Tag Archives: horses

happiness

Christmas in Ottawa in 1930 (Letter from Edna to her dad Frank)

My, it seems Grandma had a few suitors. Good on the man who sent her chocolates, but thankfully Grandpa sent her stationary so she could keep writing him. Practical.

512 Cooper St. Ottawa

January 13, 1930

Dear Papa:

I received your letter a few days ago but never seem to have a chance to do much writing. I enjoyed Xmas after all. Dalton phoned up early Xmas morning asking if I would like to go in so they came out for me in Roy Kennedy’s car (That is Gertie’s husband). Jim was there too, there was 14 of us for dinner. The girls were awfully nice with me then and they all couldn’t treat me nicer. I guess they were just shy at first. They want me to go straight back there when I leave Ottawa and stay a few weeks with them. I sure like Ottawa though and am having a grand time here. If I can get a job here I think I will stay in Ottawa. It’s a beautiful city and the people are sure full of fun. We went all through the Parliament Buildings. They sure are wonderful, I saw where Bennet sits etc. the Strutts are all conservatives. We also went through the museum and saw a lot of skeletons from Red Deer. Harrison drove us over to Hull and Alymer in Quebec one day. We drove across a mile long bridge to get there. We saw Snake River on the way down to Ottawa and the house where Ruth was born. While we were at Hull we saw the Eddie Match factories, they seemed about a mile long.

The weather was pretty cold the first couple of weeks, but since then it has been thawing and raining ever since with one or two cold nights once in a while. They are expecting it to turn cold now anytime s they haven’t had the real winter weather yet. The snow isn’t as deep as I expected it would be, they seem to use a lot of horses here, they use so many sleighs in the winter time. There’s two big dairies near here and they have a lot of big grey Percheron teams just like those from Acme. I often see them. How are all the horses? Strutts have a car, Harrison drives it all the time and takes us out often. Momma went back to Aunt Betsey’s a week ago last Saturday and I guess I’ll head back out the end of this week.

They have about 17 canaries here and some of them will soon be hatching young ones. They sure are lovely singers. Did you go to Beadle’s for the Turkey dinner? How is old Tom and Beadles? O. Fenton sent me a box of chocolates for Xmas, and Percy sent a writing case, and _______ a box of hankies, and Harry Johnson sent me a big box of writing paper and Bill M sent me a silver powder case with a satin cushion top.

If you see Ore Fenton will you thank him for me for the chocolates?

You were asking what I think about taking that farm at Olds. I think that 560 acres is too big a place for a man your age to take on. You need a tractor to do the work on a farm like that and why do they want to sell when the ground is all ready for another crop? Of course Olds is a good country and if they didn’t want too much for it, it might be a good idea to take it on shares with someone.

Well I want to go downtown this afternoon so I had better close now. I find it hard to find time to sit down and write a long letter wand they never go to bed before 1 o’clock at night. I’m sure having lots of fun here and hope you don’t find it too lonely. I wish you could sell out and come East now.

Well good-bye for now

With love

From Edna.

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Dear Edna (A poem written about Grandma)

I’m assuming this poem was written by one of her schoolmates. I believe this was when she attended the end of high school in Calgary. It was written as a note, so the first part here is the note Penny wrote, with the poem attached at the end.

Edna, care of Barbra

Dear Edna,

Please excuse this paper, but as usual I am in bed writing of course very naughty, but supposed to be good? I am a very poor writer as Barbra knows. I also hope you will forgive me, my being so forward as to write but as you are Barbra’s friend, you will understand. I am not a poet, but I often write lines of junk to Barbra to tease her. I will do my best to make you a poem which will be a very poor best. As you are fond of horses and a good rider, maybe you will understand my craze for race and show horses. Thoroughbreds are my favourite. Well I am slow at hitting things quickly, I hope you hike out to the weasel-head on Saturday. Here is my poor poem.

Edna

Edna sweet and pretty

Blue eyes and flaxen curls

Oh, loved by all is she

Especially envied by the other girls

Her beauty is well known

Her saddle o’er the gate

So carefully thrown

While for a pony she does wait.

