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.

 

BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE

Nope.  Nope.  Nope.

I am not going outside into that craziness.

Oh, I admit that the pictures on Facebook are breath-takingly beautiful – the ice crystal haze, the fabulous sun dogs, the dazzling white snow contrast with the brilliant blue skies – incredible.  But, you know what?  I can see them on Facebook.  I don’t have to go out and freeze my nostrils shut for the pleasure of this gobsmacking scenery.  We have central heating, it would be a shame to waste it.

We always get a few days of crazy cold every winter, but this week is a bit over the top.  Not the temperatures so much – the 40-below-is-40-below Fahrenheit/Celsius conversation comes up on a regular basis, although the folks on the west coast don’t usually comprehend what we’re talking about.  And the comparing of our windchills in Southern Saskatchewan with those in Siberia, while not unheard of, is definitely not the norm. 

The image that tells the story best is the map of Canada shown on the Weather Channel; from sea to sea to sea, with very few exceptions, the entire country is painted in that ‘red for danger’ color.  This is an honour usually reserved for the middle of the country from the 49^th parallel right on up to Santa’s front doorstep.  Any provinces closer to oceans or further south normally get to dodge that bullet, but in January of 2024 we all get to bond in our universal Canadian identity.  We could all use a group hug for the warmth, but don’t stay in one place too long, we might freeze that way.

One would think that it’s a silent world out there.  There are no birds, not even tough old ravens squawking their dominance, and I haven’t heard a single coyote song in days.  If you go out, though, there will be noise.  Every step that you take in that super frozen snow will squeak.  I don’t know what the scientific explanation for it is, but the lower the temperature, the higher the pitch of the squeak.  It sounds very much like nails scratching across a blackboard, and is every bit as pleasant.

Not that I’ve ventured out (see my opening remarks), but I have occasionally opened the door for a dog who thinks he might want to go out.  Sometimes he actually does, and sometimes he reconsiders – “is this just boredom, or do I really have to pee?” 

It takes minus 40 degree weather to remind me that our deck door doesn’t quite seal at the top of the frame.  I know this because I get a light dusting of frost down my neck when I open the door – frozen condensation from escaping warm, moist air.  Another day or so of this and I imagine the door will just self heal and freeze shut.  The porch door cries out in a painful squeak of its own when opened.  I don’t understand the cause of this and am not about to diagnose it at 40 below.

Not everyone can hide out in the house though.  It came as no surprise this morning that the cattle waterer was frozen and that this job would have to be taken care of.  There’s been a lot of “Thank the oilfield workers/farmers/power company repairmen” posts these past few days, and okay, that’s nice, but it is their jobs.  I don’t make light of how important it is to feed the energy grid and keep it running or to care for livestock no matter the hardship, but all jobs have downsides.  There’s no need to be melodramatic.  All my farmer said when he reported the frozen waterer was “Guess that’s what I’m going to be doing today.”  It’s simple – it’s his job.  His only grumble was that of course it was Sunday so if he needed parts he was going to have to wait. 

The other interesting circumstance was Alberta’s request for their population to please cut back on their power consumption to avoid grid failure and the implied political inference that this was all Ottawa’s fault. 

This is just me, but the people were asked to cut power consumption AND they did.  AND it fixed the problem.  This philosophy could be taken so much further.  We, the consumers of power, need to seriously question our needs vs. our appetites for latest gadget coming down the pike.  A kitchen 50 years ago had one plugin per wall, today the code is one every three feet.  Yes, we need good heating in a well insulated house.  No, we don’t need every device under the sun.  The answer to so many of our problems come from the bottom up, not the top down.  But, I digress.

The weather app on my phone promises things are looking up.  It says that from here on in the temperatures will moderate. 

I appreciate that. 

I also have tickets to Mexico.  I will go outside there.

Yep.  Yep.  Yep.

 

GROWTH AND RENEWAL

Here we are at the very end of another year.  Time is a confusing thing – how can it be that some days take forever but when you put them all together into larger units like a year time seems to disappear in the blink of an eye?  The advice of “don’t blink” comes to mind.

It has been a different Christmas season for us with all of the festivities taking place in someone else’s house.  I have not cooked a single turkey or batch of buns, or made up a single extra bed for overnight guests.  The days have been routine and quiet.  The weather has been mild.  The days are already getting longer, something we observe with joy and relief in this household.

I am in no rush to take down the Christmas tree.  Last year we finally bought an artificial one so there are no needles falling off to make a mess or spear bare feet.  I especially like how not remembering to water it has no consequences at all, and the damage to the floor by my overwatering in the past has not gotten any worse either.  I should have gone ‘fake tree’ years ago.

The only push to get the fake tree put away is that my real house plants don’t like where they have to spend the holidays and are showing their displeasure by stopping flowering and dropping leaves.  They need their southern exposure back before they are nothing but sticks.  It won’t happen today, but soon.

