We often look at our lives through the lens of the everyday—the chores, the shifts, the quiet moments on the porch. We tend to think that because we weren’t world leaders or famous explorers, our stories are just “ordinary.” But if there is one thing I have learned in my 70-plus years, it is this: … Read more
My mother and Muriel Henwood had been best friends since their early school days. Their friendship continued throughout the war years, and even after they were both married. Muriel’s husband, Henry Brine, was a miner who worked underground in the Springhill coal mines. During the summer months, Muriel and Henry often visited us on the … Read more
A few years ago, I had the privilege of hearing this story from a close friend who was nearing the end of her life. When I was a child in the 1930s, things were different from the way kids have it today. During the Great Depression, families with children were hit harder than most. … Read more
I’m guessing I was about four or five years old the day I noticed the smoke. This time it wasn’t coming from the chimney of our sawdust-burning kitchen stove. Heavy, dense smoke. Not just a thin trail, but a substantial cloud that swelled upward into the clear blue sky. I had never seen smoke like … Read more
During my childhood, a shift began as families increasingly relied on convenience and credit to simplify their lives. However, my parents made some sacrifices I was not aware of. As far as I was concerned, we lived comfortably even though we had very few modern conveniences as Dad was reluctant to use credit. He believed … Read more
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 … Read more
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
Sometimes a speech hits you right in the heart. Not because it’s fancy or full of political promises, but because it names something you’ve been feeling but couldn’t quite put into words. This happened to me recently. When I retired after 43 years of trucking in 2015, I was looking for things to fill … 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