The Rolling Classroom: Manitoba’s Iconic Tree Planting Cars
To understand why this story is so dear to my heart, you will need to know about my relationship with entertainment. For the first few years of my life, entertainment was self-made. We had a radio that ran on big old dry cell batteries that were quite expensive, so it was turned on once a day for the news and maybe for a short time in the evening to listen to Amos and Andy or Fibber McGee and Molly. I never saw a television until I was about 12, so that doesn’t even enter the picture for the period I’m referring to here. The only other source of entertainment was whenever we visited my aunt and uncle’s house; Dad would take his banjo, and after supper my uncle would take down his fiddle, and several cousins who played various instruments would join in for some foot-stomping music.
When I was about three, my uncle Claude in Vermilion, Alberta, was one of the few people in the area who owned a movie projector. Once a month he would set it up in a local hall and invite people in for a movie night. I’m not sure where he got the films, but there were things like Abbott and Costello, the Three Stooges, and the Keystone Cops—all in black and white. I’ll never forget the first time my parents took me. At that age, I firmly believed everything on the screen was real. During parts where characters hung precariously off a building or were about to be hit by a locomotive, I would grab my mother’s hand and pull it over my eyes. From time to time, I would pry her fingers apart to get a glimpse, but if it was still too scary, I would quickly close them again.
A couple of years later, the first theatre opened in Vermilion. By that time, I was so enamored by the screen I wouldn’t take my eyes off it. I remember when a movie ended and the newsreels came on, Mom and Dad decided it was past my bedtime. I raised an unholy fuss because I wanted to stay to the very end. So, by the time I was going to school in Silver Stream, Manitoba, imagine my delight to discover the Tree Planting Cars.
By the late 1950s, the face of the Canadian Prairies was being fundamentally reshaped by a unique, steel-clad educational force. This program wasn’t just one car, but a small, dedicated fleet of three “rolling classrooms” operated by the Canadian Forestry Association in partnership with the CP and CN railways. There was the veteran CP 121, the heavy-duty CN 15021, and the “supercar” CP 64—the latter of which still stands today at the Manitoba Agricultural Museum in Austin.
Built as far back as the 1920s and operated for over half a century, these cars served as travelling classrooms, rolling across the tracks of Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta. Inside, the car was a marvel; a movie screen sat at one end, and plush seating was arranged on a downward slope from back to front to ensure every child and farmer had a clear view. Each day, the railway would deposit the heavy carriage on a siding in our rural community. It was a massive, impressive structure, equipped with its own theater and living quarters for the lecturers.
During the day, it welcomed school children for our first formal introduction to forestry and ecological stewardship. In the evenings, the focus shifted to farmers, with presentations on how to properly plant shelterbelts to survive the harsh prairie climate. For many, the arrival of the car was a momentous occasion. It wasn’t just a lecture; it was a beacon of practical knowledge. The lecturers—like the dedicated Alan Beaven, who spent decades in the role—knew that on the treeless plains, a proper shelterbelt was a necessity for preventing soil erosion and protecting the homestead. Quite often, we had a chance to visit twice in the same week: once with the students from Silver Stream school, and again in the evening with our parents.
The impact of this initiative was staggering. Over its lifetime, this tiny fleet traveled hundreds of thousands of kilometers, hosted over 1.5 million visitors, and is credited with encouraging the planting of half a billion trees on approximately 100,000 farms. It bridged the gap between scientific research and the day-to-day realities of prairie farming.
Today, with screens of all sizes providing instant access to infinite media, children may never experience the pure electricity we felt when that train car arrived on our siding. The era of the Tree Planting Car eventually drew to a close in 1973, but its legacy is woven into the very fabric of our landscape. When we look across the Manitoba countryside today and see a mature line of trees protecting a farmyard, we are looking at the direct descendants of the lessons taught within those rolling steel walls.
The Legacy Preserved
The era of the Tree Planting Car eventually drew to a close in 1973, when it was finally retired from its rolling mission. However, its legacy is woven into the very fabric of the landscape. When we look across the Manitoba countryside today and see a mature line of trees protecting a farmyard, we are looking at the direct descendants of the lessons taught within those walls.
Fortunately, for those who want to step back into that “rolling classroom,” the history has been meticulously preserved. Two of the primary cars that served our province are still with us today:
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CP 64 (The “Super Car”): After decades of service, this car spent nearly 50 years at the Sandilands Forest Discovery Centre. In November 2022, it was carefully moved via a massive crane and trailer to its new permanent home at the Manitoba Agricultural Museum in Austin. It is currently being restored to its former glory, ensuring that future generations can sit in those sloped seats and imagine the flicker of the projector.
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CN 15021: This car is beautifully preserved at the Dauphin Rail Museum. It still wears the classic olive green and gold livery of the Canadian National Railway, serving as a stationary monument to the 150,000 miles it traveled during the 1950s alone.
The car served not only as a classroom, but as a catalyst for a greener, more resilient prairie. Today, those mature shelterbelts stand as a living monument to a time when a simple train car brought the world—and a greener future—to our doorstep.
**Bill Gould** spent 43 years as a long-haul truck driver before trading the steering wheel for a keyboard to help fellow Canadians navigate the road of retirement. A freelance writer, published author, and editor of over 50 books, Bill co-founded *Canadian Senior Moment* with his wife, Marilyn, to provide a trusted space for seniors to find clarity, safety, and connection in the digital age. When he isn’t troubleshooting “tech gremlins” or sharing childhood memories of the Prairies, he can be found in his woodshop or working on his latest novel.