It won’t be long

‘Ere she does ride

Tracing the breezes strong

By Barbra’s side

Out in the moonlight night

When the stars are bright

With love and hopes

From Penny H.

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The Story of Grandma’s Colt “Kitchener”

Grandma loved horses at least as much as I love horses, so it brings me a lot of joy when I read her stories about how much she loved riding or being around horses. I had never heard the story of Kitchener before, and I’m not sure what club she was part of for this story/photo – perhaps 4H or something like that. I also have no idea why the person marking this story gave her such a low grade, personally I thought the story was great – who knows what the actual assignment was though.

My Colt

In the first week of my colt’s life, there’s s not much to write about but head and legs. If his body would have been a little bigger, his head wouldn’t have looked so big, for it was a really dainty, innocent looking little head. He had a little yellowish, white nose, with wide nostrils and small mouth. His eyes were large and brown with a good width between them. He seemed to be proud of them because he was always rolling them and showing the whites of them. He had very smooth, sharp pointed ears and their size was in right proportion to his head. With the slightest sound, he would turn an ear to hear it and when the flies bothered him, for he was born the first of July 1923, he would lay both his ears down flat on his head, showing he was angry. As he gets older, his head gets more beautiful. He had a long, long neck this first week and a little fuzzy fringe of mane. His body was long and thin and a gold colour, for he is an English thoroughbred. He had very long, thin legs and a little curly tail that he was always switching.

The mother of my colt is my own and favourite pony. She is very high lifed and frisky or I could ride her to school. However, I can ride her in the fair and she has taken first prize every time she was put in. I kept my pony and colt in a little field all by themselves where the grass was tall and green. Every morning and evening I feed my pony oats or a bran mash and when my colt was old enough, I fed him oats. Every day I put a little halter on my colt and tied him up and cleaned him. In the cool evening I would coax and lead my little colt around until he would follow me anywhere. I soon began to make him trot and lope as well as walk. To do this, I had to take the long buggy whip and touch him just hard enough to make him trot or lope. I never bothered my colt much in the heat of the day when the flies were bad because he was always in a bad temper and sometimes would try to kick or bite me. It was very hard to pick a suitable name for him, but at last I decided to call him Kitchener.

As the fall was drawing near and school opening, I thought it would be alright to put him and his mother out in a field with the other horses where there was two or three straw stacks. I did this and they kept fat and frisky all winter. About the middle of February, I put a halter on my colt and put it in the stable by itself. The first week it was very lonesome for its mother, but it soon forgot her. During the winter it had grown more shapely but it had long, shaggy hair. Morning and night I fed it linseed and oats. Every Saturday I would brush and clean him and lead him out. When he’d first come out he’d buck and jump around me in a circle. After he had raced around me for a while, he would come up to me and I would give him a little salt or brown sugar.

One day after he had taken exercise, I tied him up and put a saddle blanket on him. He took no notice of it, so I put on a little saddle that weighed about five pounds. He drew away from me, and seemed a little nervous of the saddle, but I petted and talked to him and he soon took no notice of it either. Nearly every night when I was going to feed him I would step outside of the stable door and call him. He soon started to answer my call by his ringing whinnies and I could hear him paw the stable floor with his iron like hooves. When I would first go in, he would nibble and bite at my coat sleeve while I fed him. And when i would be getting his oats ready he would toss his head with a conceded little whinny.

On the first of May, my colt was shiny with a satin like coat and was well shaped. He would roll his eyes and always held his neck in a bow and would toss his head and let out a fierce, ringing neigh. He had strong muscular legs and a long body and neck. He was very easily trained. When I would tell him to get over, he would move to the other side of his stall and when I told him to back up, he would back up. All together he seemed a very intelligent little colt and I hope he will someday be a good racehorse.

Teacher note: your story is a good one, but the booklet is not well prepared 4/10

Additional note: took cold Dec 20, 1924. took sick Dec 24, 1924. Died March 8 1925

Poor little Kitchener, poor Grandma.

