Horse Feathers and Fairy Feet

 Horse Feathers  and Fairy Feet

Here is a legend of Woe and of Joy that happened one Christmas Eve long long ago and far far away when all the animals could still speak the languages of the world -- even human's.

According to legend on a bright winter's night there was a Mother Horse nestled in the tall grass who gave coloredbirth to a lovely cinnamin  foal and the bright stars shone on the little filly .

The animals in the barn yard peered cautiously at the new foal while commenting on its beautiful color, lovely eyes, and long glassy tail.  The mother horseneighed softly toher baby and said , "Your name shall be Sally."

Sally lay in the soft hay and as her mother nudged her to get up she felt her feet give out from under her as she fell back down with a thump.

There was a loud and collective GASP from all the farm animals watching with horror and disbelief at what they saw . 

 They saw that Sally that the new, perfect , baby horse had Feathers on her Feet!!

All the animals ran away from the pen that held Sally and her Mother. They squawked, and oinked, and mooed and cawed and clucked the news," Horse Feathers!Horse Feathers are in our midst !"

Sally's mother looked down at her colt's feet folded on the hay beside her and to her great surprise she did indeed see colourful feathers on Sally's small hooves.

 Sally's mother neighed to her to stand up but sadly the more Sally tried  the feathers on her feet kept getting in the way and  made her feel tipsey and uncertain.

Slowly slowly as the days and weeks went by Sally learned to walk on her feathery feet.  She mostly just bounced and tottered.  Other young colts in the yard were running around prancing, trotting and gamboling like roly polyies kicking up their feet as they played to the delight of the farm children watching. 

Sally had to spend most of her time trying to keep her balance by not bouncing and toppling over on her colourful Horse Feathers in the corner of the corral. 

She was standing there one day swaying slowly from side to side hoping the strong breeze wouldn't knock her over when a Butterfly flew by and landed on Sally's nose.  

"What beautiful feet you have." said the Butterfly. "I do believe they are Fairy Feet!"

"You mean these miserable Horse Feathers don't you?" asked Sally. 

"Yes," replied the  Butterfly. "There is nothing miserable about them. Fairy Feet are a sign that the wearer will do something awesome in the future. You just wait and see."

Sally felt doubtful about what the Butterfly had said.

As time went by Silly Sally,  the mean name the other horses called her, grew to be a beautiful horse with a wonderful long mane and huge brown eyes.  Sally was always very quiet and shy as she didn't want anyone to notice her  Fairy Feet which the other horses all called Horse Feathers. 

One winter night when only the stars shone above Sally was awakened by a tinkling by her ear ... When she opened her eyes she saw a Pixie dancing in the dark leaving sparkles wherever she went. 

"Wake up Sally.  We need you tonight," said the Pixie in her sing song way. " Santa needs someone to pull his sled because all the reindeer have come down with a cold.  We need you to come and help."

Sally was so surprised that she nearly lost her balance as her feathered feet started to quiver and shake. 

'Could this be what the Butterfly was  talking about?' wondered Sally.

"How can I help Santa," she asked. "I can barely even stand up."

"You can too do it," encouraged the Pixie. "Your feathers will guide you. I will show you."

The Pixie told Sally to stand on a square bale and leap off letting her Feathered Feet reach up  high.

Sally reluctantly stumbled onto the bale and did as she was told and wonder of wonders  Silly Sally began to FLY!

The Feathered Feet started to wave and wiggle and soon Sally was flying high up in the air.

That Christmas strange sounds were on every roof that  Santa visited.

 Instead of the tapping of the feet of 8 tiny reindeer there seemed only to be a type of Swishing Sound not unlike  a huge feather duster sweeping snow off the roof.  

When finally all of Santa's deliveries were made and Sally  returned to her own corral she heard a strange Clump Clumping of hooves.  When Sally looked down at her feet she realized that all her colourful feathers were gone!  She had lost them while on her trip with Santa. 

Sally quickly tested out her walking, then her trotting, and finally she raced around the corral without even a bounce or fall.  She would  no longer be teased and called Silly Sally by the  other horses but simply and finally just Sally!

What happed to the colourful feathers you ask? Well, if someday when you look up into the night and see some green, purple,or pink lights dancing in the sky it you will actually be seeing Sally's Fairy Feathers waving to you.

Sally became a very nice horse and belonged to a little girl named Penny who rode Sally to school and also out to the pasture to check on the cows.  

Sally was a special horse indeed!

Get Smart. Step Up. Do Your Duty.

 DUTY

I recently had my 1st Shot of Vaccine against Covid 19.   It was not a negative experience.  I never felt ill at ease and was treated with professional respect.

I am glad I made that choice and because I know that not everyone has done so I will share why I thought it was important that I get the JAB!


Between 80 and 100 years ago now the World was also under threat of another  scourge .  This evil sought out to kill, maim, and dissolve anyone who defied it.  People around the world were forced to deny themselves of many basic needs and many many freedoms were infringed upon as various governments from a broad range of philosophies strived to stop the evil from spreading. 

People in North America had food rations as well  gas rations, and were expected to hand over anything that could be used to advance the war effort such as extra  metal cooking pots and jewelry.    In Europe citizens had to cover their windows so the enemy would not have such easy targets to bomb.  There were curfews and a limit on nearly everything including eggs, meat, stockings, gas, and oil.    


