Peppermint Sundays and the Harvest of ’54

I always looked forward to Sundays, as we went to church every Sunday afternoon. As we took our seats, an older fellow named Wellsford, perhaps in his 80s, would come by and give my brother and me some peppermint candy that had been chopped in small pieces and tucked away in his suit pocket.

Everyone dressed up in their Sunday best. Men wore suits, white shirts, ties, and some wore felt hats, which of course were removed when they entered the church. Women wore dresses, and sometimes hats, a bit of make-up and perfume. I remember the surrounding air was always fragrant, sometimes overpowering. However, it gave churchgoers and their children the opportunity to dress up once a week.

Sunday service usually started with a hymn, during which everyone stood up to sing. If my memory serves me correctly, the hymn was usually Holy, Holy, Holy, and all four verses were sung. We didn’t have a choir, although we had a church organist, Wellsford’s sister, who played the hymns on the old pump organ. We really didn’t need a choir as many of the congregation were good singers. After the singing, everyone was expected to be quiet and listen to the sermon, although I never remembered the sermon afterwards. I just remembered the peppermint candy. I doubt whether old Wellsford ever remembered the sermon either, as he usually fell asleep. He woke up only when everyone began singing again. He wasn’t the only one who snoozed, and some were even elbowed by their spouses, especially if there was snoring. At the end of the service, the minister would stand by the door and shake everyone’s hand.

October was harvest month for father’s crops. Fall was a busy time for all the local farmers, with many crops being harvested before the arrival of winter. Dad’s major field crops were wheat, barley, and oats. Harvesting involved long days in the fields to ensure everything was gathered before the first frost. But this particular October came with an additional hardship.

Although Hurricane Hazel did not directly impact all harvesting in Nova Scotia in October 1954, the storm caused some damage, including flooding, and there was destruction in Dad’s unharvested crops. While all the local farmers experienced some effects from the storm, including rain and wind, it was not as severe as in other areas. Dad’s crops had ripened, ready for harvesting, but after the winds and rain from the hurricane, much of the crop had become lodged. Crop lodging happens when the stems of the plants bend or break, causing plants to fall over—usually close to harvest. After a few sunny days, he used a swather to cut and gather the lodged plants into windrows, allowing for drying and easier handling.

Father didn’t have a threshing machine, so one of the neighbouring farmers came to our farm with his threshing machine in exchange for a share of the oats. A threshing machine was used to separate grain or seeds from stalks and husks. The grain, straw, and chaff would then be separated using a combination of shaking screens and air blowers. The grain would then be further cleaned by a blower that removed any remaining chaff. The cleaned grain was collected in large grain sacks, while the straw and chaff were typically blown into a pile to be used for other purposes, such as bedding for our milk cows.

When Dad purchased the farm in 1950, his dream was to farm the land, but by the end of 1954 the big question was whether he could make a living by farming alone. He was milking cows, selling the milk and cream to the local creamery and growing feed. He would sell the wheat and barley but keep the oats to feed the horses over winter. Each year he raised a couple of pigs, one to sell and one for food during the winter. The chickens supplied our eggs, but not enough to sell at the general store. His two horses added to the farm expenses, but he needed them to work the fields. Sadly, his net income that year was much less than what he needed to stay afloat. Of course, being only 4 years old, I wasn’t aware of the struggles he and Mother were facing.

Would he be able to keep the farm going, or would he have to find additional employment? He had talked with an old friend, C.O. Doyle, who was the local butcher, who mentioned during their conversation that there was a demand for meat cutters. He suggested Dad might want to consider taking the course. This topic was talked over extensively between Mother and Dad for many evenings before a decision was reached.

In the end, Father took the meat cutter’s course, and upon completion, Mr. Doyle hired him to work at his meat shop. When Dad wasn’t at the meat shop, he was doing the things on the farm that needed to be done.

Working at the meat shop opened a new opportunity the following spring. Once again, Mother and Dad had discussions about turning the back of his truck into a meat truck and going door to door to peddle fresh cuts of beef and pork. It was a gamble, but they were willing to take the risk, and it turned out to be a very profitable source of income, which continued for the next couple of years.

I have no recollection of what took place after that. All I remember is that, at some point, Dad became meat manager at the Dominion Stores in Truro. A local farmer rented the fields, and once Dad began working in Truro, he sold his cows, pigs, horses and even the chickens. The meat-cutting trade enabled him to provide a good income for his family, so their decision, which seemed risky at the time, proved to be the best one Mother and Dad could have made.

If you like Marilyn’s stories I know you’ll like her collection of short stories: The Kendricks of Glasgow Junction: Stories of Life in Rural Nova Scotia in the 1920s.
Her book is available in Kindle, paperback, and hard cover. Find it HERE.

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