Tag Archives: ranch

happiness

Friends that become Family

There’s the family that we are born into, and then there’s the family we create through friendships. There’s the saying “blood is thicker than water,” but sometimes that friendship bond becomes blood-thick, possibly thicker.

We have a family who joined with our family in that way. The bond was created before I was born, so I grew up thinking of them always as family. For those of you who knew my Godmother, you know what I mean when I say Auntie Mary was a one of a kind special person. I always felt like I had a fairy-godmother like Cinderella had. I didn’t get bippity-boppity-boo’d into a magic dress and carted off to a ball, but I did get showered in love from her. I always felt so blessed to be her godchild, and I still feel blessed that her daughter remains part of my connected family life.

I found a letter from Auntie Mary to my Grandma a few weeks after her husband (my Uncle George) died. I was only 8 when he died, but I remember the day well as it was Christmas Day. We were out on the ranch, there was the usual skiing, sledding and general fun and games of Christmas until everything changed.

The letter was a letter of thanks, thanks for support, thanks for love, thanks for friendship, thanks for being family, thanks for understanding and compassion. All of the things Auntie Mary gave to others, she was thanking my grandma for. It was really heart warming and love-ly to read the love and gratitude shared between these two women, both of whom I always loved and admired. Sometimes the strength people find to deal with hard times comes from deep within, from our faith, and sometimes it also comes from the love and compassion of people we trust in our lives.

The friendship bond that can exist between women is unlike anything else. I think sometimes we don’t put enough emphasis on how important it is to have good friends, people who will be there through all of life’s hills and valleys. I’m so grateful for these letters. They are such a personal way of communicating, an art that has pretty much been lost – I treasure them and love the old stories and memories.

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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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The Prairie fire that drove us from school

I was digging through our archives (aka long abandoned boxes) and found an article written about the 1936 fire Grandma spoke of (If you’re not sure what I’m talking about you can find her-story about the fire here, and photos of the fire here). Grandma makes a cameo appearance in this account of the fire.

This is an article written in Grainews from June of 1995, written by Ronald Wallace:

The Prairie fire that drove us from school

It was Nov. 20, 1936, when the Brushy Ridge School house burned down. It was in the path of a Prairie fire.

I was nine years old at the time. My two sisters were 11. We were party f a group of a dozen kids who had braved the wind, the smoke and the smell of fire to attend classes at this school.

The fire got its start away to the West, in what is now known as Kananaskis Country. Probably the day before. Sometime during the night, the wind picked up.

Coming home from cousin Kass’s birthday party that night, the air was full of the smell of smoke. We kids paid scant attention to it, however. We were too full of cake and ice cream and the fun of the party.

The next morning, the wind had become strong enough to blow the soil off summerfallow, as it had done off and on all fall – ‘36 was a dry year. A lot of crops didn’t make it that year. The Depression was working its hardships on many people.

The acrid stench of the smoke was even stronger than last night, I thought as I bridled and saddled Queenie for school. The wind and the dirt had us ribbing our eyes already. We weren’t looking forward to the five minute ride. In fact, it was so dark we were a bit scared.

As we pulled into the school yard, the wind gusts ripped and tore at us with an awful frenzy. It took two of us to wrestle the barn door open enough for the third to get Queenie in.

We ran for the school. The giddiness I felt as the wind snatched my breath and smoke and dirt swirled around was scary.

About 10 o’clock the schoolroom got so dark we couldn’t see the blackboard. No electricity in those days.

Miss Davis was the teacher. The school sat directly across the road from the Callaway farm.

The school vacated

At 11 o’clock, Mr. Callaway came over to the school to talk to Miss Davis – out in the cloak room. When she came back in she asked Carl Wilson, who would have been 13 or 14 at the time, to run up the road about half a mile to the Messer place to warn them of the approaching fire. She told the rest of us to get our coats and run across the road to the Callaways. The noise of the wind had me totally spooked. Once we cleared the school, the same giddiness and panic took hold of me as I gulped and sucked for air.