Here’s a poem that she wrote that I found in a stack of papers that is about this beloved little colt.

Kitchener

You want me to write of my favourite horse

Oh, you don’t understand I know of course.

You don’t know how deep in my heart

Had sunk the love from which I had to part.

I’ve had many playmates and many a chum

But their affections couldn’t equal this dear one.

He would play whenever I’d want to play

No person so agreeable as he was always.

I guess you have never played games with a horse

Perhaps you will think I am fibbing or worse.

But it’s the truth; oh, I know how true

How clever and playful, I can’t tell you.

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The Police were waiting for me (a Percy story)

I have discovered Grandpa’s written history. In his handwriting, which is some of the most beautiful handwriting (I’ve enclosed a sample at the bottom of this post.) I am presently reading/transcribing his description of how he built the barn that still is used here today, but this little story came right before and I quite enjoyed it.

Imagine driving cattle from Jumping Pound into Calgary and down Macleod Trail these days? Even back then, what a long ride!

Every fall we would ship our steers from Cochrane to wherever their destination was. These were usually three year old. Everything would be nice and quiet until we came to the bridge that crosses the Bow River. There was always trouble as they refused for a long time before deciding to go on the bridge. One year they absolutely refused and swam across below the bridge. The buyer was a tight fisted character and when we corralled them at the stockyards he accused me of watering them before they were weighed.

During the thirties when prices were low we sold to a feeder in Calgary and to save freight charges we trailed the steers to Calgary. Mr. W. Mackie had a feedlot in East Calgary close by the government elevators. He sent a drover Bert Bishop out to meet us on the outskirts of the city and steer us through the city to the feedlot. The cattle were getting more and more excited as we neared the residential districts and I remember Bert Bishop saying that all that needs to happen now is some lady comes out and shake her tablecloth. We crossed them on the bridge at Elbow Park and when turning the corner to approach the bridge there was a new house with newly made lawn and nice rope fence around it. We got the first few head around alright but those following up cut across the corner and what a mess they made of that lawn and fence.

The McLeod Trail was the next hurdle but we eventually got to the feedlot in good time. Upon arriving, Mr Mackie was waiting for us and also a policeman. Mr Mackie said the Police were waiting for me and I said I was not a bit surprised. However, he was just a personal friend. The occupants of the nice lawn etc must have been away at the time because I never did hear from them.

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The Accident (A poem)

I found a poetry book Grandma wrote when she was a teenager – along with a few school friends from what I can tell. Most of the poems in this book are written by her, but there are several written by other girls – I assume classmates of hers.

I had previously found a written copy of her poem “The Accident” that didn’t have the explanatory story at the beginning of the poem. I was left wondering what had indeed happened to poor Jean, although I knew by how history had played itself out that she had in fact lived through this accident and gone on to live a long and hopefully happy and fulfilling life.

There are some really beautiful poems in Grandma’s book, about the landscape, the snow, the mountains, even about the passing of my great grandfather – her father in law. But this poem about her best friend eating dirt on the way home made me smile. This friendship clearly was incredibly important to Grandma. There are letters spanning her entire life from her good friend. It seems very “Anne of Green Gables” with her bosom buddy Diana – the type of friendship I have always aspired to have.

The Accident – by Edna Brown, 1924 (Grandma would have been 16 at the time)

One Day Ruth and Jean rode to town and coming home, Jean’s pony fell and threw her off, she was unhurt except for the gravel taking the skin off her elbow. While she was lying on the road, Ruth shouted at her “Are you killed yet Jean?”

