WE ARE HISTORY

It all started with a request from a grandson in Grade 4 asking if his ancestors were homesteaders.  My automatic answer was “Yes they were.” I even went farther and told him that he was a fifth generation Canadian, but after the phone call ended I did some more calculating and realized that his generation was in fact the sixth.  This prompted me to go get the local history books and do a little more research where I discovered that, strictly speaking, I was incorrect about the homesteader thing too.

On a quick run through of the names on homesteader titles in two of the local history books I found no mention of either of my grandparents.  The claims for the land that they farmed were made a few years before either the Purvis or Nixon families arrived in the neighbourhood.  They were pioneers for sure, but actual homesteaders they were not.  My Great Grandfather Purvis bought his home quarter from a Mr. Heasman and it was someone named Mr. Randall who shows up on the claim for Great-grandpa Nixon’s farm.  In both cases my ancestors arrived looking for land about five to seven years after the homesteading rush.

In researching these names though, it struck me that except for a very few the names that I’ve always considered the foundation stones of our district, they aren’t there at the very beginning.  The names of the brave men and women who got here before the railroad, lived in sod houses, and broke ground – both figuratively and literally – are not the dominant names of the busy and booming years of my parents’ generation.

Since I had those history books out anyway, and wanted to be prepared for any other Grade 4 questions, I did some more reading.  A person should really travel back in time more often, partly because the stories are awe-inspiring, and partly in homage of the work that went into assembling all that information and organizing it into book form.  I played a very small part in the process and remember the feeling of urgency to record those stories before the people who knew them were no longer able to tell them.

From my perspective as a child of the 1950s, I had been enthralled with this ‘ancient history’ but the reality was that even my grandparents were second generation.  I had to reset my perception of where my family fit in my community timeline.

Those history book pages are full of the stories I grew up hearing: the prairie fires, the blizzards, the closest supply of firewood being the Moose Mountains, the walking to school (uphill, both ways) and the importance of the railway for everything from building materials to mail.  Some of the settler’s names remain but many more you are only going to find recorded in the history book or written in stone in local cemeteries.  The families who persevered automatically get recognition for their hard work and tenacity but after thinking about it, I decided whether they managed five years or five generations, they were all a part of our collective history.  And, whether their contribution was of the dreamer/big picture/builder variety, or the backbone/physical labour/builder variety, both are necessary and equally valuable.

The most constant thing about history is that it is constant motion.  It is past, present, and future.  We are our own history every bit as much as our ancestors were before us and our descendants will be after us.  And it’s important to remember that what we consider ‘our’ history is merely a miniscule blink in time in an expanse so wide we can neither see the beginning or the end.  Others came before us and we will not be the last.

On the other hand, this is our blink in time, and it is something to celebrate.  It just so happens that our Grade 4 grandson and his siblings will be spending July1st weekend with us.  His name will not be found in the pages of our local history book, but his lineage is there.  No matter how many generations there are in between, he has homesteader blood running through his veins.

 

 

STUCK IN THE MIDDLE

Well, here we are again stuck in the middle of winter.  This is my least favourite time of the year.  Ever since I learned the meaning of the Doldrums I have used the term to describe the month of February.  Originally ‘the doldrums’ was what sailors called ocean spaces near the equator where there’s little to no wind for sailing vessels thereby leaving ships and their crews stuck motionless for long periods of time, but it also describes perfectly the vast, listless, light-deprived months of winter in the Northern Hemisphere.  The only sign of forward motion I can find these days is that sunrise is definitely later now than it was right after Christmas.  It’s a little thing, but very important for my seasonally susceptible sanity.

Now, before you all jump on me for complaining about my 2024 so far, I admit this particular year has been better than most.  There’s no way that spending time on a beach in Mexico wasn’t the best use of a week in January.  Add to that we took the grandkids (and their parents) with us and met even more extended family down there to celebrate a wedding. I am willing to admit this was one of my best Januarys ever. 

There was also that crazy frigid week before we left, but I was busy washing and packing beach clothes so I mostly ignored it, and the weather since we returned home has been something for the record books at the other end of the temperature scale.  Open water on the pond in front of our house and road bans because of mud in February are not signs of ‘boring’ or ‘usual’.

But these things are:

·         Thinking of an inspiring menu choice for the 18,797.5 suppers expected of me since signing on for this job.  It’s not fun anytime but winter is the worst.

·         Staring out the windows at a blah landscape of snow and bare trees and imagining how good it would be to smell fresh-mowed lawn and feel the sunshine on my shoulders.

·         Being so bored that I actually wish I could go out and clean said windows because the gal who did this job last fall was terrible at it.  She was probably trying to think of something to make for supper at the time.

·         Trying to squelch the urge to plant some seeds just to see green … BECAUSE IT’S WAY TOO EARLY! Anything planted now will get spindly and weak and die.  I don’t need to set myself up for that kind of depression and loss in February.

So to keep busy and encourage a sense of accomplishment, I pulled out that big stack of receipts and started income tax preparation.  After all, everyone needs a hobby, right?

