By the time the roast chicken came out of the oven, I had already washed my face and hands and was seated at the kitchen table, waiting for Mother to dish out supper on my plate. In the centre of the table was a steaming bowl of potatoes mashed with butter, a bowl of mixed … Read more
Mother and Dad were married in 1946, and for their first four years, they lived a peaceful life in a house they rented in Debert, Nova Scotia. In early spring of 1950, they purchased a farm with quite a bit of land in the nearby community of Great Village. The house had not been … Read more
It was the fall of 2017, and for the first time in decades, I wasn’t sure I could host Thanksgiving. My mother had passed away on October 2nd—just two weeks earlier. The house felt different somehow, like all the air had been let out of it. Bill and I talked about it one evening in … Read more
Thanksgiving, also known as “Turkey Day,” in 1954, was one I shall never forget. I remember Mom telling me that around midnight, Grandmother would be up making the stuffing, then seasoning the turkey before she stuffed it, then she’d get Grandpa to help put it in the oven at a low heat. The turkey would … Read more
The staff had named her Annabelle. For weeks, she remained invisible to those who passed by her cage at our local SPCA. On a cool day in January, my husband and I strolled through all three of the cat rooms housing over 40 cats awaiting adoption, but something kept drawing us back to Annabelle. We … Read more
Father was still working the farm in 1956, and that fall after the hay crop had been taken off the field, my brother and I asked if we could gather up any loose hay left on the field to make a hay fort. To our delight, his answer was yes. Nowadays, hay forts are typically … Read more
Walking along the edge of the river with my family, with a fishing pole in hand, was something I did not enjoy. I remember watching Father and Mother casting their lines out to the middle of the river, and on some fishing trips, bringing in several trout, which made for a very tasty meal. My … Read more
As a four-year-old, whenever I saw beautiful flowers—also known to adults as weeds—I’d pick them, roots, bugs, and all, and bring them to my mother. She would always stop what she was doing, cut the roots off, shake out the bugs, and arrange them in a glass, which was actually a pint-sized mason jar. She’d … Read more
Mother’s pantry, just off the kitchen, wasn’t very big. There was just enough room for the wringer washing machine on the left as you entered, and the flour barrel to the right of the doorway that led to our playroom (which later became a dining room), a few cupboards, a small counter area, and the … Read more
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