In my own family  my grandfather went overseas to take part in the effort for Peace in WW1.  His parents knew the risk he was taking but also knew that someone had to step up and take the chance in order to restore World Order. 

 Thirty some years later history seemed almost repeated except this time it was my Father at the age of 18 leaving to fight another war and the same man who risked his life overseas in WW1 said goodbye to his own child.

Besides my Grandfather and Father, my mother also took part in the War Effort as did her sister and three of her brothers. There was no question of whether they should join up to fight, they just knew that everyone had to do their bit and that every bit counted.   It was their duty as citizens of Canada and of the World.

Now we are 100 years further in Time and another Scourge is circling the World.  This enemy does not need nuclear bombs, huge armies, or massive artilleries.  This enemy only needs the fear and ignorance of the World Citizens in order to win and take control of lives.  Instead of weaponized soldiers there are the Scientists and Medical Doctors and Professionals who are battling this constantly changing ghostly enemy. An enemy that keeps shape shifting with more regularity that any possibly imagined horror movie.  An enemy that is enhanced by False and Fake News designed to off set the truth of Science and Medicine. 

So what can I do as a 68 year old woman to help stop this diabolical enemy?

  I am too old to train for any medical position. I am too old to work long hours in a Nursing Home. 

 I am too old to physically confront the enemies agents who spew falsehoods about wearing masks, the seriousness of the virus, spout off misinformation designed to confuse and influence those who are the most fearful. 

The one thing I feel I can do is to keep myself out of the Hospital.  My primary goal this past year is to keep Healthy and ensure that my carelessness will not cause one less bed or use the time of any medical person  that is needed in an ICU unit, or  Cancer ward,  or Emergency Room. 

 I see that as my job!
My job description is to do everything I can to avoid sickness and that includes getting vaccinated...the greatest weapon against the virus and  the ultimate guide to the path to the return to living our lives freely in the future. 

Wearing a mask, not eating in restaurants,  staying home, only visiting a select group of people and getting vaccinated is not in anyway a loss of freedom but more like an opportunity to contribute to the health of my community and the world as a whole.

   People who believe otherwise have fallen into the "ME" trap. Thank goodness those "ME" traps were few and far between 100 years ago because if that had not  been the case the World would not have any inkling of what Freedom is nor how wonderful it can be.

 
My parents have since passed but on their gravestones they have printed:

FAITHFUL  IN  EVERY  DUTY

I am beginning to realize that duty is not always a great big thing but it also can be a very simple action...like baring your arm to welcome the Vaccine. That simple act  will render everyone  safe and return freedom  to the world. 




Winter's Wind

 Wind on a winter's night

That swirls in and over above beneath each branch and blade of grass.

Across the field and through the trees and slams against window panes that shake as the invisible sweeps through unseen spaces.

Nature's orchestra struts and waltzes as gusts hum and moan. Cold dark leafless bark encrusted stems do sway and grasses play their swishing rhythm of sighs as mice and birds bide their time dug deep and warm where the blind wind simply passes by as it engulfs and tests whatever dares to stand against its cold hard strength.

Quiet will return as the World is stilled once more.

The grass will stand firm and tree limbs will rest ready for when Winter's next frozen icey grip returns with its clicks and swishes to demand its right to a frigid night dance encore.

Yes Virginia ...They Would Be Proud

Yes Virginia-- They Would Be Proud

I have recently taken on a volunteer position that has caused quite a steep learning curve which demands attending meetings, writing reports, and generally stretching my organizational abilities to new heights. 

The most recent duty that has been required of me is to gather up and judge the annual Remembrance Day Essay and Poster Contest at the second level of the competition. The preparation for this involves the timely collection of entries from schools and communities within my area. This includes several phone calls and making plans to meet to gather entries all designed to avoid costly postage . This frenzy of activity having been accomplished I then proceeded to approach people in the community and organizations to see who could and would be able to join me in an afternoon of diligent judging.
A time and place was chosen and gratefully I was  joined by two others who are well versed in evaluating both written and artistic works.

The afternoon was cold but sunny. Being December we were all stealing time away from Christmas duties and preparations. As I placed my collection of boxes, mailing tubes, file folders, and large manila envelopes containing  approximately 100 plus pieces of items to be judged  we chatted and laughed about the weather, baking, and the general pre Christmas goings on.

Something happened however that none of us had expected.  As each of us dutifully started sorting and placing items in their designated places on tables around the room quiet comments could be heard such as "Wow", "Look at this", and " Jeepers". We all had become affected by the quality of the work done by the entrants in form, detail, and creativity not to mention the depth of understanding exhibited on the topic of Remembrance.
We took turns reading the poems and essays out loud to one another and on more than one occasion the reader had to pause because tears were forming in the eyes of both the reader as well as the listeners.
What turned out to be a little afternoon get together to perform a simple task turned out to be a very moving and rewarding and humbling experience.  We were not only impressed with the quality of entries but we also realized that these beautifully crafted tokens of Remembrance did not happen in a vacuum.  It was evident that these young people had been well taught, well informed, and well raised by not only by their parents and the education system, but also by the community at large.
 
Poster and Essay Contests are designed to enlighten and inform our young people but it seems that they also do more than that.  They serve as evidence that many many good things are being done to help our youth value the sentiments  of Remembrance Day.