I am told (by a daughter who does this kind of stuff as paid work) that my paper-and-pencil approach is from the dark ages.  I need Excell.  It will do all the math for me.  It’s neat and clean and files can be emailed with ease.  I’m not going to argue with her (it’s never worked anyway) but will carry on with a method I am comfortable with.  The job, now that we are in a kind of twilight zone of active farming, is barely a shadow of what it used to be.  The manual work reminds me of my early days at Canada Post where we used a daily ledger and balanced to the penny every night; a kind of trip down Memory Lane for me.  Also, I like that I can just flip open a book to look something up because I know where I wrote it down.  Learning Excell at this stage of the game might put my dwindling supply of brain cells at risk; a risk I’m not willing to take.

Besides, without this job, how am I going to keep myself from planting seeds way too early?

March is still 18 days away.  I know because I’ve been counting.  Not even three weeks and the spring winds will fill out my summer sails and push me out of the 2024 Doldrums.  I estimate it will be approximately 136 days before I’m complaining about heat and mousquitoes.

 

HOME AGAIN!

Six years ago as we took one more stroll down the beach on our last trip to Mexico Glen said “You know, what I would really like to do is bring the grandkids down here for a holiday.  That would be so much fun.”  I agreed wholeheartedly and a plan was born. 

A lot of things had to fall into place for this to happen, the main one being an invitation to a destination wedding (Thanks so much Brandi and Santino!) but it did all come together for the last week of January 2024. The icing on the cake would have been if ALL the grandchildren could have been there but Australia is a bit of a commute, and really, they already live on a tropical beach.

What made it really lovely was that quite a few other family members were there to celebrate the marriage and spend time together.  The week was full of ocean surf mornings and pool afternoons, rousing card games in the evenings with Grandpa, iguana hunting, moments of exotic butterfly appreciation, and episodes of recognition where vegetation we struggle to keep as pampered house plants here amazingly grow to be tree-sized weeds in the wild there.  There was something for everyone.

Expectations varied wildly.  No way were our prairie kids going to swim in the ocean because the sharks would get them!  We explained that the invisible rip tides were much more prevalent than sharks but that didn’t seem to sink in at all.  One kid was going to search for and pet lizards of all kinds all week long.  Maybe even name them and bring them home.  There was also trash talk about the food being ‘free’ so they could eat all day long.  Come to think of it, maybe that one did come true.  Who knew they could consume that many desserts and ice cream?

And real food – well, pizza anyway - when their parents stepped in and policed menu choices.

One of Grandpa’s goals was to go on morning runs with his daughter who is training for a marathon.  She’s been at this for over a year, he has decided to jump in this winter and ‘catch up’ to her level.  On morning #1 we all went for a stroll but most of us were too slow and whiny so the ‘runners’ struck out on their own on morning #2.  They both returned but one of them was worse for the wear.  There have been many stories to explain the mashed face, double black eyes, and blood-soaked shirt but the one about how Mexican butterflies are really mean is his favorite.  He finally bought some Macho Man sunglasses to cover the worst of it.  Strangely he wasn’t the only local guy down in Mexico who lost a fight.  The other guy tried to take on the Pacific Ocean with only a boogie board for a weapon.  Ocean 1, Sask farmer 0.

The were some hic ups to deal with over the week.  The family flying out of Winnipeg had their flight backed up all day long and only arrived at the hotel at 5:00 in the morning.  They were troopers though and managed to catch up to the rest of us relatively smoothly. 

I got way too much heat and sun on Monday and had to time out by 8:00 pm on day 2.  Apparently I will never learn.  The transition from -40 to +28 must be managed with hydration, sun screen, and a lot of shade.

As the week went on several other people suffered the same symptoms, some taking it as far as nausea.  Just ask one of the grandsons whose shopping trip with us ended badly.  Another grandson was invited along on a deep-sea fishing adventure.  He fared every bit as good as I did six years ago.  Two things: 1) Thank God for Gravol, and 2) that’s one item completely off our bucket lists.

We also booked an excursion that was promised as a bus ride up into the mountains for a hike, tour through a botanical garden and a stop at a riverside to cool off.  We were told to be there at 7:00 but the excursion didn’t leave till closer to 10:00.  Then, much to our surprise, the boat turned into one of those large inflatable pontoon speed boats.  Yes, it was faster to get us where we were going, but life jackets that actually fit kids would have been nice.  Let’s just say that Mexican safety rules and Canadian safety rules are not equal.  The bonus of that day was that when we spotted whales breaching the captain slowed down and moved us closer to see better.  It was a very neat experience..

The wedding was lovely.  The family visiting was great.  Watching while the kids played in the pool for hours was relaxing.  The not having to cook a single meal for a week was fantastic.  And, even though it was sad to say goodbye yesterday it is always good to come home.

The reality adjustment began with a full day’s worth of laundry, grocery shopping, and now it’s time to tackle the income tax books.  I’m not even minding the cooking and cleaning.  Yet.