My sister Doreen had hold of my hand, and if it wasn’t for her, I don’t know how I would have got across the road and into the Callaway’s house.

Their house was protected on the west by Spruce trees. The smoke and the wind billowed and screamed through the branches. The front and the back doors of the house were open as people rushed in and out.

It was dark in the kitchen. Mrs. Callaway was heating up porridge for Evelyn, the baby. It was burning. It took her a while to realize it. The smell of things burning was everywhere.

Some live coals blew in the back door. Joe, the hired man, stamped them out and tried to shut the door. The wind was such it forced him to put his shoulder to it.

I can still see his neck bulging with the effort. My sister Eileen told me afterward that Joe had helped get us kids across the road. I often think of this because, at the time, most of us were a bit afraid of Joe. He was Czechoslovakian and had a strong foreign accent. He seemed to us to be a big boy with a gruff voice.

Rushed out of area

Ted Callaway had a big blue car – a Nash I think it was. He put as much of their belongings as he could in the front seat along with his wife Mamie, his young son Bob and Evelyn. In the back seat were nine of us, ranging from seven to 16.

The wind hit us broadside as we haded north to Cochrane. It did its best to upset us. The car would lift and settle as the gusts took hold of it.

Miss Davis, Carmen Barkley, Vernice Towers, and Carl Wilson were left behind. They ended up at hte Edges’ house, which was almost a mile east of the school. I can;t remember how they got there, but I think one of the Edge boys picked them up. For a period of time, they were reported missing.

Once we crossed the river coming into Cochrane, the visibility cleared some, the smell of smoke was not as overpowering and the wind-driven dirt didn’t hurt as much.

We went to the Cochrane Hotel and waited. After a while, a reporter from Calgary came along. He asked us a lot of questions and then lined us up and took some pictures. We were a sorry-looking lot! He asked us some more questions and then took us over to the cafe for doughnuts and hot chocolate.

People started to drift into town. Haggard, worried, desperate people. The Coelens milked cows a few miles west of the school. They lost everything.

The Arnell’s, also to the west, had pigs and chickens roasted as their buildings went up in flames. Their house and everything in it quickly burned. They escaped with little more than the clothes they wore.

Mrs. Towers came in looking for her daughter. When she found she wasn’t with the rest of us, tears ran down her face. I remember being somewhat sobered at this. I hadn’t seen too many adults cry. I remember saying “I wonder what our folks are thinking.”

School’s on fire

George Wilson lived a mile east and a mile south of the school. His oldest daughter, Muriel, was at home. She was a slim girl about 18 or 19 at the time. Somehow, through the smoke and dirt she saw the school on fire.

Although she wouldn’t have weighed 100 lbs, she ran with the wind a mile east to our place to sound the alarm. Then she turned around and ran back home again! Into the teeth of the gale that was later reported to have gusted up to 90 miles an hour.

Dad threw a shovel, an axe, an 8-gallon can of water and some sacks in to the old Ford car, picked up hose brother Bill and headed for the school. They went through the back pasture, got out on the road and had only gone a little way when they ran into a large obstacle across the road. It was on fire.

Through the smoke and dirt they saw it was a “slide” or hay stacker, commonly used in those days to build hay stacks in the field. They were big wooden structures made out of logs and planks. It took four horses to move them any distance.

The wind had blown this thing uphill, out of George Wilson’s hay field, through the fence, across the ditch, and onto the road. Imagine their dismay when they circled the thing and there, on the other side, was a car half in and half out of the stacker.

Mrs. Percy Copithorne had been driving back to their ranch from Cochrane. At the school, she had swung a mile east to avoid the oncoming fire. In the near-zero visibility, she didn’t see the stacker in time and before she could get stopped, the front wheels went over the log skid. She was stuck. She was a young woman. She had a young child with her and she was expecting another one.

Dad and uncle Bill beat out the fire and chopped her free. They took her back to our place and then made another run for the school. When they got there, the school was gone and so was the barn where we had put our horse. Harry Edge came along and told them us children were all in Cochrane, but that Queenie was in a bad way. Smoke inhalation. He said when he got to her, the barn was on fire but he got her out before it collapsed. We had to shoot her the next day.