There once was a dark eyed cowgirl

And her name was Jean Russell

She used to ride a roan pony

When she wasn’t in a hustle

But one day a storm rose from the west

And both speed and steadiness were needed

Maybe I’d better not tell the rest

Because in supplying these things that pony

Never succeeded

However Jean was home before the storm

And how she did it I for one with wonder was filled

One place from the road they have torn

And there Jean was supposed to have been killed

They took the top off a rise in the gravelly trail

But when they reached hone we were glad to find

Jean alive and telling the tale

With a few grains of gravel from her elbow to be mined

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Aunt Gertie living in a Disney Movie (FGK 270)

I imagine Aunt Gertie in a Disney movie kind of scenario as she describes her boat ride. Not the scary traumatic parts of Disney movies (why Disney why?) but more the skipping along singing with the animals who are your best friends (of course until the gun came out haha).

There is an art to letter writing and Aunt Gertie had it. So did Grandma and several other women who would send mom letters while she was in the hospital. This one would have been sent when mom was almost 13 and had been in the hospital for almost 2 years.

Cochrane, Alberta

August 9, 1953

Dear Margie:

I’ve just returned from a most enjoyable boat ride. After supper we saw the lake was smooth as glass and it looked so inviting we decided to go for a row. Tow families of ducks swam around us and many flocks of large ducks circled overhead. Once a large heron swooped gracefully down and landed at the water’s edge. It stood there for a long time watching us. Suddenly we saw muskrats swimming about in all directions. George had his gun along so a hot chase ensured. Teddy, the dog, was in the boat with us. He got so excited when one passed close by that he jumped overboard and tried hard to catch it. George’s gun started popping and I had to constantly duck dropping shells. He got two, but there are ever so many in the lake. We’ll have to get them as they are again tunnelling into the dam. We stayed on the lake till the last rosy rays of the sunset reflected on the water and the mists began to rise. I love the evenings when the work is done and a peace and quiet envelopes the countryside and the birds and animals make such sleepy comfortable sounds as they settle down to rest. Life seems especially good and rich.

This last week we finished stacking the wild hay and started using the bailer on the tame hay. Davie runs the side delivery rake, Lawrence drives the “cat” that pulls the baler. George piles the bales on the stone boat and dumps them in big piles. The girls and I take out the afternoon tea and stay awhile to watch. It is rather fascinating to watch.

One day as George and I went to Cochrane we took the “Lovers Road”. We came across a group of Hollywood people making a movie shot with the farmers collie “Lassie”. The dog certainly is a beautiful golden colour with a Snow White ruff. It was fun coming across these movie folk so unexpectedly.

Today George and the boys went riding to see how the cattle were faring. When they returned, George gave me the most beautiful bouquet of pink roses he had picked. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a rich rosy colour as these had and their perfume was grand. I just couldn’t stop smelling them.

Our Indian helpers have gone back to Morley now. The day before they left they all came for tea. There were 21 counting the papooses and older children. I fed them on the lawn and there were so many of them. Afterwards they asked to see me work my new sewing machine. They crowded round me so closely I could scarcely move and their eyes grew large with interest and amazement as they saw me move numerous levers and make many pretty designs and button holes. When I was done I gave the compile to the old grandmother and she hugged it tightly to her breast and said she intended to put it on her wall. They are such simple and happy people. They really enjoy life.

One day Tom Kaquitts(?) was here for tea. He asked me for a piece of string and measured my foot for a pair of moccasins. I’ve given him the odd pound of butter so I guess he just wanted to show me he appreciated it. I’m quite thrilled to be getting a pair of moccasins as I’ve never had any before. Bet folks will smell me coming for a while as that willow smoke they tan the least her with sure penetrates.

My mother is going east to Toronto and vicinity on Labour Day. She and Roger are going by plane. It will be a nice change for her and she will see some beautiful autumn scenery. The sugar maple there take on such brilliant hues.

We were all so thrilled to hear that the nurses are letting you stand up once in a while. One day they will have you taking steps and you will have the greatest thrill of your life.

Week before last we had Bonnie Macombe stay with us. Her daddy sold us our sewing machine. She and Mary had a grand time riding, braiding, going to the field and playing house under the spruce trees. They had their table and chairs there and had spruce needles and cones for their tea. It was fun to listen in on their conversation.