Finally, following the theme of one of the essay writers one can surely say:

"Those Whom We Remember Would Be Proud That We Remember So Well"

Dub Dub Dub in an Ice Hook Tub

The year was 1956.  The place was a dryland farm in central Saskatchewan. The house was a story and a half red shingled, wood sided structure with a porch connected to the back door. There was a front door but there were no front steps following the tradition of the local neighbourhood in line with the philosophy dictating that 'if it is not necessary it does not get done'.  There wasn't a real set of front steps in the whole  of the rural municipality if you did not  count an occasional upside down apple crate or saw horse left by the front door after washing windows or knocking down a wasp nest in the eaves trough.
It was July.  It was a hot July.  The temperature hovered over the 85 degree Fahrenheit mark for over two weeks. The leaves on the quivering aspens had long forgotten how to quiver as much as due to there was no breeze but also because the water table was slowly being lowered and every leaf was hanging tenuously on an ever increasingly drying stem.
 Everything and everyone moved slowly.  Even the caw of the crow sounded hot and dry coming from its shiny black throat.  The dog found shelter in the cool and strangely moist, dark, and blackened dirt under the porch steps.  He would not re-emerge until the moon was up.  I would be able to tell when he ventured out as his dog food was directly located beneath my screenless bedroom window. I would imagine his long pink tongue rough from the dry heat soaking up the bit of lard and table leavings followed by the sound of that same tongue moving rapturously through the bowl of water as it became lusciously  engorged with the precious cooling liquid.
As I mentioned before the window to the bedroom and in fact the window to every room of the house was screenless as there were no mosquitos that year due to the fact that there  were no standing ponds of water either in the ditches or sloughs.  The horse trough did not even hold water for longer than a day as the heat would evaporate whatever the cows and horses left from their daily   ration within an hour.
It was during this heat wave of 1956 that our parents were called away to Winnipeg on a family emergency leaving myself and my two older brothers ages 12 and 14 to 'take over the fort','man the bridge' or in Star Trek terms, 'We had the Com'.
Of course there was a list of daily  chores to do such as weed the garden, feed and water the animals, and keep the house tidy.
 The prime directive being 'Keep safe, don't hurt yourselves or each other, stay in the yard'.  We were to run to Yanovich's, the neighbours a half mile away, if any emergency arose. They were to be back as soon as possible but no later than two weeks.  Then they were gone in a cloud of dryland dust that quickly rose from the back tires of the '52 Ford then softly fell   after the car had disappeared around the corner onto the gravel highway.

The first couple of days were pretty uneventful.  My broyhers at first were quite diligent in doing the chores and making sure that I did mine.  Mine being the weeding  of the garden and keeping the house tidy.  I also was in charge of meals but  being all of nine years old that  got pretty old really fast, at least according to the 'boys' and soon they were taking over the kitchen with me still doing the washing up.
After about three days of this arrangement and with little or no real improvement in the quality of the meals especially after it was mutually decided that one does NOT have to put puffed wheat cake in the oven in order to bake it it was decided that it was not fair that I should have to do all the washing up.  This we all agreed to but at the same time the boys were not convinced that dishes had to be done in hot  water, or rinsed, or dried.  Heck they did not even think that they needed to use soap.I
It was about this time that I started to take notice that the house cats were never anywhere to be found during the day.  I looked and called in the barn.  I looked in the old  half ton.  I called.  I even called and offered treats but no cat ever responded but every evening when a small breeze finally blew in through the open windows  the cats show up and I finally realized that they had been keeping themselves down in the basement during the days.  The cool cool basement.
Thinking of the coolness of the basement I decided the next day to take my book and do like the cats did and enjoy the cool dampness of the cement. A welcome respite from the searing hot inescapable driness that brought sweat streaming down your into your eyes if you ever tried even for five minutes to do any weeding outside or sweeping up inside.

It wasn't long before the brothers decided that I had found a good spot to be cool in and they soon joined me and the cats, bringing with them their Parcheezie and Steeplechase games

The basement was lined with shelves in one corner where Mom had her canned fruit, jams, and chicken jars all neatly in a row. One wall was taken up with the furnace and wood bin. There were some old boxes strewed in one corner and then on the other side was the wall.  Well not really a real wall but a cement wall that did not actually touch the ceiling.  There was about a 3 foot gap between the  top of it and the ceiling.  I had never noticed it before and pointed it out in wonder to one of the boys. He explained that that wall held the cistern.  He had to explain that the cistern was the place where the water that ran off the roof when it rained went to.  It was a collection area for rainwater . The water we used when we pumped the kitchen pump to wash dishes and put into the bathtub on Saturday nights.
I was in awe.  All this time I never knew or thought about where or why the water came when one pumped the handle in the kitchen sink.  "You mean to say that there is a whole bunch of water just on the other side of that wall?" I asked in wonder.  "Yep" came the reply.
Still in disbelief I challenged the information wanting somehow that it be proved to me because having a big bunch of water like that right below our feet while standing in the kitchen seemed absurdly perpostorus.