It’s funny, decorating the tree is a time to look back – to open windows to past Christmases with each ornament I hang on the tree or garland I string across the deck – but putting these very same things away is a different story.  This job causes me to look forward to the coming year.

It is unusual for us to have actual plans this early on but this year we have a family wedding in Mexico right off the hop.  It’s fun to anticipate the beaches, the many family members also attending, and especially the fact that we get to share this adventure with our grandchildren.  The happy anticipation is building for us all.

Also on our 2024 agenda is a camping/music festival later on in the summer.  This is something that I’ve always wanted to check out but my significant other feels very differently.  How his daughter talked him into this for my Christmas gift boggles my mind.  She definitely has more pull than I do.

But that is only what we are doing, and it seems pretty tame compared to what is on the horizon for some of our kids and grandkids.  There is going to be significant continent hopping going on for them.

Due to work opportunities one of our families is off to South Africa for a couple years.  The grandsons are already super excited about going on safari and seeing lions and tigers and elephants.  I can’t say that I have ever dreamed of this kind of adventure but I am almost certain we will visit them there.  Thanks to our wandering kids I will only have one continent left to see.  I cannot imagine ever setting foot on Antarctica though, not even for the “we did them all!” claim to fame.

They will no sooner be gone than a grandson who left for Australia at two years old plans to return to Canada for University and we will be off to Edmonton to spend time with him and his dad as they get him settled in.  It would have been even better if his volleyball scholarship could have been offered by a closer school but Alberta is better than Sydney; we will make it work. 

I also have another plant that needs attention.  Unlike the sulking, struggling Mandevilla, my umbrella tree has only thrived in the west bedroom, taking over the space.  It started out as a tiny sprout purchased at Liboiron’s store 45 years ago and due to numerous miracles and its obvious will to live it is still with us.  It has done so well that it can no longer be squeezed through a door and the last few fronds it has put out are up against the ceiling.  The situation calls for drastic surgery.  Ironically, to save it I have to chop off and re-root the top so that it can continue to grow. 

In a way this perfectly symbolizes the faith I will put in the coming year.  I’m not sure if it’s my personality or an age factor, but I can’t imagine ‘re-rooting’ myself for life on another continent, but I recognize that these new environments encourage growth that won’t happen if the moves aren’t made.  It’s scary to cut up a thriving plant and put it in a new pot to begin again, but I’ve done it before. Actually, this is the only reason the umbrella plant still going strong.  My hope is that my metaphor fits the humans in my life. 

So, here’s to 2024!  Here’s to growth, and renewal, and since it’s a Leap year, a full 366 days of good things!

 

DECORATING THE TREE

I spent the morning decorating our Christmas tree.  It’s been a struggle to arrange a suitable time for this job, it’s not like you can slap a tree up in an hour or even two.  Well, at least I can’t.  I need time.  I need ambience.  I need quiet.  I need Christmas music in the background.  It also normally requires a glass or two of wine but it was Saturday morning so that didn’t quite fit.

Mostly, what I need is the house to myself to putter at my own pace.  All day if possible, with no interruptions to prepare meals, no one watching some noisy, guns-a-blazing, car chase, man movie, and no comments from the peanut gallery on how I’m doing it wrong.  This was supposed to happen yesterday but Mother Nature stepped in and did her own decorating for Christmas so he stayed home.

My most favorite part of having a Christmas tree is getting up early and sipping my morning coffee, basking in the multi-colored twinkling lights on the tree.  It’s a quiet, peaceful, thoughtful time that I treasure and as the days were ticking by without a tree to admire in the dark I was beginning to feel cheated.  Even though my window of opportunity today was the few hours it was going to take the movie watcher/peanut gallery critic to clean out the yard and driveway, I knew I had to take it.

The reason I need more than a few hours is because it is so much more than the physical putting on of lights and ornaments.  It is more of a mystical experience, a mix of memories, an annual revisiting of all that has gone before.  Shoot-em-up movies really spoil the mood.

Of course, this tradition is relatively new in my life.  Christmas tree decorating has been through many renditions in my many years. 

My first recollection of decorating the tree involves Mom spending an evening trying to get the bubble lights (remember them?) all working, and on the tree, before we kids were allowed to do our part of ornaments and tinsel.  Think: exasperated adult with probably fifteen other things on the go being yammered at by a pack of over-stimulated, Santa-is-coming-to-town excited kids and you will know the kind of Peace-On-Earth evening of which I speak. 

As unpeaceful this custom is, though, I went on to do the exact same thing when my kids were little.  Is it some kind of rite of passage?  Some test of our character?  Do we need this dose of unreasonable expectations and near insanity to truly appreciate the beauty of singing Silent Night?  I know not the answer to this question, but I have just a few ornaments that remind me of this time and I treasure them and the memories they evoke as I place them on my modern, pre-lit, artificial tree.