Bonnie’s home is right across from Ernie Dunford’s and is really lovely inside. I haven’t been in any new homes till I saw theirs and Ernie’s. They are different from ours and have every convenience I’ve ever read or heard about. Both the houses command marvellous views of the city and no one can build in front to spoil the view. At night the myriad lights must resemble the stars above.

Did you know that Erie(?) and Georgie have a baby boy? They are very proud of him. I saw the lovely bassinet Georgie made. It sits high on a pedestal and is lined with quilted plastic. The outside is cornered with fluffy white frills and has a wide ribbon and bows on the sides. Georgie enjoyed making it I’m sure.

Well Margie, I must get to bed. Tomorrow is voting day so I’d better be able to rise and shine at an early hour to get down to the poling booth. We all send our love and best wishes. Keep up the good work Margie.

Love, Aunt Gertie

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Frank Brown Photos

There was an envelope with some photos of my great-grandfather (Grandma’s Dad) in the booklet with these most recent memories. Grandma’s handwriting for her stories was exceptional, these photos she must have labeled as her eyesight was going. Finding photos, I’ve been so grateful how Grandma has labeled so many of them – and for the ones that she didn’t my uncle was a huge help recognizing faces and places. I love discovering photos to go along with some of the stories.

Frank Brown, my father, who was Forman of the crew to survey the road in the Ghost River district
Frank Brown
Frank and Martha Brown (Grandma’s parents)

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Grandma’s Account of the Great Fire of 1936

I was so incredibly happy to discover that I have Grandma’s story of the fire. I heard her tell this story often when I was a kid and it always fascinated me. How brave she was!!! And as I read this account I had to ask myself “was this were Grandma’s intense need for a cup of tea in a crisis came from??” At Christmastime I was sharing stories with my cousin about all the times Grandma needed to stop and have a cup of tea when things went wrong. My story was from when she broke her arm. The doctor was trying to get an X-ray done and was having trouble. Grandma also was having trouble as 4pm had come and gone without her mandatory cup of tea. She began very clearly explaining to the doctor that it was going to be necessary to stop what they were doing so she could have a cup of tea. She was feeling a bit faint you see. I ran out to the cafeteria and got her some tea – while it wasn’t up to par because it came in a disposable cup and tea belongs in a teacup- it worked it’s magic and even the doctor was impressed at the change in Grandma. X-rays were done, cast was put on, and we were on our way.

I’ve given you the first chapter of my life. Now as I’ve told you, I married Percy Copithorne in 1931 – really in the midst of the depression, the early beginning of the dirty thirties. I was fortunate to marry a man of such integrity and his knowledge of the country and cattle industry gave him and advantage in those terribly dry years. I think it was in 1904 Percy’s father got two CL brands for his cattle, CL on the right hip for his own, and CL on the right ribs for Percy.

They built us a lovely little cottage near the established ranch home. The neighbours and half of Cochrane shivaried us and later the community put on a dance in the hall and presented us with a lovely silver carving set and several other matching pieces of silver. They are a close knit community and I loved them and still do. Percy helped build that hall in 1926 and to get it started he rode horseback after supper after doing a hard day’s work and sold shares to people in all the neighbouring districts. He later was secretary-treasurer for it for many, many years. The ladies in the district had a committee and took turns making all the sandwiches and cakes for the dances. We also scrubbed that huge floor by hand, carrying water up the in cream cans. Then waxed and polished it by hand. No electricity, we used those frightening gas lamps for light. In those days the hall was famous for its good coffee made in big copper boilers and for it’s good lunches. If you were thirsty for stronger drinks there was no bar but many had a flask out in their car.

Our home always had natural gas to heat it but there was no power nor running water for the first five or six years. Then we had a dealcoe engine then a wind charger to get electricity. It was a happy day when the Calgary Power hooked up to our place.