Not to be disbelieved the brothers went out to the barn and brought back the long ladder used to fix shingles, carefully brought it down  the dark basement steps and propped it up beside what was said to be the 'Cistern Wall'.  As I was the one who disbelieved I was the one who had to climb up to see for myself.  Sure enough, there it was, what looked like a whole room full of water just sitting there dark but clean looking trapped in its cement cell.  No sign of anything floating.  I went to the top rung of the ladder and leaned over and put my hand in.  It was cool.  Cool and clean.  I called down to my brothers who were steading the ladder and told them what I saw.  They each in turn climbed up and had a look and a touch. When they  got down and looked at each other  and then looked at me.  Now as I am neither and inventor or a great scientist I am not certain if what was experienced was what one can call a collective Ah Ha! moment but if such a thing exists   one occurred on that scorchingly hot July day in 1956 in the basement of a wood frame house on the Saskatchewan prairies with only the cawing crow and cooling cats as  witnesses.
We were going to do something with all that cool water.  We may not have been quite certain but something was going to be done.
The oldest brother ran up the basement steps two at  a time with the other brother not far behind.  As I waited I could hear the clink of dishes, some scurrying of feet, door bangings, and cupboard doors opening and closing.
They soon reappeared with binder twine, potato sacking,  and a dishpan full of dirty dishes.  All of a sudden I could see the possibility of all those items and we all turned and gazed up at the ladder and the top of the cistern wall.
It made sense that I should be the one to be the first to venture into the unknown as if there were any trouble the brothers were strong enough to get me out .  So after I kicked off my shoes,  I was tied up around my waist with the binder twine which was hooked up to the furnace door and I climbed up the ladder  and carefully lifted my left leg up and over the 3 foot wide wall and then scootched over on my belly and sort of rolled into the water with a splash.  I hung on to the rough edge and gasped as the coolness of the water took my breath away but a few seconds later I called out that all was good.  I could hear the   ladder creaking and then a shadow came over the wall and it was my second brother who was splashing around beside me also tied with binder twine.   Suddenly there was a splash and there floating just beside me was the potato sack clinking away almost sinking beneath the surface and down to the bottom 7 feet away.
 I touched it gingerly and realized it was full of dishes...the dirty dishes from the kitchen sink!
  Another shadow and another splash!  My oldest brother with us.
 What fun we had! Splashing and swishing the potato sack of dishes back and forth singing
 DubDubDub
 Dishes in a Sack
You yourself will get a Wash
If you decide to Snack.
This new dishwashing routine continued for another four days just as the heat wave continued and even peaked at 92 degrees.  Everyday just after our noon meal we all gathered up the dishes and excitedly went down the rickety basement steps to our own little cleaning spa.  We splashed and laughed and tossed those dishes in the sack back and forth with barely a chip or a crack.  What a great method and keeping so cool too.  The cats on the basement floor just looked at us idley as we emerged soaken and dripping climbing down the ladder.
We probably would have enjoyed our dish washing chores right up to the last day before our parents were to come home but an unheard knock on the door around 1:45 in the afternoon on the fourth day brought it all to a splashing halt.
The dish bag had just been tossed up in the air and it was my turn to catch it when suddently there was a holler and  shadowy face looming over the edge of the wall.
 Mr. Yanovich!
 He startled me so much that I missed catching the dish bag and it immediately sank down the
7 feet to rest sullenly on the bottom.
Being the good neighbour that he was he decided that he should take a little trip to our yard just to see how the three of us were getting along without our parents.   He had knocked on the door but of course we hadn't heard as we were too busy 'washing'.  He did not say too much but just listened carefully as we explained what we were doing.  He carefully examined the binder twine and the knots around the furnace door.  He told us that he had received a call from our parents and that they were due to come home the next day.
As the four of us made our dripping and soggy way up the steps I remembered the sack of dishes sunken in 7 feet of water.
Mr. Yanovich paused for a minute and told us to wait in the basement and he went out the door.  Twenty minutes later  he returned with a giant hook, an ice hook apparently.  He took a piece of binder twine and tied it to the ice hook ,  then he told my older brother to climb the ladder and get back into the cistern.  Mr. Yanovich followed him up the ladder and handed him the ice hook with 8 feetof binder twine tied to its handle.
It took only  three tries before we heard a cheer from our lavish dishpan and soon Mr. Yanovich was carrying our treasured bag of dishes down the ladder.   Our brother soon followed behind.
Mr. Yanovich then proceeded to warn us of the dangers of swimming in such an area and advised us to stop doing it.  As he left he turned to my brother and asked for the ice hook.  My brother looked surprised as he said he thought it had been hooked on the potato sack when he handed it all over to Mr. Yanovich.

Down we all went again and Mr. Yanovich climbed the ladder one more time and peered down to the bottom of the pool and sure enough saw his ice hook in its final resting place.
Mr. Yanovich assured us that he had other such hooks at home and hoped we all stayed well and safe until our parents returned. He gave us a wink and  waved GoodDay and walked down the road to his home.

My parents returned late the next day.  All was  well.  The ladder, pototo sack and binder twine had been returned to the barn.  The cats kept silent and finally, finally, the heat wave was broken by three days of soft rainfall replenishing the earth and spirits of everyone around.

My dad only commented once about finding an Ice Hook at the bottom of the cistern the next spring when he was cleaning it out.  He thought it particularly strange that it had Mr. Yanovich's initials were engraved on it.

Books eh?

Recently an acquaintance mentioned that they would never keep a book in the house that they had already read.   In her words, "Why would one?"