About 5:00 pm., Mr. Wellington Barkley came into Cochrane and took us all home. The wind had died down and a light rain started to fall.

It was an eerie sight driving home through a blackened and smouldering countryside. Hay stacks were still burning and so were telephone poles. Downed wires were strewn along the sides of the road.

Many stories have been told over the years by those who were caught in this fire. Stories of danger and courage and heartbreak. This one is written through the eyes of a schoolboy.

Fifty-eight years later, I can still smell the smoke, hear the shriek of the wind and feel the sting of the dirt in the air. It was quite an adventure.

There was no loss of human life, although a considerable number of animals died. It’s amazing took how the resourcefulness and ingenuity of people who are faced with disaster can still muster the will to rebuild and overcome their losses. In the ‘30s this was no mean feat!

Written by Ronald Wallace

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Aunt Agnes

As I’ve been sifting through things I’ve discovered a couple of books of Aunt Agnes’s poems, as well as an article that was written about her in the Calgary Herald not long after she died (the paper is dated Feb. 2 1992).

I was always fascinated by Aunt Agnes and Uncle Harry’s house. The outside was surrounded by beautiful paintings on the fence, the inside with weird pieces of clock strewn about (I think I must have been in the work space Uncle Harry used to build his grandfather clocks).

Because she keeps popping up I thought I’d share the article written about her, as well as one of her poems.

Homesteader never forgot her rustic roots – by Brian Brennan

If southern Alberta had been hit recently with a prolonged utilizes failure, Agnes Copithorne would have remembered how to make do. She began her married life in a homesteader’s log cabin west of Calgary in 1927, and always kept kerosene lamps and Franklin stove around as reminders.

“Habit is strong,” she said. “Nothing new is purchased if the old will do.”

The old was good enough when she and husband Harry built their kitchen out of scrap lumber and rusty nails salvaged from an old granary near Cochrane.

It was good enough when they bought their first radio, their first car, their first pieces of farm machinery.

“We like to think that our homesteader’s cabin had not forgotten the past entirely,” said Agnes.

The cabin, near Jumping Pound Creek on the south side of the Trans-Canada Highway, belonged originally to Harry’s Uncle Sam, and Irishman who homesteader in the area during the 1880s with his brother John, Harry’s father.

Harry was born in 1902, moved to Victoria with his parents at age 10, and returned at 16 to work on his uncle’s ranch. Nine years later, he met and married Agnes.

She was Agnes Rollefstad, born June, 1906 in Hopple, N.D. and raised in Schuyler, Alta. In 1925 she took the train to Cochrane to take a job as a ranch cook on the Copithorne spread. Harry met her at the station and their destinies were sealed.

“We’ve only had one fight,” Harry told a reporter 50 years later, “and it’s not over yet.”

Home renovations became their life’s work. The cabin was cold as an outhouse when they moved in. Harry became carpenter, plumber, and electrician. Agnes played carpenter’s helper. A new kitchen emerged from an old back porch and woodshed. A new dining room emerged from the old kitchen. To put bread on the table, they grew grain, and raised Herefords and sheep.

They recycled before the word was invented. They built their kitchen window with wood from an abandoned chicken house. They electrified kerosene lamps, and enclosed a deck with windows salvaged from a demolished greenhouse.

Their doors were never locked. Travellers on the highway were forever breaking down nearby, running out of gas, looking to use the Copithorne phone. Agnes invited them in for tea and home-made biscuits, and filled up their tanks from a canister kept permanently filled in the shed outside. Nobody was ever turned away. Tourists, truckers, and escaped convicts all received the same friendly welcome.

For recreation, Agnes sewed, wrote poetry, short stories, and plays, and painted with the Calgary Sketch Club. In 1967, as a Centennial project, she invited members of the club to help her decorate the fence around her home. They filled the panels with mountain scenes, ranch scenes, bucking horses, and red-eyed bulls, and created a local landmark. Twenty years later, Agnes redid the 24 panels herself as a Winter Olympics project. She was then 81.