While my father-in-law lived I had no hired men to cook for, but he died in 1936. My first child Sheila, was born in 1935 and in 1936 our part of the country south of the Bow River experienced the worst prairie fire in its history. Late in the evening of November 18, we saw a very small puff of smoke up west in the part we now call Sibbald Flats. Next day the fire stopped at Bowness – a stretch of about 30 miles. Percy and Jack Copithorne left home on horseback about 4am the morning of November 19 and met the fire at Frank Sibbald’s. They spent a very busy day with many other neighbours trying to save homes and cattle. At times the wind was 90 miles an hour and the air was full of dust as well as smoke because it was the driest year our country has ever seen. The fence posts burnt, the cattle were blinded and burnt and lost. The telephone poles burnt and Ernie Crowe (?) our operator in Cochrane kept everyone on our party line (17 of us) in touch with conditions for as long as he could. I remember the last thing he told us was to go down and stand in the creek to save our lives. I was quite stout, expecting Marshall in March and I was advised to get int he car and try and drive to Cochrane. You jut couldn’t see where you were driving but when we turned north to drive to Cochrane, the Messer’s newly renovated house was all in flames, and a half mile further the Brushy Ridge school was all in flames and no sign of children. Also, Calaway’s dairy barn nearby was in flames. We turned east there to get to Calgary, knowing by then that the fire had swept across between us and Cochrane. Heading east down past Taylor’s their barn was on fire and rabbits and cattle etc were travelling with us, many were balls of fire bouncing along and the fence posts were on fire. We turned south on the first road allowance heading south, hoping to get on the Coach Road to Calgary. But down near Wallace’s the wind had blown a big hay stacker through the fence and it stuck on the middle of the road. We couldn’t even see it, the dust and cinders were so thick and we crashed right into the centre of it and had to stay put. As the boards on it caught fire, the young man who was driving for me would get out and rip the board off and it would sail away in the the wind all on fire. The cinders were so thick we kept choking. Fortunately i had a big jar of milk with me for poor little Sheila, and we used that to wipe our eyes and nose and mouth so we could breathe. I expected the car to explode any minute. There was a pail full of tools and loose hay hanging on the side of the stacker right beside me. Suddenly my side of the car was a wall of flames outside but it soon burnt out.

Early afternoon when the air was clearing a bit, Uncle Sam Copithrone drove down that road and was surprised to find us. He took Sheila and I into Vera Wallace’s for a cup of tea, then on home. Percy didn’t get home until evening. Imagine my worry for him, and of course he thought I was safe at home all that time. The fire jumped the creek, about a mile jump from one hill top to another and just north of our home. Our buildings were saved, but many of our neighbours’ buildings and livestock were lost. We had to shoot about 20 head of freshly weened calves, they were blind.

We didn’t harvest enough feed that fall but anyways it all got burnt in that fire. Ken Koppock, manager of the Western Stock Growers visited us right after the fire and he and Percy figured if they could get the cattle to the Olds district where there were lots of old and new straw stacks, they could save them. The government was shipping cattle by train from all over the dried out Southern Alberta, so we got them shipped up there but there were many losses.

As I said, I didn’t have the hired men to cook for while Percy’s Dad was alive. He died in 1936 and then I found myself cooking and feeding a gang of men in my tiny little house with two babies to care for as well. I had a very good girl to help me. When haying time came, they cut about a thousand acres of prairie land and would cover an average of a quarter section a week with a crew of nine or more men. I’m happy to say Percy’s young brother Clarence lived with us much of the time after his father’s death. He was only fourteen years old when his father died and he was like a big brother to my family. We began building bits and pieces onto our house when we could afford it and we were a happy family until Polio struck down my youngest daughter Margie in 1952 but she has lived through it gallantly. My children rode horseback to school up to grade nine. Then Sheila and Marshall went to Mount Royal College and from there on into their careers and managed to graduate from Stanford and then law school in spite of her handicap.

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Cochrane in Grandma’s Childhood (early 1900s) part II

Cochrane had a very famous race track a mile and half west of town. A turn track which means it was grass and easy for the horses to run on. And it was a mile around it, and it was very level. The big ranches all over the country brought their fastest horses to race on it and the big horse ranches brought in horse from all over Canada and England. The Cochrane races would last two or more weeks. Special trains came in loaded with people for the races and the trains parked down near the track.