Now this in itself is not on the surface a very enticing remark due any further commentary or elicitation of judgement or condemnation on the part of the listener except for the fact  that the listener has approximately 5 to 10 thousand books on random shelves throughout their house.  Further to this, the speaker of this seemingly  innocent statement  recently had been a guest in the house and as the speaker was sighted she would have been aware of the walls covered in book shelves housing an  untold number of ideas, innumerable plots of Fiction and History, 
not to mention 6 sets of encyclopedias. As I was the listener in this conversation I graciously let the comment pass while at the same time tucked it away into the Insult Pocket to be examined, rhumenated over, and finally burned with the heat of a blazing charcoal fire until the memory and respect for the comment maker was mere dust scattered in the wind.

 It did cause me to pause and ask myself why indeed did I insist on having so many books. I came to this  or rather these conclusions which follow in no particular order:

1. Many of the books are books from my childhood.  The Encyclopedia of Animals kept me company while I languished with Red Measels for 3 weeks in my mother's darkened room.  I also treasure my copy of Little Women  because  I again being ill  remember exactly how I felt when I read it and how my aching ear felt as well.  I remember tears falling from my eyes and seeping into my ear canal as I read . It was a red book. 

I still have the book that I was reading while I was in labour with my last child and I know exactly where on the shelf it is.

The Complete Works of Mark Twain is a book I will always treasure as my mother bought it for me at a garage sale for 25 cents.  My most favourite gift from her. 

2. Many of the books are my long lost and far away  childrens' books.  Books they received at Christmases with their names written in and the date they received them.  Some books are ones that they especially asked for like the Condensed Classic Series--those little thick square books.  I made it a rule that if my child took the time to write their name in a book then that book stays until they themselves decide to give them up.

3. By far most of the books are those of. my husband.  Science Fiction, History, Mystery, Horror, Computer, Plants, Art,  Gaming and Novels , along with manuals, magazines, and a set of Great Books from the Encyclopedia Brittanica  all fill many many shelves in the house. 

4.  I remember often where I was and what I was doing when I read a book.  I was once reading a Catherine Cookson novel in the car while the kids were at ball practice.  I read South Pacific while travelling to Alaska with a tent.  My husband read Aztec and Marco Polo the first winter we were married ...I know this because he carried them around with him all the time. 

So I guess my response to the thinly veiled query  as to  why  would I  keep a book after I read it is because for me a book is not only the story, the binding or even the feel whether it be hard cover or paperback.   It is the experience.

When I look around at the shelves of books I look at my own history and the history of my family and each one has a special meaning, even the unread ones as often they too bring back memories of where they were purchased as well as giving comfort to know that after one has finished the book in hand there are some still close by to pick up to make another memory. 

So thoughtless person who passively aggressively made the seemingly innocuous comment I just want you to know that I noticed the disrespect and perhaps also a bit of self doubt that was revealed in the making of it. 

Dear Grandma in January

January, 2019


Dear Grandma,

It has been close to 30 years since I have spoken to you. 
I am now nearly the same age as you were when I was first born.  I think my earliest memory of you is me  being picked up out of the metal crib and being held on your lap.  I have the impression that I was quite ill at the time, probably with a fever and a cold or even chicken pox.

All the changes that happened over that time.  It is terribly cold here these last few days.  I live in a rural area much like you did when you were my age.  As I sit here looking at the outside temperature gauge and listening to the wind howl I start to wonder how you managed  to live the life of a farmer's wife for five decades.
 You were brought to the farmstead as a bride.  I am pretty sure you wouldn't have had power back then.  How quiet the days must have been.  No radio. No fridge motor humming away.  Probably not even a  telephone for the first while.  Grandpa would be busy I imagine, feeding cattle and pigs in the barn, milking,  feeding chickens, working on machinery, hauling wood,  repairing bins all while you were in the house heating water, cleaning floors,  washing clothes and  making meals with only your thoughts to keep you company.  Newspapers were rare.  The Western Producer and the Family Herald were probably the main monthly papers  delivered to the post office 10 miles away. 
I envision you pouring over the Women's Columns in these papers looking at recipes and the latest news about fashion trends and family living advice which could involve gardening tips as well as serial stories  and advertisements for feminine needs.

I have kept a few of your recipe books, wire bound stenographer pads , that have cut outs from the Western Producer taped into them with some time honoured gems such as Tomato Soup cake,  Yorkshire Pudding, and even a recipe for a No Egg Cake.  It certainly would have been a challenge to bake anything in a wood stove oven without a proper temperature gauge with the only way to turn the heat up or down depended on the quality and quantity of wood placed in the hot box. 

Washing must have been quite the chore in the winter.  I do remember watching you hanging wet sheets outside on the line in minus 30 degrees temperature and hauling them in again a few hours later,  stiff and frozen and then putting them on the kitchen table to drip dry. 

I think of you going about your daily housework tasks primarily in silence day after day. The only sound to be heard would be the sound of labour.  Placing wood in the cook stove by first lifting the metal burner and hearing the clunk and consequent instant sizzle of the wood turning to flame especially if it was really cold outside. The clunk clunk clunk of the iron  being heated on the stove to smooth out wrinkles of every piece of linen and sheet, tea towel, work shirt, coveralls, and handkerchief.  Many a young bride was judged by her mother in law in those days by the white of her tea towels, the neatness of the linen cupboard,  and the crease in her husband's dungarees. 
I can imagine the sound of the handle of the hand pump creaking and squeaking as  it is pumped up and down until the swoosh of  cold water gushes out the spout and into the waiting wash basin or 
pail, depending on the chore at hand. 