Harry retired from ranching in 1967, turned the business over to son Jim, and started building grandfather clocks as a hobby. Agnes continued to paint, and published three books of poetry.

She was diagnosed with cancer last March, moved into the Bethany Care Centre with Harry in August, and died four weeks ago. Harry, now 90, remains at the Bethany. Their youngest grandson has become the fourth generation Copithorne to occupy the old homestead.

Agnes Copithorne is survived by husband Harry, son Jim, two grandsons, and two great-granddaughters.

Remembering Yesterday – Agnes Copithorne

It seems like only yesterday

We broke the land with two oxen

And a walking plow.

Picked stones off the field

Hauling them away to a rock pile,

Readying the earth for planting.

Winters were long, the snow deep

Mother knitted our mitts and socks.

The long black wool stockings

Itched unbearably until

They had been through several washings.

In felt boots and four-buckle overshoes

We trudged through the drifts to school.

Thawed out around the pot-bellied stove

Before starting on the hated arithmetic

Problems laboriously scratched out

On a slate.

In the evenings, by the light of

A coal oil lamp we played Old Maid,

Checkers or Dominoes.

Bedtime came early.

And there were chores, always reminded

That idle hands were the devil’s tools.

No hockey, no basketball

Or any of that nonsense

Life was uncluttered, uncomplicated.

Stress unknown.

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A little story about the Hall

Yesterday I was standing in our community hall waiting to meet someone and I started reading the poster that hangs on the west end that tells some of the history of how the hall came to be. It’s really something I should know since that building has been part of my life, part of our community, for almost 100 years now. And yet, somehow I’ve never made it all the way through reading it.

I love that old hall. We’ve had parties there, dances, Santa has come and given presents to generations of children, we’ve had Stampede breakfasts, and of course there have been family gatherings. Some of my family gathered there over the weekend to celebrate Thanksgiving and I’m grateful to have been able to attend and catch up with people I rarely get to see.

So, here’s the story of the Hall that hangs up high on the wall that I had never taken the time to read, but finally did so. I’m so glad I did too, it’s like a little love story about our Hall:

Jumping Pound Hall

By Margaret Bateman

The Hall sits on a hill visible from the Trans Canada Highway and was built in the year 1927. It has an excellent hardwood floor, its walls and ceilings are finished in “V” joint. Benches have been built along both sides of the hall with shelves built above the benches. There are electric lights since the year 1947 and in the year 1967 a propane stove and furnace were installed. It is a frame building sitting on sand stone blocks reinforced with cement. It is painted grey with white trim and the roof is covered with red asphalt shingles.

However, it wasn’t always like this. Before World War I, Arthur Cope, Leonard Hutt and the Bacon Boys planned to build a hall and the site was to be on Section 14 near the Pile of Bones Hill. The logs were hauled out but when the war broke out the idea was abandoned because some of the men did not return. The logs remained for some time and then Stanley Cope decided to make use of them and designed a corral in the shape of a cross and his cattle were able to seek shelter from cold winds in all four sections. About the year 1926, the district decided they needed a hall. Prior to that time nearly all social events such as card parties, masquerades, box socials, and dances had been held in private homes around the district. Some of the hosts for these parties were J.W. Copithorne, Hugh Robinson, Frank Sibbald, L.D.and E.E. Nicholl, Dave Lawson, Dick Copithorne, and John Bateman. The school and the post office were used for social events too. I heard of one event which took place in the Jumping Pound Post Office – a box social to make money for Red Cross during the first war when Grannie Bateman played the mouth organ for dancing.

When plans were completed for the Hall – John Copithorne donated an acre of land to be the site of the Hall. The lumber was obtained from Syd Chester in Cochrane and was hauled by team and wagon by some of the local boys, namely Percy and Harry Copithorne, Clarence Sibbald, Dave Lawson, Norman Edge, and Bill Bateman. The total cost of the Hall lumber was $1,479.35, hardware and furniture $654.75, labour $477.90, making a grand total of $2,612.00. Dan Fenton was chief carpenter and all the men in the district did the volunteer work. Charlie Cooley was responsible for the sandstone blocks and since the ground was frozen he used some dynamite to loosen the earth where the blocks were to be set in. As a result, a fair sized hole and considerable cussing but the job got done.

