When I was growing up on the farm, I never once questioned how much money my father received when he sold some calves, or one of the pigs, as it was never a topic of discussion in my presence. Honestly, I never even gave it any thought. There were never outings to restaurants in town as Mother prepared all our homemade meals. String beans, turnips, potatoes, and other vegetables from the garden, served with home-grown beef or pork. There wasn’t always dessert, but when there was, it was usually a pie of some sort, which was cut into small pieces to stretch over a couple of meals.
 An older man came around once a month with his fish truck, and most often haddock and codfish were purchased along with the occasional shad. I shall always remember his wife, who travelled with him, as she wore glasses. Mother also wore glasses, but not like the ones the fish man’s wife wore. The lenses in her glasses were so thick, I couldn’t help but stare at them. Mother had to lean close and whisper, “Stop staring.” It stays in my memory to this day.
From a very early age, I was taught never to take anything that belonged to someone else. In other words, I was to be respectful, whether we were at the neighbours’ or visiting at the home of family members. We were to sit quietly and speak only when spoken to.
I recall one evening at Grandma’s house when I was about four. My grandparents lived in town where the houses seemed so close together. I slid out of her rocking chair, where Father had put me, and ventured down the hallway to the living room. It was peaceful there; the room was dark, and no one was in the room other than me. I crawled up on the chesterfield, pulled back the curtains and was found minutes later, peering out the window watching the next-door neighbour, who at that moment was in front of a mirror brushing her hair in her bedroom. Let’s just say my trip to Grandma’s living room and watching her neighbour did not go over well with Father, and I was quickly marched back to the rocking chair, along with a scolding.
I grew up during a time when Dad used an old push mower when the lawn needed cutting. It looked easy to me, but years later I found out it wasn’t as easy as it looked. As a young child, I tried to help with some of the chores to earn a few pennies, like helping Dad pull weeds in the vegetable garden. It wasn’t long before I was scooted out of the garden when he discovered I was not only pulling out the weeds but also vegetable plants. Was I given everything that I wanted years ago? Not by a long shot. Money doesn’t grow on trees, I was told. If there’s something you want, you must work for it.
Growing up, there was no such thing as bottled water or canned pop like we have today. Cold water came from the dug well, via the tap in the kitchen, and if I had saved enough money to purchase pop at the local general store, the pop was in a glass bottle. Often on my way home from school, I would pick up any glass bottles that had been thrown in the ditch, as at the General Store you could get money for any bottles that were not cracked or broken. It was one way to get a bit of pocket change. When I had saved up enough over time, I could purchase embroidery floss. On most Sunday afternoons, I loved to work with the needle and various colours of thread, embroidering on stamped pieces of fabric.
I learned a lot from my parents, the do’s and don’ts during those early years. I learned the hard way never to question what they said, or talk back, as that was an automatic spanking never to be forgotten, followed by my teary-eyed apology. In my day, it wasn’t called abuse; it was called discipline, something that is lacking in today’s world. In my opinion, so many of today’s youth are so disrespectful, not only to kids their own age but to their parents and teachers alike. I am so thankful for the childhood I was so blessed to grow up in. I shall never forget what life was like back on the farm. If only today’s generation could experience a life like that, I’m sure life would be so much better for everyone.
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