I wonder if you sang or hummed a song or if you day dreamed of other times when you were with your sisters in town going skating or visiting with friends.  Would you be planning the next meal, or would you worry what you would wear to the next school social?  I know you liked to look nice as I recall you getting your hair done in home permanents often--no natural curly haired beauties in our family was there?

It will be minus 40 here tonight.  That is in Celsius degrees which actually is also the same on the  Fahrenheit scale so you will have a full understanding of how cold it really is...at least that is one thing that hasn't changed. 

Hope all is going well.  Say hello to Grandpa for me.  I know he is probably close by.  Think of you both often.  

Love and miss you,

Penny 

Last Minute Christmas

Chrystal and lace clothes.
Good China an' Glass
Mixing bowls, puddings,
Candles and flash.

Wooden spoons stirring for
Whipped cream and sauces.
Searches in freezers..oh what a raucous.

Paring Knives paring and ovens are heating.
Company is coming and they'll want to be eating.

Not too much stirring but pray just enough
As the cure for burnt pudding
Is to do nothing but cuss.

Last minute checking of gifts under the tree.
"What? One is missing.
How can that be?"
Cause for a search and some fear without doubt.
A cry and a plea of last minute wrapping!
"Oh old roll of tape-- please don't run out!"

The Most Terrible Trip

This bit of prose is in response to a query recently put to me via a radio program that asked listeners to share their most terrible travel experiences.

Thus:

It was on Christmas Day, 1981. 

The place was on a snow-blocked gravel surfaced country road in Southeastern Saskatchewan.
The sky was blue and the sun shone brightly.
The temperature was around minus 25 degrees Celsius.  
The wind  was blowing enough to cause ground drifting. 
The vehicle was a front wheel drive 1978 Buick Century Sedan. 
The occupants were myself and my new husband. 

The background of the story is that we had  eloped the week before 
Christmas and were in the process of making the big announcement to our families by firstly arriving at my parent's house with plans to  meet up with my new in-laws in the afternoon about 30 miles away. 

After making the Grand Reveal and partaking in a bit of 'punch bowl diving' at my parent's rural home we gaily proceeded cross country looking forward to  springing the news on the next group of unsuspecting relatives. 

Waving gaily goodbye with hugs, kisses, and well wishes off we went heading south on snow packed gravel roads.  I appointed   myself  the confident guide due to the fact that as I had lived in the area all my life  I would certainly know how to get from my parents' house to where my new in laws were spending Christmas. 

About five miles down the road I, in my homing pigeon mode, decided that we had to turn   left at the next corner. My husband being in love and wanting to please obediently did so.

For some reason these two prairie raised newlyweds paid no attention to the fact that there were no marks in the snow on the road except for some rapidly disappearing snow mobile tracks and that the snow filled ditches were level with the road .

We did notice after a while  that the snow seemed to be getting deeper and deeper as we traveled forward.  As there was no way of being able to turn around we just kept moving forward until the inevitable happened and we became stuck about three quarters of a mile down from where we turned off  from the main road.
It being 1981 there were no cell phones and being young and stupidly confident there were no extra coats, blankets, or survival kits in the car so we decided we would have to walk for help.

I remember that long cold walk with the wind blowing on my nylon covered legs (as brides did not wear ski pants in those days). I did have mitts and a toque but the coat was woolen and the wind cut through it wherever there were seams.   There was no traffic on the road it being Christmas Day and most people were already settled in for the day of festivities. 

 We headed into a farm yard after about a 40 minute walk and rushed up to the door eager for warmth and comfort but alas, no one was home!  We then had to turn around and go back to the main road and walk another half mile to a farm yard with lots of vehicles parked in the driveway.  

The startled family was still sitting around the kitchen table finishing its Christmas Dinner.  My parent's were phoned and after about 15 minutes family members came and helped get the car out of the snowbank and we continued on our Christmas Wedding Way.   

Never again have I ever driven in winter without proper clothing, candles, shovel, extra blankets and food in the vehicle.

The Tease of the September Sun

 The Tease of the September Sun

The tease of a Sunny day in September
Brings with it Summer days to remember.

The world is bright but the wind is cool
The trees have leaves  of a different hue

The geese are flying high above just like they were in Spring
But the direction of their urgent flight is quite the different thing. 

Fields are forgotten for the months ahead
The harvest done, the farmer now can rest instead.

At five o'clock the darkness leaps
The weakened sunshine sinks to sleep

Meals are eaten under kitchen light
Window panes reflect the night. 

Soon the cold will join the dark
The  Sun of September a mere memory spark. 

All Done!

Tomato sandwiches, homemade bread with crusts, mayonnaise, wax paper, and plums.

Sealers of water gone warm.

Blackened hands from a special type of greasy dust.

Grasshoppers on the dash and mice nests under the seat.

The constant grind of the auger, the urgent call on the CB along with the smell of gas and sweat.

Pity not those who are regulated to peeling potatoes and making harvest meals ...at least they rarely know of what they

have missed.

All is quite now. Just a bit of breeze tickling the empty chaff caught in the harsh unnatural verticle brush cut like 

straightness of dry and empty stalks. A mouse vainly seeks cover from watchful eyes from far above. Just the worn tracks 

of heavy laden vehicles that have left paths that are at once dusty black but also as firm as bike lane concrete give 

testimony to the frenzied energy spent not even one afternoon ago.