The hall was heated with a coal and wood heater – a bog one donated by McLynn; Coleman lamp lighted the hall.

About the same time as the hall was built the Ghost Dam was being constructed and the workers prioritized the hall – as did all the local people of the district. The opening night of the Hall was a gala affair – the walls were decorated with bear, wolf, and deer hides loaned by Mr. Frank Sibbald. A huge crowd attended and Mr. Sibbald was floored manager. Over the years the hall has been decorated in different ways, at one time Kleenex flowers were attached to shutters painted green and adorned the windows. These took a long time to make and was a project for the local ladies whenever they met to make flowers. Another time decorations of autumn leaves and foliage and Christmas decorations were obtained courtesy of Hudson Bay Co. Another time gay Chinese lanterns were hung from the ceiling to decorate the hall.

Card parties too were popular and the Xmas concert put on by the school children was looked forward to by all the community. Plays were preformed by people from Springbank and there was a popular minstrel show from Cochrane – Mr Brodie and Sam Allan.

In those days if one chose to have a nip or two the bottle was cached behind a willow bush or down a gopher hole. The police sometimes came out and checked on the dances. A few times there was a fight or two, no one was seriously hurt just their dignity. Lunch was served at midnight – a good one, sandwiches, home made cake and real good coffee made by Archie Maclean. He was a good coffee maker, but was very possessive with the kitchen, he liked it to himself.

Do you remember dancing to the music of some of these names? Does Henry Bolter ring a bell? What about the times we danced when Margy Buckley played the piano, Percy Copithorne the violin and Jack Copithorne on the drums. Other bands came from Calgary such as Vi Hopkins, “Ma” Trainor, “Blind Mac”, Jerry Cooke, Lee Lewis, Mrs. Foster, and more recently Lamberts from Cochrane.

The dances now are more modern living, rock and roll – not so many square dances or even waltzes. Supper is still served and there is often a Barr. The price to attend dances has greatly increased as has the cost of the bands.

Showers and special anniversaries are well attended and looked forward to. Turkey shoots are also popular.

Our hall has been our meeting place, events looked forward to and been a source of enjoyment to all of us who reside in the district.

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That Tough Town of Cochrane (FGK 274)

If I was awake and at work at 4am I’d also be posting the time in the letter. I love her letter writing digs – as I’ve mentioned Auntie Sheila was always consistent about writing me letters when I was younger and away and I see now why it was so important. I wish I’d been better about writing back. Her story about getting sick on Chinese food reminded me of a time when we met at my cousin’s place for sushi and I believe it was her first time trying it. We had explained what each type/piece was and she so graciously chose some and ate it all. After she very quietly came up to me and asked what had been the green wrapping around the outside of the sushi and I told her it was seaweed. She had this look of intense relief on her face and told me that she had thought it was snake skin. I remember thinking “and you ate it anyway???” Two things: I respected her so, so, so much for gamely eating something that we all seemed to be enjoying. And secondly I love my family, but if they try to feed me snake skin I’m out. I did learn a lot about dignity and class from that interaction though and it’s stuck with me for years.

It’s funny how for the very first part of our life we want to be taken as older, and then suddenly one day it switches and we want to be perceived as younger.

I should add, this letter was addressed to my grandparents

Vulcan Municipal Hospital

Vulcan, Alta

15 Jan 1957 4:00 am

Hi!

I’m sorry I forgot to thank you for the food and picture. Everybody thinks Margie looks older than me and she does, it’s sure a good one of her anyway. Haven’t heard from her for about a month now I’ve only had one letter from her since I’ve been here but that’s better than what my other sibling’s done. How about it Marsh.

