Lo, it was but a sennight past when the valiant brethren of Lodge St. Olaf 1188 did achieve a triumph most glorious upon the field of contest, seizing the St. Olaf Trophy in the Provincial Bowls competition. Yet fate, that ever-weaving mistress of fortune, was not yet finished with them, for she had inscribed upon the tablets of destiny another moment of splendour. Once more did the name of St. Olaf ring forth in the annals of victory, as the winds of chance bore another of our noble kin to glory.
And so it came to pass that Bro. Josh Mclean, Senior Deacon of Lodge St. Olaf, steadfast and true, did heed the call of honour and set forth upon the path of toil, his heart steadfast, his spirit unyielding. The St. Olaf Fun Run in Cruden Bay was his battleground, and upon that sacred course, beneath the watchful gaze of the heavens, he strove mightily. With each stride, he defied the elements; with each breath, he forged his own legend. And lo, when the fateful moment arrived and the line of triumph lay before him, it was he who emerged victorious—the first male to cross, the first to bring yet more honour to his mother lodge, St. Olaf 1188.
Yet what tale of heroism is complete without the promise of legacy? For alongside this champion of the lodge ran his own kin, young Michael, scion of a noble house, whose deeds even now whisper of the great things yet to come. Verily, it seems the path of his sire shall be his own, and in time, the lodge may welcome another of the Mclean line into its hallowed halls. As the bards of old have sung, blood calls to blood, and destiny weaves its threads in patterns unseen by mortal eyes.
And lo, the saga did not end there, for another brother of the lodge did take up the challenge. newly raised Master Mason Vern Nathan, returning with haste from an out-of-town rugby match, arrived just in time to take his place upon the starting line. At his side ran his son Oscar, swift of foot and resolute of heart. Oscar kept to the pace of the frontrunners, crossing the line with honour, while his sire, with noble determination, held steadfast to the rear, crossing the line at last in the company of the race marshals, ensuring that all who set forth upon the course found their way to its end.
Thus was another chapter writ in the grand saga of Lodge St. Olaf, a tale of perseverance, of triumph, and of kinship that spans the ages. May the spirit of our forebears look kindly upon these deeds, and may the name of St. Olaf be ever spoken with reverence and pride!
A Glimpse into What Might Have Been
Had fate woven a different thread, and had more of our fellowship been able to join the grand Fun Run, the paths would have echoed with even greater laughter and triumph. Here now, for your viewing, are glimpses of what might have been—visions of a tale untold, captured in picture form.