Life goes on though, and Christmas has evolved.  There were the years when the kids were so little they didn’t help but were transfixed by the pretty lights and drawn to the packages beneath.  There were a few incredibly sad Christmases where we only made it through under the steam of other people’s engines.  I remember those too.

The busy years.  The whole-house-is-full years.  The empty nest years.  And now, the aren’t-grandkids-the-best years.  My containers of different decorations represent all of these times and tie me to loved ones who are no longer here.  I treat them like talismans – holding them connects me to a different time and place.  In this way I welcome them into my house for Christmas.  It’s a little thing, but it feels good.

A few weeks ago my grand daughter sat me down to teach me everything she has learned so far in Grade One.  My assignment was to repeat the letters of the alphabet after her but I mis-behaved and sang the A-B-C song instead.  After being reprimanded I was told to begin again.  Being a bad Grandma I sang it a second time.  When I was done she stood there, hands on her hips, and said “I am going to have to call your mother!”  I guess that’s the ultimate threat in her world but the more I think about it, the more I wish she would have.  It would be great to talk to Mom again even if it meant getting an “E” on my report card. 

 

 

GIFTING

I have before me the beginnings of what I will try to accomplish in this next month … my all important “To Do” list.  I’ve written it down, managed to stroke two of the items off as done, and added three more.  So far there is no stress building.  I’m fine.  After all, it’s still November.  Just barely.

Although I’ve broken the categories down to individual tasks there are only three main jobs on the list: baking, decorating, and gifts.  Baking will take place closer to the big day so I only have to do it once.  Decorating is a day I love – a quiet afternoon, a glass of wine, and just me, Christmas music, and my memories.  #3, the gotta-get-the-gifts category is not so magical.  There is too much pressure – to find the right thing for everyone, to shop local, to keep within a budget, to keep it even.  Some years it’s not too bad and others it’s torture.  It is easily my least favourite part of the holidays.

There is magic in giving, though.  Serendipity stepped in a few weeks ago and treated me to the most wonderful experience.  I’m still basking in its warmth.

A few months ago I happened to be at the right place at the right time – the dog wanted out at the exact moment when the sunrise was spectacular.  I took a picture and much to my surprise it actually showed the light, the mist, the silhouette of the tree and rocks in my garden, even the sunflower petals glowed golden in the light.  I posted it on Facebook and got a lot of “ooos” and “ahhhs”.

Fast forward to when I was on my trip with a group of people from Ontario.  Inevitably I would be asked where I was from and when I said Saskatchewan you could see the pity fill their eyes.  Little do they know about the Land of the Living Skies.  Their pity was (mostly) feigned but one of them – the gal at whose invitation I was on the trip – knew better.  She has been to our prairie place, sat on our deck, and relaxed in Saskatchewan ambience.  Immediately she would speak up with “Show them the picture, Jocelyn!”  It truly is a beautiful picture of a beautiful place and I think she loves it even more than I do.

Another bit of fast forward and I am at home again scrolling through my phone for gift inspiration when an ad pops up for taking digital photos and putting them on canvas.  In a heartbeat I knew what I needed to do. 

This lady isn’t on my Christmas gift list, but that didn’t matter – this isn’t a Christmas gift.  It’s a ‘just because it’s the perfect thing’ gift.  The Internet made it easy, it wasn’t expensive, and I knew she would love it; bing, bang, boom and it was done.  I went to bed that night light-hearted in anticipation of her happiness and smiled every time I thought of it for the next eight days until I got a text from her asking if I knew anything about a mystery parcel she had just received.  This is what they are talking about when they say “It is better to give than receive.”  She is happy with her gift and I am delighted that I hit that one out of the park.  I neither want or need anything in return.

I wish I could manage the same magic with all of the actual expected gifts on my list.  I wish there was the perfect thing for everyone, but that is unreasonable and impractical.  And, even if it were possible, the word ‘perfect’ would lose its power if it became a daily occurrence.  I will just do my best to avoid the over-commercialism of the season and hope my butter tarts will make up for any short fall.

Besides, there are other ways to get that happy buzz from giving.  There is the Salvation Army, women’s shelters, aid for Ukraine, sponsoring kids through World Vision, helping the damaged and dispossessed the world over.  Or, you can look closer to home – the neighbour who lost his job, another whose house burned down, someone dealing with debilitating health problems, time or money donations to the food bank.  The opportunities to be Santa’s helper are endless.

My wish for everyone this holiday season is that you come away from which ever gift giving you choose feeling as joyful as I did while denying I knew anything at all about that random picture showing up on a doorstep in Ontario.

Now, back to my list … I just thought of a couple more things that need to be on it.