The food didn’t last long, the shortbread toasted pretty good from what I had of it. Miss Sissons ate most of the Christmas cake.

There’s a darn baby in the nursery that’s been hollering it’s fool head off all nite. It’s been fed, burped, and changed. I’m getting very exasperated.

Went to Calgary Thursday and visited everybody. I meant to phone you but couldn’t get around to it. Met Grace and Mort uptown Thurs afternoon and then I stayed with Kathy and Barb that nite. Kathy, Barb, Lois, Kathy’s sister and I went to the show that nite.

Lois crawled into bed with me Friday morning (she was on nites) and then I went down to see Dawn that afternoon (she’s on 4-12). Caught the bus at 5am with Lorraine (she was going to High River). Anne met the bus here and I’ve been working nites (12-8) ever since.

Ted and I went to the show at Nanton on Sat nite but after we got there we found out there was no show so we sat in a restaurant for a couple of hours. We met some people there and talked. Came back to Vulcan and sat in this restaurant for another couple of hours and talked with some characters. They’re going to start charging rent pretty soon ‘cause all we have is coffee.

I wanted to go fishing in Lake MacGregor on Sun but I was informed that it was illegal to fish on Sun. So had a Chinese supper instead. Had chicken chow mein and got deathly sick. I think the meat must have been bad. Went to Arrowwood and I had a ginger ale at Delphines to see if that would settle my stomach. Helped a little but not much. Then I got angry because there was a bunch of of people in there teasing me about that tough town of Cochrane and having to have police protection when you go to visit the Copithornes so I left.

I get this weekend off. I’m going to a dance at Mossleigh Fri nite, staying at Burgers overnight and then coming to Calgary on Sat. Ted wants to buy a suit and Marg wants to pick out bridesmaids dresses so I’ll be pretty busy. Guess we’ll be coming home Sat nite if that’s all right with you.

Well must get busy now so will see you Sat.

Love, Sheila

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The Wild Winds Blew My Hat Off and Ruined my Hairdo (FGK 271)

Lovely stream of thought kind of letter from Grandma. Can certainly tell that her life and responsibilities have changed somewhat as kids have grown and she’s finally become the person I knew her as – “Grandma”. I laughed so hard at her comment about her hair being ruined – her hair routine was something else and she always looked so well put together. And it seems as though we’ve entered the era where my mom met my dad.

I’m not sure if her comment about buying plant food actually belonged in the letter or if she was making a note to herself and it ended up in here. Either way – if you knew my Grandma you know she had an amazing green thumb and the African Violets bloomed frequently here in the kitchen.

RR2 Calgary, Alberta

October 9th 1965

Dear Margi:

Aren’t you lucky you can plan to annoy the thanksgiving weekend? I know you work hard and deserve it, but this business we’re in is just the limit, when can we ever plan to do anything? This past week has been perfect weather for drying the crops, then it rained all night last night and is dull today. Don got his combine out here and started to combine yesterday and Marshall went to town and rented a combine and brought it out and they both worked till long after dark but there are so many mud holes to get stuck in they just can’t work at night. We’re beginning to wonder if we will ever rescue our lovely crop. I am alone all day today, they have gone to Grand Valley to ??ruline?? The cows. Wish we could have a dinner tomorrow but if the sun shines at all they will all be working like mad so I’d better not prepare one.

I’ve just wrapped Dixie’s birthday present so that (I hope) it will get to her in time. I’m sure disappointed in the mess I made of yours. Because of the fine weather I was just horribly rushed and busy when I should heaven looking after your gift, andI’m just afraid it didn’t reach you on time. I wanted to phone you all day Wednesday, but $$$$.

Was so glad to get your letter last mail but no flowers ever arrived Marg. Hope you can get your money back and thanks ever so much for thinking of me that way. I really just feel it would just be lovely if the three of you got together and left an order in one of the florists for one bouquet from all 3 of you after this. I do appreciate flowers so much and just the symbol that you care means so much. I know that is weak of me but I can’t help it, they give me such a boost.

