Water in Early Gull Lake Back in the early-to-mid 20th century, small towns like Gull Lake didn’t have the modern plumbing and infrastructure we rely on today. Instead, families depe

Snow boots thudded against the diner floor, steam rising from mugs as the regulars settled in. This week in Gull Lake : sidewalks cleared not just for bylaw but for neighbors; a recipe book fundraiser serving up support for Autumn House ; and holiday cheer both at home and down the road. At Coffee Row, the stories spilled as freely as the coffee. Community Care Starts at the Curb Edna brushed snow from her scarf and tapped her mug. “A clear sidewalk says, ‘I care about who wa

The smell of sizzling bacon drifts through the Gull Lake Diner, mingling with the rich aroma of fresh coffee. Mugs clink and the low hum of conversation weaves between the clatter of forks and the scrape of chairs on the checkered linoleum. Outside, a dusting of snow glows under the morning sun, but inside it’s all warmth and familiarity. Hank sits in his usual spot, stoic as ever. Edna’s glasses are perched on her nose as she reads, and Mabel knits quietly next to a steamin

The cinnamon buns were still warm, and the coffee had just started to cool. Edna sat at her usual spot, one eyebrow raised, the latest Gull Lake 2035 editorial open on her phone. Earl was already halfway through his second bun, and Mabel had brought her own mug from home—enamel, chipped, and loyal. “I read Part Two,” Edna said, not looking up. “The one about what we’ve actually built.” Earl puffed out his chest. “You mean the sewer lines and the lagoon? Smells like progres