Falling Foggy Fall

I wonder what the eagle and hawk think has happened when fog corrupts their vision. I bet there is not a high diving swoop down on mornings like this.

If I were a mouse or bunny rabbit, I would today be free to fete with a Fall Fog Frolic in the forest of fallen leaves no fear of fleeing from flying foe that frighten and feed on furred flesh frequently found feeding in the sunlight.

Mouse Tails

Mouse Tails

A houseless mouse must never think it will be welcome in a mouseless house

.

Little mouse upon my floor
How I want you out my door!

Running here and running there
Is there no place you don't dare?

Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen sink.
There is no safe place I do not think.

Mouse trap, caulking, poison pots
It is a good thing the store has lots!

Tiny feet that race and run
Makes me wish I had a gun.

Miss Housie Mousie please don't breed.
If that is the case I must then leave.

Angel Dust

The night was dark
 On my pillow my head I  parked.

My sleep was deep
My dreams were such
Of  angels spreading fairy dust.

But anguished screaming daylight brings
Nay not an angel--but a moth
Tangled in the  bedded cloth.

Whattssat Uncle Bob?

Telling a city kid about farm machinery...
--That is a combine..you can tell it is a combine and not a swather because it has an auger...that big sticking out part on the side...which is sometimes not actually sticking out but is sticking towards the back of the machine. ....unless of course it is actually just an auger..which might be stuck in a bin, a hopper , or just dragged behind a tractor , truck, or even car. No--not a grasshopper which might be called a hopper but rather something that holds grain..btw a combine also has a hopper and a swather does not. Now a swather just cuts the grain-with a reel and a cutter and yes a combine can have a reel and a cutter as well but sometimes it has a pick up.

No not the kind of a pick up that cousin Jeb has on Saturday (how do you know about that?) I mean something with teeth that picks up the grain that was cut by the swather. The teeth are metal and no you do not floss them

That over there with a cab is a tractor. It is used to pull combines and swathers --although not all combines need to be pulled nor do some swathers because some swathers and combines are self propelled unless of course they have broken down and in that case they probably are Massey's..(Don't ask).

Before you even think of starting up a combine or swather the first thing you gotta do is grease some nipples and tighten some belts...you listening to me boy? (Get that silly looking grin off yer face).

No-- not all tractors have cabs but if they do most have air conditioning and even a radio. If they do not have a cab they might have an umbrella.

A quonset is that steel building in the yard. No it is not a place to celebrate Kwanzaa..it is a place where a farmer might store his combined grain after he has filled all his bins. When the grain is sold the farmer will then store his combine in the quonset and celebrate like it IS Kwanza with all the money he has made. The money MIGHT last a week like Kwanzaa and it might not..

Next week I will tell you how to differentiate between fertilizer and a politician's promises.. which to place in the ground and which to let go in one ear and out the other. As my grandpa would say ," Keep your eyes open and your ears clean if you don't want a crop of potatoes growing in them".

Eating In

Snoopy sniffy  little mouse
Scurrying into my little house

Running along the edge of walls
Flash of gray along the halls.

Warm and safe within this house
You think you'll invite your  brother mouse.

Crumbs of food upon the floor
Lots of food behind the door!

The scratchy sound of  tiny paws
The flying tail and bitty claws

The wiggly nose that never stops
Can  smell the goodies  in all the spots.

Silky whiskers wave and flutter
Like flags of safety through the butter
.
Four feet  race along my  kitchen floor
Sounds like NASCAR came through the door.

Downy soft pinkish ears
Hear the screaming and the fear.

So much for 'eating in' for little mouse.
The traps are set  throughout the house.

Bonne Fete

As I was cleaning and folding my laundry today I came across some very precious items that have come my way over the years.

  These  articles have come to me by mail on an annual basis for at least 24 years.

Some have become worn and thin and the years have not left many stain free  or without a little hole or two to commemorate times of use other than that which was they were intended.

Many of these items have been used by all members of the family, sometimes joyfully and at  other times under duress.

These items have witnessed many happy times and family festivals and have served to contribute to the well being of many Xmases, Birthdays, Easters, and  Thanksgivings. 

Some were used keep young children clean and others were used to keep lunch kits dry and tea kettles shining. Sometimes they would serve as makeshift doilies on a child's play table, sometimes as scarves during dress up time. 

Some of these articles have had children as young as five use them and some have never felt a child's touch.

I speak of a group of tea towels that I have received as a annual birthday present from a long time friend.   A birthday package that after the first ten years became  anticipated and  was always appreciated.  A simple gift in a plain brown envelope but with the gift of time and thoughtfulness attached. 

There were some birthdays that nearly would have gone unnoticed if it weren't for that little parcel in the mail.  New things for the kitchen were at times a luxury in  the days of school books, piano lessons, haircuts, and dentist appointments.   

  

Trudeau Bin

This is what was once called a Trudeau Bin and I helped my dad build several of them 

circa 1968. 

Big yields combined with no quota resulted in a glut of grain on the prairies 

and therefore many farmers were searching for a storage solution for all the grain that c

could not be sold.

 Pierre Trudeau was the Prime Minister at the time...so Trudeau Bin was aptly named as was the

 Bennet Buggy in the 1930's. 