Aunt Ethel wants me to go cranberry picking with her tomorrow, guess I’ll go if the sun shines. Was out riding with Dad and Marsh Wednesday morning, it rained twice but the sun came out and dried me as fast as the showers came up. However, the wild winds blew my hat off and ruined my hair-do and I won’t be able to get a fresh one till Tuesday.

I think I will join the Allied Arts this year instead of taking art in Cochrane. They offer so many courses when you are a member and there are some on Tuesday afternoon from 1 to 3pm which should suit me. Also you have the chance of getting so many good concerts etc too. I’m also contemplating offering my service in volunteer work in the new Foothills Hospital it is only 15 or 20 minutes drive from here and i could help for an hour or two once a week. Dad doesn’t approve of this so much, he doesn’t realize that the work wouldn’t be hard I guess. What do you think Margi?

Fred was out for a visit the other night, he was wanting Marsh to go to Shuswap this weekend. They are having a terribly nasty hot mayoralty campaign in Calgary, and Fred is afraid PHR Morrison is going to become mayor. Do you remember him? He is quite nasty. I hope he doesn’t win because I feel a mayor should be a good-will ambassador and he is just the very opposite. Did you have a visit from good ole Aunt Flo? She phoned up wanting your address and Marsh was really in a spot. He gave it to her roughly.

Can’t you get on TV or something so we can see you? Glad to hear you got a new pink dress, pink will really suit you with that hair do. They say silver is a really fashionable colour to wear this year. I saw a girl in town last time I was in and she had false eyelashes on about 1 inch so I hope you turn those into the “Bay” in Toronto and collect your money, they assured me you could do that. It was very foolish of me to do that but I was so rushed I wasn’t thinking clearly. Say hello to Sue and Ned for me, I’d like to see Micheal. I’d like to see Lynn Burger too, she’ll be worn up before we get down if we don’t soon hurry.

I hope you have a lovely time out at Ramsay’s and I certainly hope you don’t make any more work for Mrs. Ramsay. Try hard to think of ways to help her.

I got my fur coat so that I could wear it the night we dined at the Calgary Inn. September 27th was so cold, but I didn’t get a hat like he promised me because they had such a poor selection, and were getting more in. Maybe I’ll write more before I have a chance to post, this will close for me

love Mom

Buy a tin of plant food for the violets

Monday morning:

Dad and I had a lovely day down at Sheila’s . The baby is the cutest and best baby I’ve ever seen, large blue eyes. It is nice here today but so far too wet to work. Fred and Ginger were out and took Marshall with them – fishing or something. Had a crowd for morning tea and am waiting for the men to come to dinner now. Aunt Ethel wanted me to go cranberry picking but thought I should stay home as I have to take the car in for an overhaul tomorrow all day. Hope your car is ok and that you got your snow tires for your birthday. I am going in for a general check up with Dr Morgan Friday afternoon and the dentist in the morning. Well the men are in now so I’ll have to close

Lots of Love

Mom

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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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Do you want some Badger Skin Rugs? (FGK 269)

Yesterday I was in the basement of the cottage getting ready for the furnace guy and as I was leaving I glanced on a shelf – one that I’ve passed countless times (as seems to be the case with these discoveries). There was a box full of “congratulations on having your first baby” cards. Me, being the first baby, grabbed the cards curious to see what they were. Tons of congratulations cards for mom and dad on my spectacular arrival and some letters. I swear these letters just find me. So here’s one from Grandma to my parents while they were living in Toronto (they were married in August of 1967 and then moved to Calgary not too long after). I’m very glad Grandma scouted out that neighbourhood that was close to the university as that was our home for years.

RR2 Calgary, Alberta

Dec. 29th, 1967

Dear John and Margi:

Guess what we have? And oh how I wish I could share it with you. Yesterday the CNR phoned out to say that a case of fruit had just arrived for us from Florida. The Ollendikes sent it. My! Is it good.

The Rosedale community club where Aunt Nan and Uncle Jack live, had chartered a bus for seeing the Christmas lights display last night so Dad and I went with Kumlin’s and several others. We thoroughly enjoyed it but it snowed late at night when we were driving home.