The Indians camped all around the hills near Cochrane and they had special Indian horse races too. It was all very exciting. They had a big grandstand down there and long fancy barns for the valuable horses. Friends of mine had a home near there and they had a brick yard – a big hole in the ground where you dug out clay and sand and baked in in huge ovens and made bricks to build houses with. Many of the houses in Cochrane today and the Kerfoot and Downs Hardware store is made out of those bricks, they are very strong. But these friends had a lovely little stream of water running through their yard, and it was such fun to play in and catch minnows. And near the stream was a little log building – no windows, dark inside and cool – where they kept their milk and cream and butter. And the roof was made of earth with lots of grass and flowers growing on it. I loved to go in there on a hot day and drink buttermilk.

While I was a small child, one autumn, night when the grass was tall and dry, a man was riding up out of Cochrane where the Catholic is now (*this is now the Anglican Church as the Catholic Church has moved), and he was drunk and he threw his lighted cigar down to the ground. Can you guess what happened? The west wind picked it up and in a flash, all of the hill was a roaring big fire. Everyone was terrified the whole town would be burnt.

Do you know what a gunny sack is? Grain bags. The men raced up the hill with buckets of water and “gunny sacks” which they dipped into their buckets of water and they beat the edge of the fire near town. Our well was one of the few wells that wasn’t pumped dry. The women tried to pump the pumps all night. Everyone was afraid to go to sleep. Little wild rabbits were running down into town, some of them on fire. Next morning the whole big hill was black and dead looking but no one was hurt.

When I was a little older, we moved out to the ranch and I rode horseback to school in Cochrane. It was a lonely ride, there were no other kids with me. I rode down the steep hill into the Big HIll Creek and up into Cochrane. One morning it was so foggy you couldn’t see your way, but my good horse just knew where to go anyway. And I heard a coyote howling out in the fog, and the howl got closer and closer, it was awfully eerie, and suddenly I rode over the hill and there was the coyote sitting with his back to me and lifting his head and letting out that awful long- drawn howl. But suddenly he got a glimpse of me and jumped straight up in the air in the middle of a howl and disappeared into the fog.

Sometimes in the winter when it was very cold I drove my lively horse in a nice little sleigh something like Santa Claus drives. And once a kind neighbour gave me a lovely string of bells to put on the horses. I didn’t have time to put them on in the morning, so strapped them on before I drove home. Well! You should have seen my horse take off. She was just terrified of those bells and after standing idle all day in a cold barn, I just couldn’t hold her. All I could do was hold on and it was lucky for me there were no cops with speeding tickets in those days.

Out on the ranch, my Dad had to dig a new well for more water. There were machines to do the digging. You just got a shovel and dug down until you couldn’t dig any more because it was almost all rocks. Do you know what dynamite is? It’s very, very dangerous. It’s just like a stick about this long and this round but it’s not a stick, it’s a bomb that will blow up everything when it’s lit. It would blow the rocks 20 feet up the well and into the air. Then the men would go down the well and dig up the broken rock and haul it up until they had to put more dynamite down and they did that until suddenly they hit a nice stream of water running along way down deep. Now one of the men who helped dig the well was a man from England who knew all about rocks, he had been trained where to hit the rock with a special start hammer and the rock would split open. The rocks from that well were so interesting beau they were full of seashells, and petrified fish etc. I’m sorry to say that after those rocks were lying around in the air they just crumbled to shale or clay. But I sure wish I could get one of those nice round rocks, we call field rocks, and knew where to hit it and make it split open. I have here two pieces of frock from up in the mountains and just look at how interesting they are inside. I’ll pass them around to you to look at. Be careful they don’t drop on your toe. (I wonder where those rocks are – surely in this house where no one has ever thrown anything away they are here somewhere).