Bennet Buggies were cars that were drawn by horses because of the lack of money to buy

gas. R.B. Bennet was the then Prime Minister.

September in Saskatchewan

Dots of moisture make polka dot splashes on quiet combines.
Thermoses half filled with coffee lay cold on the seats of stilled grain trucks. Dusty jackets smelling of barley and diesel tossed on the back entrance beside the boots that have carried in the evidence of one more round before it got tough. Farmers gathering in a warm and dry cafe warily watching and listening for the quietness of bright sunshine so they may again hear the whirring and rustle of harvest .

September in Saskatchewan

School Safety

I miss school. 

I miss the new notebooks, the new binders, the new lunch kit. I miss riding my bike 2.5 miles in the cool autumn mornings and the return ride in the warm if not actually hot afternoons.

The first week was the best...sandwiches of tomatoes and dark prune plums for lunch. 

New, to me, readers and textbooks would have all been passed out by the teacher. Spare time would be spent exploring the topics with a sense of pride that one must be pretty mature and grown up to study what seemed like mysterious and intricate topics such as 3 digit division, the six simple machines with diagrams along with a new dictionary and atlas.

Every new notebook would have had its most neatly written page nearly filled with the determination that THIS year every page following would remain as neat.

There have been more important moments in my life with more important outcomes but right now and at this point in time my memories as a prairie girl going to a rural school in the 50s are as precious as any other.

I felt safe and secure at that school as ever I have ever felt..in spite of the Cold War, the need for polio vaccines, and dangers of unpasteurized milk. I guess sometimes ignorance is bliss. 

66 is the new 43

Someone recently told me that I looked like a woman of 43.

I told them that no one has said that to me since I was 32.

#liarliarpantsonfire

Home Again

When we drove back into the yard after an amazing month long trip we anxiously looked about searching for any damage to the house and yard from either the elements or man or beast. But instead there was only lush green grass grown tall from what must have been ample rainfall. The previously dry creek was flowing and has become the home again of many marshland species. We saw a flash of yellow from a nesting group of American Goldfinches. We felt almost as interlopers, as unwelcome strangers as birds called out announcements of our arrival as we unpacked the vehicle.

Later in the evening we heard what sounded like 50 coyotes howling just a stone's throw from the house. I wondered as I laid in bed if it was a warning, a greeting, or simply a mournful wailing that must be expressed by every living being at some point.

When the howling ceased a calm and quiet set in the type of which we had not heard in nearly a month.

Summer Storms

As I sit here in my living room looking out the window I can see clouds approaching from the North West. Thunder rolls and the leaves on the trees are warily still. A summer storm approaches but until it actually arrives one has no idea of its strength or extent. Hail? Wind? or merely a Spit of Rain? Should we worry and rush about closing windows and gathering clothes from outside or should we be like the birds who can be still heard singing while the sun is darkened and the sky rumbles like falling rocks sliding down a mountside.
This storm may pass us by...it may bring flashing light and bending wind but one can be assured that through it all a tiny feathered bird will be sitting still in a sheltered branch ready to sing and fly once more.

I wonder how many of us are as determined to sing again after our human storms have passed?

As A Kid...

As a kid did you ever......

1. ..put doll clothes on a cat?

2. ..wonder why the moon was following you?

3. ..have your dog really eat your homework?

4. ..ate molasses thinking it was chocolate?

5. ..ate licorice thinking it might be chocolate?

6. ..pretended that you were invisible?

7. ..climbed into the dog house?

8. ..hid under a bed?..ie your sister's?

9. ..kissed your mirror?

10. ..stuck a knife in a toaster that was plugged in?

11. ..had a jar of grasshoppers? Worms? or moths?

12. ..stepped on a nail?

13. ..threw up at school?

14. ..chewed previously chewed gum from under your desk?

15. ..climbed all over the kitchen without touching the floor..ie cupboards, chairs, table , fridge?

#ohtobeakidagain.

When I Was Five....

When I was about 5 there seemed to be something special going on. I realize looking back now that Mom was probably in a bit of a dither because the UCW..United Church Women ..were coming out to the farm on a summer's afternoon for a meeting.

I specifically remember the house being particularly clean and being cautioned to be 'very'quiet' while the company was around. As a consequence after the ladies (some in hats) went down the hallway into the living room for the meeting I was left to my own quiet devices in the kitchen.

Now I do not remember why I wanted to reach the top of the refridgerator, but there must have been some sort of tempting item up there that would make a 5 year old brain think it would be a good idea to step on top of an open 10 pound bag of rolled oats that was propped against fridge's side.

The fall was short but the mess was great. The sight of rolled oats spread out all over the corner of Mom's pristine UCW ready floor still remains viviid in my 5 year old child's memory.

Terror blocked out the not so silent scream as this guilt ridden five year old went racing down the hall, through the staid and proper inner sanctum of 'the meeting' and ran up up up the stairs to my bed ( knowing in my mind that that was where I would end up anyways as punishment for 'the grievous' crime).

Confusion and disbelief set in when I heard my mother's sweetest voice call up to me from the bottom of the stairs..."Penny...Penny Dear..you can come down now. It is Ok. You aren't in trouble."

#lovingtheUCWatthatmoment
#thingsyoucangetawaywithifcompanyisinthehouse