Well, where do I start to describe Christmas? It’s so long since I’ve written to you. Your lovely big box of presents arrived the Thursday before Christmas and I got them all distributed before the big day. Thank you ever so much for those wood carvings. Everyone raves about that comical figure you gave Dad. You couldn’t look at it without getting a lift, it’s so optimistic looking. They are both treasures of art, we are very pleased with them.

I hope you were well for the Christmas holidays Marg. You seem to be getting too many colds, I’ll be glad when you get out of that smoggy atmosphere. Just after I phoned you, a man phoned and when I lifted the receiver, someone started rapping on the back door so in the ??smozzel?? I didn’t get his name but he was phoning for the firm of “Nesbit, Beaumont, Proctor, and Church” in Calgary and they want you, Marg, to go and work there for them. They are going to write to you. Guess the church would be Bob’s brother eh?

Dad and I had a lovely visit down at Arrowwood, saw the big school concert which was very good and really is quite large, they bus the children from so far. One third of the students are Blood Indian. Dixie and Betty did well.

Then Christmas morning they came up and had a little Christmas with Ted’s mother (who insisted on working in the hospital that day) and then came here and opened more parcels. Then we all went to Marshall’s and just ate far too much, Walter was there and Trudy’s friends E____? And Hughie Wallace and their tiny baby, and Mrs May was there. Evie?? And Hughie gave me a beautiful pair of long black leather gloves – the kind her mother manufactures “Paris”. Trudy and Marsh gave me writing paper- forgot to use it this time but will next letter. Ted and Sheila gave me a blouse but I’ll have to take it in, it’s too small. I really got everything I hinted for and then some. It was a beautiful Christmas. The Saturday night, 30th, it snowed a light frosty snow and covered the tree and willows like they were dipped in crushed diamonds. We drove to church in Cochrane Sunday night and the country was so beautiful in the bluish moonlight. Trudy sang in our church. Just as the last peel of the church bell faded away she opened the vestry door and stood there alone and sang “Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel” with no accompaniment. Her voice filled the church to the highest rafter in that vaulted ceiling. It was just magnificent and then later Aileen accompanied her on the piano for “Oh Holy Night.” I wish now I’d got a recording of it.

We have had a lot of snow, nearly every day. Dad is sure swearing at it, it’s so hard for the cows to rustle the grass, they have to haul pellets of ???? Every day. Dad has caught and skinned 4 badgers and now doesn’t know what to do with them. Do you want some badger-skin rugs?

Harry and Agnes and Ethel have all gone to the coast for a trip. We miss them. Nan and Jack fly to Hawaii on Jan. 10th. When we were on the tour last night, I saw several homes I’d like to give you for a present, especially in the new area near the university where you can see the mountains. We’re so happy to have you coming to Calgary. You are entirely welcome to use our place as long as you want to – the longest the better we’ll like it.

I got a nice card and note from Sue and Ted this year. Rob Thompson and Valerie Hunt are coming out to our New Year’s Eve party in the hall. They seemed to enjoy Christmas in Toronto.

Well, I must close now. I sure hope everyone is well in your family circle there. We are all in good health here.

lots of love from

Mom xxxx

PS. Just opened the envelope to add a few more lines. Was talking to Winnie this am and she said she put her Dad in hospital yesterday afternoon. He seemed sick and so low in spirits and wanted to go to hospital.

I hope to go in for groceries and a hair-do this afternoon, am waiting for Dad to come in for lunch. Got a really good light-orange-dessert recipe from Winnie, hope to have roast duck with chestnuts for New Year’s dinner, maybe avocado cocktail and this dessert. Sometime buy yourself a package of Sherriff’s scalloped potato’s either plain or with cheese sauce and cook a canned or fresh ham, they go well together and are really good. Must go now, but I’ll write soon again.

I’ve ordered flowers for Uncle Jack.

This was included in Grandma’s letter
My welcome to the world card from my aunt, uncle, and cousins.
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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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