Christmas was lovely as it is now. In our home in Cochrane when I was a small child we had what was called a Winnipeg Couch. It could be folded p and put away, but when unexpected visitors came we would make that into a single bed or a double bed. Try and think what it was like to live with no telephone and no electric light. Our friends 15 of 20.miles out in the country would come to Cochrane for Christmas supplies. My dad always had room in the barn for their horses and plenty of feed for them too. And they would stay a few days and we sure enjoyed having them. Sometimes they would chop down a nice Christmas tree and bring it in for us but often we hitched our team to a big sleigh with hay in it and rugs on top. We would put big rocks in the oven to get them hot and warp them in gunny sacks to keep warm and we would drive out and pick our own Christmas tree. After it was set up in the house, we old pop corn and more corn and decorate the tree with that coloured paper. And Eaton’s catalogue had some fun toys too. We would mail an order away for our warm clothes too. For us girls, the Eaton Beauty Doll was the most marvellous thing. It’s eyes would move and it had beautiful golden curls on it’s head. But the sad part is they broke when dropped.

Eaton Beauty Doll

Killing and plucking the turkey was a chore too. The turkey gobblers were beautiful birds when they strutted. They’d put on quite a colourful show – you caught them with a long wire that had a hook on it, you just hooked that wire around one leg and caught the other leg quick. Then hung them up by the feet on a nail on the barn wall and pierced their head quick with a sharp knife so they would’ve feel any pain. The you started plucking the feathers out by the handful until it looked like the ones you see in the store today. You first carefully cut a big hole in its neck to pull out the crop. The crop is a little leather bag full of grain the turkey has eaten but not digested. Then you cut a hole in the other end below the tail bug enough to get your hand in – all the way to the neck and pull everyone out onto the table. You just pick up the gizzard, cut it free, and cut it open and drop out all the sharp Little Rock’s the turkey had eaten to grind up its food. Many people enjoy eating the heart, liver and gizzard. Then the whole turkey washed and washed and stuffed with good bread stuffing and sewn up ready for the oven. When I was a small child living in Cochrane the Indians used to bring in washtubs full of wild cranberries to sell. They sure go good with turkey.

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happiness

Mom’s Queen Elizabeth II Coronation Carriage

When I was 10 years old, our grade 5 class was supposed to spend the week skiing at what was then Paskapoo for a week (it later became Canada Olympic Park or COP, later Winsport). Unfortunately for me I got sick, and not just a little sick – fever so bad I remember getting delirious and I couldn’t eat or drink anything for days. I remember mom feeling so bad for me because she knew how much I had wanted to go skiing, and now that I’m a parent I’m guessing she was a little concerned as well.

On one of my super sick bed days Mom came into my room with a box I’d never seen before. She had a gleam in her eye and she told me this was one of her most treasured pieces and she wanted to let me play with it for the day. It came with a ton of warnings about how delicate it was and how playing was going to look more like touching gently, but her excitement was contagious and I was excited to see what was in the box.

She opened it, and it was a lead toy replica of the Queen’s coronation carriage. Made even more special was the fact Mom told me it was a gift to her while she was in the hospital – and even then I knew we never, ever spoke of the hospital – so this was a big deal.

In my memory this was the turning point in my flu sickness. I remember lying in bed with the carriage on my lap, spending hours looking at the details and the horses and wishing I was the Queen. Of course at this time Lady Diana was just making herself known to me and although I had no idea I was about to enter years of adoring Diana and the royal family.

And then the carriage got boxed back up and I never saw it again. It was never mentioned again, and I figured maybe it had been misplaced or broken or was just buried with other treasures. After all this time I’d given up on it.

This afternoon while I was rage cleaning my room (it’s a thing) I climbed up the step ladder to bring some of dad’s awards and frames down from the top of the bookcase. Guess what was on the top of that stack of things? The carriage!!!

I have to admit I sat down and cried for a little while. The 5th anniversary of mom’s death was 2 days ago and there have been so many emotions I don’t know how to describe them. But seeing this carriage was like getting a little hug from heaven.

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